Each of the polished, black, marble walls came apart, parted brick by brick, revealing dark figures of eight people standing in dim alcoves all around me.

“Felicity Cicesore Agatha Amadea, presenting a scholarship applicant sponsored by the Amadea family,” Agatha bowed. The dais I stood on slowly rotated.

A crystal chandelier flared to life, exposing a figure standing in a deep alcove above the double doorway.

A thin-lipped, elegant-looking woman with pink eyes smiled at me, her face framed by rainbow colored curls. A violet, pearlescent robe sat on her shoulders.

Her eyes glowed from within with arcane power as she evaluated me. She was definitely an archmage, most likely an Intelligence maxer if the color of her aura reflecting into the Astral was anything to go by.

“I am Dean Octavia Breen Georgia,” the woman spoke. “Introduce yourself, scholarship applicant!”

“I am Grogtilda Lic Misem and I seek the path to arcane knowledge and power granted by the ancient librariums and august, world-class teachers of Nemendias,” I spoke the words taught to me by Agatha.

“We shall judge if you are worthy of Nemendias,” the Dean banged a stone sphere on the marble lectern in front of her. “Do you have any requests before we begin?”

“I do,” I spoke into the silence, my voice reverberating inside my nightcrawler helmet. “I intend to show esoteric, unpublished magic during my interview. I ask that the Octagon of Veracity purge the memory of this interview from the minds of the Dragons.”

Hushed whispers danced around the room.

“Granted,” the Dean spoke. “As long as you speak nothing but the absolute truth during this Interview!”

“Accepted,” I nodded.

The Dean banged her black, stone sphere again. The floor beneath me flashed. A truly massive shimmer of a Truth-defining hexagram spread out beneath me. From this point on, Nemendias would assess me.

“Please remove your helmet,” the rainbow-haired woman said.

I unlocked the leather straps, handing the helmet to Agatha. Gasps resounded around the room as my blue-tinted, bloated, shimmering-vein covered face was revealed to the Instructors.

The Dean didn’t look one bit surprised as Agatha had told her about my human body.

Another alcove suddenly lit up, revealing a black-haired woman.

“I vote against the applicant,” she said, staring at me with hostile, dark brown eyes. “She is clearly a Topaz addict!”

“Please introduce yourself, esteemed Instructor,” I said, squinting at the woman.

“My name is Ninna Liss Rozaline and I’m the Historymancer of Nemendias,” the woman replied briskly, frowning at me.

“Well, Instructor Rozaline,” I said. “You’re mistaken. I’m not a Topaz addict. I am a Dungeon diver and I unwillingly spent three months trapped inside of a Folding Seed.”

The floor beneath me ignited with a green aurora. A few people gasped in shock.

Ninna’s eye twitched.

“Please do not presume things about the candidate, Instructor Rozaline,” the Dean banged her sphere.

“F-fine,” the Historymancer’s face flushed. “Tell us of your noble upbringing, candidate. I am not aware of the Misem family.”

“I am the daughter of Nandie Matre Cypriss and Lic Kegf Misem,” I said. “My mother is an ex-diver and my father is a shoemaker from... Undertown.”

Again gasps all around.

“Undertown?” Ninna stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. “Cypriss? It can’t be… you…”

She took a step back into her alcove, not saying another word.

“I am a debitor,” I affirmed. “From Undertown.”

“Denied! Vote against! Rejected! Vote against!” Voices resounded from all around, other faces lighting up.

Ninna didn’t vote against me. She looked terrified. Her lips trembled.

“Is this a bloody joke?” A round-faced ginger man barked. “How dare you bring a DEB-I-TOR to our esteemed halls! I should rip your crest from you, pupil Amadea! This is an outrage! Never in our history has an applicant been a criminal!”

“Please introduce yourself, Instructor,” I stared at the loudmouthed teacher.

“You dare speak to me like an equal?!” The man sputtered. “You filthy miscreant! I demand this nuisance be removed at once! Never has this room been so befouled by a lowborn criminal roach…”

“You are wrong,” I said calmly. “There has been a precedent. A pupil named Thomas Cole graduated from Nemendias over one hundred and sixty years ago. He was a lowborn from Undertown.”

“WHAT?!” The man choked.

“I speak the truth,” I said. “Let Nemedias itself judge my words!”

The dais beneath me flashed brilliant green, a spiraling galaxy of emerald shimmers dancing on the polished walls. The man choked in outrage.

“It’s the truth, Instructor Wert,” Ninna turned to the angry ginger professor.

“We cannot reject this applicant based on her upbringing alone. There has been a precedent. It has been wiped from most archives, but Nemendias remembers. I remember. Thomas Cole… was a liar and a debitor. He was the biggest mistake of our noble institution, a name most people forgot. He was the reason why the Octagon of Veracity was built and why we are permitted to evaluate the truth of the words of the applicants with the full power of Nemendias.”

"This is an outrage! I demand..." The ginger professor screeched.

The Dean slammed her stone sphere into her lectern, interrupting the man's rant.

“Vote against the applicant on the grounds of their social status is denied,” she said. “We cannot reject an entrant from Undertown, just as we cannot deny the children of the new bourgeoisie from applying to Nemendias. Instructor Wickersmidt Phil Wert, you are to keep calm during the interview process and defer from insulting the applicant again or you will be silenced by magic.”

Instructor Wert nearly frothed at the mouth, staring daggers at the Dean.

“Don’t be such a pussy Wert,” A woman with short, black hair in a white robe turned to him.

Her red-tinted eyes suddenly focused on me. “Do tell us of your exceptional skills, applicant.”

A wide, devious-looking grin spread across her face. Her teeth bore sharp edges and were tinted yellowish-gray. Her skin was the color of ashes. She had voted against me earlier. “Come on. Give me a reason to fail you,” her malicious smile spoke.

“Please state your name, Instructor,” I said.

“Oh?” The red-eyed woman raised an eyebrow. “Do excuse me. I am Stormancer Stellaris Xim Artura, an Instructor of the Offensive Magical Arts at Nemendias.”

“Very well, Instructor Artura. I propose that I can see and define all magical currents that resonate into the Astral Ocean,” I stated.

“Impossible!” Instructor Wert barked, his meaty fist banging on the marble balustrade, his ginger hair flying. “A lowborn criminal cannot possibly see magic!”

“Are you some kind of an imbecile, Wert?” Stellaris rolled her red eyes. “The candidate was brought here by Princess Amadea. Baroness Amadea and her two children can see magic. This girl could be a bastard of the Amadea family, for all we know.”

The Historymancer gulped. Perhaps she knew something that I didn’t. Inspector Lambert hadn’t told me anything about Grogtilda’s family.

“An easy thing to test,” a male voice spoke from behind me. I turned.

A tall man in a blue robe with gold details was revealed to me. His face was covered up with a gold, skull-shaped, pointy mask. An etching of the sun glittered on the forehead of the mask. Blue lenses hid his eyes from me. A gold medallion with what looked like a beaker hung on his chest and a dark blue scarf with a very complex hexagram covered his mouth.

“I am Diztr Noon Monsh, the Nemendias Alchemy instructor,” the golden skull said. “I will test the applicant’s skill!”

The balustrade separating Ditz from me came apart, forming a small staircase out of shifting segments. He walked towards me, gold-plated boots clanking on the black marble.

“A table of evaluation, please,” he spoke into the air.

A marble column came out of the ground, unfolding into a small table in front of me.

The Alchemist poured a bunch of dried herbs and polished bone-bits onto the table from a gold-laced pouch.

“Sort these out from most magically potent to least,” he said.

I nodded. It took me only a minute to line up the samples.

“Can you name any of these?” He asked.

“Some,” I nodded. “Others I do not know by name, but I know their function. A few I do not know, but I could guess their purpose.”

“Go ahead,” the Alchemist nodded.

I picked up a mushroom. “This is the blood-draining fungi. Its name is Humbellia Nurk. It was named thus by Alchemist Nurk in 7051. It is generally found on the fourth level of the Dungeon between sharp, slate rock formations. It is used in first year Alchemy classes to make basic blood-clotting potions which are used to soak bandages.”

I spoke for a while, naming each ingredient and making guesses.

“This is an incredibly potent grass ball,” I said, staring at the small, wilted sphere in my Still Walker sight. “I do not know its name… but I can guess that it has something to do with Vitality.”

The Alchemist pulled out a blank parchment, unrolled it and placed it flat on the table.

"Trace the lines of magic within this parchment with your finger," he said.

I did so. I couldn't see his expression beneath the gold mask but as my finger traced every single hexagram line from thickest to thinnest his breath grew quicker.

“I am satisfied.” The Alchemist collected the random ingredients back into his pouch. He looked up at the Dean. “The candidate can indeed see the magic, affinity and potency of each ingredient. She can observe hexagrams with absolute precision. She clearly read the introductory books. Not only that, but she knows the names and purpose of extremely obscure herbs as if an archmage taught her. I vote for the applicant. She could make a fine Alchemist under my tutelage.”

“She shows great promise. I also vote for this pupil,” A young-looking woman with purple hair and light brown eyes became lit. “I am the Keeper of Keys of Nemendias, Nora Frid Antienni.”

“I am not satisfied,” the Historymancer shook her head, seemingly regaining her composure. “The candidate’s background is clearly extremely problematic and could cause an undesirable scandal in the press and conflicts with other students if she is accepted. We cannot accept her on a familial skill alone. Were you born with the ability to see magical currents, candidate?”

“I was,” I nodded. “But I had also trained it for years, until I could see the smallest hexagrammatic lines.”

“Irrelevant,” History Instructor Rozaline said coldly. “We cannot bring drama into Nemendias. I don’t know what Baroness Amadea was thinking of uplifting you, paying for your classes and buying you an armacus, but you will find no happiness, no acceptance here. I suggest you depart from Illatius while you still can, girl.”

“Is potential future drama the reason for my rejection?” I asked.

“Yes,” she nodded firmly.

“I propose a secondary exceptional skill then,” I said. “My future cannot be defined.”

“Impossible!” A voice spoke from my right. I turned. A white-haired, beardly man stood there. Round glasses glinted over his dark green eyes. He looked like a typical wizard.

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“I am Cinder La Veer,” the wizard said. “The Probabilitymancer of Nemendias.”

“Go on then,” I smirked. “Define my future, Instructor Veer. Will I bring misfortune and drama to Nemendias?”

The silver-bearded man raised his arm, aiming his armacus at me. I tried not to flinch as it unfurled. He held his magical device steady, pointing it at my face. Seconds passed. Then minutes. The room waited for his judgement. The wizard said nothing, squinting harder. His skin flushed. Sweat broke out on his face. His hand started to tremble.

“Well? Have you made a judgement, Instructor? What do you see in her future?” The Dean inquired after another five minutes of silence.

“N-no,” the Probabilitymancer shook his head. “I… I cannot see her future!”

“Do you have any artifacts on your person that are shielding you from precognition?” The Dean asked me.

“Nope,” I replied, my words confirmed as the truth by the dais beneath my feet.

Instructor Veer rubbed his temples. He seemed extremely annoyed. His armacus lowered, folding into a bracelet.

“I don’t understand. This never happened to me… it doesn’t make any sense,” he whispered, looking embarrassed.

“So you admit that I am magically exceptional?” I asked.

“The girl is unscannable,” he muttered to himself. “She has no future. Why?”

“Are you going to vote for or against?” The Dean demanded.

“I am abstaining,” the man shook his silver curls. “I cannot vote on what I cannot predict. It wouldn't be right… I must… I have to figure this out.”

“You might figure me out if I attend Nemendias,” I offered. “You’ll be teaching me precognition, right?”

“Right,” Instructor Veer looked extremely nervous now. “Wrong? Maybe? I am still abstaining.”

I had clearly broken him thanks to the Shogun gate and Endy erasing my future from magical sight.

“Having no future is not evidence of exceptionalism,” the red-eyed Stellaris declared. “She could be a dead girl walking! Her soul could have been tampered with by a vile Novazem necromage, turned into a bomb!"

“Too true,” Wickersmidt nodded, shaking his fat chin spotted with orange stubble. “Not knowing the future isn’t any better than having a bad future. I would reject this applicant on this fact alone!”

I heard angry whispers and saw hostile stares from all around. Stellaris managed to turn the room against me.

I sighed. It was a good try. I didn't have enough votes to get in. It was time to bring out the big guns.