Promotion and the Banquet

In an instant, all conversation ceased, the faint glimmers of experiments went out, and the thinkers raised their heads.

Whether they were Level 7 beings seated high above or newly advanced apprentices standing below, everyone instinctively straightened their backs.

All the wizards present restrained every unnecessary ripple of energy around them, their gazes focusing in unison on the seemingly young figure beside the seat of honor.

The hall was so silent that a pin could have been heard dropping, even breathing deliberately suppressed to its faintest whisper.

They feared that the slightest sound might disturb Grand Mentor Anton Buchanan, who had closed his eyes and whose aura had begun to faintly resonate with the entire plane.

An invisible, majestic rhythm was emanating from his small body.

That rhythm was neither sound nor a mere vibration of energy.

It was more like the pulse of "rules," the breath of "existence."

At first, it was faint, like the beat of a heart. Then it rapidly strengthened and spread, like ripples stirred by a stone cast into a still lake, surpassing the boundaries of the hall and extending across the grasslands, sweeping over mountains and rivers...

In the end, it covered the entire plane contained within the tower!

Everyone clearly "heard" that rhythm. It rang directly within the depths of their souls.

Immediately afterward, an indescribable sense of "wrongness" surged into the hearts of every living being like a tide.

It was not pain or oppression, but a deeper discord born from cognition and instinct.

It was as though a familiar song had suddenly gone out of tune, as though the air they depended upon for life had been mixed with an unfamiliar substance, as though the ground beneath their feet had become both familiar and strange.

"Awooo!!"

"Screee!!"

"Hisss!!"

Out on the