The Glitched Mage

As the last of the distortion faded and the world settled into place, Lysara found herself once more standing within the coliseum.

Around her, the other trial applicants were beginning to reappear—some dazed, others breathless, all marked in some way by what they had endured. The vast arena, carved in smooth obsidian and etched with mana-reactive runes, pulsed faintly beneath their feet. The crowd above had fallen silent, watching.

At the center of the coliseum stood Riven and his generals, their presence grounding the chaos like the eye of a storm. Overhead, a colossal mirror-like portal shimmered in the sky—its surface fluid and luminous, replaying fragments of the trial for all to see. Flames and illusions danced across its glassy surface, echoing with the soundless memories of battle, survival, and power.

Lysara stood near them, her frame still trembling from the final confrontation. Her shoulders sagged as the weight of it all—what she had fought through, what she had survived—began to settle into her bones.

It was over.

At least… this part.

A hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.

She turned slightly and found Riven beside her, his gaze steady. His eyes, blue but storm-shadowed, met hers with a depth of knowing—calm, unreadable, yet not unkind.

He didn't speak.

The gesture said enough.

Then he turned back to the crowd, his gaze sweeping across them like a blade through still water—sharp, commanding, and absolute. The murmurs died instantly.

"The trial is officially concluded," he said, voice steady and resonant. "Though you may have endured excruciating pain and injury within it, understand this—it was all illusion."

His eyes darkened, shadows pooling in their depths.

"Yet I know it felt real to every one of you."

A hush fell over the onlookers. Several faces paled, haunted by memories that refused to fade despite knowing they had not bled in truth. The trial had spanned weeks in illusionary time, and though many had been eliminated, they had chosen to remain—watching from the outer halls as the surviving candidates fought, endured, and evolved.

It had become a lesson in itself. Even in failure, they witnessed strength rise from struggle, and something deep within them stirred. Not envy. Not despair. But a flicker of something more—motivation, rekindled by the fire they had seen burn in others.

"I've heard some of you claim that the Shadow Academy's trial was too harsh—that compared to other entrance exams, it was excessive."

A ripple moved through the crowd. A few heads dipped, ashamed.

"But there's a reason for that," he said, voice calm but resolute. "A very important one."

He let the weight of his words settle. The air grew still.

"The Shadow Academy is not like the others. We don't accept just anyone. Only the strongest… and those with the greatest potential."

He paused, then let a slow smirk curve his lips.

"Because those who come here don't stop at graduation. They don't settle for limits or titles."

His voice dropped, each word carved with intent.

"Those who enter this Academy will ascend."

The silence that followed was not mere quiet—it was a void, deep and absolute, as if the world itself held its breath.

Then—

Chaos erupted.

"Every student will ascend? That's insane!"

"There've only been a handful of mages in history who managed to ascend—and most of them are considered myths!"

"Damn it! I died on the first day! I want a do-over!"

"Gods," Damon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going to send the entire continent into an uproar."

"And just when things were finally starting to calm down," Krux groaned.

While the crowd buzzed with wild chatter and disbelief, Nyx wove through the noise like a shadow, stopping at Riven's side.

"You've definitely caught Solis's attention now," she said, smirking.

"Not just them," Riven replied, his eyes gleaming. "The world will be watching."

He let the chaos run its course for a moment longer, letting the shock and wonder spread like wildfire. Then, slowly, he raised his hand.

Silence returned at once.

"With that settled," he said, "I formally announce that the thirteen finalists of this trial are now accepted into the Academy."

A hushed gasp rippled through the crowd.

"And Lysara," he added, gaze drifting to the stunned girl still recovering from the ordeal, "will receive five crates of etherbloom potions for placing first."

That set off a new wave of murmurs.

"Five crates?! That's worth a fortune!"

"Etherbloom's always sold out!"

Lysara blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly, pride flickering in her eyes.

As the crowd began to disperse—many already murmuring about reapplying and trying again—the thirteen chosen remained behind. Aria stepped forward, her presence calm and commanding, and led them into a side chamber to begin orientation and preparations for the entrance ceremony.

"I'd say that was a successful first trial," Mal said as he joined Riven.

Krux nodded. "This'll set the Academy ablaze with hope and ambition."

"It also means more people flooding into the kingdom," Riven said, rolling his neck. "Which means we need to speed up the housing projects."

"I'm on it," Damon grumbled, already turning to drag Krux away. "Come on. Back to work."

"What? No! I was promised ale at Vera's! Damon—wait!"

Krux's protests echoed down the hall before fading into the distance.

Nyx stayed behind, watching the floating Academy shimmer overhead before turning to Riven.

"So… what now?"

Riven exhaled slowly, gaze fixed on the rising spires of the Academy above.

"Now," he murmured, "it's finally time to focus on getting stronger."

His eyes met hers. "Think you can hold the line while I'm gone?"

Nyx gave a short bow, her expression softening into something almost reverent.

"Of course, my liege."

Mal bowed beside her, silent but firm.

And with that, Riven turned his gaze back toward the path only he could walk. The path to growing stronger.

—x—

Riven sat cross-legged in the heart of his private training chamber, deep within the palace. The walls around him were reinforced with shadowsteel and abyssal runes—built to endure anything he could unleash. Silence pressed in like a familiar companion.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand.

With a subtle thought, his system interface bloomed into the air—glowing screens flickering to life with a soft hum.

A smile tugged at his lips.

"It's been a while," he murmured, fingers brushing through the interface as he navigated the data with practiced ease.

After everything—the Academy's construction, the influx of students, diplomacy with Danu and Deveroux—he had barely touched the system that had once shaped his every waking moment. But now, with the kingdom finally stable, he had time again.

Time to grow.

[[ Riven Drakar ]]

[[ Abyss Mana Heart // Four Circles ]]

[[ Progress to Next Mana Circle: 12% ]]

He frowned slightly. This was where he needed to improve. His generals were already pushing toward their sixth and seventh circles again, regaining the power they'd once held. He couldn't afford to lag behind.

Riven reached over and pulled a crate toward him. The bottles inside shimmered with pale blue liquid—etherbloom, rare and expensive, potent enough to burn through impurities and flood the body with purified mana.

He uncorked the first and downed it in a single gulp. Then another. And another.

To any outsider, it would've been absurd—thousands of gold worth of elixirs chugged like water.

[[ Mana Absorption +3% ]]

[[ Mana Absorption +3% ]]

[[ Mana Absorption +3% ]]

One by one, the notifications flickered across his vision as he drained the last bottle, lips stained faintly blue, stomach tight from the sheer volume of mana-infused liquid.

[[ Progress to Next Circle: 42% ]]

Not enough. But a good start.

He set the last empty bottle aside with a soft clink, the crate now hollowed and lined with glass husks. Shifting his weight, Riven settled into a meditative position, his spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. He exhaled slowly, letting the breath sink into the silence.

As his eyes closed, the chamber responded—lanterns dimming, shadows deepening until the room was swallowed in darkness. The air grew dense, vibrating faintly with unspent power.

Inside him, the etherbloom's mana surged like a rising tide, not yet tamed. It churned through his veins in molten pulses—raw, volatile, and impatient. Every fiber of his being thrummed with it, a pressure building just beneath the surface.

Now came the hard part.

Time to mold the chaos.

[[ Absorbing mana… 43%… 44%… ]]

The numbers ticked upward at an agonizing crawl.

"Tch." He opened his eyes with a sigh. "Enter training realm."

At his command, the world shifted.

In an instant, he was pulled into the artificial reality he'd crafted—a simulated training realm designed for intense battle. The air here shimmered with raw mana, the terrain shifting with his thoughts.

He rolled his shoulders, the stiffness from stillness melting away as the realm stabilized.

With a thought, he summoned his opponent.

A figure materialized from shadow and memory—golden armor gleaming, a righteous sneer carved into his face.

Cassiel.

Riven grinned as black flame ignited across his fingers, crackling with restrained hunger.

"It's been too long, paladin."

He stepped forward, shadows trailing behind him like a cape.

"This is going to feel very good."