The silence that followed the final introduction was heavier than stone.
Twelve prodigies had spoken. Their names bore legacies stretching from noble lines to spiritual myths. And yet, it was the nameless thirteenth, the boy who simply nodded and said nothing of his blood or banner, who now held the room's gravity.
Argolaith didn't flaunt his background because he didn't need to.
His magic had spoken louder than titles.
His cube still lingered in their thoughts.
Elder Mirith finally stepped forward, her long robe gliding across the rune-etched floor.
"You've all grown too comfortable in your isolation," she said.
Her voice was quiet, but it reverberated through the chamber with crystalline weight.
"Excellence breeds arrogance. And arrogance blinds you to one truth—you will face things in this world that care nothing for your name, title, or year."
The illusion lights dimmed slightly, and a large rune circle illuminated the center of the classroom floor.
