The air buzzed with pressure as the students from the seven academies gathered at the convergence site a towering spire of obsidian surrounded by glowing glyphs that pulsed like a heartbeat. A perfect circle had been etched into the ground, large enough to hold over a hundred Awakened, but silent as a grave.
Kieran stood with his team near the rear edge, eyes flicking from banner to banner as each academy arrived. Some teams were loud, cracking jokes, fists colliding in playful jabs. Others were silent, disciplined — their movements military, faces unreadable.
And then the shift happened.
A group of five stepped into the courtyard.
They weren't loud. They didn't announce themselves.
But the silence changed.
It wasn't absence it was pressure. A tension that settled on the shoulders like an invisible weight.
Whispers started.
"Duskwatch Academy."
Kieran's eyes found them quickly.
At the center of the formation stood a tall, dark-skinned young man with sleek shoulder-length hair and a maroon cloak slung across one shoulder. His posture was regal, his expression unreadable — not bored, not smug. Just present. Like he was listening to something no one else could hear.
Victor.
To his right, a shorter girl with fiery red hair and a sharp tongue smirked as she glanced around. "Hope they brought real competition," she said.
To his left, a lanky boy with chalk-dusted gloves yawned loudly, stretching. "Why so serious? This isn't war. It's a party."
"Enough," said the one with braided hair and a hawk-like stare. Bran. He stepped slightly ahead of the others, eyes scanning the ground with practiced efficiency.
The last was a pale figure with a notebook, scribbling nonstop. Aven. Never looking up.
Kieran felt a twitch in his shadow.
Rei muttered, "What's wrong with them?"
Calla answered, voice low. "Not wrong. Just... off."
Selene said nothing, but her eyes didn't leave Victor.
From the tower's peak, a chime rang deep and melodic.
A robed instructor from another academy stepped forward, flanked by two glowing orbs. His voice carried, unnatural and clear.
"Welcome to Umbravale academy. Within moments, each team will enter the Dreamforged Arena a plane crafted from divine memory. Injuries will not carry over. But failure... will leave an imprint."
A murmur rippled through the students.
The instructor raised a hand. "Victory is determined by elimination or incapacitation. Each match is timed. Between each round, your ranking will adjust."
Then his voice dropped, barely above a whisper but it echoed like thunder.
"The winning team will receive a weapon forged of godsteel a gift from the school Vault."
Eyes widened. Even some instructors looked surprised.
No one said it aloud.
But every student knew:
Godsteel changed everything.
Victor's eyes met Kieran's for the briefest moment.
Not a challenge. Not a threat.
Just... recognition.
And then the gates began to open.