The third day of the festival dawned with a clarity that felt deliberate, as though the skies themselves had been swept clean for what was to come.

By mid-morning, the Integration Showcase arena was overflowing. Students pressed close in the tiered stands, chatter swelling like an incoming tide. Spirit beasts perched on shoulders, coiled around their partners, or hovered overhead, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Glyph-lights shimmered along the dome ceiling, scattering radiant patterns across the polished floor.

A raised platform dominated the center, spacious enough for beasts and handlers alike. Five ornate seats stood at the far end, already occupied by the judges—elders, professors, and one visiting dignitary from the city council. Each held a scoring crystal, faintly glowing with stored essence.

Then the lights dimmed.

A booming voice echoed through the hall.

"Welcome, first-years, to the Integration Showcase!"

The crowd roared in response.

The announcer strode onto the stage—an older man with slicked silver hair and a voice that carried like a drum. His coat shimmered with embedded glyphs, amplifying every gesture.

"This event," he declared, "is not about brute strength. It is about harmony! About proving that beast and binder move as one, beyond command, beyond instinct!"

He spread his arms wide.

"Each team will demonstrate an act of resonance. It may be combat, it may be creation, it may be something entirely new. But hear this—five judges will grade you, each with a maximum of twenty points. That makes one hundred possible points per team!"

The audience buzzed with whispers, some already calculating possible totals.

The announcer raised a finger. "Scores will not be revealed immediately. You will only learn the results once all teams have performed!"

A pause for effect.

"In case of ties, prizes will be shared—but rankings will be consumed. If two teams tie for first, both claim the title, but the next rank will be third. Clear enough?"

The audience cheered, stamping feet and clapping hands.

"Then let us begin!"

"Representing the Spirit Combat Division, please welcome: Group Stonefang!"

A quartet of hulking students marched in, their beasts close behind. A tusked boar, a slate-skinned golem, and two wolves padded to the center. The handlers spread out in formation, tapping into practiced rhythm.

"Commence!"

The stage erupted. The wolves circled in synchronized arcs, essence trails sketching a glowing sigil around the platform. The boar stomped once, releasing shockwaves that fused with the sigil, while the golem's arms slammed down to anchor the pattern.

The entire arena shuddered. From the ground rose a jagged stone fortress, layered with protective wards.

The crowd gasped.

The announcer's voice rang: "A defensive masterpiece! A fortress conjured in under two minutes!"

The judges scribbled notes, faces unreadable.

The fortress crumbled as the group bowed. Applause rained down.

"And now, from the Healing and Support Division—Team Lightrain!"

A trio of handlers entered alongside spirit beasts of soft glow: a doe, a songbird, and a small qilin calf. Their demonstration was quieter but no less striking.

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The doe released calming essence across the crowd, easing breaths. The bird sang, its notes weaving visible threads of silver that bolstered the qilin's light. Together, they layered restorative auras across the arena, washing spectators in warmth.

One student in the stands gasped. "My headache's gone!"

The audience laughed and clapped. It was subtler, gentler, but undeniably effective.

The judges conferred briefly. One nodded approvingly, though another frowned, perhaps expecting more combat utility.

The team bowed out under warm applause.

The emcee's voice thundered again.

"From the Spirit Engineering Division—Team Sparkwheel!"

This team came armed with contraptions. Their beasts—an ember fox, a mechanical beetle, and a salamander—worked in tandem as their handlers poured essence into crafted devices.

Sparks flew, fumes billowed. In minutes, a miniature siege engine stood on the stage, alive with glyphs. It launched a glowing orb high into the air—only for it to burst into cascading fireworks of green and violet flame.

The crowd howled with delight.

"Showmanship! Engineering! Alchemy! Integration!" the announcer bellowed. "That's the spirit!"

The judges, however, exchanged skeptical glances. The display was flashy, but was it integration or gimmickry? Pens scratched on parchment.

"Representing the Scouting Arts Division—Team Shadowhide!"

Aston stepped forward with steady calm, Gray trotting silently at his side, Mirage gliding overhead. Seria followed, her butterfly luminous, Lumine, on her shoulder and Oriel, her sparrow, perched lightly on her wrist. Rowan came next with Verdy clinging to him. Lyra with Chill bristling with quiet energy. Lastly, Kai with Shelldon in his hands.

Five students. Seven beasts.

The announcer's voice dropped. "Let us see what harmony the scouts bring to the table."

The judges leaned forward.

—

The performance began in silence.

From above, Mirage swept low across the platform, her translucent wings scattering faint arcs of refracted light. Each shimmer marked the starting lines of their formation, subtle but unmistakable.

At her signal, Oriel darted upward, his prismatic feathers unraveling into strands of perception.

Fine filaments of light threaded across the air, weaving themselves into a suspended lattice—a field-wide map glowing in three dimensions. Every pulse of essence in the arena shimmered faintly inside it.

Gasps echoed from the audience as the lattice deepened: seats, terrain, even the faint heartbeat of the viewers rendered in soft pulses of light.

Gray padded forward next. His small frame belied his sharpness; every pawstep into the lattice sent ripples of shadow coursing through the projection. Patches of concealment spread across the glowing map—zones of silence where entire squads could vanish from sight.

Lumine fluttered gently onto one of the lattice threads, her wings scattering a prismatic glow. Her light spread through Oriel's network, connecting Gray's shadowed patches with streams of guiding radiance. Concealment paths turned into coordinated routes, threaded together in brilliance and dark.

Chill leapt forward next, claws striking the lattice floor with precision. With each motion, trails of frost marked choke points across the map. His skill painted simulated ice ridges and frozen barriers, cutting off potential enemy advances. In tandem, Verdy bounded into the fray, moss spreading across the grid like veins of living cover. Hidden alcoves and ambush pockets bloomed wherever his green touch passed.

The map was no longer static—it pulsed like a living war-table. Every beast layered their abilities into a cohesive system: vision, concealment, mobility, control.

And then came Shelldon.

Carried into position by Kai, the Spiral Bastion Crabling extended its stubby forelimbs and rooted itself onto the stage. A low hum reverberated as his Anchor Shell Protocol engaged. Hexagonal shields erupted from his shell, overlapping into glowing walls of cerulean and ochre. They rose through the lattice, forming bastions to protect the concealment zones and cover lines already drawn.

The audience gasped again.

What began as a simple projection had become something more—a living demonstration of battlefield integration. Mirage's refracted light scouted the field, Oriel's lattice tracked everything within it, Gray mapped silence, Lumine provided coordination, Chill and Verdy shaped control, and Shelldon anchored the defense.

Every piece flowed in resonance, not clashing but chaining. A squad not of seven individuals, but one living organism.

For the finale, Aston raised a hand. Mirage dove, her wings scattering shards of refracted frostlight across the lattice. Lumine's glow caught them, Verdy's moss wove through, Chill froze them midair, and Shelldon's barrier reflected them outward. The cascade rained harmlessly into the audience, dazzling them in fractured color and crystalline shine.

A long silence followed.

Then, thunderous applause erupted. Even the announcer stumbled over his words, finally shouting:

"A tactical integration—no, a battlefield symphony!"

The group bowed as one, then withdrew.

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