Lyra strolled up the colossal steps of Bal'rung Hall, her books floating beside her like obedient puppies. A symphony of color and chaos greeted her. Above, Ascensus teens zipped and zoomed, doing aerial acrobatics that would make a Cirque du Soleil performer weep with envy. Below, Cipher teens were busy showcasing their tricked-out weapons, laser swords sparking and futuristic gadgets whirring. Vectorn, meanwhile, were blurring across the plaza like caffeinated bees, leaving streaks of afterimages in their wake. Even the air crackled with the occasional spark or spray of water, proof that this wasn't just a school, it was a full-blown superpowered rave.
"Whoa, this place is nuts!" Lyra thought, taking it all in. "I'm officially in a superhero movie. Except, instead of saving kittens from trees, we're probably saving the planet from interdimensional squirrels."
"Oop—"
Lyra's reverie ended abruptly as she collided with someone, sending a cascade of textbooks tumbling to the ground.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Lyra exclaimed, scrambling to gather her belongings.
"Oh, no, no, no, it's my fault! I wasn't—" A boy, slightly shorter than Lyra, with a face that had seen better days, was just as flustered. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and he had the awkward charm of a nervous puppy.
Lyra caught his gaze, and her stomach dropped. Half of his face was… different. She'd noticed it before, but seeing it up close made her realize he was dealing with a facial deformity. Lyra's mind raced with apologies, remembering all the snickers and whispers she'd heard directed at kids who looked different.
"What's your name?" Lyra asked, forcing herself to smile genuinely.
"What—?"
"Your name! I'm Lyra." Lyra offered her hand, feeling a wave of awkwardness wash over her.
The boy, startled, looked at her outstretched hand. He'd gotten used to people avoiding eye contact, flinching, or looking away.
"I-it's Griffin," he stammered, hesitantly shaking her hand.
Lyra could see the relief and surprise in his eyes. Someone actually wanted to talk to him.
"You're a new student too?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm an Ascensus! You…?" Griffin said, then trailed off, eyes widening as they landed on Lyra's floating books. "Oh…"
"Yeah," Lyra chuckled, "Noesis."
"I see… well, I gotta go, so… eheh, nice to meet you—" Griffin turned to leave, his shoulders hunched.
"Wait, wait for me!"
Griffin stopped, surprised. For the first time in his life, a stranger was excited to talk to him.
"So, what major are you taking, Griffin?"
"A-aerospace engineering—"
"Oh! I'm engineering too—civil engineering."
"That's… cool…"
"How much did you get on the entrance test?" Lyra blurted out, her inner nerd bubbling over.
"Huh? Oh, 812… nothing much—"
"812??!! Nah, that's impossible! I only got 735! What's your tutor?! Apex?! Summit?!"
Griffin blinked, shyly clutching his backpack. "Y-Youtube…"
“Youtube??! Nahh- this is some Einstein level genius—"
"Nahh… I think anyone can learn it from Youtube too, you know Dream?"
"The… Minecraft Youtuber?"
Griffin shook his head, a shy smile spreading across his face. “No- no- that teacher guy who gives like tips and tricks on college entrance tests-”
Lyra gasped. “OH- you meant Dream Academy channel?! Yeah, I’ve watched some too!”
"Yeah! Yeah, you see, he also has this kind of website where he gives practice—"
Griffin’s explanation was cut short by a jarring voice that seemed to boom from the very walls of the hall. It was old, gravelly, and had a distinct undertone of "I've-seen-better-days-and-I-don't-like-it."
"Attention, incoming freshmen! Orientation begins promptly at 10:00 AM. Please assemble according to faction designation. Our esteemed staff, clad in identifiable crimson vests, will guide you to designated gathering areas. Prompt compliance and orderly conduct are expected."
The crimson-vested seniors, looking like overdressed referees from a particularly chaotic sporting event, began their movement. Like pieces in a carefully choreographed game of musical chairs, they snaked their way through the crowd, bellowing instructions with enough authority to silence a classroom of chatty parrots.
"Ascensus! This way! No loitering! Lines! Now!" one senior screeched, jabbing a clipboard aggressively in Griffin and Lyra's direction.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The wave of seniors sweeping through the plaza seemed to instantly transform the chattering crowd into sheep, obediently shuffling into designated lines.
"Oh, well, I gotta head to my faction... see ya later!" Lyra declared, waving to Griffin with a cheerful grin.
Griffin, caught off guard, blinked at her.
"H-huh? Oh- right… th-thanks for talking to me…" he stammered, his cheeks flushing a light pink.
"Whaaaaat…? no problem really…" Lyra replied, her smile widening.
Griffin, now feeling the pang of being suddenly abandoned, mustered a shy wave and awkwardly shuffled towards the forming line.
Lyra watched him go, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.
"Silly little guy," she thought, shaking her head with amusement.
Lyra stepped into the hall, her slim frame clad in all black - a tattered black t-shirt, ripped black jeans, and combat boots. The stark contrast was impossible to miss against the pristine white walls and ceiling that seemed to swallow the light, creating a stark visual echo of the formality draping every corner. It was almost absurd, like a tiny black licorice stick plopped into a bowl of freshly fallen snow.
Dozens of professors with carefully cultivated expressions of boredom crowded the massive stage at the far end of the hall, their whispers echoing like the rustle of dry leaves. They were a collection of interesting eyes and flowing robes, appearing somewhere between hawk-like scrutiny and fluffy cloud-like distraction. Behind each professor leaned a pristine silver chair, mirroring the gleaming expanse of the stage itself.
"Would you mind… standing in line in your faction…”
Lyra jumped, almost tripping over her own feet. A soft, almost boyish voice had caught her completely off guard. She whirled around to find one of the crimson-vested staff standing behind her, a look of mild amusement playing on his lips.
"O-oh- sorry! I don't know where Noesis is -" she stammered, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink.
And then Lyra saw the boy's face. Those puppy-dog eyes, framed by a shock of perfectly formed black curls, was like something out of a dreamy romance novel. He was adorable.
"It's… right over there." He gestured with a slight tremor to a cluster of people in coordinating turquoise outfits, mirroring Lyra's own casual black. Despite his soft voice, a subtle masculinity radiated from him. It was like a warm breeze carrying the scent of freshly cut grass.
"Oh… thanks…" Lyra managed to squeak out, her eyes struggling to look anywhere else.
"Sorry, what's your name? I'm Clay."
"Lyra. You can call me Lyra,"
"Nice to meet you, Lyra,"
Both of them felt it. The weird, fluttering sensation that only happens when you realize you might have just fallen head over heels for someone you just met.
Clay cleared his throat, breaking the sudden silence. "Right… there." He pointed again, a little more firmly this time.
"Oh- right, thanks-" Lyra started to move, her limbs feeling suddenly clumsy and awkward.
Lyra kept walking, her heart doing a little flip-flop. Her mind racing a million miles an hour. She couldn't believe this was happening. ORIENTATION DAY. And she already had a crush.
Clay watched Lyra walk away, her black clothes swaying gently, a trail of turquoise glitter shimmering in her wake. His cheeks burned, and he felt a strange tingling sensation spreading through his chest. Orientation Day. Seriously? He'd been anticipating this day for weeks, prepping commands, memorizing names, even practicing his most charming smile in the mirror. He'd envisioned himself as the epitome of cool, the seasoned veteran guiding these wide-eyed freshmen. And then Lyra waltzed in, all black rebellion against the sea of white, and his carefully constructed plan dissolved into a puddle of nervous giggles and stammered introductions. Now, he was left standing there, clutching his clipboard like a lifeline, replaying her awkward smile and the way her eyes had lingered on his face just a little too long.
"THE RIZZLER!!" A voice boomed beside Clay, accompanied by a bear hug from behind. Caesar, with his mismatched socks and ever-present grin, was the embodiment of chaotic energy.
"Shut up, Caesar," Clay muttered, blushing furiously as Caesar released him.
"I'm the one here on a mission to find girls, and you landed one before me?!"
Clay rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "I'm not a rizzler," he mumbled, taking a step back to avoid another hug attempt. "It just happened bro."
----------------------------------------
Pierce, the headmaster, stood on stage, flamingo pink trousers snaking up his lean legs under a vibrant purple silk waistcoat. A dazzling array of silver pins, each representing a different accomplishment or dubious award, adorned his crisp white shirt. His speech projected a friendly, charismatic energy, even when delivered with a practiced air that felt almost entirely too polished.
"Everyone…" he called out, his voice amplified by the speakers, "welcome to University of New Olympus!"
A wave of applause rippled through the sea of fresh faces, followed by a chorus of cheers.
"Nah but seriously," Pierce interrupted, raising an eyebrow playfully as the clapping died down, "congratulations on making it here. All 752 of you made it to the best of the best university in the world, so let's give yourselves another round of applause!"
The noise erupted once more as if a popcorn machine had spontaneously exploded, filling the air with excited chatter. Lyra, standing in the second row, clapped along, smiling as she gazed at Pierce. Maybe not every professor here was going to be a stuffy, rule-obsessed robot, she thought.
"Were you the one talking to that autistic guy earlier?" A voice startled Lyra mid-slap. She turned towards the source, meeting the gaze of a thin young woman with tightly coiled black hair, dressed in clothes that looked like they'd been raided from her granny's attic. She appeared to wear socks with sneakers, and her shirt had a suspiciously large stain on the front.
"Y-yeah… I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Nope. Nice to meet ya, the name's Ken," the girl offered a handshake, her hand bony and surprisingly strong.
"Ly…ra…" Lyra shook Ken's hand, feeling herself getting more and more bewildered by the moment.
"Your major?" Ken asked, her voice as direct as a laser beam.
"Oh – civil engineering," Lyra replied, slightly taken aback by Ken's bluntness.
"Huh. Lucky me. Same."
Lyra stared at Ken, her brain struggling to catch up. Every instinct screamed that this girl was trouble, but there was something about her chaotic energy that was strangely captivating. This was definitely not the kind of person she was used to dealing with – Lyra prided herself on being effortlessly cool, and Ken was the embodiment of…well, not effortless.
"Did...something spill on your shirt?" Lyra pointed at the large stain on Ken's front.
Ken glanced down at her shirt, then awkwardly attempted to cover the stain with her worn-out black denim jacket. "Ugh, I thought this was barely visible. Even the staff couldn't see it."
"Really?" Lyra chuckled, "If they see it, then you'll probably be-"
"I know," Ken cut in, also laughing, "Thank god they didn't. Good catch."
"Was it coffee or something-"
"Blood," Ken blurted out, deadpan.
Lyra stared at her, utterly shocked for a beat before bursting into relief-fueled laughter. Lyra almost believed that.
"Oh my god, this shit's boring as hell…" Ken said, looking back at the stage.
"It just started-"
"Yeaahhh…I hope we're gonna do something else besides listening to speeches and singing..." Ken lifted up her choir book, revealing the title: "University of New Olympus Glee Club: Carols for Tomorrow".
"We're…not actually gonna sing, right?"
Ken looked at her like she’d grown another head.
"Seriously? Of course we're singing."