The Crimson Academy pulsed with anticipation, its grand auditorium packed to the brim with eager spectators. This wasn’t just another school event—this was the Awakening Ceremony, a rite of passage that marked the transition from childhood to the path of greatness or mediocrity. Parents, noble dignitaries, and commoners alike gathered, their faces a mix of excitement, nervousness, and barely concealed dread. Today, five hundred students would stand at the precipice of their fate, and only a handful would emerge with the promise of true power.
The sheer magnitude of the crowd made navigation a challenge. Varek, a broad-shouldered man in a dark crimson robe, hurried through the throngs, his wife Racheal trailing behind, struggling to keep up.
“Hey! Slow down! Are you trying to let me get lost in this crowd?” she huffed, balancing a pair of cakes in her hands.
“Come on, sweetheart, we’ll miss the prime seats if we’re late!” Varek called back, weaving between onlookers.
Behind them, a woman sighed in exasperation. “Five hundred students in this batch—are we really going to stay till the end?”
Another voice, warm with motherly concern, answered. “Don’t forget the cakes. Both of them. Just in case. We don’t want our boy to feel downcast.”
One cake bore “Congratulations, My Future Mage!” in golden icing. The other? “It’s Okay, We Still Love You”—a painful reminder of the ceremony’s harsh reality.
—
In the stands, Nicole, the ever energetic young girl, waved a placard high above her head, grinning ear to ear. The text in bold, glimmering letters read: “A-GRADE OR NOTHING!” beneath a hastily printed picture of Denwen.
“Mom! Look at all these people!” she marveled.
“That’s why I said we should leave on time,” Racheal said pointedly, throwing a glance at her yawning husband.
“Right, right…” Varek muttered, sipping loudly on his drink.
Nearby, Vahn, a sharp-eyed man in a modest outfit more suited for a vacation, navigated through the crowd until a booming voice caught his attention.
“Oi! Vahn! Over here!”
Varek, now seated comfortably, waved excitedly. A seat had been miraculously saved beside him.
“What are you guys doing here?” Vahn asked, eyebrow raised.
“My boy’s getting his talent today, and I just know he’s going to surpass me,” Varek said, his chest puffed with fatherly pride.
Vahn chuckled. “Well, isn’t that every parent’s dream? I’m here for my daughter. She may not be a prodigy, but I believe in her.”
—
Outside, luxury vehicles arrived at an exclusive section of the parking lot, their polished exteriors gleaming under the sun. Among them, a mythical chariot, its flaming horses snorting impatiently, stood as a stark reminder that today wasn’t just for commoners.
A sleek, jet-black hovercar pulled in next, its metallic sheen adorned with the Ashthorne family crest. As the doors lifted open, a towering man with sharp blue eyes and a noble air stepped out, his silver suit perfectly tailored, his face strikingly familiar to the trouble maker known as Angus. His wife, draped in silver fox fur, adjusted her glasses with an expression of mild irritation.
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“The Ashthornes are as insufferably flashy as ever,” she murmured.
Her husband grunted. “They aren’t our concern today. Let’s just get this over with.”
As they stepped onto a floating platform that would take them to their VIP section, another hovercar rolled into view. This one bore the emblem of a fiery lotus with five petals.
“Oh my…” the noblewoman paused, studying the insignia. “The Ignisclade have a ward in this batch?”
Her husband’s eyes darkened slightly. “This year might be more interesting than we expected. Let’s go make our appearances perhaps we would get to discuss our unfinished conversations in our stand.”
—
Backstage, the students had changed into crimson tracksuits, their white-laced sides a mark of the academy’s prestige. Each carried a sleek black briefcase, its contents unknown but undoubtedly the key to their destiny.
Grand music began to play as the students filed out in order filling up the students stand, they moved in synchrony with such beauty and elegance due to the many weeks of training and exercise. It had been ingrained in their bones at this point.
A hush fell over the crowd as Principal Dvalin Ironbeard took the stage. Standing at an impressive 4’1, tall for a dwarf, his burly form exuded an aura of strength. His meticulously groomed beard, woven with golden bands, shimmered under the stage lights as he raised a meaty hand.
“Proud students of Crimson Academy…” his voice boomed, a thunderous bass that shook the hall. “Hail the Pyronis Kingdom!”
“HAIL!” the students roared in unison, their voices reverberating across the massive space.
The principal’s eyes swept over the assembly before turning to the spectators. “Parents, guardians—before you stand the future of Velos! These five hundred youths have proven their mettle in academics, discipline, and determination. They will shape the world as scholars, warriors, and rulers!”
A cheer erupted from the audience, some parents whistling, others calling out names.
Dvalin raised a massive hand, and the crowd fell silent again.
“In their hands, they hold briefcases containing Soul Keys, forged right here in Pyronis from the flames of the great Vulkaran Forge. Each key is a one-time artifact, the gateway to their soul’s deepest truth.”
Excitement rippled through the students. Some clutched their briefcases tighter, while others, like Roy, practically drooled over theirs.
“The stronger their resolve, the faster they unlock their Soul Gate, determining their Talent Rank.” Dvalin’s deep voice resonated with finality. “I have faith that among you stand future hidden dragons ready to shake the world. Prove your worth. Show us your destiny!”
“ALL HAIL!” the audience bellowed.
—
“Damn, how does he do that?” Roy muttered, eyes still fixed on his briefcase.
“Do what?” Melissa asked, arms crossed.
“Make the same speech sound epic every single year.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. “You mean the same over-rehearsed script? Yeah. Real masterpiece.”
“That’s at least an ‘E’ for effort.” Denwen smirked, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. His gaze drifted to the VIP section. “I don’t see your parents here, Roy.”
Roy snorted. “Did you really scan all those people?”
Denwen shrugged. “Not hard. The only place suited for your parents is up there.” He pointed toward the high balcony where noble families sat, adorned in finery.
“Well, yeah, but honestly…” Roy grinned, shaking his briefcase. “Right now, this is my priority.”
“Hey, quiet down.” Kara nudged them, nodding toward the stage.
A hush spread through the audience as a figure emerged. Walking up the stairs with effortless grace, Zara, the academy’s most eye-catching instructor, took center stage. With her flowing midnight dress, piercing violet eyes, and a smirk sharp enough to cut steel, she captured every gaze—especially the males’.
“Good day, everyone~” she purred into the microphone, her voice a silky melody. “You can call me Zara, and I’ll be your host today.”
Then, with a mischievous wink, she leaned forward. “I do hope you’re all ready for a show.”