Chapter 9 – Grade 1

  Rivius stared at Arthur in absolute disbelief, the silence stretching as his mouth hung slightly open, searching for words. It was almost comical, the way a seasoned scholar like him was caught off-guard, but the situation warranted it.

  Grade 1 aspects were exceedingly rare, rarer than even the myths dared suggest. Most people, even the gifted, awakened to Grade 2 or 3 aspects, and those who achieved Grade 1 were typically scions of prestigious noble families, groomed from birth for greatness. But now, standing in front of him, was a boy with tousled black hair and calm red eyes someone with no notable backing or prestige, who had just awakened a Grade 1.

  “You... you're not from a noble house?” Rivius finally asked, his voice filled with hesitance and curiosity more than accusation.

  Arthur blinked, still clearly overwhelmed himself, though joy flickered behind his otherwise calm demeanour. His fingers curled protectively around the small handbook now resting in his palm, the golden letters on the spine gleaming faintly.

  “I’m from a fallen house,” he said simply, his voice steady but quiet, as though saying it aloud would somehow summon ghosts.

  Rivius frowned slightly, mind racing. He began to cycle through every known fallen house that had black hair and red eyes among their traits, trying to piece together the connection from memory alone, but came up blank. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Did your father also have black hair and red eyes?” he asked, probing.

  Arthur looked puzzled by the question, but still answered without hesitation. “No. My dad had red hair. Red eyes, too.”

  Rivius stiffened. The colour drained from his face as he exhaled a quiet gasp. A horrible realization bloomed in his chest.

  “The Slautre household...?” he said hesitantly, barely more than a whisper, as if saying the name too loudly might bring calamity.

  Arthur tilted his head, then looked down at his handbook, clutching it tighter. “My dad said we’re not allowed to use that last name anymore.”

  This time, even Abel stirred from his stoic posture. His hands twitched at his sides. Jacob’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that name, everyone who had ever studied history knew it.

  The Slautre household, long thought eradicated, had once been one of the most terrifying and powerful houses in Eterna’s history. Known for producing mages and knights of overwhelming strength and eerie savagery, they’d earned the title House of Demons.

  Ruthless and brilliant, their downfall came when they attempted to seize the throne itself, plunging Eterna into chaos in a bloody revolt that ended in failure and execution. Every known member was supposedly purged.

  And yet, one remained.

  “So some of the Slautre survived,” Rivius muttered, voice dark and weighted, eyes narrowing as he regarded Arthur more cautiously. “Your hair colour’s different… that means your bloodline was diluted. And your parents are dead?” He sighed and shook his head. “You're lucky. If you’d inherited your father's full bloodline, you wouldn’t be standing here. You’d be executed before the day ended.”

  Arthur flinched. His arms folded around his chest, shielding his book as if it were a lifeline. “Executed? Why?”

  This time, Abel answered. His voice was like wind blowing across dry stone raspy, hoarse, and rarely used. “Because your family committed high treason. They allied with the clergy and the old gods in an attempt to overthrow the royal bloodline. That kind of crime leaves a mark on your name… forever.”

  Arthur gave a weak laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “But that has nothing to do with me… right? So I’m safe. Yeah?” His eyes searched their faces for comfort, but no one spoke. Even Rivius remained silent, and the tension in the room deepened. His fate, it seemed, rested in hands far above theirs.

  “Arthur, remain behind. Grade 1s must complete additional registration,” Rivius said curtly, breaking the silence. “Jacob, you’re next.”

  Arthur trudged back to his seat, shoulders slightly hunched, while Jacob rose stiffly. Just as he passed, Arthur reached out and gently grasped his hand.

  “You’ll do great,” Arthur said with an encouraging smile. “I can feel it.”

  Jacob gave no response, only shrugged the hand off without looking back, and continued forward. His face was composed, unreadable, but inside his heart pounded like a war drum. It was getting harder to breathe. Arthur’s awakening had only made it worse.

  ‘What are the chances of two Grade 1s on the same day? Practically zero,’ Jacob thought grimly. He’d have been more than happy with a Grade 2, he’d even settle for a 3. Anything but failure.

  As he passed Rivius, the man gave him a light pat on the shoulder and murmured, “You’re so nervous I can hear your heartbeat. Take a breath. You’ll be fine.”

  Jacob nodded silently, then stepped onto the altar.

  Each step felt heavier than the last, like invisible chains were tied to his legs. The weight of expectations, of past failures, of a name too heavy for him to carry all of it bore down at once. He looked down at the book on the altar, but in his mind, it wasn’t the book he saw it was a face.

  A boy with black hair and innocent brown eyes, far too kind for the world they lived in. His older brother, Lucas. Gone now. Talented, brilliant… and dead. Because he’d tried too hard to be something he wasn’t ready for.

  Jacob clenched his fists. “Lucas,” he whispered, then picked up the pin and pricked his finger.

  The drop of blood fell onto the book’s pages.

  Unlike the others, there was no soft light this time. Instead, runes, hundreds of them burst from the pages like a flood. Not coloured light, but actual runes, etched in faint gold and harsh black, swirling in complex patterns before rushing directly into Jacob’s body.

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  Rivius took a step forward, startled. “That’s... that’s not how it’s supposed to happen,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

  Arthur leaned in, concern on his face. “Sir Rivius, what’s going on? Why is it different?”

  “I don’t know. This is very odd…”

  The runes poured into Jacob through his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. It felt like drowning in light. Jacob collapsed to one knee, unable to breathe. His vision went white. His skin burned. He didn’t even hear the others calling his name.

  Rivius was on edge. The process had already taken longer than it should have, and the sheer number of runes some he’d never even seen was deeply concerning. If Jacob Skydrid, heir to one of the major noble houses, died here, it wouldn’t just be tragic. It would be political.

  Then, without warning, the flow stopped.

  Jacob hunched over and vomited, heaving bile onto the floor. His chest heaved, tears staining his cheeks. When he finally looked up, he saw one of the books on the far shelf glowing, no, pulsing.

  It lifted into the air and flew into his hands.

  Jacob gripped it tightly as the blank cover shimmered and began filling with intricate symbols, diagrams, and flowing script. Then he saw the title.

  Rivius walked over, took the book from Jacob’s shaking hands and read the cover. His eyes widened. The book slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

  “What the hell,” he whispered, forgetting himself.

  He straightened, cleared his throat, and spoke the formal declaration aloud, though his voice wavered: “Aspect—Scholar of True Runes. Grade 1.”

  You might wonder why he had to speak aloud. The reason was simple: the aspect he awakened needed to be immediately relayed to the registration department. Everything spoken on the altar was transmitted directly through embedded runes, ensuring no information was lost or delayed. That was why Rivius had prompted them to announce their aspect names the moment they appeared.

  Abel blinked and pinched his cheek, almost unable to believe what he'd just heard. Was he dreaming? Had another member of the Skydrid household, a line famed for its knights, not scholars, really awakened a Grade 1 aspect? His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. ‘This will be a problem,’ he thought grimly.

  Arthur had already bounced to his feet and strode over to Jacob, grinning ear to ear. He clapped Jacob on the back with enough force to jolt his shoulders. “I told you you'd get something great! A Grade 1, can you believe it? You’re incredible!” His voice was bright with genuine pride, and his eyes sparkled with the joy of seeing someone he now considered a friend succeed.

  Rivius, meanwhile, stood frozen for a moment, stunned for the same reason Abel was. Jacob Skydrid son of Lord Skydrid, heir to a house steeped in military tradition and martial pride had just defied every expectation. The Skydrids were not known for magic, much less Grade 1 aspects. It was a feat so rare that Rivius could count the number of Grade 1 awakenings in the family on one hand.

  In fact, only three Skydrids had ever managed it. Now there were four.

  The last had been Lucas Skydrid, Jacob’s older brother. That boy had made headlines across the nation. A Skydrid with a Grade 1 aspect? A genius, they’d called him. There was talk of him establishing an entirely new magical branch within the family, carving a place for the Skydrids in scholarly circles as well as knightly ones.

  Then he died two years ago.

  An accident, they said. The specifics were never disclosed. All the public ever learned was that the boy who was meant to change his family's future had perished. A brilliant flame, extinguished before its time.

  And now, out of nowhere, another Skydrid genius had appeared.

  “This is going to cause waves…” Rivius muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on Jacob.

  Jacob slowly rose to his feet, wiped the edge of his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and nodded politely to Rivius. Then he turned to Arthur.

  “Thanks,” he said simply, his voice soft but sincere.

  Arthur didn’t let up, flinging an arm around Jacob’s shoulder like they’d known each other for years. Jacob barely managed not to scowl. The boy was far stronger than he looked, Jacob couldn’t even shrug his arm off.

  He trudged back to his seat with Arthur still practically hanging off him. When he finally sat down, Arthur gave his shoulder one last pat before releasing him.

  Jacob looked down at the book in his hands. It felt heavier now. Important. The title was embossed in dark blue ink on a rugged brown cover: Scholar of True Runes. Along the spine, the words Grade 1 gleamed in thick, golden lettering.

  A thrill surged through him. Pure, unfiltered happiness. It took all his self-control not to smile like an idiot in front of everyone. He wanted nothing more than to crack it open right there and then.

  They called it a handbook, but it was so much more than that. It contained everything Akashic’s Analyzer rune could discern about his aspect, its strengths, structure, theory, and potential. If he wanted to grow stronger, this was the key.

  While Jacob was absorbed in his thoughts, Rivius finally recovered from his stupor. He turned toward the last boy standing.

  Abel.

  If anyone had asked him earlier who was most likely to awaken a Grade 1 aspect today, Rivius wouldn’t have hesitated. Abel, without question. The sole heir to the Ranti household, a bloodline as ancient as it was powerful, with a legacy of magical prowess stretching back generations.

  It was said that every firstborn child in the Ranti family awakened with a Grade 1 aspect. Some whispered rumours of rituals or secret rites, but nothing had ever been proven, and even if it were true, who cared? Power was power.

  Now, Rivius was beginning to realize he might be witnessing something historic: not just two, but three Grade 1 awakenings… all in a single day. And all from boys the same age.

  History was being rewritten before his eyes.

  “Abel,” he said, turning toward the last of the three. “You’re up.”

  Abel stood, calm and unhurried. He walked to the book, pricked his finger, and let the drop of blood fall.

  A soft, ethereal blue light poured from the pages and entered his chest. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move.

  When the process ended, a book emerged from the shelves and floated toward him. He caught it, glanced at the cover, then immediately tossed it to Rivius without even blinking.

  Rivius caught the book and sighed. “Aspect—Call of the Dead. Grade 1.”

  It was as expected, and yet, hearing it aloud made the room tilt slightly. Three Grade 1s. In one day. From three boys of the same age.

  Arthur grinned. “Congratulations!” he chirped.

  Abel didn’t look at him. “If you were more educated, you’d know this was always going to happen. Now stop yelling. You’re irritating.”

  The tension spiked again, but Rivius stepped in quickly.

  “All three of you will remain in contact with the registry. Grade 1s are eligible to be mentored by true scholars and licensed mages of the kingdom. You don’t choose them, they choose you.

  “You are required to submit a summary of your aspect to the Testing Centre within two days,” Rivius said, his voice calm but firm. “This summary will be reviewed by potential mentors. It is through it that a sorcerer may choose to sponsor or guide you.”

  He looked over the three boys, each strikingly different.

  The first radiated energy, brimming with excitement, loud, and charismatic in a way that made him feel like a real child. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and brought life into the room.

  The second was the opposite. Withdrawn, deliberately distant, he only spoke when addressed, and even then, his replies were clipped and indifferent. He seemed to exist in his own world, unbothered by the noise around him.

  And the third… the third carried himself like a young noble who believed the world owed him something. His posture was proud, his chin high, and he hadn’t spared the others a single word. Arrogance clung to him like perfume overbearing and unmistakable.

  Rivius sighed and shook his head. “That is all. You’re dismissed.”

  As they filed out, Jacob felt a hand slap his back again. “Hey Jacob, if I want to hang out with you, where do I go?” Arthur asked with a wide grin.

  Jacob sighed and pushed his hand off again. “The Skydrid estate,” he replied. “But I don’t, as you say, ‘hang out.’ So don’t expect much.”

  He climbed into his carriage and shut the door without another word.

  Arthur watched him go, still smiling, and muttered to himself, “Skydrid, huh? Doesn’t matter. I’ll make a friend out of you yet.”

  Then he turned and walked off, humming a cheerful tune.

  Things were about to get very interesting, for all of them.