Please check out this chapter from my novel. Honest feedback on the prose, readability, and POV would be greatly appreciated. Also, do you think the following passage would flow better in first-person POV?
Scene: Dawn and other dark mages who awakened their power in the coming of age ceremony are now guided to the last part of the ceremony, to the council chambers where elders will judge based on their powers.
Thirty of them marched past the dark stone wall, guided only by the flickering flames of rusty iron chandeliers. Without warning, the group came to an abrupt halt. Lost in thought, Dawn bumped right into the back of the young mage ahead of him.
âSorry...â Dawn muttered, staggering back to catch his balance on the cold stone floor.
The young mage didnât even turn around, barely registering the collision. Up at the front of the procession, an attendantâs hands came together with a sharp, echoing clap.
âNobles first, then commoners! Split into two lines,â the attendant shouted. âQuick now!â
Swiftly the students started to form a line. Dawn scanned the divide, silk dark cloak and polished boots lined right, dark faded tunic and tattered sandals lined left. Commoners or high folks? The system had ripped him from his world and dumped him directly into this sequence, leaving only his appearance unchanged. He knew nothing about his origins or lineage. How could he know where he belonged if he had not been told?
As Dawn was about to step into a queue, a massive hairy hand slammed him against his chest, shoving him back. âWhere are you pulling into muttâ a guttural voice barked. âHide your ugly mug alongside the commoners.â
Before Dawn could regain his footing, a second hand reached out, catching the bruteâs wrist and wrenching it away.
âNow, now, Darwin,â a smoother voice intervened, cool and condescending. âEven if he is a half breed, noble blood still lingers in him.â The brute muttered something under his breath but fell in line like a well trained hound. It only took one word for him to keep the mutt under control. He eyed Dawn for a beat, then stepped back. âMalrick, give him some space.â With a low grunt, the purple haired young mage backed up, clearing a gap in the queue. With a practised smile the savior gestured to the open spot, his voice smooth as silk. âGet in line, Dawn.â Defeated, Dawn took refuge beside him among the noble ranks.
From the line he peeked another look at his saviour, Slicked back hair, calculative dead pan eyes, pale skin with a noble house crest knitted into his clock. Everything about the man screamed authoritative nobility. He flashed another smile, rotten and hollow, the fakest among fake.
âNow, the first five from the noble line, follow meâ the attendee called out.
Pulled into the line, Dawn was standing fifth. First was the brute, his massive frame hovering over everyone in the line. Second was the dark savior of Dawn, other two slots were filled with a purple dyed student with piercing, and a normal looking one. No code were followed in this school except the attire needed to be black.
The group followed the attendant toward a pair of massive oak doors. Pulling them open, he gestured for the young students to step inside.
A towering, crowded arena greeted them. Dozens of senior students looked down from the lower stands, while armored guards lined the dirt floor below. High above, in the upper wooden balconies, a few hooded elders stood watching. Their sharp eyes judged the new arrivals from beneath deep cowls, quiet fingers stroking long white beards.
Right in the center of the dirt floor, a single wide circle was drawn. A few feet back from the circle, a line of examiners sat behind wooden desks. Quill pens scratched fiercely across parchment as they scribbled notes.
âWelcome! The first batch is right on time!â
The speaker stepped forward to greet them, a teacher wearing round spectacles, a pointed witchâs hat, and a bushy white beard that billowed out like a pine tree.
âMy name is Tharos,â he continued, gesturing around the corner âAnd the one over there is Crowfeet.â
A few feet away, a second instructor hunched against the walls under the balcony shadows, his tall frame half-swallowed.
âAs time is of the essence, we will begin the welcoming ceremony! No time for pep talks.â Tharos turned toward the rear doors and ordered the guards, âBring in the prisoners!â
Two hooded guards dragged forward five prisoners chained in a line. Heavy iron cuffs bound their wrists and ankles, clanking loudly as the captives struggled to walk. Sacks covered their heads completely.
Dawnâs chest tightened, a spike of cold panic piercing his gut. What were their crimes? What was about to happen? Around him, the other recruits stood impassive, as though expecting this all along. Everyone knew the rules of this ritual, except him.
As Dawn stood frozen in contemplation, a heavy hand patted against his shoulder.
It was his savior. The noble had effortlessly slipped out of his spot in line and stepped up beside him. According to whatever twisted logic of the system, they were supposed to know each other, yet Dawnâs mind remained a total blank, unable to retrieve a single memory of the man.
âAre you ready, Dawn?â the noble asked.
Dawn wanted to mouth no, to scream it, but his instincts took over. âYes,â he muttered anyway, the word escaping his throat before he could stop it.
âNo time to waste! First up, Corin from the House of Iron march!â Tharos called out.
The brute stepped forward out of the line, his massive frame looming over the dirt circle. A guard stepped up, unlocked the lead chain from the line of captives, and guided a single prisoner with wrists and ankles still bound and forced him onto his knees directly before Corin.
âStart the timer on my mark! Corin, show us your power. The elders will judge!â
Tharos gave him a brief moment to prepare, but the brute looked more than ready, standing unnaturally tall and broad for a mage. As the signal was given, a guard flipped a heavy hourglass upside down, and grains of dark sand began to trickle down through the glass.
Corin activated his skill. From his broad shoulders, two massive arms made of solid shadow erupted into the air. With a brutal burst of violence, the giant hands of shadow slammed down, pummeling the helpless prisoner into the dirt.
After the fistâs first heavy impact, Dawn instinctively dropped his gaze toward the floor. Before he could look away, a firm hand clamped around his jaw and yanked his face back up.
âDonât look down,â a smooth voice whispered near his ear. âLook around us, Dawn. None of them are staring at the dirt. They are all looking death straight in the eye.â
The slick haired noble tilted Dawnâs head upward toward the balcony. âThe elders are watching.â He turned Dawnâs face back down toward the desk of instructors. âWe are being judged. Act according to our noble name.â
He released his grip, leaving Dawn forced to witness the brutal onslaught as shadow hands mangled the lifeless body. Dawn was no stranger to butchering livestock or the stench of rotting animal carcasses but now he would have to get used to the sight and smell of human blood too.
âAnd time!â The guard flipped the hourglass flat and checked the remaining sand. âTen seconds!â he announced to the arena.
Tharos shook his head slightly. âIf you had stopped your meaningless rampage early, that could have been a record.â
Across the arena wall, the grand slate board shuddered. The name holding tenth place dropped lower, triggering a domino effect down the line. The fiftieth name vanished from the bottom entirely as the forty ninth slipped into its place.
âYou are currently tenth on the leaderboard,â Tharos announced.
Corin threw his arms wide, flexing his massive muscles in triumph as a handful of senior students scattered throughout the crowd offered lazy applause. High above in the balcony, the elders remained silence, unimpressed. At the long wooden bench, the examiners jotted down their notes.
After allowing Corin a brief moment to bathe in his glory, the guards escorted him out of the ring. A cleanup crew rushed in immediately, dragging the mangled remains away and leaving behind only a slick, pool of blood staine in the center of the dirt.
âNow for our second recruit, Matthew of the Vlodrath family! Come forward,â Tharos called out.
The savior with the polished black hair stepped smoothly into the spotlight. A wave of murmurs rippled through the arena. A few senior students cheered, while others looked on with sharp, astonished eyes.
Dawn watched him walk forward, his lingering suspicions confirmed. Matthew was clearly from a high ranking house and dawn belong to the same house as him.
âNow once I give the signal, you can show your powers to the eldersâ. Dawn frowned, by showing powers now has a darker meaning then anything else.
As Tharos signaled, Matthew took out the dagger from his belt and lunged at the prisoner, slitting his throat without a shred of remorse. Not a single second was wasted.
He glanced over at the guard operating the hourglass and shrugged. âTurn the hourglass upside down again!â
âThe trial only ends when you show us your powers. Itâs not about how fast you can kill,â Tharos snapped, giving him a scornful look.
High above, a few elders gasped in disappointment, while the examiners at the desk didnât even look fazed, they had seen this arrogant rookie mistake a thousand times before.
âFine,â Matthew declared.
He opened his palm and twitched his fingers, weaving invisible dark threads from his finger tips that slid directly into the fresh wound on the prisonerâs neck. He held the stance for a moment before commanding in an cold voice, âArise!â
The dead body mechanically jerked upward to its feet.
âA Puppeteer,â one elder murmured from the balcony, sounding quiet impressed. Beside him, another wore a proud smile, as if to say, Thatâs my boy.
âAnd thatâs time!â Tharos shouted, glaring toward the guard.
âTwenty seconds!â the guard called out.
The reanimated corpse stumbled forward a few feet before collapsing back into the dirt like a broken rag doll. As the cleanup crew dragged the body away, Matthew walked past Dawn, silently lipping the words good luck before stepping out of the arena.
As the lineup moved faster and faster, Dawn fidgeted nervously with his hands. He checked his status screen several times, but the truth remained unyielding. Neither the class bestowed upon him nor his skills had changed.
Up ahead, the queue dissolved quickly. The purple-haired boy summoned a small brigade of skeletons to tear into his target, while the quiet silence student calmly coated his blade in poison before finishing off his prisoner. They logged times of thirty and thirty five seconds, respectively.
Finally, the floor was cleared and his Dawnâs turn.
âVelkar from-â his voice suddenly cutting out with a strange, unnatural static. Tharos entire frame glitched for a fraction of a second. As if the system is fixing a mistake, â...Dawn from the Vlodrath family!â
Dawn didnât bother worrying about the system glitch. He had far bigger problems to survive right now. He swallowed hard and stepped into the center of the circle.
âWait for my signal. Then, you may use your power,â Tharos said.
Dawn could feel the weight of every eye in the arena preying upon him. Tharos gave the signal, and the guard flipped the hourglass.
Dawn activated his skill: Summon Orb.
A tiny black sphere materialized in the air in front of him, hovered for a split second, and then dropped straight into the dirt with a pathetic plop.
A wave of muffled chuckles rippled through the stands. Tharos quickly silenced the crowd with a sharp glare before gesturing for Dawn to proceed. Over at the instructorsâ bench, however, the examiners leaned into one another, exchanging urgent whispers.
âWhat is your class?â one of the examiners called out, breaking protocol.
âItâs called Void Caller... ah, sir,â Dawn replied, his voice barely holding steady.
The examiner slid his spectacles down the bridge of his nose, squinting at his parchment. âAnd what is the rank of your class and skill?â
âSSS-rank, sir. Both of them.â
âContinue,â the examiner ordered flatly, turning back to his colleagues as they frantically began scribbling notes and debating among themselves.
Dawn took the sphere into his hands, looking out at the crowd. Up close, it resembled a heavy iron cannonball, polished slick like a black bowling ball without finger holes. When he lifted it with both hands, the weight sank heavily into his arms, around twenty pounds of solid black metal.
âWhat is your power again?â the examiner pressed, leaning over his notes as the sand inside the hourglass slowly dripped away.
âAh... itâs this,â Dawn stammered. He lifted the iron sphere, balancing it in both hands to show the entire gallery. âI can summon this ball.â
A sudden wave of roaring laughter erupted from the senior students.
âSilence! Silence!â Tharos barked, glaring sharply at the laughing crowd. âLet Dawn from House Vlodrath finish his-â
âThat insolent brat is not from the Vlodrath family!â
A roar interrupted and shattered the mood as an old bastard in the balcony jumped from his seat, leaning over the wooden railing with a face twisted in rage. âI have controlled enough tolerance, One memberâs failure to control his sexual urge will not leave a black mark to the entire clan! Never utter our house name again alongside that bratâs name.â
With that single outburst, the entire chamber went dead silent.
What did I do to piss that old fellow off again?
Dawn stared down at the heavy black sphere resting in his hands. Holding it tight, he took a hesitant step toward the kneeling prisoner. Beneath the rough sack, the captive let out muffled, frantic whimpers, his mouth bound tight beneath the cloth.
Dawn glanced back over his shoulder at Tharos and the examiners, his wide, desperate eyes silently pleading for someone to intervene.
The pressure unlocked a core memory, where he had stood frozen on a stage during a speech competition, paralyzed under the glare of a hundred staring faces. But this wasnât a speech. He didnât want his first act in this world to be murdering a helpless man with a twenty pound bowling ball.
A tongue clicked sharply from the darkness.
It was Crowfeet. The instructor hidden beneath the shadow glided forward, his tall frame cutting through the dim light as he clenched his fists. Without a word of warning, Crowfeet grabbed the prisoner by the head, slammed him face first into the dirt, and pushed his knee into the manâs chest, pinning him to the ground.
âThe timer wonât stop until you kill him,â He pointed a long, bony finger at the sphere in Dawnâs hands. âYou hold a weapon. Use it.â
Dawnâs hands trembled as he adjusted his grip on the heavy sphere. He closed the distance, raising the ball up near his chin to gain momentum.
âH-huh...â Dawn gasped, losing his balance for a fraction of a second.
âIf you drop that on my leg, I will kill you myself,â Crowfeet growled without looking up.
A few muffled snickers snuck out from the senior students in the stands, though Dawn took a small, twisted comfort in knowing the other particpants had already been escorted out and couldnât witness this embarrassment. Still, Crowfeetâs threat worked. Panic surged through Dawnâs veins. He quickly lowered the heavy ball back down to his waist, bent his knees, and released his grip, the sphere went down toward the captiveâs head.
Crack.
The heavy iron smashed into the prisonerâs nose with a sickening crunch. The ball rebounded off the face and rolled away into the dirt. blood instantly soaked through the sack.
Dawn spun around, gulping his bile back to his stomach.
Crowfeet let out a long, disappointed sigh. Raising his hand, he activated a telekinesis skill, the iron orb lifted off the ground and floated directly into his palm. Wrapping his fingers around the ball, the instructor brought the sphere down onto the prisonerâs head again and again, raining relentless blows until the captive stopped breathing and the skull caved in completely.
Crowfeet tossed the bloody sphere carelessly into the dirt.
âStop the timer!â Tharos shook his head. âIt doesnât even count!â
Before Dawn could even catch his breath or wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, two guards stepped up, grabbed him by the arms, and forcefully escorted him out of the arena.
