The first day of the Grand Neophyte Festival dawned with a roar.

Even before the sun cleared the ridge, the campus square had become a living storm of colors and voices. Banners stretched across terrace rails, emblazoned with crests of divisions. Alchemy kettles hissed and spat clouds of silver steam, while engineering rigs clanked, clicked, and occasionally exploded with sparks to the delight—or horror—of nearby spectators.

The Trade and Commerce Division had claimed the entire southern plaza, their stalls overflowing with exotic goods and silver-tongued cries.

"Spirit threads from the Azure Marshes! Genuine, verified!"

"Discount arrays—three inscriptions for the price of two!"

"Try your luck with essence dice, one coin per roll!"

The Spirit Alchemy Sprint was underway in a roped-off pavilion at the east edge. Apprentices darted between steaming cauldrons, faces shining with sweat as they scrambled to identify surprise ingredients delivered moments before the timer started. Colored plumes burst skyward—green, red, one alarmingly black—while the judges scribbled furiously on slates.

To the north, the Field Engineering Gauntlet looked more like a battlefield than a contest. Teams hauled raw materials into half-finished contraptions: siege towers, barrier drones, even a floating bridge that collapsed mid-test into the cheering crowd. The instructors didn't intervene—failure was part of the spectacle.

And everywhere in between, smaller stalls buzzed. Healing tents pulsed with quiet confidence, offering free diagnostics to festival-goers. Enchanters wove ephemeral glyphs that burst into fragrant firework blooms. Second- and third-years hawked everything from skewered essence-beast meat to quick-tempered talismans.

The academy square had become a city, and the city had become a storm.

—

Aston didn't step into the storm.

Instead, he and his team occupied a quieter courtyard behind the main lecture dome, far from the rush. The cobblestones were cracked, the trees old, but it was enough.

"Again," Aston said simply.

Gray padded forward, his obsidian fur gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Mirage hovered above him, wings translucent arcs of light. Across from them, Seria stood poised, her butterfly perched delicately on her shoulder while Oriel the sparrow flitted in erratic loops. Rowan leaned against the wall, Verdy perched on his arm. Lyra—still stretching her arms after a long morning—watched from the fountain's edge.

Kai adjusted his satchel straps. "We could be earning AP right now at the stalls."

Rowan groaned. "Or at least free food. Have you smelled those skewers?"

Aston shook his head. "We're not stall hawkers. We're entering the Integration Showcase and the Team Arena. Focus."

Seria gave him a quick nod, sparrow darting past Mirage with uncanny precision. The butterfly followed, their resonance forming a pale thread of chromatic light that pulsed across the air. Mirage tilted mid-flight and slid into formation, Gray's claws tracing marks along the cobblestone to sync the rhythm.

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For a moment, the courtyard glowed with faint harmonic resonance. Their beasts weren't just acting—they were working as one, weaving speed, sight, and strike into a single pulse.

Then the thread snapped.

Gray hissed and swiped as Mirage banked too fast. The butterfly faltered, wings flashing uneven light. Oriel shrilled in irritation and darted higher.

The resonance collapsed.

Seria bit her lip. Rowan muttered under his breath. Lyra sighed.

Kai only raised an eyebrow. "Well, better here than in the arena."

Aston crouched, running his fingers across the fading resonance marks on the stone. His eyes narrowed. "Too much variance in pace. Mirage flies faster than Oriel's radius can sustain. You need tighter loops."

Seria nodded quickly, brushing her hair back. "Understood. We'll recalibrate."

Rowan stretched Verdy's arms outward. "And we'll work support on the ground. His moss snare can anchor bursts when Mirage overshoots. Like a tether."

Lyra leaned forward. "But then we'll have to coordinate the snare with Oriel's threads. Otherwise we'll trap ourselves."

"Which is why we practice now," Aston said, standing. His gaze was calm, steady. "The festival noise is a distraction. Don't let it fool you. What matters is here."

They fell silent for a beat. Even Kai smirked faintly, recognizing Aston's quiet intensity.

Then Seria's butterfly lifted again, its wings shimmering as Oriel darted forward to re-establish the chain. Gray crouched low, Mirage circled overhead, and Rowan set Verdy's moss veins glowing.

They tried again.

—

The festival ground beyond the courtyard only grew louder as the hours passed. The Merchant Royalty event drew crowds by the hundreds, with second-years shouting prices across the square and faculty judges slipping into disguises to test students' bargaining skills. A single misjudged deal could make or break reputations.

At the Spirit Alchemy Sprint, one cauldron burst into a cloud of pink smoke that had half the pavilion sneezing uncontrollably. At the Engineering Gauntlet, a team unveiled a gleaming defensive turret—only for it to fire backward into the judge's seat.

It was chaos. It was spectacle.

And it was everything Aston ignored.

Because while the academy roared with noise and clamor, he and his team built their silence.

By the time the sun had shifted west, their beasts were moving smoother. Mirage dipped and rose with precision, Gray mirrored her path in low arcs, Oriel threaded lines that stitched into the butterfly's chromatic waves, and Verdy's moss snares grounded the pattern.

Even Lyra—who had no second beast—slid into the formation, her sparring gestures syncing with the others, grounding them in rhythm.

It wasn't perfect. Not yet. But it was no longer chaotic.

Aston exhaled slowly, Mirage landing lightly on his shoulder. Gray rubbed his head against his calf, purring faintly despite the sweat beading Aston's brow.

Rowan grinned, wiping his forehead. "We're getting there."

Kai smirked. "You mean, barely. But yes."

Seria's eyes softened as she looked at her beasts. "They're adjusting. They'll hold in the showcase."

Aston only nodded.

Because he knew that when the real battles came, it wouldn't be noise that won.

It would be control.

—

That night, as lanterns flared across the square and fireworks burst from the enchantment tents, the academy roared with laughter, applause, and the clamor of the first festival day.

Students celebrated in stalls, in dorms, in the streets. Some were already drunk on victory—or failure.

But in the quiet courtyard, Aston sat cross-legged, Mirage perched above him and Gray curled at his side. The faint glow of Seria's butterfly pulsed from the far corner, where she still practiced with Oriel in silence. Rowan had already passed out on the fountain's edge, Verdy draped across his lap. Kai leaned against the wall, watching the stars. Lyra hummed a quiet tune, keeping time.

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