The great doors groaned open, wide and heavy, swallowing the chaotic mass of first years whole as they poured, one after another, into the belly of the first auditorium.
It was massive, far more massive than any of them had anticipated, its ceiling arching so high above that the flickering torchlight barely reached the topmost carvings etched into the stone, ancient sigils of past graduates, past wars, past glories long since faded into dust and memory. Row upon row of stone seating spiraled downward in a great circular descent, thousands upon thousands of seats already filled with upperclassmen, lecturers and even a handful of nobility who had come simply to observe, their whispered conversations blending into one low, droning hum that filled the cavernous space.
At the very center, sunken far below the surrounding seats, lay the arena itself, a wide circular platform of pale stone, its surface worn smooth from what could only have been centuries of combat, faint cracks and scorch marks marring its otherwise pristine surface like scars upon old, weathered skin.
"Whoa..."
Gerald muttered breathlessly, his round face tilting upward, utterly dwarfed by the sheer scale of the auditorium surrounding them, his earlier bravado momentarily forgotten in the face of such overwhelming grandeur.
"I didn't think it'd be this big..."
Harris echoed quietly beside him, his own confidence faltering slightly as the chaotic noise of thousands of murmuring spectators pressed down upon his suddenly small, insignificant feeling shoulders.
Hope, squeezed between the two boys, simply stared wide eyed, her small hands gripping tightly at the loose sleeves of her oversized combat attire, her earlier cheerful energy dimmed considerably by the sheer weight of the atmosphere surrounding them.
Ushers dressed in the school's official crimson and gold robes moved briskly amongst the crowd of first years, directing them with practiced efficiency towards designated seating sections that overlooked the sunken arena, their voices sharp and commanding amidst the overwhelming chaos.
"First years, this way! Move quickly, don't dawdle!"
Harris, Gerald and Hope, along with countless others, were funneled into a long, curving row of stone benches positioned just above the arena's edge, close enough that they could feel the cool air drifting up from the ancient battle-worn stone below.
Not far from them, Sashah settled herself with practiced ease, her sharp gaze scanning disinterestedly over the excitable first years surrounding her, while Alderen took a seat further along, his posture straight and composed, utterly unbothered by the overwhelming spectacle unfolding around him. Typhoen, ever the exception, had already struck up conversation with several unfamiliar faces nearby, his loud, boisterous laughter carrying easily over the surrounding murmur.
A sudden hush descended upon the auditorium as a tall, imposing figure stepped forward onto a raised dais overlooking the sunken arena, his voice, amplified by some unseen technique, booming clearly across the entire cavernous space.
"Students of Rivaegerlon!"
The voice belonged to none other than Hersneva, his usually tired, exasperated features now set in stern, commanding authority as he addressed the assembled masses.
"Today marks the beginning of the individual trials. Each of you shall be called forth, one at a time, to face an opponent of similar standing. Victory shall be determined by submission, incapacitation, or the judge's discretion. Fatal blows are permitted, though healers stand ready should such an unfortunate circumstance arise."
A wave of nervous murmurs rippled through the first year section at those words, Gerald swallowing thickly beside Harris, his earlier exaggerated confidence rapidly draining from his round, sweating face.
"...fatal blows are permitted..."
He repeated weakly, his voice barely above a whisper, causing Harris to shoot him a similarly nervous, sidelong glance.
"H-hey, we'll be fine, right? I mean, we practiced, sort of..."
Hope, sensing the sudden dip in confidence from her two companions, gently placed a reassuring hand upon each of their trembling arms, her earlier cheerful smile returning, albeit smaller, softer this time.
"Whatever happens out there, we'll get through it together, okay? That's what friends do."
Her quiet reassurance, gentle as it was, seemed to settle something within both boys, their nervous trembling easing, if only slightly, as Hersneva's booming voice continued.
"The first match of the day, Gerald Wynhart against Otto Feldrik!"
The announcement hit like a sudden crash of cold water, Gerald's face draining instantly of what little color remained as Harris and Hope both turned towards him, wide eyed with shock.
"...me? Already?"
Gerald muttered numbly, his earlier boastful words of guillotine techniques and imagined victories suddenly feeling very, very far away.
---
The grand hallway stretched on endlessly, or so it seemed, its towering walls lined with portrait after glorious portrait, each one framed in gold so ornate it looked almost alive, twisting and curling at the edges like flames frozen mid-dance. Floating lanterns, countless in number, drifted lazily along the high vaulted ceiling above, their soft golden light spilling out from delicate metal cages that swayed ever so gently despite there being no wind to speak of, casting warm, flickering pools of light across the crimson carpet that ran the length of the entire hall.
It was glorious, truly, unbelievably glorious, the kind of glory that made one feel small and insignificant simply standing within its presence, and Ingrid found herself utterly captivated, lost entirely within the sheer magnitude of it all as she stood before one particular portrait that had, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, stolen her attention completely.
The portrait depicted a man, tall and broad shouldered, his features carved from something that could only be described as pure, unshakable resolve, standing triumphantly atop the fallen body of a tiger so massive, so absurdly, impossibly huge, that it dwarfed the man entirely, its great striped body sprawled lifeless across a jagged mountain cliff, blood pooling dark and thick beneath its enormous claws. The man's boot rested casually atop the beast's skull, one hand gripping a blade still dripping crimson, the other raised high towards a sky painted in violent, glorious hues of orange and red, as though he were declaring his victory to the very heavens themselves.
'...what a strange thing to paint,'
Ingrid thought quietly, her steel grey eyes tracing every fine detail of the portrait, the tiger's exposed fangs, the man's cold, triumphant gaze, the sheer scale of it all, utterly absurd yet undeniably, hauntingly beautiful all at once.
She stood barefoot atop the plush crimson carpet, her small, delicate toes gently caressing its impossibly soft, luxurious fibers, the sensation grounding her somewhat amidst the overwhelming grandeur surrounding her on all sides. Dressed in a brilliant white summer dress, light and flowing, its hem brushing gently against her pale, slender calves with each small shift of her weight, she looked almost like a porcelain doll set adrift within a hall built for giants, her obsidian hair cascading freely down her back, catching faint golden light from the floating lanterns above.
'Grandfather never had paintings like this...'
She thought wistfully, a small pang of longing tugging gently at her heart as her gaze lingered upon the portrait a moment longer.
"Admiring Kaelen Voss, are we?"
A cool, composed voice sounded from just behind her, smooth as silk yet carrying within it that familiar undertone of quiet disdain that Ingrid had, by now, grown rather accustomed to.
Turning, Ingrid found Solarya approaching, dressed in a striking black dress that clung elegantly to her figure, accentuating every graceful curve with an effortless, regal confidence that made Ingrid feel, once again, terribly plain in comparison. Her golden hair, usually left loose, had been elegantly pinned back this time, small strands framing her sharp, aristocratic features, her chestnut eyes glinting faintly beneath the warm lantern light as she came to a stop beside Ingrid, her own gaze drifting briefly towards the portrait.
"...Kaelen Voss?"
Ingrid repeated softly, testing the unfamiliar name upon her tongue, her curious gaze flickering back towards the imposing figure immortalized in paint before her.
"Mm. One of the founding members of this very academy, if I recall correctly. Quite the legendary hunter in his time."
Solarya answered simply, her tone carrying that same cool detachment she always seemed to carry when speaking of anything not directly concerning Ingrid's own inconvenient existence.
"He killed that? That... that thing is massive, Miss Solarya, how could anyone even..."
Ingrid trailed off, her wide, curious eyes still fixed upon the painted tiger's impossibly large form, unable to quite fully grasp the sheer scale of what she was seeing.
"That, dear girl, was no ordinary tiger."
Solarya's voice dropped slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible shift of tone that caught Ingrid's attention immediately, her curiosity piqued further by the sudden weight those simple words seemed to carry.
"What do you mean?"
Solarya's chestnut gaze lingered upon the portrait a moment longer, something unreadable flickering briefly behind her composed, elegant features before she finally answered, her voice quiet, almost reverent.
"That, Ingrid, was a calamity beast."