It was a glorious day for the presentation, the sky deep blue, the clouds fluffy white, the sun shining pleasantly upon the Bright Battle Spires. Entrance to this part of the academy was normally barred to students, the great white gates solidly closed, but today they stood open and welcoming—and since early in the morning there had been a steady stream of Bright Battlers making their way up to the Coliseum Grand. The coliseum jutted majestically from steep hillside, seeming to exist eternally on the brink of breaking loose and bouncing free with 'boink boink boink' sound effects. Seeing as it was held in place by both cunning engineering and the strictest of occupational safety magicks this was unlikely, but still. The impression was there. Within the coliseum tiered seats were crowded with eager students and noisy foodsellers and subtle bookmakers, while up in the boxes a rather more subdued class of spectator waited and watched.

"Quite a crowd," commented one of these box-dwelling spectators; Caroline Hale, human Watcher, representative of the Adventurer's Guild and one of the three masters of the academy. She adjusted her glasses and took a delicate pastry from the food table before continuing: "Certainly a marked difference from last year's lacklustre outpouring."

"I'd say it's an improvement," said the tall slim pale man beside Caroline; Count Illyich Balgan, elven vampire RumourSeer, student liaison, and another of the academy's masters. "Activity, excitement, the potential for such discordance, what's not to like?"

Behind Balgan and Hale sat the third and very definitely final master of the academy; Leon Maxwell, human ShiningHero, huge and broad and grizzled, his grey-streaked beard rejecting any descriptor but 'magnificent'. He sat on a carved oak chair at the back of the room, iron eyes stern, golden armour shining even in the dimness of the box, voice rough as he said:

"Hm."

It spoke to Leon's character that he could make even a modest 'hm' sound both commanding and portentous.

"Problem, Leon?" Balgan asked, looking back at him. "You've yet to share your feelings about this year's tournament ... though I can't think you'd be overjoyed about it."

"Why are they here?" Leon grunted. "If they're not competing then what interest do they have?"

"If you had read my report," Caroline began, before Leon cut her off with a growl and a wave of his hand. She smiled and started again: "The ready availability of crystal sets and commentary recordings has caused a surge in popularity among lower-tiers. Tactics battles are no longer restricted to invitation clubs or private auditor lounges. Anyone can afford a crystal set, and so the battles are accessible to everyone."

"Technology marches on," Balgan murmured, his deceptively sleepy eyes upon the crowds below.

"What of the students, then?" Leon demanded. He stood and marched across the room, thrusting a gauntleted hand at the packed coliseum. "We've got near the entire academy down there, what are they so damned curious about? Used to be you got a couple of calculators and a few loose tactics-maniacs, not this nonsense!"

"Even students count as people." Balgan smiled thinly at Leon. "Really, is it so difficult to understand? You're as interested in the tournament as anyone—"

"Because it's for me! An enthralling demonstration of the inherent superiority of high-tier classes—and yes, granted, the vampires and elves dominate these low-level academy competitions but it's still a bloody good show. This year in particular with the monsters and so forth." Leon shook his head, not a little sulkily. "I always love it when there's monsters involved."

"They do add a pleasant spice to the whole affair," Balgan said. "I find it exciting to see what they've managed to take down—one of this year's teams got a behemoth, goodness knows how."

"And one of them came back with a damned blue slime, of all creatures." Leon shook his head as he stomped away from the window. "This the same team with a gods-damned valkyrie, heavens know where they dredged her up—can't we disqualify them? It feels like a damned insult!"

"There's nothing in the rules restricting valkyries or low-ranked monsters," Caroline said mildly. "Besides, variety adds interest."

"I don't want interest, I want conformity! We've already got a mess of teams—some fellow was telling me earlier, not a single standard three-fighter-healer combination got through the test. Not a single one! That's unheard of! You, Hale, your guild is screaming out for more fighter-healer sets, you should be up in arms about this! Instead you're making this big bloody song and dance about the whole thing—getting that sensationalist vaunter Chaosthorn for a start, what's wrong with the likes of Cripplethwait and Coldthreat? Good, solid, reliable commentators who stick to the facts and enunciate for the love of hope. I can't even understand Chaosthorn's blithering half the time."

"The kids seem to like him," Balgan said, before waving a calming hand at Leon. "It's not as if we have much of a say in this. The guild controls the tournament, that's what we agreed to."

Leon grumbled for a bit, then looked up at Caroline.

"So?" he said. "You haven't responded, what's the guild's position on the lack of good, solid, classically proven team combinations?"

"Our primary interest is in results," Caroline said. "Fighter-fighter-fighter-healer is valued for its effectiveness, not for any intrinsic worth. Besides, in this modern age such blunt force solutions aren't so universally applicable. I welcome the finesse that new combinations might bring."

"Finesse, bah. It wasn't finesse that won us the shield wars! It was hitting those blasted demons with everything we had until they stopped twitching, that's what got us through that bloody mess!"

"Yes," Balgan said dryly. "As you've told us, oh, well less than a thousand times."

"It's just bizarre," Leon continued, pacing around the room. "What do they get from this, those students out there? They're not scouting for talent, they have no sponsorships to offer, I'd wager most of them don't even know the bloody rules, so just what are they looking for?"

Balgan shrugged. "Entertainment?"

Leon stared at the vampire as if he'd just spat up a cockroach.

"Ah," Caroline said, before pulling a glowing marble slab from her pocket. "Mr Chaosthorn is here and they're ready to bring the teams in. I assume you're sitting this one out, Maxwell?"

Leon grunted and waved a hand and grumped back to his chair.

"Then I'll see you afterwards. Perhaps in the meantime you might like to read a few of the reports I've given you. Balgan?"

"Coming, dear."

Caroline and Count Balgan made their leave from the box, heading down to the announcement area and leaving Leon to be grumpy by himself.

----------------------------------------

Elene Lumina sat alone in the lowest and frontmost tier of Coliseum Grand, her view of the arena absolute. She was alone by choice, a literal bubble surrounding her. Elene was also alone in being a bubblemancer, not only in the academy but in the world. Bright Battle was an ideal testing ground for this potential new class, and so far the results had been positive. Oh, certainly it was overpowered, nobody could deny that, but this was all part of the process; better to start strong then adjust down than start weak and be wiped out before significant data could be collected. Besides, it wasn't as if she could participate in tactics battles, and individual unbalance was a fact of life at Bright Battle Academy. Just ask a necromancer, or a valkyrie, or an unpromoted rogue.

Elene frowned and tapped her crystal set, a rainbow cube currently replaying one of the preliminary matches for her sole benefit. The commentator's voice was warping oddly, slowing down then speeding up then—

"Oh!" Elene said, and she switched off her set. Crystal interference could come from a variety of sources, but in this place in this time the most likely explanation was mass teleportation. The roar of the crowd filled the coliseum, and Elene joined them in standing and cheering as the first of the official teams pulsed into existence. There were eight circular podiums set up in the arena, and a huge flat crystal floating high above displayed a closer view of the first team to arrive—and their monster, a large skull-headed snake bristling with pointy bones.

"Heeeeere they are!" boomed the voice of Chuck Chaosthorn. He was standing on a platform at one end of the arena, easily spotted thanks to the brightness of his clothing and the quite frankly astounding height of his hair. Behind him sat two of the academy's masters, Miss Hale and Count Balgan, both seemingly content to let Chuck do all the work. "Charles Silverblade and his loyal companions; Death Rattle!"

Elene looked up as the floating crystal changed to display the team's name, appropriately bony and spiky. She'd been largely unimpressed with the level of technology on display at Bright Battle, but she had to admit they'd put some effort into this.

"This solid team combined magic, sword arts, and good old brute strength to smash their way through the preliminaries—but how will they do in the tournament? Death Rattle is a team to watch, folks, a team to watch!"

Below, Charles Silverblade and his team were responding to the crowd's attention with varying enjoyment. Charles himself was acting the typical swashbuckler, waving and grinning and showing off, while the short perky elf hanging off his arm stared in open-mouthed glee as she waved enthusiastically. The tall human thaumaturgist to the right of Charles stood with arms crossed and head raised, taking in the crowds with calm amusement. Behind the others stood two half-orcs, perhaps a little overwhelmed by all the fuss but nonetheless staunch. Then of course there was their monster, the death rattle itself, enclosed in a subtle magical field in the centre of the team podium. Elene wondered at this; there was no reason to restrict the monster, being captured meant it was under the team's control and so presented no threat, and the entire coliseum was a safe zone in any case ... but perhaps there had been some sort of incident that those in charge didn't want to see repeated, or maybe they were just prepared for the worst. In any case Elene didn't have much time to ponder this, as the next team was already coming in; a small group with a shiny but unspectacular monster. Nevertheless, Elene leaned forward with interest. Summer Rain's team was new and largely unknown to her, but their matches had been among the more interesting of the preliminaries.

"Summer Rain leading SilverStar!" Chuck Chaosthorn announced. "Pirate, ninja and mintmedic, oh what a combo! This small but feisty team came out of nowhere to break into the Top Twelve, and have earned their spot in the Official Eight by capturing a silverstar—but will their unconventional small-team tactics work for them in the tournament? I can't wait to find out!"

"Neither can I!" called the pirate. "Oh, my adoring crowd, I love you all!"

Elene smiled at that, but her eyes were on the team's leader, the short, stoic girl wearing the simple robes and mantle of a mintmedic—a relatively recent class that had come out of the Sunrise Islands, of all places. Elene wasn't overly familiar with the class as it hadn't attracted much popularity ... still, there was certainly something about this serious young girl and her seemingly mismatched companions...

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Here comes our next team, folks—it's Arlen Budnik, team captain for Succubi!"

Elene hadn't thought succubi to be captureable monsters, but the scowling demoness upon the podium was proof to the contrary. The team itself looked dull in comparison, five similarly-equipped fighters grinning and waving.

"Five fighters bound by friendship, here to show us what Red Town men are made of!"

"Red Town, YEAH!" the fighters called, to mixed responses from the crowd.

"They just squeaked into the Top Twelve and entered the Official Eight with their capturing of a succubus, could she be the key to tournament victory? Let's hear it for Succubi!"

Elene sat back in her seat as around her the crowd cheered. Her attention was on the next podium, which was already glowing—and she raised her eyebrows as she saw the monster they'd captured.

"Jane Hearthguard!" Chuck announced. "Proud captain of Proudfoot!"

Elene had to smile at the halfling paladin; Jane was standing as tall as she could in front of her team, helmet under her arm, short brown hair slightly mussed, armour shining bright in the glorious sunlight. She accepted the cheering of the crowd with quiet dignity, a slight lowering of her head, perhaps a small smile. The rest of her team seemed similarly disciplined, the human brawler standing with his muscular arms crossed, looking slowly around at the coliseum, the halfling fighter waving with what seemed to Elene to be great restraint, the elf cleric with the impressive white staff simply standing there and elegantly smiling at the crowds, the human beastmaster at the back ... well to be honest he let the side down slightly in the dignity department, whooping and waving his hat and jumping up and down a bit.

"With impressive teamwork and strong leadership this plucky team easily earned a place in the Top Twelve, and it seems they've made good use of their beastmaster and tamed a proudfoot—could Jane Hearthguard's team be a wildcard favourite in this tournament? I think they just might!"

The crowd seemed to agree with Chuck, judging from their enthusiastic response. Elene couldn't argue, combining a powerful monster with a beastmaster was a solid—if unpopular—strategy, and the rest of Jane's team were similarly strong. The brawler and the fighter were both hard-hitters and the cleric would serve as excellent support. If there was a weakness in the team it lay with Jane herself. Paladins were generally seen as a waste of a fighter promotion, weak healing abilities a poor trade for a reduction of offensive capabilities and weapon choice. In Proudfoot's case it seemed doubly wasteful, as they already had a dedicated healer in Gloria.

Elene was still thinking about Jane's team as the elves arrived, so many that they barely fit on their podium.

"Jak Kingfisher, leading the elven team Knives!" Chuck Chaosthorn announced. The elves reacted typically, all crossed arms and casually aggressive poses—it seemed rehearsed, which interested Elene. There was always talk of the organisers of the tournament playing favourites, but she wondered just how far this went. In any case the crowd seemed particularly responsive to the elves, especially (and predictably) the Fauxgreen section.

"Jak Kingfisher led his team on a flawless no-lose streak to earn the number two spot in the Top Twelve. With the flexibility that has made the elves famous, can they be stopped? I guess we'll see!"

Elene let out a small 'hm'. The Forest operated under its own laws, and had attained council approval for a number of classes that were, in Elene's view, overpowered to the point of unfairness. Still, every class had its weaknesses...

"ShimmerClaw!" Chuck called, and the coliseum exploded. Elene let out another 'hm'—she hadn't expected the vampire team to be so popular. She could hear some booing in the crowd, but this was largely overwhelmed by enthusiastic cheering. "Led by team captain Violet Blaze, the vampires tore through every team that dared stand in their way to claim the coveted number one spot in the Top Twelve—and they look more than ready to do the same in the tournament. What could stop them?"

Good question, Elene thought, as she gazed down at the vampires—they were standing in their typical poses, barely regarding the crowds. Like the elven team it seemed rehearsed, but then everything did when it came to vampires.

"Now!" Chuck called, and the crowd settled down a little. "Now now now, you might be a little surprised at our next team ... you might be a little shocked. You might even be a little terrified, when I present ... BEHEMOTH!"

Elene sat straight up. She'd heard the rumours, of course, she'd heard that Nala Greyward and her scrappy team of low-tiers were going after a behemoth, but she never expected—

"Raid Fearson and his team smashed all opposition to claim the number four spot in the Top Twelve, and have captured a genuine—and genuinely awesome—behemoth to earn their place in the Official Eight. Look at that beast, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm sure you'll agree that Behemoth are true contenders in this year's tournament!"

Elene stared down at Raid and his team, the bandit himself grinning and raising his arms, revelling in the crowd's enthusiastic response. The rest of his team were more subdued, the tall lancer leaning casually on his weapon, the portly vampire cliquemancer waving elegantly, the scruffy mage girl seeming to treat the whole thing as some kind of distasteful joke, the bucket-helmeted archer just standing there, apparently staring at Chuck Chaosthorn's hair. As for the behemoth, it seemed to be playing to the crowd just as much as its capturer, prowling around in its magic circle, raising its head to roar at the stands, rising up on its powerful hind legs to swipe at the air. Despite herself—and her disappointment that Nala's team hadn't been the ones to capture a behemoth—Elene found herself impressed and intrigued. To her knowledge no team had ever captured one before, not for use in the tournament, and its presence certainly served as something new and interesting.

"That's one-two-three-four-five-six-seven teams we've got out here, but there'll be eight in the tournament," Chuck announced. "Who's the final team? What kind of fearsome monster might they have captured? Hold on to your hats, folks, because if you thought the behemoth was something you ain't seen nothing yet! Let me introduce you to ... The Blue Slimes!"

The crowd went quiet for a long, hard second, then exploded into laughter.

"Nala Greyward led her team to a single unconventional victory in the preliminaries, but that single victory was enough to earn her a spot in the Top Twelve. Was it a fluke? Well, you look at that terrifying lump of goo down there and you tell me, folks! You tell me!"

The laughter was joined by mock-cheering, and Elene couldn't help but wince at the clear discomfort in Nala's team. Nala herself stood motionless, her head lowered so that the hood of her cloak covered her face, while the little valkyrie looked like she was trying to shrink into her oversized armour. The pointy necromancer stood with his hands in his pockets, a fixed smile on his shiny face, while the tall zombie girl had her arms firmly crossed, glaring at the ground. The blue slime itself quivered in the centre of the podium, not even in the classic teardrop shape of its species—it resembled a lumpy blue sausage more than anything. Elene frowned as she realised that two members of Nala's team weren't even there, the elf sniper and the goblin stenchmerchant, but that seemed the least of their problems.

"So there you have it, folks. Bright Battle Tournament's Official Eight. Looks like this year's games are gonna be interesting!"

As the podiums glowed once more and the floating crystal cycled through the team names, Elene sat back with a sigh. Interesting? Sure. Fair?

Not a chance.

----------------------------------------

"That was singularly unpleasant. The only positive that could be taken from the frightful experience is that we need never go through it again."

Mist looked helplessly at Praetorian as he paced around the examination hall—it was empty aside from them, all the other teams having already left.

"At least we get a team house," she said. "That's good, right? We don't have to worry about all being apart, and it'll probably be nicer than where we are now ... if there's anything good left ... after everyone else picks..."

"Aha, yes, there's that as well—why are we last? Random ballot, hah! Clear favouritism! Prejudice! All the good houses will be plucked like the eyeballs from a corpse's skull, leaving us with something unbearably shoddy!"

"What kind of corpse has seven eyeballs?" Amanda asked. Praetorian gave her a weary look.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever we get," Mist said. "Anything would be better than where I am now, and ... and I'm looking forward to living with everyone, it'll be much nicer ... right?"

This was met with gloomy silence. Mist sighed, then perked up as she spotted a familiar face near the entrance to the hall.

"Uh ... hey, guys."

"Sly! Where were you? We were worried!" Mist glanced around at the others, then puffed out a little breath. "Well I was worried anyway—where were you?"

"Uh, just in my room mostly, after things went bad I, uh, I used a FeatherToken. Figured you'd all do the same but ... guess you managed to win after all."

"That's debatable," Praetorian muttered.

"Uh ... Nala? Could I, like, talk to you a moment? Kind of got some stuff to say. It's kind of important."

"You joined the elf team."

The others stared at Nala, then at Sly. He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning wretchedly.

"Uh ... kind of. Yeah. Apparently it's in the rules? You can switch teams if it's before the first match. So, uh, one of their guys kind of found me and said about how they could maybe get this stupid curse off this stupid bow, and I was still kind of, like, sore about the whole not getting the behemoth thing and how you kind of just left me out to dry so ... yeah. Sorry."

Nala lowered her head. "Go, then."

"Uh, but, it's not like I don't like you guys or whatever—"

"No, sorry, what?" Amanda said. "Switching sides? That's cold."

Mist sniffed and took off her glasses to wipe her eyes. "I, I don't think I have anything to say to you right now."

"I must say I expected more of you, Slythaneile," Praetorian said, placing a hand upon Mist's armoured shoulder. "To simply abandon us—"

"Hey, I wasn't, like, the one who messed stuff up," Sly muttered. "Just got sick of all these wacky plans and stuff going wrong, is all. Like the whole monster hunting disaster? Then this stuff, about the only thing we did okay in was that preliminary match but one out of three isn't great, y'know? The whole reason I came to this stupid place was to get decursed, you can't blame me for, like, doing it." He glanced up at Praetorian. "Thought at least you'd understand, dude."

"Yes, well, I can't say that I don't see the appeal of surrounding oneself with forest children—"

"Dude, seriously, don't call us that—"

Sly stopped and cleared his throat.

"But whatever," he said. "Call us what you like, doesn't make much difference to anything. And hey, look on the bright side, maybe I'll find some desperate chick I can set you up with, yeah?"

"Desperate men are also welcome," Praetorian said levelly, not much humour in his tone. "But perhaps I shouldn't expect even that much from you. Perhaps you should be going now."

"Yeah. Sure. Uh ... good luck and stuff, anyway. Hope you guys do okay—"

"Save it," Amanda mumbled. Sly winced, then turned to leave.

"Sly."

Nala raised her head to look her former party member in the eye.

"If we face you, expect no mercy."

Sly managed a crooked grin.

"Yeah, nah. Wouldn't want it."

With that Sly turned once more and slouched away, dark bow in his hand. Mist wiped her eyes again as she watched him go, sniffed one more time, then tried to smile around at the others.

"At least the day can't get any worse!" she said, in a pathetic attempt at cheerfulness and a clear invitation to trouble. "And ... and we're a team now, officially I mean, that's something ... isn't it? Oh, um, Nala? Where are you going?"

"You can choose our team house," Nala said as she walked. "Anywhere is fine."

Even as she spoke Nala faded, leaving the others alone in the big empty hall.

"What a team we are," Praetorian said. "Anyone care to make a prediction as to what hideous catastrophe will befall us next? Some manner of localised meteor strike, perhaps."

"I really wish she wouldn't do that," Mist murmured, still staring at the spot where Nala had stealthed. "Just walking away without even saying anything, it's so ... impolite."

"That's Nala," Amanda said. "Can't really blame her. If I could just fade away I'd do it too. Like, all the time."

"Me too, I suppose," Mist said, with a small sigh. "But I'd tell people what I was doing before I did it."

"Blue Slimes? You're up."

Mist forced a smile at the official who'd poked his head into the hall, then looked around at the others.

"Should we go? Picking a team house, that'll be fun ... maybe..."

Amanda shrugged and muttered something as she shuffled towards the exit—then stopped and looked back at Mist through her bedraggled hair.

"Yeah, maybe it will," she said. "Coming, Darkcede?"

"Coming, Willow," Praetorian said, trotting after them. "Here's an idea, what's say we pay a visit to Blue Haven after this? I spotted the owner in the coliseum crowd, in a fit of stress-induced delirium I even fantasised that he'd come to cheer us on. In any case I think we all deserve a few dumplings. What say you girls?"

"Okay," Mist said, smiling back at Praetorian as they walked. "That does sound fun—don't you think it sounds fun, Amanda?"

"Sure."

"Come now, some enthusiasm, dear girl! I thought you were beginning to develop more of a sense of taste? Aren't you performing the exercises I prescribed?"

"Licking rocks isn't my idea of a good time."

"Rocks? Rocks? Those are genuine Auldvynian cabochons! 'Rocks', honestly, you have no appreciation at all for my culture. Granted, there's not a lot there to appreciate..."

Praetorian's voice faded and the examination hall was left silent, an empty and lonely place after all the activity of the day. Empty, that is, but for a single glowing magic circle, and the long blue shape that lay still and glistening inside.

Presently it moved, just a little, and then a little more, and after another dozen tiny movements and with a sense of great purpose the blue slime lifted itself up, and with a mouth newly-formed it spoke:

"Mist?"