The Academy greeted the students with a massive rainbow-like archway. It rained down mist and light, producing an arcane spectacle. The arch led into an enormous yard just outside the academy steps.
‘I haven’t seen grass in a while, huh?’ Thorne reminisced wistfully, picturing the vibrant greenery of the earth.
Old-fashioned merchant stalls lined the road outside the archway, none daring to enter the prestigious combat academy. Thorne noticed that some of the students seemed unfazed by the festivities and atmosphere, as they walked tall and upright, with noble and haughty expressions, as if thinking all of the festive arrangements were just for them.
Most new students seemed normal in their mannerisms and at least not outwardly pompous or disdainful. Many of them, teenagers and young adults, just casually enjoyed the view, taking in the event's colors, sounds, and smells.
The main event of the mini-parade was the Academy itself. Thorne had seen it from afar when he arrived and was amazed by the monolithic structure. Yet that view from dozens of miles away did not give any justice to the actual site.
The Academy had eight pillars: red, orange, yellow, blue, black, sable, crimson, and amber, each magnificent in their own right, towering miles into the sky, appearing to pierce the heavens. All eight of them held profound and unique inscriptions and etchings. They were so plainly complicated, and Thorne knew that he could only enjoy the sight of them at a surface layer while so much more was locked behind a barrier only accessible to the truly powerful.
The Pillars held up a massive metallic structure that faintly resembled ancient Greek structures. It spread for ages; the entire Academy so large Thorne’s eyes could not see the end of it.
“Attention, all students, please follow the three designated Academy personnel to the entry hall. Only students may enter the Academy; bodyguards, staff, and other personal employees, servants, or slaves of students may not enter.”
The deep male voice reverberated through his ears, hearing the statement constantly repeat itself.
Thorne had a limited knowledge of all the spectrums. Still, he did know the possibility of potential powers were endless, ‘probably a sound energy user of some kind.’
The procession of people soon thinned as all the underlings had to leave their masters. The crowd of students walked orderly in a group, thousands of them neatly following the three guides.
“whooahhh!” the hushed gasp of wonder left the lips of many of the students, even the previously imperious acting ones, as they viewed a truly mighty sight.
Standing nearly three hundred feet tall, a statue of gleaming, polished amber crystal towered in front of the students; its colossal stature and aura of tremendous might and resilience made even the strongest shiver. It depicted a man in his prime, with rippling muscles and a fierce expression on his chiseled face. His hands are raised above his head, crackling with amber energy.
One of the guides, whom Thorne presumed to be a sound cultivator, a seep sable crystal adorning his marble white inhuman skin, spoke, his eyes filled with pride, “This is the first headmaster of the mighty Zupu academy. Millions of years ago, when he was born, the planet was in its infancy, a weak galactic force.” The guide smiled wide, lusting over the students' awe and excitement, feeding off their emotions. “The headmaster is revered for his many exploits, including the defeat of the defense of the Zupu planet against infinitely strong universal civilizations. He is also known for his unwavering dedication to his students and the Academy, having spent countless years teaching and training the next generation of combat cultivators.” The guide then gestured to the statue, his arms swinging dramatically, preparing for the final and most radiant sentence for his monologue, “And he was a mighty monarch, amber cultivator!” The guide smiled wide, a hint of worshipful madness dancing across his sable eyes, “A true grade-five powerhouse!”
His words reverberated across the hall, spiraling masterfully into everyone’s ears, begging for a reaction. And the reaction was indeed present; silence, cutting silence, immediately halted the youngster's exuberant chatter.
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The guide smiled wider, his black teeth radiating joy, eating up the students' shock in glee.
Thorne, not fazed by the “grade five powerhouse” line, squinted his eyes at the guide. Thorne felt gross and tingly as the glee and manic ecstasy became apparent on the guide's face.
The chatter resumed in fervor; thousands of frenzied conversations were fully dedicated to the topic of the first headmaster.
Thorne looked back at the guide. He was smiling wider and wider as if he was trying to devour an entire world.
“What is wrong with that guy,” Thorne muttered under his breath. Thorne felt incredibly repulsed by the guide’s euphoria.
The guide’s once soft eyes hardened and instantly flicked towards Thorne.
‘Oh, shit, I forgot he was a sound cultivator!’ Thorne inwardly cursed, angry at his own carelessness. But he did not dare show weakness to the guide, feeling the other man would attempt to exploit it somehow. So, Thorne evenly met the gaze of the strange guide, inclining his head slightly, showcasing his emotionless stone face.
The guide’s wiry form twitched and almost broke out into a spasming mess of movement. He took a heavy step towards Thorne, implicating action and combat in his chaotic strides.
“Early Adept Drathir, how about we continue on,” Another one of the guides, a human with an orange crystal set upon his bald head, smiled slightly, emphasizing the words, early adept, clearly in some conflict with the other guide, “Headmaster Ahron would hate for us to be late because we overextended our stay at this wonderful monument.” The man smiled viciously, barely bothering to hide his threat.
The alabaster white Drathir snarled upon hearing the voice but quickly destroyed it, replacing the expression with a not-so-pleasant smile of crooked black teeth; “Of course.”
The other guide cocked his head, amused, waiting for something.
Early adept Drathir looked down and gritted his teeth, stifling, almost something. His following words were, “Of course, ahem, mid adept Nalor.”
Before walking away, the guide named Nalor gave Thorne a disguised wink while Drathir smoldered in his own frustration.
They walked through the academy halls. The rooms blended the natural world of wood, decorative plants, and flora with sleek metal lining the walls. The atmosphere wasn’t overloaded by any of the domains; nature and technology coexisted in harmony as they worked together to create a beautiful yet dangerous aura that permeated the halls.
The remaining journey was uneventful for Thorne. The guide, Drathir, did not bother approaching or even looking at him. The Academy was decorated with monuments of the past. There were mighty statues of pure solid energy, replica battles simulating the combat on a large black screen.
After about fifteen minutes of slowly walking and enjoying the academy interior, the large group came to a halting stop. They stood in front of a massive teleportation platform inlaid with indigo and metallic green runes emanating power.
‘damn,’ Thorne whistled lowly, ‘they really are going all out, or maybe this is normal?’
He didn’t know whether to be impressed or to treat it as the standard. Yet by the awestruck eyes of the others and the mutterings of money and how expensive it was, Thorne assumed it was quite something, even by this seemingly rich world standard.
“Everyone,” an angelic voice carried throughout the room, grabbing everyone’s attention, “please step onto the platform in an orderly fashion. If needed, move to make space for your fellow student.” Thorne keyed her to be the third guide, a bronze-skinned, tall, elven woman with a teal crystal on her forehead.
The masses instantly complied, not wanting to disobey such a voice. They all stood packed in, awaiting the moment of teleportation. Thorne and others prepped themselves mentally, while others seemed calm and used to the sequence and subsequent feeling of being teleported.
Whoosh, the air parted upon the teleportation, Thorne clutching his stomach. But nothing happened. He looked around and realized he was sitting in a floating chair in an assembly hall. Not just him, though. Thousands upon thousands of floating chairs spread throughout the room. Appearing to be an ocean of uniformity. A chair was in front of him, behind him, beside him. They were everywhere. Only now could Thorne genuinely appreciate the magnitude of gifted students that the Zupu Academy took in, apparently, from all over the universe.
WHIRR. WHIRR. WHIRRR.
An earthen stage manifested itself from the ground far in front of him. Nine distinct people appeared as well, standing on the stage. They all wore different colored robes, which signified their spectrum. Each of their flowing robes, ranging from crimson to deep blue, were styled with vast intricacies, making these robes genuinely exclusive to the wearer, apart from two outliers among the nine.
First, a small green figure in the center of the stage. He wore nothing but a plain brown robe draped over his tiny body. The other outlier was standing next to him, towering above the little green creature. A tall, muscular human wearing plain, amber robes. Who happened to be looking right at him.
‘That damned Graald!’ Thorne snarled, failing to hide this intended private display, and showed a slight grimace.
Despite being thousands of feet away, Graald caught it and smiled innocently. Then, just before the green creature readied itself to speak, Graald shamelessly winked in Thorne’s direction.