The silent tension in the Hall of Communion was so profound it felt as if the very air had solidified. The echoes of my failure—the empty dais, the fleeing spirits, the whispers of "defective"—still hung heavy, a shroud of humiliation I couldn't quite shake. Lysandra's cryptic message about the Guardian Dragon wanting to speak with Elara only deepened the mystery, leaving the class in a state of hushed, anxious curiosity.

But the ritual had to continue. The Academy's schedule waited for no one, not even a Dragon's decree.

"Next," Lysandra called, her voice regaining its gentle cadence, though her eyes lingered on Elara for a moment longer than necessary. "Leon Lionheart."

The name acted as a balm on the room's frayed nerves. Leon Lionheart. The protagonist. The golden boy whose very existence seemed to correct the world's imbalances.

He stepped forward, his earlier nervousness replaced by a determined calm. He glanced at me as he passed, a silent message of support in his eyes—Don't worry, I'll handle this—before ascending the dais. His posture was impeccable, his golden hair catching the crystal-filtered light, making him look every inch the hero the world expected him to be.

He placed his hand on the Spirit Orb.

Unlike my attempt, where the mana had turned murky and repelled the spirits, Leon's touch elicited an immediate, joyous response. The orb flared with a blinding, pure white light that quickly bled into a rich, vibrant gold.

But then, something unusual happened.

The golden light began to swirl, faster and faster, until it wasn't just light anymore—it was wind. A miniature cyclone formed inside the orb, tearing through the golden mist, mixing with it until the sphere contained a storm of fire and air.

Outside, the forest roared. Not with a single beast's call, but with the sound of a gale tearing through dry leaves, underlined by the crackle of a forest fire.

A beam of light descended, but it wasn't single-hued. It was a helix of crimson and emerald, twisting together like DNA. It struck the dais beside Leon, the impact sending a shockwave of warm air through the hall.

When the light faded, a creature stood there.

It was a spirit, small and humanoid like the others, but its presence was immense. It had six wings—three of burning flame, three of translucent wind. Its hair was a shifting gradient of red and green, and its eyes held the chaotic intelligence of a storm.

[Mutated Elemental Spirit: Zephyr-Ignis]

[Affinity: Dual Mastery (Wind/Fire)]

[Rank: High-Spirit (Growth Potential: Sovereign)]

Gasps erupted from the students. Even Evelyn Whitehound leaned forward, her composure cracking.

"Dual mastery?" she whispered, her voice audible in the silence. "In a single spirit? That hasn't been recorded in… three centuries."

Professor Lysandra stared at the spirit, her ageless face registering genuine shock for the first time. She stepped closer, her hand hovering near the creature.

"A convergence," she breathed. "Wind feeding Fire. Fire driving Wind. A perfect, self-sustaining cycle. Child… your soul must burn with a truly rare intensity to attract such a being."

Leon looked at the spirit, awe written plainly on his face. He extended a hand, and the tiny entity landed on his palm, its wings buzzing with power.

"Zephyr," he whispered, naming it instinctively. "Your name is Zephyr."

The spirit chirped—a sound like a whistling arrow—and bowed. The bond snapped into place, a surge of mana so potent it made the crystals in the walls hum.

"The protagonist strikes again," I muttered under my breath, a wry smile touching my lips. Of course. While I got rejected by the entire forest, Leon gets a one-in-a-century mutated super-spirit. The plot armor was strong with this one.

But I couldn't hate him for it. If anyone could handle that kind of power without letting it corrupt them, it was Leon.

"Next," Lysandra said, her voice still laced with wonder. "Lyra Braveheart."

Lyra marched up, her chin high, clearly determined not to be outdone by her rival. She slammed her hand onto the orb with characteristic force.

The orb glowed a deep, magma red. The floor rumbled.

From the earth beneath the dais, a crack appeared. Molten light spilled out, and a creature clawed its way to the surface. It wasn't a fairy. It was a beast—a lizard the size of a large dog, with scales of obsidian and veins of flowing lava. A [Magma Salamander].

"A Natural Spirit," Lysandra noted, nodding. "Powerful. Grounded. A fitting partner for the Braveheart line."

Lyra grinned, patting the salamander's smoking head. "Not bad. We'll burn everything down."

The ritual continued. Chris Blackthorn bonded with a sturdy [Iron-Bark Treant] sapling. Aurelia Miller, ever the pragmatist, attracted a [Crystal Spider], a spirit known for its weaving and trapping abilities.

Finally, the last student stepped down. The hall was filled with the soft glow of dozens of bonded spirits.

Lysandra clapped her hands gently. "The Rite is concluded. You have all taken your first steps into a larger world. Treat your partners well, for they are part of you now."

She turned to Elara, her expression shifting back to serious. "Princess Elara. Come. The Guardian waits."

Elara nodded, her face pale but resolute. She stepped forward, Caelira fluttering anxiously by her ear.

"And," Lysandra added, her gaze sweeping the room before locking onto me with a sudden, piercing intensity. "Michael Wilson. You as well."

I froze. The chatter in the room died instantly.

"Me?" I pointed to myself, genuinely confused. "But… I failed. The spirits rejected me."

Lysandra didn't answer immediately. She walked down the steps of the dais, moving with a grace that made her seem to float. She stopped in front of me, the scent of ancient forests and ozone clinging to her robes.

"The spirits of the forest rejected you, yes," she said softly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "Because they feared what you carry. They sensed the Void. The Abyss."

My hand twitched towards my dimensional pocket. She knew.

"But the Guardian," she continued, raising her voice so the room could hear, "is not a spirit of the forest. It is a being of Light. And Light… is often drawn to the shadows it seeks to illuminate."

She turned back to the archway leading deeper into the Sanctuary, past the Hall of Communion.

"The Dragon of Light has requested two audiences today. One with the blood of the Moonshade. And one… with the anomaly."

She looked back at me, her blue eyes unreadable.

"Come, Michael Wilson. The Dragon wants to meet you."

"And," Lysandra added, her gaze locking back onto me with an intensity that pinned me in place. "Michael Wilson. You as well."

If the hall was silent before, it was a tomb now.

I pointed at myself, my brain struggling to process the command. "Me? Professor, you just said—I was rejected. I'm 'incompatible'."

"The spirits of the forest rejected you, yes," Lysandra said, her voice low. "Because they feared what you carry. They sensed the Void. The Abyss." My blood ran cold. She knew. "But the Guardian is not a spirit of the forest. It is a being of pure creation, a direct blessing from the God of Light. And Light… is often drawn to the shadows it seeks to illuminate."

She turned, her white robes sweeping the stone floor, and walked towards a previously unseen archway at the back of the dais, one that pulsed with a soft, golden light.

"The Dragon of Light has requested two audiences today," she declared. "One with the blood of the Moonshade. And one… with the anomaly."

She looked back at me, her ancient blue eyes unreadable. "Come, Michael Wilson. The Dragon wants to meet you."

The whispers that followed us out of the Hall of Communion were a chaotic storm.

"He failed the ritual, but the Dragon wants to see him?"

"What did she mean, 'Void'? 'Abyss'?"

"He's marked. I knew it. He's cursed..."

Eric's face was a thundercloud of pure, baffled fury. Leon looked utterly lost. Maria and Aurelia were watching me, not with mockery, but with a sharp, piercing, analytical intensity. This... this was a plot twist none of them, not even the protagonist, could have anticipated.

I felt like an extra who had just been shoved onto the main stage in the middle of the final act. 'This is a flag,' my inner gamer-self screamed. 'A massive, world-ending, endgame-level flag. I'm not supposed to be here!'

Lysandra led Elara and me through the golden archway. The world dissolved for a moment, and we rematerialized on another path, this one made of living, interwoven roots. The forest here was different. The trees were ancient, their bark a shimmering silver, their leaves like crystal, chiming softly in an unfelt wind. The air was so thick with pure, raw Life and Light mana that it was almost hard to breathe.

Elara seemed to bask in it. Her steps became lighter, her silver-green hair seemed to glow, and her spirit, Caelira, darted happily through the air, growing visibly brighter.

For me, it was agony.

The holy energy of this Inner Sanctum scraped against my soul. It felt like walking through a bonfire of purifying flame. My [Mindbreaker] title was working overtime, a cold shield against the overwhelming righteousness of the place, but it couldn't stop the pain. My affinities—Ice, Lightning, and especially Space—felt sluggish, suppressed.

And in my dimensional pocket, Nox was screaming.

...HATE! IT BURNS! MASTER! MAKE IT STOP! HATE LIGHT! HATE!

The telepathic shriek was so violent it gave me a migraine. 'Shut up, Nox! Go to sleep! Now!' I commanded, forcing the bond closed, my face pale with the effort.

Draken, my Divine Weapon, was even worse. It was silent, completely and utterly suppressed, as if its very existence was being suffocated by the holy atmosphere. I felt... weak. Vulnerable.

Lysandra glanced back at me, her frown deepening. "You are in pain, child."

"I'm fine," I lied, gritting my teeth.

"No, you are not," she said simply. "This place... it is rejecting your very essence. And yet, Luminos summoned you. I do not understand."

We walked for another minute before the path opened into a vast, sun-drenched clearing. It was a cavern, but the ceiling was a dome of pure, glowing crystal, filtering the sun into a blinding radiance. At the center of the cavern was a lake, not of water, but of liquid, shimmering light. On a small island of crystal in the middle of the lake, it waited.

(To be continued in Chapter 184)

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