Isn't Adaptability Your Greatest Strength, Young Man?

"Each tapestry woven by an entire batch of Emberlight's freshmen is exemplary. It seldom fails to unveil shining stars within its personal constellation. And at this moment…"

Tomoe Tenko flicked her fan open with a graceful snap, her golden eyes gleaming with something between admiration and intrigue. She cast a glance toward the Arcane Tapestry, its form a mesmerizing blend of arcane artistry and intricate digital structuring. The luminous patterns pulsed with life, their glow resembling the steady heartbeat of a living machine, fueled by magic itself.

With a final wave of her fan, the grand tapestry folded in on itself, condensing into an elegant scroll of swirling enchantments. A faint shimmer danced along its edges as it drifted into her waiting hand.

From the very center of the Sidus Athenaeum, a quaint receptionist's bookshelf rose from the marble floor, summoned by an unseen force. Without hesitation, Tomoe placed the scroll upon its polished wooden frame, securing it among the archives of generations past.

She turned back to the students, lips curving in satisfaction.

"This tapestry may be one of the most adaptive yet."

Her gaze lingered on the golden-lilac glow—Kirie's work, the technical conduit that let magic flow through its rigid structure, harmonizing technology and sorcery in perfect synchrony.

"Congratulations, Five Stars." Five distinct lights of respective colors shone upon different people, highlighting their contributions to the tapestry.

Of course, Kirie was amongst them. 

His eyes were drawn to his soon-to-be classmates, curiosity overtaking him. Two men, two women.

"Alden Vael, the Blue Flash."

The introduction carried weight, yet the man himself barely seemed to acknowledge it. A lazy yawn slipped past his lips as he shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders with an air of casual indifference. His cloudy blue hair was unkempt, a stark contrast to the precision he was known for in battle.

Resting his hands on the hilts of his dual gunblades, Alden exuded an effortless confidence. The weapons, holstered at his sides, gleamed under the ambient light—crafted from a rare, living metal that pulsed faintly as if responding to his touch. The metal's unique composition allowed it to carve intricate mana channels with ease, refining the flow of magic through the blades like a conductor guiding an orchestra.

Despite their relatively short reach—just half an arm's length—their adaptability made them a deadly extension of his will. With each movement, the metal subtly shifted, adjusting in real time, bonding to its wielder in a way that ensured split-second reactions and seamless execution.

Alden's posture remained relaxed, but his presence spoke volumes. A formidable ally—one who wielded lethality with the same ease as he did his nonchalance.

"Nyx Nocturna, the Dark Maw."

A towering figure cloaked in shadow stood firm, her presence as imposing as the name bestowed upon her. Swathes of light-devouring darkness clung to her long apparel, shifting like a living void, a manifestation of the same magic she had poured into the tapestry.

Large, dark purple wings folded neatly behind her, their edges feathered yet unnervingly still, as if waiting to unfurl at a moment's notice. Her gaze, a hollow lavender, carried neither warmth nor malice—only quiet, unshaken resolve.

She did not speak, nor did she bask in the attention her introduction garnered. Instead, her eyes flicked toward Tomoe Tenko, a fleeting moment of acknowledgment passing between them. A silent understanding.

Then, just as wordlessly, she shifted her stance—making it clear she would do only what was required. Nothing more.

"Ignatia Caden, The Fist of Fire."

A woman nearly matching Nyx in height strode forward, exuding a commanding presence that burned as fiercely as the magic she wielded. Her broad stance was one of unwavering confidence, her chestplate-clad bust pushed forward as if daring the world to challenge her. Yet, there was no arrogance in her movements—only an infectious enthusiasm, one that nearly overpowered the sheer intensity of her presence.

Flashing a radiant smile, Ignatia waved at the crowd with a vigor that bordered on theatrical, the embers of her energy flaring brighter than any haughtiness that might have otherwise laced her motions.

Her hands, however, told a different story. Encased in magi-tech gauntlets, their dwarven-carved channels pulsed with controlled power, glowing like molten veins beneath the enchanted metal. Every rune, meticulously engraved, served not just to amplify her devastating strikes but to ensure her fiery wrath didn't combust into chaos—a safeguard against the sheer force she was capable of unleashing.

Her hair, a blazing shade of orange, caught the light like a cascade of flames, matching the warmth of her sunlit smile. A beacon of raw power and boundless spirit, Ignatia Caden was a warrior whose presence could not be ignored.

"Zenric Florendar, Son of Gaia."

A towering figure stepped forward, his presence both imposing and serene. Broad shoulders, sculpted from something more than mere flesh, carried the weight of nature itself. His kind expression softened the sheer magnitude of his existence, as if the earth itself had shaped him with both strength and gentleness in mind.

As he bowed respectfully, the very air around him seemed to hum with life. Where his bare feet touched the ground, tiny sprouts emerged between the cracks of the stone floor, reaching eagerly toward him. Even the ancient bookshelves behind him reacted, vines creeping and curling along their edges, as if drawn to his presence.

The texture of his skin bore the unmistakable traces of bark, deep cracks running like veins through his arms and chest—not wounds, but marks of growth. His hands and feet, though humanoid in form, were unmistakably crafted from wood and rich, earthen soil, dense with raw, untamed magic.

Zenric Florendar did not merely stand among the students—he belonged to the world itself.

"Many will look to you in jealousy, rivalry, and admiration."

Tomoe Tenko's gaze swept over the five she had so affectionately monikered, her keen eyes lingering on Kirie. The magic seeping from him—pure, radiant, laced with gold—commanded attention, whether he wished for it or not. An undeniable force. A beacon.

"Show your excellence and do not relent."

With a final wave of her fan, she vanished into the swirling elements, her form dissolving into an ephemeral dance of fire, wind, and light—returning to duties no mere freshman could ever hope to comprehend.

Kirie barely had time to process her words before that familiar snap echoed through his mind. A sudden shift in space, a jolt through his core—before the world blinked.

The comforting presence of the Athenaeum was gone.

In its place stood an island far less welcoming.

"Behold, dear Freshmen—the Astrum Valoria!"

Deb's booming voice reverberated through the vast expanse, amplified by the very walls of the ancient coliseum that loomed around them. The pale stone battlements stretched toward the heavens, standing eternal beneath a vast canopy of stars.

Beneath their feet, the sand shifted restlessly, as if disturbed by the sheer number of students now treading upon it. But it was not just their presence that unsettled the golden grains. History moved through this place. Every speck of sand bore the weight of battles long past, dreams pursued, and sacrifices made.

Here, blood and tears clashed against sword and shield. Flesh met steel in triumph and tragedy alike. The Astrum Valoria was no mere arena. It was an account of willpower, a monument to ambition, a battlefield where warriors were forged or broken.

And now, it awaited them.

"What, dear freshmen, do you believe is the essence of combat?"

Deb's voice rang across the arena, his words sinking into the ears of two thousand eager minds. "Is it undeniable strength? Infallible stratagem? The sheer inevitability of numbers?"

He paused, letting the question linger like an unanswered challenge. Then, with a dramatic sweep of his arm, he declared, "Nay, I say—nay!"

Pacing across the golden sands, his steps were light, almost reverent, as if mindful of the history that lay beneath him. The battlefield—this very stage of countless battles past—seemed to stir beneath his feet, shifting as though listening.

"It is creativity! Ingenuity! Adaptability!" His voice escalated like a crescendo, brimming with conviction. "To survive a tide, you must know when to follow—and when to challenge!"

He turned, sharp eyes scanning the crowd. "A giant may be formidable, but its movements are slow. A warrior may be too fast for the eye, but they have habits. A strategist may plan three steps ahead, but their reckoning will come."

He let the words hang, then softened his tone. "And that, dear students, is what you must discover in Astrum Valoria. Your specialty. Your first ace. Your wit."

Across the vast coliseum, **spectral figures began to take shape—**phantoms of past champions, their forms flickering like embers caught in the wind. Silent, watchful, their presence loomed over the two thousand freshmen like unseen titans, observing the raw, untested diamonds waiting to be polished.

Deb spread his arms wide, his voice carrying with a booming resonance that shook the very sands beneath them. "Let the spirits of victors fan your flame as you face your challenge and rise beyond what has been forced upon you!"

He lifted his wooden staff, its larger end angled toward the crowd like a makeshift microphone. His grin was wide, daring—a spark waiting to ignite a wildfire.

"Are you ready?!"

A beat.

Then—the voices of two thousand freshmen roared in unison, shaking the very air.

"SIR, YES, SIR!"

"Let Ophelia guide your way!"

With those parting words, Deb and the dozens of professors vanished, their forms dissolving like mist before reappearing within the coliseum's cavea—a grand, elevated viewing platform that loomed high above, granting them an unbroken view of the battlefield below.

Then, the sands began to stir.

At the opposite end of the arena, grains of golden earth trembled, shifting unnaturally as if guided by unseen hands. Motes of celestial magic flickered through the air, weaving through the shifting dunes, coaxing the sand into shapes, figures—specters of war.

From beneath the surface, weapons emerged like forgotten relics reclaiming their purpose. Blades gleamed under the spectral light, spears rattled as they were seized by unseen warriors, and shields rose, clutched by hands that did not truly exist. The phantoms took form—armors magnetized onto their ghostly frames, forged from memory itself.

Barbarians. Lords. Warriors. Fighters of all disciplines, of every era, stood assembled. Their hollow gazes settled upon the freshmen with neither recognition nor mercy.

The echoes of history had awakened.

And now, they would test the worth of those who dared to stand before them.

Five Titans amongst the two thousand stand as if they were commanders, looking at each and every one of the Five Stars.

"Ah, one thing!"

Deb's voice cut through the growing tension, snapping everyone's attention back to him. He had nearly forgotten an important detail—not that the Five Stars and Five Titans hadn't already stolen the show.

"Defeat your weakness, or survive the time limit. You have ten minutes! That is all!"

With an exaggerated bow, he clapped once more, sealing their fate before leisurely taking a seat among the professors.

Kirie exhaled sharply, forcing his nerves to steady as he turned toward his opponent.

"A… what are you…?"

His silver jewelry shuddered, as if responding to the presence before him. Erratic pulses of golden and lilac light flickered across his wrists and neck, the chains liquefying, spreading across his body like sentient mercury. Within seconds, the shifting matter sculpted itself into a sleek, gapless suit of futuristic armor—elegant yet formidable.

A soft, lilac glow traced along its contours, highlighting subtle yet masterfully engineered plating. His chosen helmet wasn't a full-cover design, but rather a circlet that projected a protective shielding across his head, leaving his face exposed while an advanced HUD materialized over his vision, feeding him timely, relevant data.

Then—his opponent took shape.

Barely twenty meters away, the wavering mass of energy began to condense. At first, it was formless, shifting like mist caught in a vacuum, but then, two flickering embers ignited within the haze—eyes, smoldering with silent malice.

"Shapeshifter…"

Its voice was hollow, a fragmented echo that did not belong to a singular being but a culmination of everything it had ever copied. The living anomaly coiled in on itself, its unstable mass tightening, condensing—

Until it stood exactly like him.

His build. His stance. His very physiology.

With eerie precision, it mirrored him perfectly.

"Fall before Enigma."