The sun had long dipped below the horizon, but the Grand Arena shone brighter than ever. Luminous banners of essence light rippled overhead, each depicting the sigils of the academy's divisions. The air was charged with energy—part awe, part disbelief. The day's battles had ended, but the echoes of fire, frost, and roaring beasts still haunted every corner of the field.

Now, it was time for celebration.

The voice of the academy's announcer boomed across the arena, clear and resonant, amplified by runic acoustics.

"Students, instructors, and honored guests—Dawn Crest Academy proudly concludes the Grand Neophyte Festival!"

The crowd erupted. Fireworks of multicolored essence burst across the sky dome, painting the air with streaks of silver and violet flame. The projection walls around the arena shimmered to life, showing replay fragments of the most spectacular moments—the blazing collision of Aston and Tristan, the siege constructs of the artificers, the tactical brilliance of the scouts and supports.

The announcer's voice carried warmth and pride.

"This year's festival has shown us courage, innovation, and spirit beyond compare. Each first years have their champions—the brightest among our rising stars!"

One by one, the names were called.

—

"Merchant Royalty — Seraphine Lye!"

A tall girl in crimson-trimmed robes walked across the stage, her golden coin insignia gleaming proudly on her lapel. The crowd applauded as her trade simulation replayed—where she'd transformed a failing caravan stock into triple profits in mere hours.

"She out-negotiated the upper-years!" one spectator gasped.

"She's from the Lye Consortium—makes sense," another whispered.

—

"Spirit Alchemy Sprint — Denric Vaun!"

The cameras focused on a soot-faced boy holding a cracked vial, his grin wild and triumphant. Behind him, the replay showed a flurry of bubbling cauldrons and explosive reactions that somehow produced perfect, glowing elixirs.

"Still can't believe he survived that detonation," an instructor muttered, half-impressed, half-horrified.

—

"Field Engineering Gauntlet — Lorna Keswick!"

A roar went up from the Spirit Engineering Division. Lorna raised a heavy mechanical gauntlet high, sparks crackling from its joints. The replay showed her unfolding a fortress-like automaton mid-combat, its turrets roaring with precision aim.

"She built that in nine minutes!"

"With a box of scraps!"

The crowd's awe turned into laughter and cheers.

—

"Support Showcase — Callen Dreve!"

A quiet young man with light-green eyes and robes of white and silver stepped forward, humility in every motion. Behind him, his replay glowed softly—an image of him shielding an entire squad from a combined elemental barrage, his aura unwavering.

"He kept them alive long enough to win."

"That's real support work—no glory, all heart."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

—

"Curing Company — Lysandra Vale!"

A healer from the Restoration Strand walked up, her pale hair tied neatly as light trailed from her steps. The replay showed her performing a simultaneous five-patient recovery with clean efficiency.

"She's already being scouted by the Healer's Guild," whispered one of the senior faculty.

—

"Integration Tactics Showcase — Team Shadowhide!"

A burst of cheers and laughter followed.

Aston Rhyner, Kaiser Vernhollow, Seria Sacramento, Rowan Delle, and Lyra Yves.

The five friends exchanged surprised looks before standing together near the edge of the arena. Their holographic replay shimmered above them—the seamless coordination during their performance, a perfect mix of skills.

Hearing the murmurs and cheer of the crowd brought smiles to the

Seria smiled faintly, and Rowan just laughed. "Guess we're famous now."

—

The announcer's tone deepened as the air grew electric again.

"Arena Skirmishes — Jaius Griffin and Galric Everen!"

Two combatants—one wielding a hammer, the other holding a spear—raised their arms to thunderous applause. Their fierce exchange had been one of the festival's highlights, a duel that ended in a spectacular double knock-out.

"They're already being compared to elite cadets," murmured an instructor.

—

Then, the arena dimmed. The lights converged into twin spotlights—two sigils hovering side by side: Team Arena and Singles Arena.

The crowd fell silent, anticipation drawing every breath taut.

The announcer's voice boomed:

"Team Arena Champions — Team Seven! Led by Tristan Graves, with teammates Liora Harvow, Cassian Rapstone, Helena Skywyr, and Jorren Hilltop!"

The stands thundered with applause. Tristan's group stepped forward, proud. Their beasts' holograms flared into being behind them—the blazing cheetah, the water serpent, the basilisk, the tortoise, the falcon, and the iron gorilla.

Tristan stood tall, expression unreadable. The cheers of his name rolled across the stadium like fire.

Even so, his eyes flickered briefly to the far side of the stage—where Aston stood among the finalists.

Then the final sigil ignited.

"Singles Arena Champion — Aston Rhyner!"

The world seemed to explode.

Confetti burst from essence drones, the sky dome illuminated in cascading light. The crowd's roar became a tidal wave, echoing across the valley-city.

"The Red Potential!"

"The Boy with the Glasswing Owl and the Tiger!"

"Aston Rhyner!"

Aston stood motionless at first, the noise washing over him. Mirage perched proudly on his shoulder, wings half-spread, while Gray—now in his compact cub form—rested by his leg, eyes gleaming faintly with pride.

In the front rows, his friends shouted his name. Rowan was laughing uncontrollably; Kai was whistling; Seria clapped with a soft, content smile. Even Lyra, usually composed, grinned from ear to ear.

From the elevated dais, the Vice Principal rose to his feet. The applause quieted slightly as his voice carried effortlessly across the arena.

"This year, we have witnessed not merely competition—but evolution. Bonds deepened, instincts sharpened, and hearts tested in the crucible of battle. Remember this day, students of Dawn Crest—for it marks not the end, but the beginning."

He paused, gaze flicking briefly toward Aston and then Tristan.

"And as for our champions… the world beyond these walls will soon learn their names."

The crowd erupted again.

Music swelled as the banners unfurled in golden light. The victors stood aligned along the stage, their beasts' projections flanking them like spectral guardians. Fireworks painted the night above, each explosion reflected in the glass of the Spire of Dawn that loomed in the distance.

Aston tilted his head back, watching the sparks fade into the sky. For a fleeting moment, he saw his reflection in the flames—small, resolute, and burning quietly amidst giants.

Gray's low rumble vibrated at his feet. Mirage fluttered her wings once, silver motes drifting into the air.

Aston smiled faintly.

"It's over," he murmured.

Rowan's voice echoed somewhere from behind him. "No, not over."

He grinned. "It's just beginning."

The final fanfare rose, and the Dawn Crest Academy roared its approval—celebrating not just the victors, but the birth of legends.

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