The town hall concluded with the usual fanfare of announcements — schedules, conduct expectations, the reminder that academic standings determined team placement at the end of the year. But the one that drew the most murmurs from the crowd was the Winter's Tournament.
A senior team battle, they called it. But not exclusively. The top-performing sophomores and juniors would be folded in, combined into one sprawling bracket that blurred the usual year-based divisions. It was a spectator event first and a competition second — the kind that filled the arena to capacity, thousands of people pressed together in the stands to watch the academy's best clash under the winter sky. The energy in the room shifted when they mentioned it. Even the new students, who had no idea what they were walking into, straightened up a little.
After the last administrator stepped away from the podium, the new students were finally released into the school. No guides. No chaperones. Just a folded map pressed into each hand and the wide, unfamiliar campus spread out in every direction.
— — —
Landen found the courtyard by accident.
It was enormous — the kind of open space that didn't feel real until you were standing at the edge of it. Hundreds of students filled the grassy area, spread across low walls and benches and open patches of ground, talking, laughing, doing absolutely nothing in particular.
He stood at one of the entrances, map unfolded between his hands, glancing up every few seconds to match what he saw against what was drawn. The map was dense. He hadn't expected the academy to be this big. He still hadn't learned how to read their writing here, so the best thing he was doing was matching the letters on the map to the letters on the buildings.
Then he noticed one of his teammates standing not far off. He held eye contact a half second too long, just studying her, and she caught him.
I wonder how strong she is?
"Would you like me to register her into the database?" the system asked.
You can do that?
"Of course."
Do it.
Landen kept his eyes on her as the system worked quietly in the background. He was still watching when she noticed—and walked directly over to him.
"Hi, lover boy." She tilted her head slightly, smiling. "You like what you see?"
Landen's stomach slightly turned. She was undeniably cute.
"No." He smiled. "Just registering you into my database."
"Oh, taking notes?" She did a slow spin and struck a pose with easy confidence. "Make sure you get my good side."
"Shake her hand," the system said. "The tag in her wrist holds data from the assessment. If your tag gets close enough to hers, I can read it."
Landen extended his hand. "My name's Landen. Yours?"
"Elara Vesperine." She took his hand. "But you can call me Elle."
"Nice to meet you, Elle."
"Likewise."
"Hold on a little longer," the system said.
Elle waited a beat, and when he didn't let go, her expression shifted into something puzzled. "...you're still shaking my hand?"
"I know. Just another second."
"Any particular reason?"
"Apparently, capturing data takes a long time."
She had no idea what he was talking about.
She stared at him. He stared back. He was also, without fully realizing it, smiling — which made the whole thing considerably more awkward than it needed to be.
Elle glanced down at their still-joined hands, then back up at his face. "You're strange."
"Got it," the system said.
"I know," he agreed cheerfully. "You can go now." He released her hand and turned back to the map.
There was a beat of silence.
Then he heard footsteps.
He turned. Elle was following him.
"What are you doing?"
"Walking with you," she said simply.
"Why?"
"You held my hand for like thirty seconds," she said. "We're basically best friends now."
"I'm just trying to find my dorm—"
"I can help." Elara stepped forward and plucked the map out from under his arm before he could object.
She unfolded it fully, holding it out between them. It was large — larger than he'd realized while he was trying to navigate with it and covered in fine print and color-coded lines.
The area they were at resembled a giant pizza. Large buildings formed the outer crust, while the next ring inward was the courtyard where they were currently standing. Beyond that were the student dormitories, each section shaped like a slice of the pie.
Every dormitory section was color-coded to match a student's soul classification. Students were assigned housing based on their soul color, placing them within the quadrant corresponding to their classification. The academy believed that living in close proximity to others of the same soul type accelerated growth and development.
Landen held a card in his hand that had his assigned room.
Soul Color: Undefined
Building 0000
Room 00
Elle's finger traced a line inward from the outer houses toward the center.
"You're colorless," she said. "That means—" She tapped the building at the very center of the map — the smallest single structure, positioned at the hub of everything else. "—they put you here."
Landen studied the map.
"Of course they did."
— — —
Landen found his room by the door alone — two large zeros. He waved his wrist over the lock and stepped inside.
The building had looked small from the outside, but the inside was deceiving. Not many rooms meant the ones that existed had space. His had two beds, two desks, one of each on opposite walls, and a wide stretch of open floor in the middle. A window on the far wall looked out toward the other buildings. From here, he could see the courtyard, small in the distance, students still moving through it like scattered pieces on an open board.
No roommate yet. Just him and the quiet.
He dropped onto the nearest bed — tested it with a small bounce, deemed it acceptable — and opened the system.
A few things had updated since the assessments.
|[ Heroes ]|
All eight freshman teams were listed out, but most of the slots were empty. Names missing, photos missing, just hollow rows waiting to be filled in as the year progressed. The exception was the other top four performers recorded from the town hall.
Under his own team, all four members were listed. Photo, position, essence grade, each one accounted for. He looked them over one at a time.
Elara was the only one with additional detail. Her attributes were fully logged — the handshake, apparently, had done its job. The others were still just names and grades. He'd have to work on that.
One more thing to check.
|[ Equipment ]|
A storage panel materialized in front of him — a hovering rectangular space, brightly lit from within, like someone had cut a door into the air and replaced it with the inside of a very well-stocked refrigerator. The light spilled out into the room, faint and cool.
He'd assumed it would be empty.
It wasn't.
The first thing he saw was a sword. Old was an understatement — it looked like it had been pulled out of the ground, dusted off halfheartedly, and dropped into storage. The blade was dull, the hilt worn smooth, the whole thing radiating the specific energy of something that had once been impressive, but no longer was. He reached out to grab it.
His hand passed straight through.
A prompt appeared.
|| NAME: UNDEFINED ||
|| STATUS: LOCKED ||
|| REQUIRES 20 STRENGTH, 20 AGILITY, 20 INTELLIGENCE TO UNLOCK ||
He looked at his current stats. Then back at the requirements.
He had a ways to go.
An old, dusty, locked sword with an undefined name. He wasn't sure if that was mysterious or just sad. Probably both. He moved on.
Three treasure chests sat arranged beside it, each one a different size, each one radiating the quiet smugness of something that knew you couldn't open it. He tried the first one anyway. Locked. Second one. Locked. Third — he didn't even finish reaching before the prompt appeared.
|| STATUS: LOCKED ||
He dropped his hand.
"Yeah," he said to no one. "Figured."
One item left. Small, unassuming, easy to overlook next to the sword and the chests. He reached out — and this time his hand closed around something real.
|| MOBA BRACER||
|| ALLOWS THE USER TO QUICKLY SUMMON ANY ITEM IN THE INVENTORY ||
|| LEVEL: 1 ||
|| DELAY: 2 s ||
|| COOLDOWN: 5 s ||
|| ENERGY COST: [ 2 DARK, 0 SOUL, 2 WHITE ] ||
He turned it over in his hands. A bracer — dark green with dark yellow trim, thin lines running the length of the forearm, small rings at the bicep and wrist, and something that looked like a medallion at the wrist. Nothing flashy.
He pulled it on. It conformed immediately, fitting snug against his arm like it had been made for him specifically, the rings settling into place at his bicep and wrist without any adjustment needed.
He held his arm out and looked at it.
In a game, equipment like this would be a utility item. Not a damage dealer, not a stat booster — a tool. Something that made everything else work better.
"Too bad I don't have any items to summon."
One thing that he has been wanting to do was go back to review all of the abilities available to choose from. He still had fourteen points available to pick any sword skill.
Before he got far, the lock clicked. The door swung open and a figure stepped through, scanning the room. When his eyes landed on Landen, he stopped. Then smiled.
"It looks like we will be roommates."
Landen stared at him for a second. Then he stood up.
"Maledic Thorne."
— — —
Somewhere beneath the academy, in a room that didn't appear on any campus map, a group of students stood crowded around a large digital display mounted on the wall. No one talked about this room publicly. The underground ranking board it housed was watched more closely than anything the academy posted officially.
A large man stood at the front. Riven Ashlock. His name sat in second place on the board.
Above it, glowing at the top:
1st — Mifaso Latido
He pressed his knuckles slowly into his palm until they cracked, eyes fixed on the name.
Target acquired.
— — —
Not far from there, in a corridor that stayed deliberately dim, a small group of boys huddled together. Hoods up, heads bowed over something being passed between them — a photograph.
It moved from hand to hand. Each person looked at it. Nobody said much.
The photo was of a girl. Bright red hair, vivid even in print, the kind that made her easy to find in a crowd. Her expression was caught mid-scowl, like the camera had interrupted something she was annoyed about.
Stamped across her face in bold letters:
THE EMBER REJECTS