The Convergence Hall was silent.
Over a hundred newly Awakened students stood in formation beneath Umbravale's banners. Ranks didn't exist yet. Titles meant nothing. There were only survivors and from them, a handful would become something more.
Kieran stood with his team near the rear. Calla to his right, arms folded. Rei quiet but tense. Talon fully healed but thoughtful. Selene still and unreadable.
No one spoke. No one needed to.
Boots echoed against the stone floor measured, sharp.
A tall woman entered, her black coat trailing like a shadow. Her presence was immediate, effortless. Cold.
She stopped at the center of the room and turned to face them.
"I am Veyna Rath. Convergence Overseer. Adept rank."
Her voice was quiet but clear. She didn't need volume. She had weight.
"You're not here because you're ready. You're here because you survived. That's not the same."
She scanned the room.
"From this group, five of you will be chosen to represent Umbravale. One will lead. The rest will support or fall."
A shift moved through the hall. Not panic. Awareness.
"This tournament is not for show. It's selection. Exposure. And consequence."
"You will be watched. Measured."
A pause.
"There is an outsider. She will not appear. She will not speak to you. But she is watching."
Now the silence changed. Heavier.
"Her name is Lyra. She represents interests beyond this academy. She holds the rank of Adept."
No one in the hall reacted aloud, but Kieran felt the shift in posture all around him. The tension changed. This wasn't just school politics anymore. It was opportunity. Or a warning.
"That is all you are permitted to know."
Veyna's eyes swept across them one last time.
"You are being measured."
Then she turned and walked away.
As soon as Veyna left the hall, someone exhaled. Not relief just release.
"So it's true," a voice muttered near the front. "The Tyrant-core weapon's real."
"I heard it's already forged," another whispered. "They're just waiting for a name."
"One weapon," Rei said quietly. "Seven hundred students. Five slots. And only one edge worth killing for."
Calla glanced around the hall. "People aren't just here to win. They're here to be remembered."
The whispers grew louder.
Not about Lyra.
Not even about who would lead.
But about what the winner would receive.
A weapon—
Forged from a Tyrant's core.
Attuned, brutal, coveted.
Rumor said it could turn the tide of a real battle.
Not a symbol.
Not a trophy.
An edge.
Kieran didn't care about the chatter.
But he understood something now.
Everyone here had a reason to fight.
And that weapon?
It had just become theirs.