Forsaken Legacy: The Exiled Swordsman’s Path

The grand gates of the Aetherial Academy loomed before Eryndor as he stepped onto the campus grounds, his heart pounding in his chest. Students—many of them the brightest young talents of the kingdom—milled about, their excitement and nervousness palpable in the air. Today was the day. The day of the examination that would determine their place within the Academy, and for some, their future.

Eryndor's palms were clammy, his body tense with a mix of anticipation and dread. He had trained for this moment his entire life, yet the thought of standing before the Academy's highest authorities, knowing how far behind he was, felt suffocating. The pressure weighed on him, heavier than any physical exertion he'd faced before. He glanced around at the other students, most of whom appeared confident, as if they belonged here. His stomach churned.

The sound of a bell echoed across the grounds, signaling the beginning of the day's trials. Eryndor swallowed his nerves and moved with the crowd, all heading toward the grand arena at the heart of the Academy. It was a massive structure, designed to test every aspect of a student's abilities—combat, magic, intellect, and endurance. He had heard whispers of the trials in the halls, but seeing the arena in person took his breath away. It was a place of judgment, and it felt like the world itself was watching.

As he entered the arena, his eyes were drawn to the towering figures at the far end—his first glimpse of the Academy's staff. They stood with an almost regal air, their presence commanding attention. There was no doubt in his mind that these individuals were not just teachers; they were legends in their own right.

At the center of the gathering stood the principal—Archon Valerius. His appearance was striking: tall, with long silver hair flowing like a waterfall, his piercing blue eyes radiating an almost otherworldly authority. His robes, embroidered with ancient symbols of power, seemed to shimmer with an energy that made him look like something more than mortal. His presence alone was enough to send a chill through the air.

Around him were the other teachers, each one a Colossus or Grandmaster in their field. Master Riona, the Grandmaster of Swordsmanship, stood beside him, her gaze sharp and calculating, as if measuring every student in the arena. To her left was Professor Tyrell, a Colossus of magic whose reputation for control and precision was unmatched. The sheer magnitude of their power was overwhelming, and Eryndor couldn't help but feel a sense of insignificance in their presence.

"Students," Archon Valerius's voice boomed, his tone both calm and commanding, carrying effortlessly across the arena. "Welcome to your first trial. You have come here today to prove not only your strength but your resolve. We do not seek perfection. We seek potential, determination, and the willingness to push beyond your limits. Remember, this is only the beginning."

Eryndor's heart raced as the Archon's words resonated deep within him. The Academy's reputation, the power of its teachers, the significance of the trial—all of it hit him in that moment. The stakes were higher than he had imagined.

"Today's trial will consist of five stages," Archon Valerius continued. "Each stage will test your abilities in different aspects—combat, magic, strategy, endurance, and intellect. Your performance will determine your place here. Fail to meet the standards, and you will be sent away."

A murmur of shock and disbelief rippled through the gathered students. Eryndor swallowed hard. The pressure was mounting, and the weight of it felt like a crushing force.

"The first stage will begin immediately," Valerius announced, his gaze sweeping over the students, as if assessing them all at once. "Prepare yourselves."

The students shuffled nervously, whispering among themselves. The fear and excitement were tangible, a mixture of dread and anticipation. Eryndor could hear snippets of conversation as they speculated about what the trial would entail.

"I heard the first stage is a combat test," a tall, blonde-haired boy whispered to his friend, his voice barely audible but brimming with excitement. "I've trained my whole life for this. I can't wait to show them what I'm capable of!"

"I'm terrified," another girl replied, her voice shaking slightly. "What if I mess up? What if I'm not good enough?"

"I think it's all about strategy," a third student added, his tone thoughtful. "If you can think on your feet, you might be able to outsmart your opponent."

Eryndor listened closely, but their words only heightened his anxiety. What if I'm not good enough? What if I fail before I even start?

He tried to calm himself, focusing on his breathing, but the fear in his chest refused to relent. He was still struggling with his own self-doubt when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" a voice said, soft yet friendly.

Eryndor turned to find a girl with auburn hair and green eyes looking at him, her expression sympathetic. She seemed calm, confident even, though her hands trembled slightly.

"I guess you could say that," Eryndor replied, forcing a smile. "I didn't think it would be this intense."

"I know what you mean," she said with a small chuckle. "I've been training for this for years, but there's always that little voice in the back of your head telling you you're not ready." She paused, her eyes studying him for a moment before adding, "But we have to trust ourselves, right? We've made it this far. That means something."

Eryndor nodded slowly, the words resonating with him more than he expected. Trust yourself. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but it was the one he needed. He hadn't come this far just to turn back now.

"We'll be fine," she said, offering a reassuring smile. "Just do your best. That's all we can do."

The sound of footsteps echoed through the arena, and Eryndor turned his attention back to the stage. The Archon's voice cut through the air again, calm but unyielding.

"Step forward," he commanded. "Let the trials begin."

Eryndor took a deep breath, his heart still hammering in his chest. It was time. Time to prove himself.

The First Trial - Breaking Point

The arena buzzed with nervous energy as students stood in line, awaiting their turn. Eryndor shifted uncomfortably, his heart still racing from the pressure of the moment. He had never felt so small in his life. The weight of his family name, the expectations, and the eyes of everyone around him pressed down on him like a suffocating cloak.

Standing at the front of the arena, Professor Tyrell, a towering figure with a long silver beard and sharp features, raised his hand to silence the murmuring crowd. His presence was commanding, the sheer power radiating from him palpable. The Colossus of magic was known for his precision and control, and there was an air of quiet authority about him that made Eryndor's unease grow.

"As the first trial begins," Professor Tyrell's voice rang out, "you will face the Wall of Mana. A test of your magical aptitude. The challenge is simple. You must cross this wall."

He gave a slight tap of his foot, and with a flicker of light, a towering barrier of dense, shimmering mana appeared before him, a magnificent wall that pulsed with energy. It was beautiful, yet ominous. It stretched high into the air, its surface undulating as if alive.

"Easy, right?" Tyrell said with a smirk, his tone light, as though daring the students to doubt his words.

The students exchanged nervous glances, some swallowing hard, others murmuring excitedly.

"I've heard of this," the blonde-haired boy from before whispered to his friend. "It's said that only the truly gifted can get past the wall. We've got this in the bag, though." His confidence was clear, but the underlying tension in his voice betrayed his nervousness.

"I don't know… it looks so... intense," the girl next to him replied, her eyes widening at the sight of the mana wall.

Behind Eryndor, a soft voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to find the auburn-haired girl from earlier, the one who had tried to offer him encouragement. She was staring at the wall, her expression conflicted.

"Looks like the first trial will be... interesting," she said with a nervous laugh, though it was clear she was just as uneasy as everyone else.

Eryndor gave a tight smile, forcing the unease down. "I guess so."

Elira turned her gaze to him, eyes briefly narrowing with interest. "I'm Elira Olswyr, from the Olswyr family," she said, her tone light but carrying a subtle challenge. "What about you?

I'm Eryndor Veldrath," he replied flatly, the words coming out more clipped than he intended.

The moment he said his name, Elira's expression changed. The warmth that had been there a moment ago evaporated, replaced by something harder—an edge to her gaze, something that hinted at a judgment Eryndor wasn't quite ready to face. She took a step back, her posture becoming more distant, as if his name had triggered something else within her. Her lips pressed together tightly as if holding back a remark, and her eyes darted away briefly, unwilling to meet his gaze.

"I see," she replied, her voice now colder, more distant than before. There was no trace of the earlier friendliness. "The Veldrath family... of course."

Eryndor felt a tightening in his chest at her sudden shift in demeanor,

As other students started taking their turns. One by one, they approached the wall, their bodies glowing with magic. Each student used a different method to try and pass through, some using brute force, others relying on subtle spells to manipulate the wall's energy. To Eryndor's surprise, every single one of them succeeded.

A few students were Savants, their magical energy practically radiating from them as they effortlessly shattered the barrier. The rest were at least Virtuosos, their magic refined enough to crack the dense mana wall and pass through it. Eryndor could feel his stomach twist tighter with every success.

"They're all so powerful," he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to the students who passed with ease. How am I supposed to compete with this?

But then, a whisper reached his ears—soft at first, but soon gaining momentum.

"Did you see that? Eryndor Veldrath... he's not wearing anything special. What kind of Veldrath doesn't wear the family crest?"

"I thought the Veldraths were supposed to be the best," another voice whispered. "And yet, look at him. He can't even afford the right clothes."

Eryndor's stomach churned as the murmurs spread like wildfire, his name passing from student to student, laden with mockery. The words cut deeper than he wanted to admit, his face growing hot with shame. He clenched his fists, the weight of their judgment a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Isn't he the black sheep of the Veldrath family?" someone said loudly, not caring if Eryndor could hear.

"Yeah, I heard he doesn't have any talent for swordsmanship or magic," another student chimed in.

A cold silence settled over him as the words echoed in his mind. He stared at the ground, trying to block out the whispers, but they continued to press against him, suffocating him. Why did I even think I could do this?

The girl behind him shifted uncomfortably. Eryndor turned to face her, and for a moment, she seemed different—distant, her gaze cold. She had heard the whispers. He could see it in the way her eyes flicked away, unwilling to meet his.

"I—I didn't realize…" she stammered, suddenly sounding unsure of herself, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean…"

Before she could finish, Professor Tyrell's booming voice cut through the noise.

"Enough!" he shouted, his mana flaring up and enveloping the room in a heavy, oppressive silence. The students froze, as if paralyzed by his presence.

"Keep your voices down," Tyrell commanded, his tone sharp, the force of his words enough to make the air crackle. "You're here to test yourselves, not to engage in childish gossip."

The students fell silent, but Eryndor could feel their gazes still upon him, their judgment lingering in the air. The girl behind him said nothing more.

And then, as the others continued to pass through the wall, it was Eryndor's turn. His stomach twisted, his hands trembling as he approached the wall, his body unwilling to move. The weight of every mocking word, every whispered insult, seemed to hang in the air like a physical force.

He stepped forward, his mind racing, trying to push the noise away. I can do this. I have to. I'm not weak. I'm not.

Eryndor extended his hand toward the wall, focusing on summoning the energy within him. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing happened. The wall of mana shimmered, but it did not respond to him. He grit his teeth, trying again, pouring every ounce of concentration into his effort. Still, it was as if the barrier was mocking him, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

He stepped back, a bitter taste rising in his throat. He clenched his fists, his breath quickening.

"You can't even pass the first trial?" a voice called from the crowd, loud and cutting. "A Veldrath who can't even break through a wall of mana? Pathetic."

Another voice joined in, and soon, the entire arena seemed to be filled with the sound of laughter, mocking, taunting. Pathetic. Weak. You'll never make it.

The girl behind him, the one who had spoken kindly to him earlier, now joined in with a quiet snicker, her eyes turned away, avoiding his gaze. Eryndor's world shattered in that moment. The whispers, the laughter, the weight of his family's name—all of it collapsed upon him like an avalanche.

His mind spiraled back to his childhood—his father's disappointed looks, his siblings' ridicule. The constant comparison to the others who were stronger, smarter, better. The weight of every insult, every judgment from those he thought would support him, crushed him all over again.

"You're not good enough," his father's voice echoed in his mind.

"Disqualified," Professor Tyrell said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "You may leave."

Eryndor's heart sank. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His legs felt like they would give out beneath him, but he forced himself to stand, to move. His body walked, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped in the fog of his failures.

As he exited the arena, the laughter continued behind him, but it felt distant now. The whispers. The judgment. It all blurred together into a single, suffocating truth.

I failed.

The gates of the academy loomed ahead of him, the weight of the world pressing on his chest. He walked through them without looking back.