Ciazel’s summer sun gave no mercy.

The heat decommissioned the FHAs, instead leaving many seeking refuge from the blistering air. Outdoor activities regained their appeal and street-bound stores returned to full business, deepening the stress lines on the dark gravel as the number of feet on the ground doubled.

Food stalls busied Guildhall Avenue, causing Val to maneuver past the sprawling lines of hungry adventurers. Greasy fried snacks to the left, freshly-dipped caramel apples to the right—a bunch of scents taunted her stomach, and she forged past the crowd to negate it.

“If I tell one of those owners I’m a rising duelist,” Caro began beside her, glancing longingly at a burger stall. She let her curls free, a wave of red reaching past her denim biker shorts. Shades fit snuggly on her tank top’s C-line, covered every once in a while when her cardigan fluttered against a rare breeze. “You think they’ll let me have a free bite?”

“Slow down your roll, D-list celebrity,” Val reined in a smirk, tugging down on her white visor. She settled for a light long-sleeve over a fresh pair of dark jeans, with prints of her favourite songs embroidered onto the seams. “You’re not that up there. Not yet anyway.”

“Hey, I figured I’m more C-list, y’know?” She pointed to a five-story training center, a vast array of sophisticated exercise equipment discernible through the third floor’s clear-paneled walls. The franchise unfurled a gigantic poster across its front, covering the bottom half of the gym and the entire rest of the lower building.

‘We can make you ready for the duelist ring,’ the emboldened, bright-yellow words spread across the banner, hard to miss. ‘Become the next big thing now!’

The advertisement bordered on a mural, with hand-painted potraits added to the background in detail. Spotting Caro’s signature red hair and grin, Val smirked in full. “I stand corrected.”

In a country known for diversity, few things existed as common national points of interest. The duelist rings were one of them. Duelists competed on one of five identical leaderboards across the country, split according to their rank. Newcomers waded the 100,000s, eyes ever-set on the veterans permanently fixed at the peak.

Viewers tuned into matches as they wished, though only the top hundred got televised. Any in the triple-digits luckily had their matches taped and put online for those who cared to watch, and the rest pray they reached the weekly highlight reels.

Climbers, though, were the sole exception, and that was exactly what Caro unwittingly became. Before long, fans began to take notice of the dual-bound mage’s rampage, throwing monikers around until one stuck—Raging Sandstorm, Crazy Caro, Molten Mauler. She earned them, on a bloodthirsty hot streak of fifteen out of fifteen, winning over the crowd in what felt like a blink of an eye. Looking at it now, it was kinda inevitable.

Caro loved to fight, and it always showed. You fall into her thrilled grin at each slash, entranced by her intuitive movement and awed by her devastating swing. What’s more, she was great fun, charismatic to her fans and unhesitant to curse at a snarky opponent.

People rallied behind her ascent, and the DRA took notice, arranging her matches as headers. Her first titled match drew in watchers on both ends, making it among the most-watched fight for Novices outside the highest thousand and, quite regrettably, her first loss.

Caro’s pace slowed, buying herself time to take in her face among the rest of the upcoming mages. Then, noticing the bulging vein lining her clenched jaw, Val caught her friend’s eyes on someone else.

Next to her enlarged portrait was another girl, carrying features Val found familiar—black coils that fell to the shoulder, pale-blue eyes in sharp contrast with her deep brown skin, and an expression that spoke of unbreakable composure. Ah, Val understood, wincing. They just had to put her right beside Caro, didn’t they.

Alizeé Rhodes, the younger sister of Fiona, put an end to Caro’s run in a brutal fashion. Though not as decisive as many elitists believed the highborn prodigy would achieve, the match was skewed in the Bulwark’s favour permanently, making it the first one-sided fight anyone’s seen of Caro’s, including Val.

In fact, as the girls turned the corner towards the Hall of Eons, a vague restlessness lingered in Caro’s system at the reminder, evident by the wrinkles between her eyebrows. From that loss onwards, Caro remained keen on pitting herself against challenges equal to the tri-bound monster she faced within the ring, almost overly so. Today of all days, the request stood a good chance of being answered. After all, Equadister 10th presented not only the hottest afternoon of the year, but the start of the sponsored-student team's orientation.

Blinding rays arrested them moments after leaving the shade Guildhall Avenue had to offer. While Caro let lose a stream of muttered expletives and snapped on her sunglasses, Val simply smiled. Words couldn’t express how much she adored summer. Fewer bus delays. Seasonal jobs. Nature walks. Mom loved those.

A dull ache struck her core at the thought, shooed away once the two entered their guildhall and headed to the ground-level auditorium. The walk through the metal-plated halls was a brisk one, the girls wasted no time whatsoever in exploring the well-trodden floor.

Val tapped her white I.D. card on a blank pad next to a set of broad doors. A pulse of energy traveled the walls, transporting the access request and accepting it with a two-second delay. The doors retracted into their threshold, showcasing plush chairs and wooden desks assembled in ascending rows of semicircles.

Recognizable printouts of post-secondary emblems were taped to the cushions, a clear indication of the seating order for the orientation. Even though the auditorium seemed at half-capacity, the aether presence felt palpable, oozing out of the several Novices seated in their various positions.

Caro nudged Val and she blinked out of her reverie, suppressing the exciting smile tugging at her lips. I’m in great company, alright. The pair stepped foot inside, treated to a long, clothed table to the side of the entrance. On it sat nearly one hundred bronze badges, organized and separated by Path allocations. Conveniently, the nearest belonged to Strikers—immediately identifiable by the crossed swords insignia—tucked beneath one another like the scales of a long snake.

“Pick and choose any. It doesn’t matter as long as it matches your current—and for some, temporary—Path.”

Val raised an eyebrow at the familiar voice, turning her attention behind her and sucking in a sharp breath. Saints, she cursed internally, taking in the line of highly-ranked mages leaning against a blue-rimmed stage. Among them, Magus Hawke pressed a heavy gaze through her tinted glasses, while Magus Kane settled for the simple bob of the head. Val snapped a mage’s bow at once, sensing Caro doing the same in the corner of her eye, and then concentrated her gaze on the objects nearby.

She decided on the easiest one to wrestle out of the neatly-arranged line. Her thumb roamed the surface and the uneven metal scraped at her callous, though it was much smoother where she touched the blades.

Val’s grip around the metal item tightened, pinching into the skin of her palm. From here on out, she’d carry this badge into every rift so long as she remained a sixth-class adventurer. As practical as the item was, the symbolism wasn’t lost on her—Val's name was among the best Strikers of the best guild for being in the best school. It didn’t get better than that.

“Thanks for the help, Magus Kane,” she dipped her head.

“Your seat is over there,” he supplied, gesturing to the other end of the room. Val gave an appreciative nod and headed for the area.

Caro plopped into a seat, spreading her long limbs without care. “First ones here.”

Indeed, the first row of the east section was vacant, left available for the Thales Academy undergraduates. The idea that no one gave her grief for sitting in such a highly-coveted spot seemed hard to grasp. She half-expected someone to call her out at any moment now. Though to be fair, she did feel the prickling sidelong glances cast her way. Definitely because of my ASC, no doubt.

Thales upheld a certain standard, verified by a multitude of factors. The quality of graduating students, the methods of utilizing and keying into potential, and even University Games victories counted toward some kind of statistic.

For the last decade, Thales severely underperformed in the Games, causing a considerable amount of the country to question if the university still deserved its silver position behind Reynor University. Politics, Val dismissed, remembering her bright grin in the washroom mirrors while brushing her teeth this morning. I’m a freaking Thales undergraduate.

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As all early attendees did, the girls took in the sponsored adventurers streaming in, lending an ear to whatever conversions gained their attention. Rows of separate teams began to fill up, and the auditorium seemed to shrink. If the young mages’ clothing didn’t speak of status—designer outfits, priceless jewelry, kempt demeanour—their presence alone sent the message from miles away.

One person executed this exact concept in such an unbothered way Val knew precisely who entered the room before the chatter had a chance to cease altogether. Caro’s failed attempt at a whistle painted the rest of the picture. “Now who’s that?”

Val pushed off the armrests of her chairs and stretched her neck above the turning heads, freezing as she caught sight of the mage’s serpentine irises. An ornate sundress trailed the young lady’s steps, sweeping the carpeted staircase as she took her place on top among the Reynor University students. A broad sunhat hid the majority of her face and she tilted it in greeting with an upward curl on her lips.

“Xiandra Clementine,” Val sighed, answering her friend and ignoring the obvious taunt by lowering the bill of her visor. Just great, she thought, not even HQ is a comfort zone anymore.

“Her ASC’s not that much lower than mine,” Caro said, almond-brown eyes ablaze, Vague View in action. “Scary.”

“I know,” Val muttered. The show she put on during the Initiation guaranteed a high-ranking PAST too. Couple her magical aptitudes with unlimited techniques and arts customary to those part of the Twenty…

Val’s gaze found its way back to the formidable mage. She’s on track to be on Alizee’s level, Val thought, scanning the over five Reynor students. Maybe they all are.

“Oh, oh!” Caro patted her friend’s shoulder relentlessly. “Val look, he’s coming this way!”

It took a conscious amount of effort to rip away from Xiandra, but it ended up a far easier endeavour to locate the magma mage’s interest. People broke out of their cliques to allow the towering Desni through, so tall even a Kidraan’s neck bent upwards to look him dead in the eye.

Consistent for his kind, he embraced the heat in full, clad in khaki shorts, a plain T-shirt, and a pair of open-toed sandals. Golden hair spilled out of his straw hat, swaying at each meter-long stride he took. He grabbed a spot along the relatively empty row and the chair noticeably sank, earning a dry chuckle from Caro. “Please tell me you’re not our Hunter.”

He stifled a laugh and opened his clenched hand, revealing the shield-shaped insignia on his bronze badge.

“Ah, the Bulwark. Great!” she grinned, though her enthusiasm ebbed as she gave him a look over. “Man, your fashion is more questionable than this one over here.”

“Not everyone cares about style, Caro,” Val shook her head. “Plus, you just insulted him. I’m sorry on my friend’s behalf, um…”

“Azotus,” he filled in, “though it always gets shortened to Otis one way or the other. Still waiting on a nickname for my nickname,” He shifted his sights onto Caro. “Just checking. Questionable doesn’t mean bad, right?”

Val knew right there and then, made obvious by the smile of her own, Caro took a liking to their new teammate. “Right on, Oats!”

“Oats?” another voice questioned, confusion detectable. Val blinked at a guy barely taller than her at 5’7, dressed in a semi-formal suit that carried accents of tribal colours. His size hinted at a speed-based Path, and she could guess just which he was, knowing full well the team didn’t need a third Striker.

Sure enough, the dagger emblem on his badge—scarcely visible through his grasp—gave the Hunter away. Didn’t even notice him till he spoke, Val realized, seeing the Kidraan in a new light.

“Oats, short for Otis,” Caro smirked. “Nickname for a nickname. Mission accomplished.”

Otis mirrored her expression. “Oats. Not bad.”

“No need to lie,” Val gave a soft snort, turning back the conversation. “It has nothing to do with your name, whatsoever.”

“It’s an entire syllable shorter,” Caro tried to argue. “Starts with O, too.”

“And ends with an S,” Otis added, his smile widening.

“None of you are highborn,” the Hunter interjected, lips stretched thin.

The group fell into a four-way staring contest, silent as they absorbed the underlying meaning of his words.

“My, what a keen observer you are.” Caro dwarfed the teen’s presence the instant she stood, her stare pressing down on him from five inches above. “I assume that doesn’t change anything?”

To Val’s surprise, he didn’t back down. “Your assumption is wrong.”

Caro gritted her teeth. “Care to elaborate?”

“What more needs to be said,” he spat. “You lack proper—!”

“Don’t tell me I missed introductions.”

Yet another Thales undergraduate cut in, his voice amiable despite the tangible tension hanging over their small gathering. Val turned to take in their second-tallest member—beating out Caro’s height by a palm’s width. He was of the East Islands, given away by his dark-green eyes and olive skin tone.

His appearance seemed to do the trick, and the Hunter left the previous matter to rest, picking on another subject. “You’re late, Haldar.”

Val’s eyes widened at the name. She tried to piece together the resemblance between the newcomer and her former Support, only to discover she couldn’t. In addition to the circular glasses he wore, he dyed his hair a deep purple and had more piercings than Val had fingers—his ears, nose, and even eyebrows weren’t spared.

“No I’m not,” he replied with no qualms, slipping his hands into his grey slacks.

“It’s basic etiquette to arrive ten minutes before,” the Kidraan answered. “As a Haldar, you should know this.”

“Ekon, my name’s Jesal,” he dropped into the seat adjacent to Otis, and Caro followed his lead under the pointed stares gravitating their way. “I don’t call you Nightingale, do I? Chill out, for once.”

“Look at our team,” he hissed, still standing. “Aren’t you at least worried?”

“No.” Jesal smoothed out the collar on his black polo. “Age of Atera doesn’t recruit just anyone, man. Neither does Thales. Take a seat, look around, and see for yourself.”

Val resisted the strong urge to tip off her visor to his response. On some level, she could understand holding reservations about new surroundings, especially as a recent traveller. However, that did little to explain making—and voicing—premature notions on the matter, with no thoughts of being wrong. It went completely against Val’s order of things.

Take it in. Observe. Gauge. Act. React. Repeat. The Hunter—Ekon Nightingale, she now knew—skipped steps two and three after seeing his teammates, which didn’t necessarily align with his Path.

Ekon's frown deepened, but he resigned to sit at the far end of the row. As a result, an awkward quiet overcame them—to the point where it felt like the whole room stopped talking.

And it was true.

During their argument, another hush settled over the room, outright deafening among the near-hundred adventurers gathered.

“Look,” Jesal jerked his head to the closing doors, alluding to the reason behind the sudden silence. “Our next member’s here.”

A petite figure ambled in, her face so expressionless Val couldn’t tell whether or not she registered the people in her vicinity. She tucked her dress shirt into black pants, a grey, textured overcoat draped on top. She kept her ice-blonde hair a little over chin-length, one side longer than the other.

Jesal waved. “Kyles, it’s been a minute.”

She flicked her fingers in passing, conjuring forth a gust of frozen vapour.

“How warm of you,” he muttered. Careful of his piercings, he took off his gold-rimmed glasses and wiped away the tiny ice shards on his eyebrows using his shirt, leaving the rest of the auditorium to stare, starstruck.

“She did not just cast a speechless spell,” Caro wondered aloud, voicing the question of many. Speechless spellcasting took the “asking for a cup of water” analogy to the extreme, a mere gesture enough to elicit a reaction from an Elemental Gate. Either she weaved the spell in the span of a second, or she cast it off pure, unadulterated instincts.

Not to talk of the insanely-high required level of spell mastery, to fight a mage this early on without the vocal incantations as a giveaway was a nightmare.

“That’s a Lenson for you,” someone muttered.

“I heard she’s a gold.”

“Yup, and she hit purple on Deduction Day.”

“What?” another said. “On top of having three elements?”

The ice mage, true to her element, looked unperturbed, resting a slim chin in her hand.

Three? Val repeated listlessly, shocked into a daze. Tri-bound mages are unheard of. I get Alizee, but now this? Val held in a shiver. She noticed how the Twenty existed on a plane incomparable to normal society, with decades of history and generational prowess able to sustain their status. Yet knowing it and facing it head-on were two different things. That tingle she felt in the guild master’s presence zipped up her spine, and she fought off the oddest impulse to run to the nearest EC-room.

She needed to up her game.

Caro’s wonder soon morphed into glee under the constant rain of whispers. “Aren't they jealous," she cackled. "Boy am I glad she’s on our team.”

“Likewise,” Jesal added, slipping his eyewear back on. “She should be the last one we're waiting for, which means it's probably about to start.”

“Settle down, Novices,” Magus Kane said, as if on cue. “I believe everyone’s arrived.” His head did a sweep of the room, and he nodded, satisfied. “Good. It seems we can get this show on the road.”