In the Council balcony, the silence was suffocating.

Caspian’s hands had begun to shake, not from fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming rage of having his authority publicly challenged and undermined.

Around him, the other Council members were exchanging glances that they were all processing the same horrifying realization: Aldwyn had just made it politically impossible for them to respond without appearing corrupt.

If they moved against the Headmaster now, they would confirm his accusations. If they removed him or attempted to sanction the academy, they would prove that they had indeed been trying to manipulate the basin assignments. The scrying mirrors were capturing everything. The broadcast was reaching observers across the entire kingdom.

Aldwyn had trapped them perfectly.

Tymandra, who had been observing Caspian with undisguised amusement, finally turned to regard the traumatized Council member directly.

"Caspian," she said, her voice dripping with false concern, "you look absolutely devastated. Did the Headmaster’s words wound your delicate sensibilities? Or are you finally understanding the magnitude of what you’ve created?"

Caspian’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. His hands continued to tremble.

"Don’t," Leandros said flatly, his voice carrying a warning that silenced Tymandra immediately. "Caspian’s usefulness lies in his continued presence at these proceedings. Psychological destruction can wait until the trial is complete."

The implication was clear: Caspian would face consequences. But not yet. Not while his visible weakness served a purpose.

---------

One hour later, Professor Thrace stood before the Crystalline Basin.

His hands trembled slightly as he prepared the artifacts, running through the ritual to unlock the basin for the drawing process.

The basin was an artifact of ancient craftsmanship.

A circular stone pool carved from a single piece of enchanted marble, its interior surface inscribed with intricate runes that glowed with soft luminescence.

The thirty rune-stones rested in the basin’s water, each one carved from a different gemstone and imbued with a matching color. Crimson, sapphire. violet, amber, alabaster, and emerald. Six teams of five, assigned by the magic of the artifact itself.

Or so the students believed. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

In reality, Thrace had spent weeks manipulating the ley-lines beneath the basin under Duke Asher’s explicit orders.

The rigging was subtle but absolute. It had to be. One mistake, one detectable anomaly, and the entire scheme would collapse.

Sylvia Asher would draw a stone corresponding to one of the academy’s absolute apex non-elven elites from Ranks 4-8. Not just one, but multiple of them.

Her team would be nearly invincible, capable of shattering the school record for dungeon completion speed and establishing her as undeniably the most dominant mage of her generation.

Meanwhile, Rhys would draw a stone leading to a team composed entirely of "failures."

Students with inconsistent magical control, limited combat experience, and the kind of panicked uncertainty that came from being overmatched in a high-stakes trial.

Students who shouldn’t have qualified for the advancement examination at all, but who’d managed to squeak through by the barest margin.

Thrace had even allowed himself to imagine Rhys’s public humiliation with satisfaction.

The half-blood would fail publicly, in front of observers from across the kingdom.

His standing at the academy would be destroyed. The Council would be vindicated in their decision to bar him.

And Thrace would receive... well, Thrace wasn’t entirely sure what Duke Asher would provide as compensation, but it would be substantial.

But then Sylvia Asher had glided forward to draw first.

She moved with the kind of grace that came from generations of noble breeding; her slender frame was elegant, but her presence commanding.

Her father watched from the observation area, with the kind of satisfied expression that told him exactly what was about to happen.

As her fingers gripped the stone edge of the basin, something invisible happened.

Something so subtle that even Thrace, who’d been watching for any deviation from his plan, almost missed it.

Luminescent blue mana threads, barely visible, requiring magical sight to perceive at all, dripped invisibly into the water beneath the basin’s surface.

With clinical precision, Sylvia altered the internal coordinate runes.

Not in a way that would alert observers. But with such complete control that she essentially reversed Thrace’s entire scheme with the efficiency of someone dismantling a child’s puzzle.

She drew her stone.

It flared brilliant sapphire.

Sylvia didn’t acknowledge the color or its implications. She turned and walked back toward the rest of the students and waited. But her eyes had narrowed fractionally. She’d just done something far more significant than simply drawing a team assignment.

One by one, the remaining twenty-nine students approached the Crystalline Basin.

Rank #1, Byron Vantris, stepped forward with visible tension radiating from his frame.

His hands gripped the stone edge of the basin with white-knuckled intensity, and when he drew his stone, it flared brilliant crimson.

Rank #4, Garrosh Zor-Grimmarch, approached the basin like a force of nature. The massive Orc brute moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he was the strongest physical entity in the room.

When he drew his stone, it flared crimson. Garrosh’s enormous face split into a grin, revealing teeth filed to points. He thumped his fist against his chest once, a gesture of absolute approval, and returned to formation.

Rank #5, Valerius Mistfang, approached with an arrogant bearing. His hand gripped the basin edge with casual ownership, and when he drew, his stone flared crimson.

Valerius’s expression shifted from casual confidence to something more complicated. Crimson placed him with Byron and Garrosh. Two individuals he had absolutely no intention of following.

He exchanged a glance with Garrosh, and something unspoken passed between them. Two apex predators on the same team would lead to conflict.

Rank #6, Kallor Gor-Voidgaze, approached the basin with the steady confidence of an elite warrior from a proud lineage. His stone flared crimson, and he accepted the assignment with a simple nod, taking his position beside Garrosh.

Rank #7, Julian Horn, drew his stone with the precision of someone accustomed to getting exactly what he expected. It flared crimson. Julian’s sharp features showed no visible reaction, but his eyes flared.

Crimson placed him with four other apex predators. Byron, Garrosh, Valerius, and Kallor. A team of five absolute dominators with competing egos and no clear hierarchy. He seemed to recognize the problem immediately.

Byron’s expression twisted as the implications settled across his features. Crimson meant he would lead the apex predator team.

The most aggressive, most volatile students in the academy. But his jaw clenched as he realized the reality: he would be leading warriors and mages who viewed him as competition, not as an authority figure they would respect. He returned to formation without a word, but his aura flickered with barely controlled uncertainty.

Rank #8, Clara Veyra, approached the basin with the measured calm of someone who understood her role. When her stone flared sapphire, she accepted it without surprise, as if she’d somehow known Sylvia’s team would require her defensive expertise.

Rank #9, Anya Castian, approached the basin with visible anxiety, making her movements jerky and uncertain.

Her father watched from the observation balcony with a cold judgment, and the pressure of his gaze seemed to weigh on her shoulders like invisible hands.

She drew her stone. It flared emerald. Anya’s hands trembled as she returned to formation, and her breathing became noticeably more rapid.

Emerald wasn’t the worst possible assignment, but it wasn’t the elite team she’d desperately hoped for. Her father’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture told her his disappointment was absolute.