The hall of orientation was vast, built like a cathedral of discipline and promise. Its high ceiling arched upward in clean lines, ribs of black steel and polished oak catching the light from chandeliers that swung ever so slightly. The walls carried banners of the Academy's crest the circle within a circle, a subtle emblem that to outsiders might look like any scholarly insignia, but to the gathered students was a door into mystery. Rows upon rows of students sat neatly in their black uniforms, jackets pressed, shoes gleaming. They looked like an army of order, though the whispers that darted across the rows betrayed their nerves.
At the front, the podium was set beneath a single spotlight, and behind it stood a long table draped in dark velvet where the senior staff of the Academy sat the guardians or more less teachers, or . The buzz of anticipation was thick, and though the hall was filled with the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional nervous cough, a hush fell the moment the first figure stepped forward.
Principal Higgs was a tall, striking woman of dark complexion, dressed in a tailored black suit with a silver brooch that gleamed faintly like a watch face under the lights. She walked with the composed elegance of someone who had no need to command respect , it bent naturally toward her. Her eyes swept over the sea of students, and when she spoke her voice carried warmth and iron in equal measure.
"Welcome," she began, and even that single word drew silence tighter.
"You sit here today because you have passed what many could not. The test you faced was not just a measure of your knowledge, but of your discipline, your wit, and your willingness to step into the unknown. For that, I congratulate you."
A ripple of relieved smiles went through the students, though one boy at the back whispered, "She sounds like my mom after I clean the dishes." His friend muffled a laugh.
Higgs smiled faintly, as though she had heard them anyway. "At the Time Zone Academy, tradition is more than a formality. Each of you will be entrusted with a watch — not just any watch, but the watch of this Academy. It is your key, your companion, and yes, your burden. In your hands, it is both freedom and responsibility."
She paused, letting the words hang. A girl in the second row straightened, hands folded tightly over her lap as though she were already clutching that unseen burden.
"These watches are a privilege," Principal Higgs continued. "A privilege earned, not given. They allow you to touch the flow of time itself. The details of their workings will be taught to you in due course by your teachers. For now, what you must understand is this: you are trusted. Trusted with knowledge the world cannot know. Trusted to be free, and yet to restrain that freedom wisely. Do not take that lightly. But do not be afraid, either. This Academy is your home now. You have the freedom to learn, to grow, and to discover the best in yourselves."
She closed her notes, though it was clear she had not truly needed them. "Congratulations again. You are not just students of a school. You are part of a legacy."
A murmur rose , some proud, some anxious. A boy whispered, "Legacy? Sounds like homework in disguise." His neighbor elbowed him.
Principal Higgs offered one last nod and stepped back. The hall clapped politely, the echo sharp against the high ceiling. Then came the shuffle of another figure rising.
Professor Egar was gray-haired but sharp-eyed, his suit less fitted than the Principal's, his tie slightly crooked. Yet when he reached the podium, no one doubted his authority. He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward as though about to whisper a secret , and in a way, he was.
"In your hands," he said, voice steady, "you hold more than a timepiece. You hold a piece of this Academy's legacy. Something that can change the course of events. And with that comes the greatest danger of all: loose tongues."
A nervous laugh flickered somewhere, quickly silenced.
"If the secret of your watch falls into the wrong hands," Egar continued, his gaze cutting across the hall, "the consequences will not be personal. They will be catastrophic. For you. For this Academy. For everyone tied to it."
He paused, letting the weight sink in. Then he added, almost casually, "And no, not even your parents should know. Not your siblings. Not your charming cousin who thinks they're too clever. If you tell them, you do not give them knowledge. You give them danger. You may invite them into a twisted rabbit hole they cannot understand. And if they do not survive that hole, whose fault would it be?"
A boy at the back leaned to his friend and whispered, "So… congratulations, we've been invited to a twisted rabbit hole." They both snorted until the girl in front of them hissed for silence.
Egar's eyes seemed to narrow, as though he somehow knew. "You think I jest. I do not. You hold something amazing. But misused, revealed, or lost, it can go terribly wrong."
His voice grew quieter, and yet the silence in the hall deepened with him. "Protect it. Protect yourselves. Protect this Academy."
He stepped back with no smile, no nod ,simply the withdrawal of a storm. And already the next storm was walking forward.
If Egar was a storm, Evans was the shadow that followed lightning. He was the Academy's inquisitor, and everyone knew it. Tall, pale, dressed in black so stark it seemed to swallow the light, Evans approached the podium like a specter of consequence. Even his footsteps seemed too loud in the hall.
Students shifted in their seats. One whispered, "Why do I feel like he already knows my internet history?" Another muttered, "Shut up before he arrests you."
Evans did not smile. He never did. When he spoke, it was in a voice that rolled cold and absolute.
"You are not children playing with toys," he said. "You are guardians in training. Think of it like this: each of you is pregnant."
The hall went dead silent. One student nearly choked. "Did he just....?"
Evans went on without hesitation. "Pregnant with responsibility. With a child that is your watch. Only a fool loses their child. Only a fool lets it be stolen."
Some students exchanged horrified looks, others muffled laughter. Evans ignored them all.
"Freedom is balanced by rules," he said. "Discipline defines what freedom can endure. If you misuse your watch, or put yourself in needless danger, it will be taken from you. Personally taken. By me."
The hall froze. Even the jokers at the back shut their mouths.
Evans leaned closer to the microphone. "And when I ground you, you will know what grounding feels like in this Academy."
A nervous chuckle rippled from somewhere in the back. Evans' eyes flicked that way, and the chuckle died instantly.
"Understand this: you are part of something larger. Break the trust, and the Academy has ways of ensuring you learn your lesson."
He stepped away as abruptly as he had come, leaving behind the taste of iron in the air.
Raimond Dantis, a member of the Board of Directors, rose with a softer presence. He was shorter, balding, with a round face and a smile that seemed permanently plastered there, though it did little to ease the students' nerves after Evans. He smoothed his jacket and spoke in a tone that felt almost fatherly.
"In the world beyond these walls," Raimond said, "dangers lie in wait ,dangers you cannot always predict. This watch on your wrist is not merely a token of your place in this Academy. It is also a safeguard. But listen well: it is not a weapon. It is not a license to rush into foolish risk."
A boy whispered, "Tell that to Evans. He already scared me into never taking it off." His friend smirked.
"If you face a threat," Raimond continued, "be it a robbery, an accident, or something stranger, use the watch to protect yourself and those near you. But always with caution. Treat it as a gift of safety, not as a sword. And remember this too: you are never alone. If anything feels out of place, report it. To us, to your teachers, to the Academy. We cannot protect you if you do not speak."
He spread his hands in a gentle gesture. "Be vigilant. Be responsible. The world outside these walls is not always kind. But inside these walls, you belong to a community greater than yourself."
There was a murmur of agreement , quieter than the jokes, steadier than the fear. Perhaps, for the first time that morning, the students felt both burdened and comforted at once.
When the speeches ended, the Principal announced a brief session for questions. Predictably, the hands shot up.
"What if we show someone the watches?" a girl asked, nervous but bold.
Professor Egar returned to the podium, his crooked tie swaying. "Do you plan on cutting off your hand to hide it? Because unless you do, your father will see it. Your mother will see it. So will your crafty uncle. People in the street will see it. To them, it is just another analog watch. The secret is not in its face. It is in you. Do not tell them what it does, and no one will question it. And for heaven's sake, do not give it to your mother as a present. It says Time Zone Academy right on it. Use your brain."
The hall laughed, the girl sinking slightly in her seat.
Another boy stood. "What happens if we lose it?" His grin was too wide, too cheeky.
Egar's eyes turned to ice. "Then you will be expelled. Or worse. Do not lose it."
The boy sat down quickly, grin gone.
A girl named Shanel raised her hand. "What if the government finds out?"
"They will not," Egar said simply.
"That's not an answer," Shanel pressed.
Egar leaned forward, his eyes dark as coal. "Were you planning to tell them?"
"N-no," Shanel stammered.
"Then they will never know." He broke into a sharp, unexpected chuckle, but it did nothing to soften the chill.
Students at the back whispered. "We saw that look. Serious as death." Another whispered back, "Serves her right for asking."
The Q&A wound down, the tension mixed now with humor, fear, and the strange pride of belonging to something larger.
Professor Egar rose one last time. "That concludes the orientation. You will now proceed to your classes. Remember: your watch is not a trinket. It is your responsibility. Protect it. Protect the Academy."
The students rose in their neat black rows, shuffling out with murmurs that blended relief, dread, and excitement. Some laughed under their breath, others clutched at wrists that were not yet adorned, already feeling the invisible weight.
And so the Orientation Day ended not with fireworks, but with the quiet realization that they had stepped into something far stranger than any of them had imagined.