"Natan, please come forward."
He slowly stepped forward.
The noise around him faded to a low hum. His body felt heavy, and each step toward the center was like dragging a chain through thick mud.
Some students flicked their eyes toward the newcomer, curiosity flickering for just a moment—then turning to recognition.
"Hey… isn't that a Blazeforge?"
"The rumored mana-less heir?"
"Yeah. I think so too…"
A soft murmur rippled through the crowd like a whispering wind. It wasn't loud, but Natan could feel it.
The news of his condition—his inability to manifest mana—had already spread throughout the empire.
It had started quietly, a secret only shared among high nobles and mages tasked to "fix" him. But as every effort failed, the news turned into gossip, and the gossip became rumor, and the rumor... became truth - well it was the truth to begin with.
The Blazeforge family, once proud and revered, bore the shame. Especially the patriarch—his father, Gareth.
The backlash from noble society had been sharp and unforgiving. But they didn't fight back. They remained silent. Strategic silence, perhaps. They knew that reacting would only fan the flames, drawing more attention. Better to lie low and let time dull the edge of the scandal.
A few more gazes turned toward him as he walked forward. Some were curious. Most were laced with disdain.
Natan felt them. Felt their judgment, their contempt. He had long since learned to stop reacting. So he simply walked forward, step by step, already knowing how this would end.
The man in charge of evaluations stood poised. He wore a neat blue robe, his brown drizzle-slick hair tied back, his brown eyes calm but observant. A small silver badge rested on his chest, marking his position as a Mana Appraisal Officer.
"Please place your hand on the orb," he said.
Natan nodded faintly. His eyes, dull and lifeless, drifted to the glowing orb sitting on its pedestal. He raised his hand and slowly pressed it against the smooth surface.
He already knew what would happen.
Nothing.
No light. No glow. Not even a flicker.
Just total utter silence.
A louder wave of murmurs rolled through the students.
"Why isn't it reacting?"
"Wait… is this real?"
"Maybe his mana is so weak, even the orb's embarrassed—HAH!"
"So the rumours was true.."
The personnel in charge furrowed his brow and leaned forward, double-checking the orb. His fingers ran over the surface, inspecting the runes etched beneath the glass. Still, there was nothing.
"There's nothing wrong with the orb…" he muttered to himself, puzzled.
Then louder: "Uhm… Headmaster, could you take a look at this?"
At the far end of the platform, Archon Luminous turned his gaze toward them. The silver streaks hair glinted under the light, and his presence silenced even the most brash students. His dark blue eyes narrowed, sharp and cold.
'So this is the failure brat of the Blazeforge family,' he thought, his frown deepening.
He was already aware of Natan's condition and attendance. Gareth had informed him in advance—out of obligation, or perhaps guilt.
Archon didn't want the boy here. But he owed Gareth—a war-brother, a fellow commander during the Great War. The Blazeforge family had contributed heavily to the empire, both in wealth and blood. And Gareth had pulled that card.
Still, Archon knew the truth. Gareth didn't love his son. He knew what kind of prideful man Gareth was—his pride had no room for imperfection. Sending Natan here was no act of kindness.
'You're finally getting rid of the shame you bore… even shamelessly using me to do it... Fine. You owe me more than one favor now, Gareth,' Archon thought bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He stepped forward.
Archon approached the orb himself, brushing past the officer. Without a word, he placed his hand on the orb. It flickered immediately with a soft purple glow.
"Working perfectly," he said coldly.
He turned his gaze to Natan—disgust etched across his face.
Natan said nothing. His eyes were still locked to the floor, as lifeless as ever. He didn't need to look up. He already knew that expression.
"Send the next student. The orb is fine," Archon declared, his voice final.
The meaning was clear: Natan had no mana.
A storm of murmurs erupted, louder now, less restrained.
"It's true…"
"He really doesn't have any mana?"
"Then how did he get accepted here?"
"Must've used his family name…"
"What a disgrace…"
"Pitiful."
"....Next student, please," the evaluation officer said awkwardly, voice low.
Natan turned away, step by step. Every movement was heavy, but he walked on.
Eyes followed him from all sides.
Celestine Everglow, seated on another platform reserved for her, flicked her gaze toward the commotion. Her golden eyes shimmered with quiet pity. She didn't speak. She only watched.
Natan kept walking.
His black hair hung loose, shadowing his face. His teeth clenched, his gleaming red eyes refused to rise. Shame, rage, pain—he felt them all. Too much for a boy his age to burden. But he kept them inside him buried deep, beneath layers of silence.
He just endured it all.
---
A Month Later
A month had passed since the entrance ceremony.
Natan was now a ghost among nobles. No matter where he went, whispers followed. Disdain trailed his steps. In a school filled with elites and power-hungry heirs, he was a stain—an anomaly.
He didn't want to be here and they didn't want him here.
But he had no choice.
And so, he endured. Like a man clinging to a fraying rope above a pit, he held on to life without understanding why. He just did.
People avoided him. When they didn't, they mocked him. He was always being watched. Like trash that hadn't been taken out.
One day, outside the academy hall, someone deliberately bumped into him.
A boy with short brown hair and cold black eyes. Two others stood nearby, smirking.
"Watch where you're going, trash."
The voice was sharp and arrogant.
The boy was Craith Vance, heir to the Vance family—a duke household from the Imperium Empire.
His presence at Sylverwyn Academy was a result of a treaty signed during the Great War, a gesture of continued alliance. Despite the privilege, he wore his entitlement like armor, daring anyone to challenge it.
Most students kept their distance from him. An Imperium-born noble wasn't someone you tangled with lightly. But Craith didn't care. He never did.
Natan didn't respond. He knew the setup. He kept still.
The boy narrowed his eyes. "Oi. I'm talking to you, scum. No apology?"
He grabbed Natan's shoulder roughly, gripping tight.
Still, Natan stayed silent.
Thud.
With a shove, the boy pushed him back.
Students nearby paused. Some watched from the corners, but none dared to interfere.
The boy sneered. "What's the matter? I heard the Blazeforge name once contributed well towards ending the great war. And this is what's left of it?"
Natan said nothing. Still staring at the ground.
The boy's anger boiled over.
"You. Mana-less. Freak."
THUD.
A punch landed squarely in Natan's abdomen. He staggered slightly but didn't fall.
More gasps now. But still no one stepped forward.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The boy kept swinging. Natan clenched his jaw, each blow searing through him—but he didn't raise a hand and he didn't cry out either.
Because he knew: fighting back meant punishment. And no one here would take his side.
So he endured.
Finally—
"Enough."
A voice cut through the scene like a blade.
Celestine Everglow stepped between them. Her golden hair shimmered under the morning sun, and her yellow eyes burned with restrained fury.
She wore the Sylverwyn Academy uniform—an elegant white and blue dress woven with subtle arcane threads. The Everglow family crest was embroidered in golden emblem on her chest. Grace and quiet authority radiated from her presence.
Beside her stood a maid with soft yellow hair and calm brown eyes. She appeared young, maybe in her twenties, but the aura she gave off was… unsettling. Composed. Deadly.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Celestine's voice was soft, but it held weight.
"Inside this academy. And in front of me, no less."
Craith Vance froze.
He took a shaky breath and lowered his fist.
"I… I apologize, Princess," he said with a stiff bow. "He… this person bumped into me and refused to apologize. I was simply correcting his manners."
Celestine's eyes narrowed.
"Is this what you call a lesson?"
Her voice turned icy. She wasn't just a student. She was royalty—and she was making it clear.
Craith bowed again, biting down his pride.
"I understand. It won't happen again."
"Good," Celestine replied curtly. "See that it doesn't. especially not in front of me"
Craith and his friends backed off.
But before leaving, Craith flicked a glare toward Natan.
'This isn't over, trash,' his eyes seemed to say.
Natan said nothing. He simply stood there, bruised, disheveled. A shadow clung to his face. His silence didn't change.
Celestine turned slightly.
"Clara" she said, casting a glance at her maid. She didn't need to say anything more—the maid already understood.
"Yes, Princess," the maid responded.
She stepped forward and handed a small, diamond-shaped vial with glowing red liquid to Natan.
"Please take this." the maid said softly
Natan looked at her, hesitating for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.
"Let's go," Celestine said, her voice softening slightly.
They turned and walked away.
Celestine glanced at Natan one last time before returning her gaze back infront.
And then they were gone.
Natan just stood still. His grip tightened around the potion.
His teeth clenched. His lifeless red eyes stayed on the ground.
So many emotions churned in him—rage, shame, helplessness. But he held it all in.
"I'll endure. I'll endure. I'll endure. Don't react. Just survive. One day…One day... this will end. just endure."
He repeated the words in his mind like a prayer. Like a curse. And they stayed with him—echoing endlessly, day after day, like a mantra carved into his very soul.
—End of Chapter 7