Damon made his way across campus with his hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, each breath fogging faintly in front of him. The sun was only just beginning to rise above the academy’s outer walls, leaving most of the walkways quiet and half-shadowed.

A few staff members moved through the grounds with practiced purpose, and here and there, a couple of students were already training as if dawn were nothing more than a suggestion.

The practicals arena stood at the northern edge of the academy, an old stone coliseum reworked with modern systems.

Mana barriers thrummed softly around its perimeter, and the floor inside bore the marks of countless battles, patched and rebuilt so often that none of the original stone remained beneath the reinforced alloy plating.

For two years, Damon had only ever seen it from above.

Today, he would finally step onto the arena floor.

He found Professor Voss in the prep chamber behind the main staging area, a cramped office tucked off to the side. The professor, older than most of the combat instructors, had the look of a man who had spent far more years in the field than in a classroom.

His gray hair was cut close, and the lines in his weathered face seemed carved there by experience rather than age. When Damon arrived, Voss was focused on a clipboard, only glancing up when Damon paused at the open doorway.

"Persival. You’re early."

"I wanted to speak with you before practicals begin, sir."

Professor Voss lifted his gaze fully then, his pale gray eyes narrowing with quiet focus as they moved over Damon. There was something clinical in the way he assessed people, as though years of judging combat readiness had taught him how to measure a person in a heartbeat.

"Is this about the fight with my nephew?"

Damon felt his stomach tighten. "Matthew is your—"

"Nephew," Voss said. "Yes. He may be an arrogant brat, but he’s still family. I heard what happened. I also heard you threw the first punch."

"I did, sir."

"And?"

Damon let out a quiet breath. "And I lost. Badly. But that isn’t why I’m here."

Professor Voss leaned back in his chair and motioned for him to continue.

"My system is working."

The words settled into the room between them.

Professor Voss didn’t react at first, at least not visibly. Only the brief tap of his fingers against the chair’s armrest suggested the statement had caught his attention.

"Explain."

Damon summoned the golden screen. It shimmered into view between them. Its light reflected faintly in the professor’s eyes. He watched as Voss read over the information, and this time the reaction was impossible to miss. His brows lifted slightly, then drew together.

"Those are your starting stats?"

"Yes, sir."

"Strength seventeen. Agility nineteen. Vitality sixteen. Magic twenty." He read each number slowly, as if weighing them. "At level one. That isn’t merely unusual, Persival. It’s unheard of."

Damon gave a small nod. "That’s more or less what I’ve been told."

Voss looked back at the screen. "And this class... Sovereign. Sounds combat-oriented at least."

Silence stretched for a few moments.

Then Professor Voss rose from his chair and crossed to a filing cabinet in the corner. He opened one of the drawers, thumbed through a few folders, and pulled out a thin file.

Damon recognized it immediately: a copy of his transfer paperwork. The red stamp across the front was still impossible to miss.

"I signed this months ago," Voss said, setting it on the desk between them. "Not because I thought you were useless. I signed it because I believed keeping you in a combat track was doing you more harm than good." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

He rested a hand lightly on the folder.

"I’m glad I was mistaken."

Damon wasn’t sure how to answer that. He hadn’t expected anything resembling an apology, and now that it was in front of him, he found he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

"Thank you, sir," he said at last. "But I didn’t come here for validation. I want to take part in practicals today. Fully, not as observation or support."

Professor Voss regarded him steadily. "You want to fight?"

"Yes."

For a moment, the professor simply studied him. Then he gave a single nod.

"All right. But you’ll need the right placement. Your stats are extraordinary for your level, but you’re still level one, and your abilities haven’t been tested properly yet. I’m not granting you entrance privileges into a portal for—"

"I ask you to reconsider, professor."

"Reconsider...?"

"I’ve already been waiting for two years. I understand the risks that portals carry, even in academy-designated farming locations. I’m old enough to consent to those risks. Whatever happens to me, the academy will not be held responsible."

Professor Voss held his gaze for a long moment. Beyond the stone walls, the mana barriers gave off their constant hum, low and steady, filling the silence that stretched between them.

"You’re serious," Voss said. It wasn’t a question.

"Completely."

The professor let out a slow breath through his nose, a sound that could have meant approval just as easily as annoyance. He turned back to his desk, slid open a drawer, and took out a small tablet. The screen flickered to life as he moved through several menus.

"There are three permanent portals currently active for student practicals."

He said, his voice settling into the clipped, matter-of-fact tone of a combat instructor.

"D-Rank, C-Rank, and B-Rank. The D-Rank portal is a controlled dungeon, with goblins, slimes, and the occasional dire wolf, standard work. The C-Rank portal leads to an unstable forest biome. Stronger monsters, environmental hazards. Recommended for second- and third-years with proven combat records."

He looked up from the tablet.

"The B-Rank portal is off-limits. I don’t care what your stats say."

"I wasn’t going to ask for B-Rank," Damon said.

"Good. Then you’ve got more sense than my nephew." Voss tapped the tablet a few more times. "I’m authorizing you for the D-Rank portal. You’ll be paired with three other students. Standard formation: one vanguard, one striker, one support. You’ll take the flex slot."

"Flex?"

"Flexible. You adjust to whatever the situation needs. With those stats of yours, you should be able to manage it."

Voss set the tablet down and fixed Damon with a hard stare.

"But understand this. You haven’t done formation drills. You haven’t trained with a team. You’ve had exactly one real resonator fight in your life, and by your own admission, you lost badly."

"I’m aware of my limitations, sir." Damon met his eyes.

"I’ve spent two years watching everyone else fight. I know formations. I know monster patterns. I know what every class in this academy is supposed to do in a portal, even if I haven’t done it myself. And I know that if I freeze up or fail, my teammates will be the ones paying for it."

He paused.

"I won’t freeze."

Voss studied him for a moment longer. Then he picked up the tablet and added one final notation.

"Report to Portal Station D in thirty minutes. Your team will be assigned there. If you’re late, the authorization is void."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don’t thank me yet." Voss turned back to his paperwork. "Thank me when you come back out of that portal alive."

***

The prep chamber outside Portal Station D was long and narrow, lined with reinforced benches and equipment lockers. The air carried the sharp scent of old sweat, while the distant thrum of the portal’s mana signature seemed to vibrate up through the floor.

Damon arrived twenty minutes early.

He spent the time stretching, rolling his shoulders and testing the movement in his newly healed ribs. The infirmary’s potions had done their work well.

There was no pain now, only the faintest tightness, and even that eased a little more with each motion.

His system pulsed softly at the edge of his vision.

[SYSTEM STATUS – RESONATOR: DAMON PERSIVAL]

[CLASS: SOVEREIGN]

[LEVEL: 1]

[STR: 17]

[AGI: 19]

[VIT: 16]

[MAG: 20]

[ABILITIES]

- [SOVEREIGN’S STRIKE (ACTIVE)]

- [SOVEREIGN’S LEADERSHIP (PASSIVE)]

Five stat points spent. Two abilities ready. And a month of training behind him.

And somewhere beyond that portal waited his first real test.

The door at the far end of the chamber swung open, and three figures stepped inside. Damon recognized all of them, even though he’d never really spoken to any of them before.

The first was a girl with short-cropped red hair and a pair of gauntlets strapped across her back. Kara Voss, Matthew’s younger sister. C-Rank. Her class was [Flame Fist], a close-combat striker known for explosive bursts of damage.

She was compact and muscular, carrying herself with the energy of someone who had been fighting since she could walk.

The second was a tall, broad-shouldered boy carrying a tower shield nearly as large as Damon’s whole body. Ren Halwick. C-Rank. [BULWARK] class.

His reputation was quiet but dependable, a defensive specialist who had never failed a portal run and, according to rumours, a man of few words.

The third was...

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

The third was Harris. The logistics-track student who had called Damon a systemless freak. The same Harris who had started using the treadmill farthest from him in the gym.

He carried a satchel full of potions and wore the pale green armband of a support-class Resonator.

[RESTORER] class. E-rank, a designation reserved for logistics-based resonators. Barely qualified for combat.

"Professor Voss assigned you to my team?" Harris said, his voice pitching upward. "You? The guy who ended up in the infirmary twice in one month?"

"Deal with it."