Three months of unbroken routine finally birthed results.
That morning, Instructor Lysandra's voice rang across the Grand Archives: "Today, you will privately attempt to manifest your Primal Origin Light through your physique."
A ripple of excitement passed through the class. Some clenched their fists, others closed their eyes in quiet anticipation. Each student had their own space within their dormitory where their manifestation would remain unseen. There would be no posturing or immediate competition—yet.
---
—Ingrid's Room—
Ingrid had reached the Luminous Frame stage. As she concentrated, a circular halo formed, but it didn't stay still. It pulsed, expanded, and morphed into a glowing, translucent forcefield around her body. Her glasses fogged slightly from the radiant energy.
"A circular forcefield… I did it."
She smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
---
—Cedric's Room—
With a grunt, Cedric activated his Origin Light. He was at the Internal Mantle stage. A wide halo spun around him before folding into a thick, dark mantle that draped over his torso and arms like smoke-infused cloth. He roared and swung a fist through the air, causing a sonic thud to reverberate through the walls.
---
—Gary's Room—
Gary closed his eyes.
The halo emerged—radiant, bold, and wide. Then, it shifted.
Lines connected within it, forming a detailed constellation. Stars linked by golden light.
And then it stepped forward.
The Golden Sentinel, a constellation shaped like a warrior in ornate armor, floated into existence, its outline overlapping with Gary himself. It carried a towering shield and a blazing sword, and its aura felt as though it could ward off night itself.
A legendary figure from myths, known for guarding fallen stars and protecting the broken—Gary had read about it in ancient tomes. He never expected it to appear.
He opened his eyes.
"…Incredible."
The room pulsed with power.
---
—Luna's Room—
And then there was Luna.
Already at the Transcendent Form, she didn't manifest forcefields, mantles, or constellations. She simply sat, breathing gently, as a single halo of light emerged behind her.
Yet this halo shimmered with such perfection, such gravity, that all her surroundings dulled. The walls turned quiet. The air refused to move. Her halo didn't scream power.
It was power.
---
—Dawn's Room—
Dawn sat in meditation, the dim ambient glow of Lunara outside his window. He breathed in deeply.
His Primal Origin Light shimmered to life—but not with fanfare. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A flickering ring of faint radiance emerged behind him, so dim it appeared like a trick of the eye. It hovered, unmoving, unchanging.
But the room… bent.
The corners of furniture seemed slightly off from where they should be. The walls pressed ever so slightly inward, like gravity had shifted. Space twisted subtly around him, yielding to something it couldn't comprehend.
Dawn opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder.
"Barely a halo," he whispered, standing up.
He didn't mention the weight it carried. Nor the way the air around it moved, as though even silence had bowed.
Unseen in the hallway outside, a wrinkled old janitor paused. His eyes shimmered with stars.
"Void Radiance," the Grand Instructor murmured. "A shell that mimics transcendence… and yet, it is only a mortal shell."
---
Throughout the academy, halos had taken different forms. Each marked the foundation of a student's ascent into the path of a Prime. And yet… one stood beyond comprehension.
No one noticed Dawn.
Not Cedric, whose thoughts revolved around overpowering Gary one day. Not Ingrid, who was too busy perfecting the forcefield application. Not even Gary, who believed Dawn was simply catching up slowly.
Only one did.
The Grand Instructor, hiding behind that old man's wrinkled guise, scribbled in his worn book.
"Void Radiance manifested. Halo nearly imperceptible. Local space distortion confirmed. Classification: Unknown."
He looked out the window toward Dawn's dorm.
"And yet… he downplays it. Good."
The path of Primes had begun.
And the academy had no idea a storm had already stepped inside.
Got it. Here's the rewrite of the halo aftermath segment, keeping the tone immersive and flowing—no charting or labeling, just layered narrative with a natural progression across the three groups:
---
The hours following the awakening of haloes were anything but calm.
Across the academy, excitement simmered just beneath the surface. What was meant to be a personal, introspective practice had become a wildfire of curiosity and chatter. The Grand Archives, the training yards, even the walkways beneath Lunara's pale gaze echoed with the one word on everyone's lips—haloes.
"Did you see yours?"
"Was it bright?"
"I swear I saw Karos glowing like a comet!"
"No way, his was flickering like a candle!"
In one of the study courtyards, a cluster of first-year students gathered around a bench, trading stories like ancient treasures.
One boy leaned forward dramatically. "Mine spun like a wheel—fiery red! It even scorched the corner of my rug. That's gotta mean power, right?"
A girl rolled her eyes. "You burned your carpet. That's all it means."
Laughter erupted, arguments sparked over color, shape, even the angle of the halo's orbit. None truly knew what they meant, but no one could resist boasting. Not yet. Not while it was still new and mysterious.
Hidden among the murmurs, whispers of the upper tiers began to surface.
"Did you hear someone got two haloes?"
"Someone said a senior's halo turned into actual armor!"
"I bet the Princess didn't even bother—she's probably already past that phase..."
---
Elsewhere, in a more secluded corner near the Courtyard of Insights, a quieter gathering had formed.
Gary, Ingrid, and Dawn sat beneath a blooming silver tree, away from the clamor. Unlike the chaos of the others, this group's silence carried weight.
Gary exhaled. "The moment it appeared… I felt like something ancient opened its eyes."
Dawn tilted his head. "Yours?"
He nodded. "Formed a constellation—'The Golden Sentinel.' That's what it called itself. Felt like it's protected someone long before me. Maybe now it's my turn."
Ingrid looked up from her sketchpad, where a crude drawing of interlocked stars sat on the parchment. "Amazing. Mine wasn't as vivid, but it felt… alive. Like it was writing thoughts I didn't yet have."
She looked to Dawn. "And yours?"
Dawn paused. He could still feel the pressure, the subtle bending of the space around him. The faint, twinkling edge of something vast—too vast to be understood. But he only smiled faintly.
"Barely manifested anything. Just a flicker. Probably not worth noting."
Ingrid frowned, but didn't push. Gary narrowed his eyes for a second longer, then said nothing.
A breeze stirred the petals above them, the conversation trailing into soft silence.
Across the courtyard, Cedric leaned against a wall, Elias beside him with arms crossed. Though pretending disinterest, Cedric's tone was unmistakably loud.
"I could feel it wrapping around me. Like muscle forged of light. Wings. Power. The others? Their haloes looked like decorations."
Elias smirked. "Let them enjoy their baubles. Real power doesn't need to shout—it strikes when silence falls."
His eyes briefly flicked toward Dawn, lips curling. "Still… some people have a way of standing out without trying. Annoying."
---
Above it all, in the highest alcove of the Grand Archives, Luna sat still as a statue, gazing out over the academy grounds.
Her halo had not burst forth—it had unfolded, quiet and regal, its glow a soft eclipse trailing behind her like a royal mantle. It did not radiate heat or force, but presence.
Her entourage stood behind her in reverent silence, not daring to speak unless spoken to. Not after that.
One of them finally whispered, unable to contain it. "Princess… was it the Twelvefold?"
Luna didn't look back. Her gaze remained fixed on the twin moons in the sky, their light mingling with her own.
"No," she said quietly. "Only one."
Another paused. "Then how—"
"It was enough," she said.
No more words were needed.
---
Everywhere else, the day carried on. But for those who had seen what their haloes were… and those who'd felt something more beneath the surface—subtle shifts had already begun.
Bonds. Rivalries. Schemes. And something darker, always waiting in silence.
For some, a halo was the beginning of a journey.
For others, it was a warning.