Adrian's journey through the academy's club halls was a gauntlet of ego and exclusion, a rhythmic cycle of light and humiliation. It began with a flicker of resolve- a small, burning coal of hope- as he stepped through the first crackling portal, only to be met with derision that stung like an icy wind against his bare skin. The Air Manipulation Club was literal whirlwind of smug faces and billowing robes that snapped in the artificial gales; they took one look at his scrawny common crow and erupted into unified, cold laughter. "Is this a joke, or did a scavenger lose its way?" the club leader scoffed, his own magnificent peregrine falcon preening on his shoulder, its eye gleaming with a predatory, metallic contempt.
The next portal deposited him into the Illusionist Guild, where the very walls seemed to sigh with dissapointment. Ethereal figures dissipated into shimmering mockery at the sight of his humble familiar, their translucent lips curling. "We weave dreams here, boy, not roadside tragedies," a member sneered, their voice echoing through the mist-filled hall like the rattle of dry bones. A chorus of snickers followed Adrian's hasty retreat, the sound clinging to his patched tunic like damp fog.
Defeated yet not broken, he pushed through a gateway, emerging into the boisterous, sun-drenched grounds of the Martial Arts Alliance. Here, physical prowess reigned supreme, and the sight of his placid crow was met with outright, chest-heaving guffaws. "What's that? Your lunch?" a student roared, a behemoth of teenager thumping his sternum as his own spirit companion, a hulking grizzly bear with claws like scythes, let out a challenging growl that vibrated in Adrian's teeth. The dismissive laughter was a physical blow, a weight that bowed his shoulders lower with every step.
Portal after portal offered the same disheartening reception: the Elemental Weavers tittered about his "total lack of aesthetic flair," the Beast Masters recoiled as if his crow carried a plague, whispering about "tainted lineages," and even the seemingly serene Herbology Club gently but firmly redirected him with patronizing smiles that felt more insulting than the shouting.
Now, Adrian stood before the final, unassuming portal, the weight of a dozen rejections crushing his resolve ounce by ounce. The academy's compulsion to join a club- a mandatory prerequisite for all future battles and activities- felt like an inescapable trap tightening around his throat. The mocking echoes of the day rang in his ears, a dissonant symphony of "not enough" and "never will be." The desire to simply walk away, to accept his fate as an nameless outcast and let shadows swallow him, was almost overwhelming. The relentless coldness and the universal contempt for his only companion had stripped him bare of all confidence, leaving him hollow. Yet with a heavy heart and the image of his future vanishing in grey, Adrian forced his trembling hand toward the final shimmering entrance, hoping against hope that this last threshold might be different. As he stepped through, the atmosphere shifted instantly; the hall was unexpectedly cozy, with amber light dancing across walls adorned with intricate depictions of summoned spirits of all shapes and sizes.
Adrian's crow spirit, Obsidian, perched on his shoulder and surveyed the room with sharp ebony eyes, and as he looked around, his breath hitched- the other spirits here were common, just like his own. He saw sparrows, field mice, and tabby cats lounging near their masters, and his hands began to tremble with a sudden, electric realization. Maybe here I can finally belong. A boy with neat brown hair and round spectacles detached himself from a group and approached, his expression radiating a warmth Adrian hadn't felt all day. "Welcome to the Common Spirits Club, I'm Elias, the leader of this club," his voice steady and kind. Elias held out a small, circular pin featuring a stylized 'C' etched in silver, his voice gaining a touch of ceremonial pride as he leaned in. "We believe that greatness isn't measured by the rarity of the soul, but by the strength of the bond. It is my honor to officially welcome you to our ranks." The moment, Elias pinned the badge to Adrian's shirt, a wave of applause erupted from the other members, a symphony of genuine acceptance that drowned out the echoes of the day's cruelty. Adrian felt a lump form in his throat and his eyes began to sting with unshed tears, but he managed a wobbly, grateful smile, standing tall for the first time as he finally, truly felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.
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The atmosphere of the wide plaza was thick with a heavy, finality-laden silence as the automated hum of the club application portals abruptly ceased, their shimmering surfaces fading into nothingness and sealing the fate of every student present. This definitive end to the arduous recruitment process brought a low, vibrating hum of anticipation to the assembled masses, a thousand pairs of eyes fixed toward the high marble dais where Grand Summoner Elara was expected to deliver her inaugural address. Yet, for the members of the Common Spirits Club, the air felt several degrees colder than the surrounding afternoon heat. Adrian stood off to the side, the frayed hem of the club's modest banner clutched in his white-knuckled grip, feeling the physical weight of the isolation. All around them, the elite club leaders and their members mingled like predatory royalty, forming tentative alliances and engaging in the sharp, strategic politicking required for the upcoming battles. Their gazes inevitably drifted toward the small corner occupied by the "commons," and the resulting mockery was frequent and jagged; subtle smirks and hissed insults about "lesser spirits" and "gutter summons" cut through the general buzz of the plaza like invisible blades.
Adrian watched from the corner of his eye as Elias, whose usual vibrant confidence had been replaced by a weary, leaden slump, tried to navigate the edges of the crowd. The deep lines of fatigue etched around Elias's eyes and the downcast expression of the other club members made it painfully clear that they had all borne the brunt of a hundred small cruelties throughout the day. Near him, a girl member of their club muttered, "Why do they even let us stand on the same stones as them, if they're just going to treat us like dust?" her voice was tight with a simmering frustration, her hand white as she clutched the hilt of her spirit focus. Elias simply sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the exhaustion of the entire group, and shook his head slowly, "Because, they think we're the backdrop for their glory," he whispered, his voice tinged with a rare bitterness before he caught Adrian's eye across the sea of robes and offered a small, pained, but encouraging nod.
Adrian felt the familiar sting of rejection rising in his chest, but he forced himself to stand straighter, his shoulder muscles tensing as he adjusted his posture, determined not to give the spectators the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. On his shoulder, Obsidian- his crow spirit- seemed to sense the roiling turmoil within his master. The bird shifted its weight, its ebony talons gently kneading Adrian's patched shirt, and let out a soft, knowing caw; it was a sound of solidarity, though it was immediately swallowed by the thunderous, majestic roars of lions and the shrill, piercing cries of high-tier falcons echoing across the plaza. They stood there together, a small island of "commoners" united by a shared dismissal and the cold comfort of the unwanted, waiting with bated breath for the voice of authority to finally speak and begin the next grueling chapter of their journey.
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