The old house on the hill had not changed much in Hyperion's eyes. Just slight signs of aging here and there. Inside, Corriander stood by the doorway, frozen in disbelief. Her son was home. Hyperion. Her bright, curious wanderer of a boy had finally returned. He stood there in the late afternoon light, taller than she remembered, his golden hair longer, his shoulders broader, and his eyes, those same eyes that once brimmed with boyish wonder, now sharp with something heavier; experience. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it with that wry tone only he could manage.“Can you stop staring at me with those pitiful eyes and let’s go inside? I’m starving.” Corriander laughed, though the tears almost betrayed her. “Luckily for you, I just finished cooking white rice and beef sauce.” That got a grin out of him. He raised his hands in mock celebration. “A feast fit for my return! The gods must love me.” And before she could even invite him, he had already walked in,

After a week of peaceful living, filled with laughter, chores, and the faint illusion of normalcy, it was finally time to leave. The morning light crept lazily through the curtains as Corriander fussed over the folds of Hyperion's collar for what felt like the hundredth time. When she leaned in to give him another peck on the cheek, he flinched back slightly. “Please, quit with that already!” Hyperion blurted, his voice louder than I intended. His face twisted in mild annoyance, but beneath it was something else; an ache he didn’t want to name. She looked up at him with that familiar, knowing smile; soft and maternal, though shadowed by sadness. “You’re my only child, Hyperion,” she said. “If I can’t coddle you, who will I coddle?” Before Hyperion could answer, a teasing voice joined in from behind. “What about me, Mom?” Ida said, stepping into the light, her hair still tousled from the morning’s rest. She had grown comfortable calling his mother that, something that still cau

The third round began with a tension that hummed through the air like the prelude to a storm. Six hundred and twenty-four candidates stood within a magically reinforced arena; A vast space enclosed by high, thick walls that shimmered faintly with enchanted locks. The silence inside was almost oppressive, the soundproofing so complete that it felt as though the world outside had been separated from them. Many of the examinees were already panting, their breaths ragged and heavy. Whether from nerves or exhaustion from the previous round, only they could tell. The violent motion of magical energy beneath the floor was the only feeling that accompanied the stillness. Captain Wyatt Lawrence, the same man who had overseen the earlier examinations, stood elevated on a platform. His voice echoed clearly through the magically amplified speakers. “The goal,” he declared, his tone calm yet commanding, “is simple. Defeat as many chimeras as you can within the span of one hour. Getting kno

His control over magical energy was good, crude by my standards, but good nonetheless. The towering brute had spent far too long preparing his attack, gathering his energy like a storm that never quite arrived. When he finally lunged, his massive fist split the air with a thunderous swing meant to crush my bone and pride. Hyperion sidestepped with effortless precision, his movements calm, measured, and dismissive. With a flick of his wrist, a beam of condensed light burst forth, striking the man square in the face. The impact flung him backward, his body crashing against the ground with a dull thud. “Look,” Hyperion said, his tone sharp. “Even though your gutter mouth has soiled my mood this evening, I’m still willing to let you walk out of this largely unscathed. I promise, you do not want me to start taking you seriously.” The brute spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the dirt, glaring up at Hyperion with eyes blazing. “You little shit. You think a lucky shot makes you somet