The silence in the arena was more deafening than any explosion.

  The bluish flames of the braziers flickered, as if even the fire did not know what it was observing.

  In the center of the arena, a boy with dust-soaked golden hair stood victorious.

  His eyes, of such pure ice as to seem sculpted, observed what had just happened.

  A Unit had just been awakened.

  The Rector of the Academy, Magnus, seated among the committee members, stood up slowly. His gaze was fixed on the candidate, as if trying to read his soul. Before he could even speak, a female, mechanical voice broke the silence:

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  “Candidate number 27...admitted.”

  The boy looked up.

  A look full of light.

  A look that only the most absolute dedication can generate.

  The look of one who never stops. Never.

  The professors exchanged uncertain glances. Some nodded slowly. Someone else whispered words covered by the heartbeat of the classroom.

  Only Dean Magnus smiled, under his silver beard, as if he had been waiting for that moment for a long time.

  As if he had been waiting for it himself.