SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts

ElderGlow Academy was just as it remained, cheering and riled up as the spectators anticipated the next test for the Year Three students.

Meanwhile Dean Godsthorn was on his way to greet the new visitors. However , he didn’t walk out of the council chamber.

He vanished.

A hum of space-bending essence rippled through the inner ring of the Dean’s platform, and with a subtle flick of his hand, he collapsed his form into the wind. One blink and he reformed elsewhere.

The teleportation array room.

The shift in space was near-instantaneous, a privilege only afforded to the head of ElderGlow Academy.

His polished boots landed softly against the white-rune circle embedded in the chamber’s stone floor, just outside the active ring of pulsing azure sigils.

Bzzzzzzzz…

The air buzzed faintly with residual spatial magic, and the scent of recent teleportation still lingered.

And there they were.

Lord Terrace.

His presence was a throne of its own. Silver hair gleamed like tempered steel, and though dressed simply in dark battle robes and a traveling cloak, he radiated such authority that even the standing magic around the room seemed to still in reverence.

He turned calmly as Godsthorn appeared—and for the first time in what felt like years, a rare expression crossed his face.

A small, knowing smile.

“Dean Godsthorn,” Terrace said, voice as smooth and deep as polished granite.

Godsthorn matched the smile. “Terrace. You look exactly as I remember—and somehow more dangerous compared to our last encounter two years ago.”

The two men approached and embraced briefly, hand on shoulder, back clap exchanged.

“It’s been since Damon’s first year,” Godsthorn noted, stepping back. “I assume this isn’t a mere nostalgic visit?”

“No,” Terrace said, his smile fading slightly. “We’ve come on behalf of the Eastern Lords. And Great Elder White Fang himself.”

Godsthorn’s brow rose, though he seemed more amused than surprised.

“I thought as much,” he murmured. “You didn’t even wait for the messenger to finish his breath. That’s why I teleported directly.”

He looked to the others now, addressing each with a respectful nod.

First, Lady Reyla.

Still appearing no older than thirteen, she stood just behind her brother—silver-haired, blue-eyed, and draped in layered robes that shimmered with faint glyphs. She gave Godsthorn a dramatic curtsy, her tone laced with playful mischief.

“Still alive, old man?”

Godsthorn chuckled. “Alive and still impossible to fool. You look… exactly the same.”

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly. “That’s the point.”

Next, Razel Acheon.

Daveon’s older brother inclined his head. “Dean.”

“Ah, the infamous heir of the Acheon line,” Godsthorn said, stepping closer. “I’ve heard rumors you’ve cracked the Black Flame discipline with that wild talent of yours. Did you come to spectate or terrify the other families?”

“Both,” Razel said, with no change in tone.

Godsthorn grinned. Razel.has also attended the academy but he never got the chance to teach the boy.

Behind them, two more stood silently—less notable, but clearly noble-born. One of them bore the insignia of the Vesari trading empire, and the other had the quiet precision of a diplomat. Neither spoke yet.

Godsthorn gestured toward the door with open arms.

“You’ve all traveled far. Come—let’s take you somewhere worthy of your presence.”

The halls of ElderGlow had been reinforced centuries ago with a kind of magic that didn’t just hold stone in place—but held time.

The walls hummed faintly with the pressure of legacy, ancient knowledge, and powerful tradition. Every noble who stepped through felt it, whether they wanted to or not.

As the group followed Godsthorn deeper into the academy, Lord Terrace walked quietly at his side.

“White Fang thought it wise,” he said. “The other academies have grown bolder. Not in open disrespect—but in subtle gestures. Barriers raised. Invitations unshared. Shirefort’s dominance still exists—but we’re being… tested.”

Godsthorn nodded. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Precisely. The Great Elder wanted eyes and influence present. Trusted ones. Not just envoys.”

He didn’t have to say the rest.

They all knew.

The Academy Trials weren’t just about ranking students.

They were about prestige. Funding. Political clout. Access to magic vaults. Even military resources. And it also helps the others keep check on each other.

And ElderGlow was not universally loved.

Arielle’s presence alone had strained that balance further. Damien’s hidden strength? Even more.

“Will the boy know?” Terrace asked quietly.

Godsthorn’s eyes flicked toward him. “That you’re here?”

Terrace gave the faintest nod.

“He’ll know when it matters.”

They entered a private upper terrace—circular in shape, with crystalline pillars and transparent panels overlooking the central arena far below. This was a room reserved only for the Academy Heads and council representatives—a place for eyes too dangerous to sit among commoners or students.

Inside were the other deans.

Dean Oryll of Wyrmere stood by the eastern alcove, his indigo robes immaculate as always. Upon seeing the group enter, he turned and offered a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“I see you’ve arrived, Lord Terrace.”

“And I see you haven’t changed a bit, Dean Oryll. It is indeed good to see you.”

There was a beat of cool silence between them but they kept it under the sheets.

Oryll adjusted his sleeves. “The second phase is about to begin. I’ll leave the stage to you, Godsthorn. I’m the announcer for this one.”

He left swiftly, his assistants trailing behind like shadows.

Dean Veyra of Thornevale, who sat perched on the edge of a curved bench, swung her short legs off the seat and offered a warm, genuine smile.

Her youthful appearance made her look more like a mischievous librarian than a headmistress.

“Oh, now this is an interesting crowd,” she said, waving at Lady Reyla. “Reyla, you owe me a game of Crownboard.”

“You cheat,” Reyla shot back. It was obvious they knew each other from the past.

“That’s the game.”

Everyone chuckled lightly.

The tension thinned.

But only a little.

Godsthorn stood with Lord Terrace at the arched glass, both men looking down at the growing crowd below. The students—Year Three representatives—were returning to their positions for the second phase.

Damon stood at the front of the ElderGlow team.

Calm.

Focused.

Terrace looked down at his son, unreadable.

“He reminds me of when I first took the family blade,” Terrace said at last. “But colder.”

“He has to be,” Godsthorn replied. “The burden he’s meant to carry… it doesn’t leave much room for softness. You made sure of that already.”

Although he didn’t outrightly point it out, Dean Godsthorn indeed was referring to the death of Damien, Damon’s twin.

Terrace exhaled, a sound almost too quiet to catch.

“Will he resent me for it?”

Godsthorn didn’t answer immediately.

Then he looked away from the window.

“Only if you leave him alone too long.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!