Logan was the son of Harold—Harold, son of Donald, the last true blacksmith of the Von family. Before the age of magic, the Von lineage forged the steel that held the beast tides at bay. When the Youlan Kingdom was established, their craftsmanship and bravery were honored with the title of minor nobility.
Then came the Spirit Lake.
Discovered deep in the ruins of an ancient battlefield, it became the source of a radiant substance called Essentia—a shimmering solution capable of awakening magic in those deemed compatible. Its discovery cleaved the world in two: those who awakened... and those who were forgotten.
Logan always hated Essentia.
Hated what it had done to society. How it had turned people into statistics. How it created a ladder that mortals couldn't climb. While the world scrambled to unlock power, Logan took pride in the heat of the forge, in the honest strike of hammer on steel. From a young age, he swore he wouldn't awaken. He would inherit his father's shop. Work with his hands. Earn his place.
But today was different.
He stood in the far-left line outside Youlan's official Testing Hall—the one labeled CIVILIAN ENTRANTS. Not because he'd changed his mind... but because the Kingdom had changed theirs.
The Von family had been stripped of nobility.
Their already-fading jewellery shop—once a forge of royal commissions—would now pay the full civilian tax rate. The decree arrived in a sealed document. When Harold read it, he fainted. In a world of enchanted warriors and divine mages, he was powerless. His own Essentia injection, taken decades ago, had done nothing.
Now Logan stepped forward in the line.
He stood like a shadow refusing to bend. Lean—not from training, but from labor. His dark hair curled stubbornly at the edges, and his storm-grey eyes held a steady defiance as he stared across the courtyard toward the noble line. He wore no family crest. No rank. Just a black tunic dusted with iron filings and calloused hands forged in heat and toil.
The Testing Hall buzzed.
Crystal Legionnaires stood guard, their armor gleaming, their expressions empty. These were bronze and silver core mages—not noble, but powerful enough to enforce the nobles' will.
Then came a shift.
A ripple through the noble line.
A tall figure strode into view—sun-kissed skin, long brown hair tied at the nape, silver-edged robes shimmering with runic threads.
Andre Vellorin.
He walked like the world existed beneath his boots. Arrogant, practiced, polished. His smirk was measured. His gaze dismissive. He didn't expect attention—he consumed it.
The Vellorin family had once served House Von in the age of steel. But when Gin Vellorin—Andre's father—awakened and stumbled upon a ruin containing lost blueprints of rune smithing, he brought back knowledge that redefined magic itself. From it came beast weapons and refinement techniques that made old forging obsolete.
The Vellorins rose.
The Vons did not.
Logan had no doubt who whispered to the Crown to revoke their title. Too clean. Too political. Too precise.
A smooth, practiced voice lilted into the air.
"Young Master Vellorin is still as popular as ever, I see."
Logan looked over.
She moved like a living portrait.
Layla Myrren—graceful, golden-haired, elegant. Her braid shimmered with subtle illusion threads that caught the sunlight. Her amber eyes sparkled with aristocratic cunning, and the Myrren crest lay embroidered across her uniform—curators of the kingdom's magical archives.
Her presence turned heads. Her smile demanded silence.
Beside her was a wall of muscle wrapped in calm.
Josh Dareth.
Tall. Heavy-built. His dark bronze skin gleamed beneath custom armor, braids shifting as he adjusted his stance. He didn't need to speak. The strength of House Dareth—guardians of the borders—was carved into every line of his posture.
And then came the chill.
Jessica Caelwyn.
Shorter than the others but no less imposing. Pale skin. Jet-black bob. Silver-gray eyes devoid of warmth. Her uniform was sharp, her badge gleaming like a blade. She didn't walk—she glided. She didn't look—she examined. She didn't belong to the crowd. She ruled above it.
Andre gave a theatrical smirk. "Lady Layla, I'm unworthy of such praise. But truly, it is your beauty that inspires awe. Even the toads," he glanced at the civilian line, "dream of swan meat."
Logan said nothing.
Some boys blushed. Others murmured. A few dared glance at Jessica—then instantly regretted it.
A hiss of pneuma echoed through the courtyard as the Testing Hall doors opened.
A woman in a white coat emerged, clipboard under one arm, fingers glowing with soft Essentia.
"Nobles may enter first. Civilians will be called after. We will now begin the testing."
Andre adjusted his sleeves like he was preparing for a coronation. Layla gave a subtle nod. Josh cracked his knuckles. Jessica vanished into the archway like a shadow into mist.
The nobles entered.
The murmurs that followed weren't from awe—they were from speculation. Everyone whispered the same thing: what would their results be?
Once the minor houses had followed, the civilians entered the secondary gate.
Inside the hall, everything smelled sterile and tense.
Jessica Caelwyn was first.
A nurse took her small wrist, injected her cleanly, and gestured her to the resonance booth. A second nurse held a scanning device over her chest. After a moment, the machine beeped.
"Jessica Caelwyn, gold elemental core."
The air seemed to tighten.
Essentia users were ranked by purity and density of core:
Bronze Tier – Basic manipulation.Silver Tier – Combat-ready; most military personnel.Gold Tier – High-efficiency users; nobles, elite officers.Platinum Tier – Exceptionally rare. Can shape environments or command multiple Essentia types.
And by type:
Elemental Cores – Fire, wind, water, lightning, ice.Arcane Cores – Illusion, gravity, sound, shadow.Construct Cores – For beast weapons and summoning.Support Cores – Healing, barrier, sensory enhancement.Hybrid Cores – Dual-type. Rare. None had ever reached gold tier.
Only the Queen was known to hold a platinum core. Even an arcane silver, like the Lord of the Shadows—King Consort and rumored Myrren prodigy—was considered a once-in-a-century case.
Jessica showed no reaction to her result. As if it was expected.
Next was Josh.
The needle slid in without resistance. He barely blinked. The scanner whirred—and beeped.
"Josh Dareth, silver elemental core."
No one was surprised. The Dareth family had little magical finesse, but their physical strength and battle instincts made up for it. Their martial legacy fused raw might with destructive magic, and it earned them their noble seat long ago.
Then came Andre.
When the nurse announced, "Gold construct core," his smile became razor-sharp. Construct cores were rare and specialized—perfect for forging weapons, binding tools, and commanding beasts. The announcement inflated his posture until it nearly cracked.
Then came Layla.
Oddly... she looked nervous.
Logan noticed it immediately. A tremble in her fingers. A hesitation in her breath. It was rare—almost unheard of—for a noble to awaken with anything below silver, especially a Myrren. The household was rumored to be blessed directly by the Essentia Goddess.
Even the Lord of the Shadows himself—a silver arcane core wielder—was of Myrren blood.
Then came the injection.
"Eep!" Layla yelped, recoiling as the needle touched her arm.
Half the boys in the room turned bloodshot. The reaction was... visceral. Labored breathing. Flushed faces. Logan rolled his eyes.
Layla, cheeks burning, hurried to the scanner booth. The nurse waved the wand. A pause. Then—
"Impossible," the nurse whispered, stunned.
Gasps rippled across the room. Murmurs surged like a tide.
The nurse stood straight, eyes wide. "Silence!" she barked. Then she looked back down. Her lips trembled... then smiled.
"Layla Myrren—gold hybrid core."
The room exploded.
"What?!" Andre shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Even Jessica's gaze twitched. Josh stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
Logan watched the announcements from the back of the hall, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
Trouble was coming.
For years, the noble houses had balanced each other—Vellorin, Dareth, Caelwyn, and Myrren—each one powerful, each a counterweight to the others. But ever since the enigmatic Lord of the Shadows became king consort, the Myrrens had begun to rise faster than the others could breathe. And now, with Layla awakening as a gold-tier hybrid core, the balance had tilted—hard.
The others might not admit it yet.
But the shift had begun.
The testing resumed. One after another, the minor nobles filed through. Most awakened silver elemental cores—decent, predictable, respectable. One timid girl, Ayesha Monroe, surprised everyone with a gold support core, earning a rare murmur of impressed nods.
Then came the civilians.
The energy in the hall dropped. The excitement was over. Now it was just procedure.
Most civilians were found to have bronze elemental cores, the lowest tier. Some had no core at all—dismissed silently and without sympathy. A few exceptions stood out.
Harry, the son of a pawnshop owner near the Von family's old forge, tested with a silver construct core. He grinned smugly, practically puffing out his chest. Then there was Tessa, the quiet girl whose family ran the flower shop on the edge of the artisan's quarter—silver support core. Her family's tears of joy were quiet, but proud.
Then—finally—it was Logan's turn.
He walked forward without hesitation. The nurse barely looked up from her clipboard as she found a vein and injected the Essentia solution into his arm. The cold wave of energy surged into his body. He blinked once. Light-headed. Briefly unmoored.
Then it passed.
He stepped to the next station, where a tired, irritable nurse waved the scanning wand over his chest. Everyone knew the truth: the noble tests were over. Everything from this point forward was just a formality.
The scanner beeped.
A pause.
Then—flatly, without emotion—the nurse announced: "Logan. No core."
The words landed like a hammer blow.
He hadn't expected anything impressive. He knew his family wasn't blessed by the Essentia Goddess. But still... hearing those words aloud felt like a sentence.
A final verdict.
"Please move," the nurse snapped. "Don't hold up the line."
Logan nodded once, silent.
From the side, Harry smirked, muttering just loud enough to sting: "How the mighty have fallen."
Logan heard him. Didn't flinch. Didn't turn.
He just walked.
One slow step after another, toward the exit, as the line shuffled behind him.
Tessa stood frozen where she was. Her eyes welled slightly, lips parted—but she didn't speak. They'd grown up on the same street. Thrown pebbles into the same canal. Shared childhood secrets. And now...
Now she didn't know what to say.
She watched him go, aching to help, unsure how.
So, she let him walk alone.
Out of the hall. Out of the system.
And into whatever came next.