Scene 1 — Ceremony Broadcast (TJ )
"We come to you live from Odin Academy, where the national acceptance test is being held! A big thanks to all our viewers for tuning in!"
Reporters crowded the front gate like vultures with microphones, cameras swinging the moment any student with a recognizable uniform stepped into frame.
I walked past them anyway, adjusting the tie Director Chiron had ordered us to wear—because apparently saving the world didn't matter if we looked sloppy doing it.
"TJ," Thomas muttered at my right, still fighting his own tie like it was a snake. "Do you think we'll have to go up again this year?"
He tugged too hard.
His white face turned red instantly.
He started choking.
I sighed like a man who'd been cursed to babysit giants.
Alexis reached over without looking, fingers fast and practiced, loosening the knot and fixing it in one smooth motion. Thomas inhaled like he'd been brought back from death, eyes wide in gratitude and embarrassment.
The cameras loved it.
I felt their lenses track us—Alexis' blond hair, Thomas' build, my last name—waiting for the "Helstrong kids" headline.
So I cast a shadow barrier.
Not a full dome. Just enough to blur angles and kill clean audio.
"Hey," I hissed, walking faster. "Lovebirds. We still got people around us."
Alexis and Thomas both flushed.
Alexis flicked me off without missing a step.
Thomas looked like he wanted to evaporate.
We reached the seating rows by the stage. The ceremony space had been upgraded again—bigger banners, tighter security, more teachers on the perimeter than usual.
And more important faces in the front row.
My headache started before I even saw them.
"Alexis," I asked quietly, already knowing the answer. "Did you bring your bow?"
She shook her head with a grin that made me want to throw myself into a portal.
"Of course not."
My temples throbbed.
"You're gonna pawn extra duties off on me," I muttered.
Alexis leaned in, voice low enough the microphones couldn't catch even without my barrier.
"It's your grandparents in attendance this year," she said. "They're the reason the ceremony is this big. Biggest donors to the academy and the city."
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to force my irritation down.
"Grandpa's out the hospital," Alexis continued. "They're here to see what you can do now."
Like I didn't already feel them watching.
Like their presence wasn't a weight in my bones.
I shifted slightly—and stepped on something that wasn't grass.
A tug in my shadow.
A pressure like a tail being yanked.
I froze for half a heartbeat.
Inside me, the cloaked figure—the thing I kept locked behind layers of rules and breath control—opened an eye.
We locked gazes in that inner space.
It grinned.
Then it cut the connection before I could bite back.
I exhaled slowly, jaw tight, and looked toward the stage.
Chiron was already there.
Grey beard hanging so long it looked like it wanted to touch the floor, tanned skin shining under the lights like he'd just walked off a battlefield instead of into a school ceremony.
He leaned into the microphone.
"Testing. Testing. One, two, three. Mic check."
The speakers crackled.
He smiled.
"Good. Now that the star students are here… we'll begin."
I stared at him in betrayal.
"I told you," I muttered to Thomas, "he'd drag us into this."
Thomas rubbed his neck, still recovering from the tie incident.
Alexis looked far too pleased.
Chiron lifted his hands, and the entire room quieted like the air itself had been given an order.
"For those new to us—and those returning for the year 2016—welcome to Odin Academy."
The crowd clapped. Parents cheered. Cameras zoomed.
Chiron's eyes flicked toward the front row, and his voice softened for exactly one sentence.
"I also extend a warm welcome to our honored guests… the parents of Odin—"
My stomach tightened.
"—and the family of Troy, better known as Tyr."
That name still hit the room differently than most.
Even students who didn't know the full history knew the weight of it.
"A shining example," Chiron continued, "of Travelers saving one another—at the ultimate cost. The kind of legacy that inspired his surviving peers to prepare the next generation."
He paused—subtle, deliberate—like he was giving my grandparents their moment without exposing what they didn't want exposed.
"They are in attendance today as our largest donors—those who never ask recognition. But with the father recently hospitalized, the Traveler world saw it fit to give them their proper seat of honor."
Chiron lifted his chin.
"We are all human. And we all stand on the shoulders of giants—whether we like it or not."
He let that land.
"Now," he continued, voice rising again, "while we live in perilous times, we also live in united times. Travelers exist to explore the Sea and its untold dangers. And because of that… I've decided to make room to introduce the best examples of Odin Academy's last three years."
My headache doubled.
Chiron's gaze swept the crowd like a man selecting sacrifices.
"First up—Thomas Wild."
Thomas stood, wild golden hair looking like a lion's mane pretending to be an eighteen-year-old.
He waved at the crowd with that goofy smile he'd had his whole life.
Then—because he had no survival instinct in public—he did the worst thing possible.
He raised his hands and started juggling spells.
A fireball. An ice shard. A dense ball of earth.
He rotated them in the air like it was a circus act, letting them orbit his palms without burning him, freezing him, or breaking skin—because his patron's blessing reinforced his body in ways most students would never understand.
The crowd went insane.
Teachers on the perimeter looked like they wanted to hit him with a book.
Chiron sighed like a tired father.
"Next—Alexis Helstrong," he announced, "daughter of Baldur, the American Explorer… and Crystal, the Eye of the Horizon."
Alexis stepped onto the stage like she owned it.
Blonde hair caught the lights. Her smile was calm, practiced, and just arrogant enough to make the freshmen stare.
She raised a hand.
A thin ribbon of astral light formed—simple, clean, beautiful.
Then she twisted it into a shape.
A bow.
Not her real bow. A light construct—deliberately flashy and harmless.
A "simple trick" that looked advanced to anyone who didn't know better.
The crowd cheered again.
Chiron turned his gaze toward me.
"And last—TJ Helstrong."
A few whispers ran through the crowd.
"The only son of Artemis," Chiron continued smoothly, "better known publicly as Nicole Helstrong—Assistant Director of the Traveler Society."
My jaw tightened.
Chiron did not smile as he delivered the next line.
"Lesser known fact… Nicole was Tyr's partner in saving dozens—if not hundreds—of Travelers alongside Tyr."
My grandparents didn't react.
They didn't have to.
I stood anyway.
The moment I did, the cameras sharpened. Everyone wanted the "main character" shot, like this was some heroic movie instead of a battlefield disguised as a school.
I kept my connection to surrounding shadows low.
Then I flicked my fingers.
Thomas' fireball—still floating near the stage—pulled toward me like it recognized authority.
It spun around my body once.
Then twice.
Then I forced it to split.
Not into sparks.
Into dozens of controlled fragments—each one fed with just enough energy to become astral flame I could command without losing form.
They flew out like fireflies—circling the stage, the banners, the crowd—
Then orbiting my grandparents' seats once.
A message, subtle enough to look like a performance.
Then the flames vanished.
Clean.
No smoke.
No residue.
Chiron nodded once, satisfied.
"What did I say?" he announced to the crowd. "Three of the best talents we've seen at this academy. We hope they serve as peers for you to grow with. Use what's available here to advance further down the path."
His eyes scanned the freshmen now—sharp and unkind.
"Ceremony continues," he said. "You three may sit."
We sat.
I tuned out the rest of his speech.
Because once you've survived enough chaos, you learn the truth:
Speeches are just the calm before someone bleeds.
Scene 2 — The Real Warning (TJ / Crow POV)
"Now that the parents are gone," Chiron said, voice shifting, "we'll begin the true ceremony for those aspiring to become Travelers."
I blinked awake—apparently I'd half-dozed through whatever polite nonsense came after the cameras were satisfied.
Chiron's astral energy rolled through the room like a wave.
People who'd been relaxed snapped upright.
Freshmen stopped whispering.
Even the upperclassmen sitting in the second-story viewing rows leaned forward like prey sensing a predator.
Chiron stood tall, expression flat.
"I won't sugarcoat anything," he said. "This academy is not a daycare for talented young adults to fall behind."
Silence thickened.
"You get one shot," he continued. "One. This is not the place to 'find yourself.'"
His gaze swept the room again.
"Your peers aren't allies," Chiron said. "They are your competition. For rank. For resources. For attention. For survival."
A few freshmen swallowed hard.
Chiron waved a hand toward the second-story balcony now packed with second to fourth years.
"I include every current year in this ceremony so you can understand what you're actually stepping into."
Then his eyes fell on us.
On me.
On Thomas and Alexis.
The room's temperature changed.
Old grudges, old jealousies, old resentment—students who'd been dragged into the background because our names were louder than theirs.
I felt Thomas shift.
I felt Alexis' aura flare just slightly.
So I flexed my own energy—low, controlled, but clear enough to be a warning.
Try it.
A few students in the balcony stiffened like they wanted to respond.
None did.
Chiron didn't smile.
"Every year this ceremony takes place," he said, "it begins a year-long competition. Clearing dungeons. Hunting astral taboos under teacher supervision. Defeating fellow students during testing."
He paused.
"Here is my only advice to those from non-Traveler families: be open-minded… and assume you are weaker than you think. Win the long game."
Then he waved like the speech was over.
"Oh," he added casually, "that's two pieces of advice. Everyone is dismissed until homeroom tomorrow."
And with that, he turned and walked offstage through the curtains.
No closing prayer.
No calming words.
No reassurance.
Just a room full of predators pretending not to be predators.
For a moment, nobody moved—everyone waiting for someone else to make the first mistake.
I stood.
"Fine," I said loudly, voice carrying. "Don't jump then."
A few upperclassmen narrowed their eyes.
I grinned wider.
"You aren't worth the effort anyway."
That did it.
Their stares hardened—but still, none of them moved.
Because even if they hated us… they hated the idea of being the first idiot to get punished more.
Thomas stepped close as we started walking out.
"Thomas," I said, not looking at him. "Don't be late to the gathering tonight."
His answer was a grunt.
Alexis yawned like the world wasn't trying to kill us.
We left the ceremony hall and headed deeper into academy grounds—where cameras couldn't follow, and the real games started.
Scene 3 — Underground Arena (Amber POV)
"Come on, Amber! We're gonna be late if we can't get through the tunnels!"
Megan practically dragged me by the hand, sprinting like she had a personal grudge against being on time. The twisting underground passages beneath Odin Academy blurred into stone and torchlight.
"Meg—wait!" I yanked my hand free for a second just to keep my balance. "I'm wearing sandals!"
"We're running late," she snapped. "We can't stop!"
She pointed toward a fork we'd just passed.
I followed her finger—and immediately spotted the markings.
Small symbols carved into the stone, subtle enough that only students who already knew what they meant would notice. Not official academy signs. Not teacher-made.
Student-made.
A path.
A promise.
"That way," I said quickly.
Megan whipped her head toward me.
"Why didn't you say anything sooner?!"
"Because you were sprinting like a maniac!" I shot back.
She grabbed my wrist again and pulled me down the correct corridor.
We cut left, right, left again—tunnels tightening, then widening—until the air changed.
Hotter.
Louder.
A rumble like voices stacked on voices.
We emerged into a room that wasn't a room.
It was an arena carved into stone.
A pit at the center.
Tiered seats all around.
Students packed into the stands, some holding banners, others whispering like gamblers watching a fight they didn't want recorded.
I spotted our group's section—claimed territory.
And in the pit, our fighter was already stepping forward.
"GO REN!" someone screamed. "SHOW THAT IDIOT HE AIN'T SUPERIOR!"
Megan dragged me down into our seats like we belonged here—even though I still felt like a guest inside a world built for people more ruthless than me.
I forced my eyes to the opposite side of the arena.
"Who are they fighting?" I asked, still catching my breath.
Megan's pink hair whipped across my face as she leaned in.
"Some new kid named Javi," she said, almost excited. "Apparently TJ and Thomas picked him as this year's first-year fighter."
She pointed across the pit.
A loner group sat opposite us—TJ's people. Quiet. Tighter. Like they weren't here for fun.
And there—near them—was the first-year.
Javi.
He looked too calm for someone about to be thrown into a ring.
Like he didn't understand what this place was yet… or like he understood perfectly and didn't care.
Alexis noticed our gaze from her section.
She waved.
Then tapped TJ and Thomas.
They both glanced our way—expressionless—and with one casual motion, they shoved their first-year down into the pit.
Javi landed on his feet.
The arena roared.
And my stomach sank, because I realized something too late:
This wasn't a friendly "initiation."
This was a statement.
A message being sent underground—where teachers pretended not to see.
And the year had barely even started.