The festival grounds thrummed with restless energy. The entire campus had been remade over the past two weeks, but now—with the banners unfurled and lanterns lit—it felt less like an academy and more like a living city.

Students packed the central square, flanked by the colorful sprawl of stalls. The sharp tang of spirit incense drifted from the alchemy tents, while the metallic hum of engineering rigs rattled from the southern row. Trade Division booths shouted prices and deals, hawking rare imports and student-forged goods. Healing tents, simple but steady, stood at the edges like anchors.

Above it all, the Spire of Dawn gleamed, gilded in sunset light. The hour had come.

A hush rippled through the square as a tall figure stepped onto the raised dais at the center.

Elder Senn Alder.

The same who taught History—yet today, her robe was not the subdued gray of lectures, but a deep indigo lined with silver embroidery. Her presence filled the square as surely as any ward.

She raised her staff once, and the murmurs died.

"First-years," she said, her voice resonant, carrying to every corner. "Welcome to the Grand Neophyte Festival."

The crowd stirred, energy breaking loose. She waited, allowing it. Then her gaze swept the throng—sharp, calculating, but not unkind.

"This tradition has stood for half a century. It began as a trial, but it has become a crucible. It is here that the Academy measures more than grades or lectures. We measure how you live among each other. How you build. How you compete. How you endure."

The air thickened with anticipation.

"Some of you will leave with scars. Some with triumphs. All of you will leave with memory."

Her staff tapped once against the stone. A soft ripple of light unfurled across the square, and floating glyph-screens came alive, projecting text in shimmering white.

"The festival is not only combat. It is trade, creation, healing, and support. Each division is represented. And at the end, one prize will be given to the stall or division whose efforts embody the festival's heart. Do not underestimate this award—it has decided futures."

Whispers burst out, especially from the Trade and Engineering students who had spent weeks perfecting their setups.

Professor Senn Alder's lips curved faintly. Then she lifted her staff again, and the glyph-screens shifted—now displaying a calendar etched with glowing runes.

"The schedule," she declared.

—

Festival Calendar

Day One:

Merchant Royalty Exhibition – Trade Division stalls compete in marketing, haggling, and rare item showcases.

Spirit Alchemy Sprint – brewing challenge with randomized ingredients.

Field Engineering Gauntlet – design-and-build contest, crisis simulations.

Day Two:

Support Showcase – Healing Division displays mass treatments and rapid-response drills.

Curing Company – new event, team-based emergency aid simulation with surprise "patients."

Special announcement: Rules for the Team Arena Announcement

Day Three:

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Arena Skirmishes (Solo) – elimination duels.

Integration Tactics Showcase – cooperative team challenges involving beast resonance.

First-Year Arena (Singles) – preliminary rounds, narrowing to top sixteen.

Day Four:

Arena Skirmishes (Duo) – paired combat.

First-Year Arena (Singles) – quarterfinals and semifinals.

First-Year Arena (Teams) – preliminary rounds.

Day Five:

First-Year Arena (Teams) – semifinals and finals.

Final Arena (Singles) – the capstone match of the top two first-years.

Closing Ceremony & Awards – including recognition for the festival's best stall.

—

The square erupted with cheers, groans, and the thunder of speculation. Some groups huddled immediately to strategize, muttering about which events were worth entering. Others already surged toward stalls, determined to earn coins or build reputations before the competitions began.

Aston stood still.

The light from the glyph-screens reflected in his eyes. The words etched themselves into memory, neat and efficient. His mind was already shifting pieces across a board only he could see.

He wasn't worried about his performance. Not yet.

He was already thinking about positioning. The right events. The right outcomes. The right perception. If he played it carefully, he could manage his image the way he'd once managed the lie of the Crimson Genesis Elixir.

His fingers flexed at his side. Mirage settled lightly on his shoulder, her translucent feathers glimmering in the last of the day's light. Gray padded close, gaze fixed on the crowd.

The elder's staff struck once more.

"Do not mistake this for a festival of play," Professor Senn Alder warned. Her eyes burned as she swept them again. "It is a crucible. Those who shine here will not be forgotten. And those who falter—will not be easily remembered."

The silence that followed was heavier than any cheer.

Then she stepped back, and the glyph-screens dimmed, leaving the crowd roaring with renewed fervor.

—

The group reassembled near the food stalls after the speech, pressed close together while the noise swelled around them.

"That's… a lot," Rowan said, looking dazed. "And three events overlap on the same days. If you registered on all three events for Day One, how would you participate in it all?"

Kai shrugged, though his eyes were sharper than his casual tone. "Depends what you want to show. Winning one event might mean more than scraping through three."

Seria's butterfly alighted gently on her shoulder, mirrored by Oriel fluttering above her hair. Her expression was thoughtful. "The Integration Showcase favors us as a group. Mirage and Gray resonate well with our beasts. But for solos…" She glanced at Aston. "You'll be watched."

Lyra grinned, though the tilt of her mouth betrayed nerves. "Arena singles will be brutal. Everyone will want the spotlight. Everyone will want to prove they belong."

Rowan rubbed his temples. "And the stall prize? That came out of nowhere. Do you think any of us—"

"It doesn't matter," Aston cut in, calm and quiet. "Focus on what we can control."

They turned to him.

His gaze swept the festival square. Lanterns flared brighter as evening fell, stalls glowing with vivid color, laughter and tension blending into one current. The Grand Neophyte Festival had begun, and with it, the chance to shape not just survival, but standing.

"Choose your battles," he said at last. "And win the ones that count."

The others fell silent, the weight of his words pressing more than the elder's speech had.

—

That night, long after the stalls had dimmed and the square quieted, Aston remained awake beneath the dorm's lantern glow. The glyph-schedule replayed in his mind with perfect clarity.

Five days.

Three chances to succeed.

And one mission hidden beneath it all.

Top three in any event.

Shadow Ops didn't demand more. But he did.

He looked toward the dark horizon, Mirage and Gray both stirring faintly at his side.

"Time to move," he murmured.

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