The plaza burned with light. Ten groups stood in formation, banners lifted high as officials moved among them. Applause rolled across the platform. Successful awakenings. Proper losses. Acceptable numbers. Rewards were being given.
Four groups stood apart from the rest. Group A through D. Their leaders were called forward first.
The leader of Group A stepped into the light with a slow, confident stride.
She wore round sunglasses, lenses catching the sun. Red and yellow glints burned across the glass as she tilted her head. Her smirk came easily, like it belonged there.
A red dress clung close to her form, tailored for movement, reinforced at the seams. It fit her body without restricting it, built for combat despite its elegance. Her presence drew eyes whether she wanted it or not.
Black gloves covered her hands. The leather was worn, scarred faintly at the knuckles. Hands that had fought. Hands that had won.
She glanced toward the employees, already knowing where she was meant to go. One of them gestured toward a seat.
She walked past without hesitation and sat when instructed, crossing one leg over the other. Calm. Dominant. Entirely at ease.
Group A straightened behind her.
She smiled again, slow and sharp, like this was exactly where she belonged.
She smiled once more and took the first chair.
The air around her felt heavier the moment she sat.
Her eyes remained hidden.
Only reflections lived on the surface of her sunglasses. Rows of students. Nervous faces. Hope and fear staring back at themselves.
She leaned back slightly, relaxed, unmoving.
Pure dominance without effort.
Then the name of Group B was called.
A girl stepped forward. Young, around seventeen, her presence quieter but no less strange.
A magician's hat rested atop her head, its brim low enough to cover her eyes completely. No gaze. No expression to read. Just shadow.
She wore a fitted black suit, a crisp white shirt beneath, and a long black overcoat draped neatly over her shoulders. Clean. Precise. Almost ceremonial.
She said nothing.
An employee gestured toward the seat beside Group A's leader.
The girl walked forward in silence, steps light, controlled. She sat down without a word, hands resting calmly in her lap.
The name of Group C echoed across the platform.
A tall red-haired woman stepped forward, smoke curling lazily from between her fingers. Her hair burned like fresh embers under the sun. White-grey eyes scanned the crowd with open disdain, sharp and restless.
She moved with careless confidence. Curves unhidden, strength worn openly. Her grin was wide, cocky, like the world was something meant to be challenged and broken for fun.
An employee raised a hand, pointing toward the seats.
"Shut up," she said casually, not even looking at him. "I know where I'm supposed to sit."
A few gasps rippled through the students.
She walked forward anyway, boots tapping against stone, smoke trailing behind her. She dropped into the chair beside Group B's leader, leaning back with a satisfied smile.
Group C stood taller behind her.
Three leaders now.
Dominance.
Silence.
And open defiance.
Whispers rippled through the plaza.
Students murmured among themselves, voices low and sharp.
"It's rare… seeing all three of them together."
"Look at them… they're all… beautiful."
"Especially… the leader of Group A."
The attention didn't escape him.
Lumian stood silently, white hair falling over his eyes, hiding them like a shield.
Inside, his chest burned. His fists itched.
Why aren't they calling my name?
I'm the leader of Group D, right?
Behind him, rows of students from his Group stared down. Every eye fixed on him, the leader.
Even the red-haired girl from Group D, his partner , standing behind, stared down in silence.
He clenched his jaw.
Why are we hated?
Why are we treated like nobodies?
Why are we being discriminated against?
The plaza was alive with whispers, but inside him, only silence answered.
The members of Groups A, B, and C stood in straight lines behind their vice leaders, rigid and polished.
Whispers passed among them.
"Group D again? Pathetic."
"They always look like they're about to cry."
"Can't believe they're even allowed here."
"Useless, all of them."
"Why do they even try?"
Another cluster of voices muttered, quieter but sharp.
"Always so sloppy."
"Did you see their leader?"
"Can't even stand straight."
"They think they belong here."
The members of Group D kept their eyes lowered, faces tense, trying to swallow the shame, to make themselves smaller.
One of them thought, Captain Lumian… why aren't they calling you forward too?
Another one thought , If this feeling of being looked down upon makes me this angry…
Lumian stood at the front of his group, white hair covering his eyes. The weight of the stares pressed against him.
...I can't imagine how much anger Lumian must be feeling.
Finally, the name of Group D echoed across the plaza.
Lumian didn't lift his head. His white hair fell over his eyes, hiding the fire beneath. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, boots tapping against stone, and took the chair beside the red-haired woman of Group C. He sat, calm, controlled, shoulders squared.
The announcer's voice carried over the crowd, formal and clear.
"First, we recognize the lady of bold, beyond starry scenes…"
All eyes turned to the first chair. A faint smile played on the red-and-yellow reflected glasses of Group A's leader.
"…the leader of the beginning," the announcer continued.
She straightened, raising a hand slightly, letting the light reflect off her sunglasses. Her smirk widened.
"I am Medea von Laine,Leader of the Beginning," she said, her voice smooth, confident, commanding.
She paused, letting the title hang in the air. The plaza seemed to breathe with her presence.
Then, she spoke again, briefly, with a single, deliberate sentence:
"Strength is not given. It is taken. And we take what we deserve."
Her words rolled over the students, sharp and undeniable. Everyone knew she meant every syllable.
The plaza erupted.
Shouts, cheers, and claps filled the air.
Students stomped their feet, voices overlapping, praising her.
Even some of the vice leaders straightened, nodding sharply.
Medea's smirk widened, calm in the chaos, letting the applause wash over her.
The announcer turned to the next chair.
The magician-hatted leader of Group B spoke softly, almost without expression.
"Jaisy von Halla," she said, letting the words hang before she looked down again. No flourish. No speech. Just her name.
The red-haired leader of Group C leaned back in her chair, grin wide and casual.
"Seraphina von Valta," she said, voice low and confident, smirking as she flicked the smoke from her fingers.
No one spoke more. No one needed to. Their presence alone was enough.
The members of Groups B and C erupted, shouting praises, clapping, and celebrating their leaders.
Voices bounced across the plaza, loud and confident, showing loyalty and excitement.
The announcer's tone shifted as he called out the name of Group D, almost disappointed, dragging the words as if expecting little.
Silence followed. No one cheered. No one stirred.
Then, as if waking a spark, Group D's members shouted, voices unified and strong, showing support for their leader.
Lumian finally spoke, calm and precise.
" I'm Lumian," he said, letting the single name carry weight across the plaza.
The marks appeared, subtle at first, then glowing brighter as the plaza hushed.
The leader of Group A's mark, just beside her breast, pulsed with light. White. Pure and clear.
It signified the academy had accepted her and her groups Awakening.
The mark meant she had chosen the White Door.
The glow reflected faintly on her sunglasses, twin streaks of red and yellow dancing across the pristine light.
Medea's smile lingered as she glanced at her group. Only women, all standing straight behind her.
Each of them bore the same glowing sigil on the side of their breast, white like their leader's, pulsing in quiet unison. Their Awakening was complete.
The announcer moved on.
The leader of Group B, Jaisy von Halla, shifted slightly. A soft glow appeared along her arm, pulsing blue.
It marked her choice of the Blue Door,calm yet resolute.
All the members of Group B mirrored the glow. The women bore it on the side of their breasts.
The men in her group had their marks close to their chests, faintly glowing the same deep blue, unifying the entire team under her Awakening.
The leader of Group C, Seraphina von Valta, stepped slightly forward.
Her red hair caught the sunlight, flames of fire flickering with every movement. A cocky smirk tugged at her lips, sharp and unapologetic.
A green glow appeared beside her breast, pulsing steadily. Her sigil. Her Awakening.
"Mother Nature's gonna have a tough time dealing with me," she said, laughter rolling out, low and amused, carrying over the plaza.
The members of Group C behind her mirrored the glow.
The women's marks shone green on the side of their breasts.
The men's marks glowed the same green on their chests, a unified wave of defiance and strength spreading across the group.
A faint warmth spread across Lumian's chest. Slowly, a glow began to form, bright and steady. Yellow.
The sigil pulsed, etched into his skin, a mark of the Yellow Door.
A hush fell across the plaza. Students and leaders alike stared.
"Yellow…?" someone whispered, disbelief in their tone.
"I didn't think anyone would choose that one."
"Is that even possible…?"
Medea's smirk remained sharp, but she tilted her head slightly. "Interesting," she said. "Not the White Door… bold choice, Lumian."
Jaisy von Halla's lips pressed into a thin line, voice calm. "Yellow… balance, adaptability. I respect that."
Seraphina von Valta grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Ha… unexpected. That's going to make things fun."
The members of Group D began to glow as well.
Yellow marks appeared on each of them—chests and sides of breasts alike—shimmering with the same light as their leader.
A wave of quiet astonishment rippled across the plaza. Even the vice leaders exchanged glances. This group, this choice… no one had predicted it.
Far from the academy, past the glow of the plaza and the soaring towers, the edges of the city faded into darkness.
Starless crouched among piles of scrap, hands dirty, picking through twisted metal and broken panels. Rain dripped from the tattered roof of his shelter, pooling in the mud around him.
As he shifted a piece of scrap, something caught his eye. His arm. A faint glow pulsed there, soft but unmistakable. Yellow.
He froze, staring at it. Did… did I just awaken?
He sat back on his heels, heart pounding, mind racing. The mark pulsed steadily, almost like it was alive. Questions swirled why now.
With a deep breath, he shrugged the bag of scrap onto his back, the weight digging into his shoulders.
He stood, the glow on his arm flickering with each step, and began walking toward the city.
I'm too poor to worry about such things. I have to think about what I'll eat tonight.
The night swallowed him slowly as he carried his haul, heading for the lights, the noise, the world he had always tried to survive.