The sun did not grace the morning of the descent. A heavy, iron-grey mist smothered the spires of Zenith, making the floating island feel smaller and more isolated from the world below. It was a thick, suffocating blanket that smelled of ozone and wet slate, clinging to the polished marble of the assembly plaza like a funeral shroud. Vane stood at the edge of the square, the silence of his squad a sharp contrast to the frantic whispering of the other students. The transition from the warmth and spice of Villa 3 to this cold, mechanical reality was jarring. He could still feel the phantom heat of the egg curry on his tongue, a final reminder of the luxury he was about to leave behind for the dark.

Beside him, Valerica was a statue of violet silk and dark intent. Her petite frame stood rigid against the biting wind, her long violet hair tied back in a severe, functional tail. Her dark eyes, usually filled with a weary boredom, were now fixed on the massive iron gates of Sector 9 with a focus that made the air around her feel heavy. It was a passive manifestation of her authority, a subtle increase in local gravity that made the mist swirl around her feet in tight, controlled eddies.

Isole adjusted the weight of her bone staff, the dark green of her hair appearing almost black in the low light. Her mismatched eyes scanning the crowd with a clinical, detached intensity. She was already managing her internal mana loop, her pale robes fluttering as the holy and dark energies within her performed their silent, amplifying dance. She looked less like a student and more like a ghost waiting to return to the grave.

Ashe stood on her toes, her lean, athletic build coiled like a spring. Her white hair was a bright shock against the grey mist, and her red skin markings seemed to pulse with a faint, crimson light. Her obsidian horns were humming, a low, restless vibration that only Vane could hear. She was not afraid. She was a predator catching the scent of the hunt, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in the damp, cold air rising from the abyss.

The assembly area was partitioned by heavy obsidian tables where the Wardens of the Abyss waited. These were not the polished, academic instructors of the upper towers who worried about GPA and social standing. These were scarred, weary veterans of the deep, men and women who had spent decades monitoring the lightless depths of the Hollows. They wore charcoal-grey robes that were reinforced with leather and mana-conductive thread, their eyes hard and unforgiving.

The Fairness Protocols were already in full effect, and Vane watched the scene with a grim sort of satisfaction. The Academy's meritocracy was finally showing its teeth. A few dozen yards ahead, a group of third-tier nobles from the Blue Tower were being systematically dismantled. A girl with hair like spun silk was clutching a sapphire ring as if it were her own heart, her voice high and panicked as she pleaded with a Warden.

"It is a family heirloom," she cried, her eyes welling with tears. "It is a grade A mana-amplifier. I cannot descend without it."

The Warden did not even look up from his ledger. His hand, missing two fingers and covered in old burn scars, reached out with a cold, mechanical steadiness. "Then do not descend," he said, his voice like grinding stones. "The Hollows do not care about your family tree. Hand it over, or step out of the line."

Vane watched as the ring was pried from her fingers and tossed into a lead-lined containment box with a dull clink. The girl looked as if she had been stripped of her skin, her posture collapsing as she moved toward the next station. To these people, the loss of their wealth was the loss of their identity. They had spent their lives building palaces of gold and sapphire around their weak mana channels, and now the Academy was forcing them to stand naked in the dark.

When Vane reached the table, he placed his star-metal spear on the cold surface. The Warden did not look at Vane or ask any questions about where a student from the slums had acquired a weapon of such legendary quality. He simply ran a specialized resonance stone along the ash-wood shaft. The stone hummed with a deep, vibrating blue, a frequency that indicated the high density and mana-conductivity of the material. The Warden checked a box on his ledger, pushed the weapon back toward Vane, and handed over a Standard Hollow-Pack.

Vane slung the rugged canvas bag over his shoulder. He knew exactly what was inside without looking. Five low-grade mana crystals, dim and flickering with a weak, secondary light. A week of dry, tasteless rations. A basic compass that would likely spin in circles once the mana-distortion of the lower floors hit them. It was a joke of a resource, a deliberate insult meant to force the students into a state of survival. On the first floor, the prince and the rat were given the same five stones.

"Stay close," Vane whispered to his squad as they moved past the checkpoint. "Do not waste energy on unnecessary movements. The vacuum starts the moment the elevator doors close."

A sudden shift in the ambient temperature made Vane stop. It was not the natural cold of the morning mist; it was a conceptual frost that seemed to pull the warmth directly from his marrow. He turned his head to see Isaac's squad approaching the gates.

They did not walk; they glided with a synchronized coldness that made the surrounding students pull away as if they were avoiding a winter storm. Isaac led the way, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the horizon, his expression a mask of absolute, regal indifference. He did not look at the students around him. He did not look at Vane. He simply walked past, his focus entirely on the elevators ahead. To Isaac, the presence of the other students seemed to be a non-factor, a mere background detail in his own path toward the abyss.

Directly behind him walked a girl with hair as white as a blizzard, her skin so pale it seemed translucent under the flickering magitech lights. Vane narrowed his eyes, mentally triggering the authority that sat like a cold hook in his mind.

[Authority Activated: Usurper]

[Target Analysis]

Name: Lyra

Rank: 10 (Practical)

Danger: Low

Authority: Niflheim (SS)

Vane felt the information settle into his brain with a dull ache. Behind her followed two others, Adepts who moved with the rigid discipline of career soldiers. They were not as flashy as the two Special Admission leads, but they were the teeth of the machine, the ones who would execute the frozen targets once Isaac and Lyra had broken them.

Isaac reached the elevator platform without acknowledging Vane or uttering a single word. He stepped onto the lift, his back straight and his hands clasped behind him. Lyra followed, her expression as dead and cold as the ice she commanded. The Frost Monarch stood at the center of the platform, staring straight ahead as if the rest of the world had already ceased to exist.

'He is not even looking,' Vane thought, a cold knot of irritation forming in his chest. 'To him, we are not even worth a glance. We are just noise.'

He gripped the shaft of his spear, his knuckles turning white. For seventy chapters, he had been a rat trying to trick the world into letting him live. He had fought for scraps, lied for position, and scavenged for power. But as he watched Isaac's back disappear into the gloom of the elevator shaft, Vane realized that the rat was no longer enough. The rat lived to survive. The blade lived to strike.

"Vane," Isole said, her voice a calm, grey anchor in the rising tension. "The next lift is ready. The mana-pressure is already shifting."

Vane took a deep breath, forcing the irritation to cool into a sharp, focused edge. He led the Calamities Squad onto the adjacent platform. The heavy iron gates slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the plaza, a sound like the lid of a coffin being hammered into place. The mechanism groaned, the massive gears of the station beginning to turn as the platform shuddered under their feet.

"Listen to me," Vane said, his voice dropping to a low, predatory edge. "The moment we descend, the vacuum will try to pull the mana from your lungs. Do not fight it with force. Use the spiral circulation. Keep your energy moving in your marrow. If you let it settle, the environment will swallow you whole."

He looked at Valerica, who was pale but steady. He looked at Ashe, who was grinning like a demon in the dark. He looked at Isole, whose mismatched eyes were already glowing with the grey light of the Samsara loop.

"We are the systemic threat," Vane reminded them, his eyes reflecting the dark grey of the descending shaft. "The nobles are losing their minds because they lost their jewels. We never had any to begin with. The dark is our territory."

The elevator began its descent, dropping into the dark vertical shaft with a jarring lurch. The golden light of the plaza above shrank into a small, flickering circle before vanishing entirely. The air grew thin, the pressure mounting against their eardrums until it was a dull, persistent roar. They were leaving the palace behind, leaving the sun and the status and the soft beds of Villa 3.

Vane looked into the abyss below, his hand steady on his spear. He was no longer looking up at the circle of sky from the bottom of a well. He was descending into the very heart of the world to find the throats of the giants. The descent continued, the silence of the squad becoming absolute as the vacuum of Floor 1 began to reach up to meet them.

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