The sun had barely risen when the grand chime of the Astralis Institute bell echoed across the sky. A summon. Urgent and unified.
Students gathered in the central courtyard—hundreds of them, arranged by rank and division. Magic and swordsmanship students alike, all buzzing with curiosity. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind over water.
Celeste stood at the far edge, her expression unreadable. Lyra beside her wrung her hands, looking nervous. Auren and his friends stood at the front and center, heads held high, eyes sharp.
At the podium stood the Headmaster, his robe billowing with soft golden light. His presence was commanding—tall, silver-haired, and ageless, his gaze sweeping across the sea of young faces with a quiet gravity.
"Students," he began, voice calm but resonant, "the appearance of a Level 10 demon was not a mere anomaly."
A hush fell over the crowd.
"The veil between realms is weakening. The demon kind are awakening—far earlier than foretold. And soon, the world as we know it will stand at the edge of a war unseen for five centuries."
Gasps. Tension. The courtyard stiffened.
"To prepare…" the Headmaster continued, "…you all will compete, train, and fight to earn the right to defend our world."
A surge of noise exploded from the crowd.
"The strongest," he said, pausing deliberately, "shall bear the title of 'Nation Protectors'—led by one Nation Protecting Master and one Nation Protecting Miss. These two shall be the spearheads against the darkness."
Eyes widened.
"The top six fighters will join them to form a group of eight—the Demon Slaying Vanguard. These eight will be granted access to the Eight Ancient Weapons, once forged to defeat the Demon Lord centuries ago."
Excitement burst like wildfire.
Challenges were already being whispered.
Training pacts made.
Friendships momentarily set aside.
But the Headmaster wasn't finished.
"Let it be known…" he added, a strange glint in his eyes, "…that these weapons, though bound by legacy, may still choose their rightful wielder. Even if that wielder is not among the winners."
A ripple of silence followed that. Uncertainty. Hope.
---
Among the students—
Auren's eyes blazed with determination. "This is it," he muttered to Kael, "the chance to become stronger. To be ready."
Kael nodded. "We'll dominate."
Valric smirked. "Let's see which weapon likes me best."
Rhydan cracked his knuckles. "I just want a good fight."
____________
Elsewhere—
Lyra bit her lip, lowering her gaze. "I… I don't think I'm ready for something like this…"
Celeste stood still. Quiet. Her hands in her pockets. Her heartbeat hollow.
The strongest team? The spotlight?
Her chest tightened.
That's not for me.
She thought of all the matches she'd now be forced to participate in.
How she'd have to lose on purpose—again and again—while everyone fought tooth and nail to win.
How she'd have to hide everything she was.
I'll definitely lose every match.
____________
Just then, the Headmaster raised his hand again.
"In five weeks, the Glorious Trial will be held—the decisive tournament that shall determine your rankings, your teams, and the fate of the weapons."
The students leaned in.
"And on that day," he said slowly, "all your families shall be invited to witness the trial."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then cheers.
Excited murmurs.
Pride.
Fear.
But not for Celeste.
Her eyes darkened.
The world grew cold.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared straight ahead, her heart sinking.
They'll come. My parents... They'll watch me fall.
She clenched her fists behind her back. Her nails dug into her palm, but her face remained still.
The sun was shining, but for her, the morning had already turned to night.