FIRST DAY

The morning sun streamed through the tall arched windows of Camelot Institute, glinting off the polished stone floors of the boys’ and girls’ dormitories.

In the boys’ dorm, I tightened the strap on my Chronosphere while Taiga wrestled with a suitcase that seemed far too big for him. Every time he yanked at the latch, shirts, manuals, and even a dented frying pan tumbled out.

“Do you seriously need this much junk?” I asked, raising a brow.

“It’s not junk!” Taiga scrambled to shove everything back inside. “It’s… supplies! For survival!”

Across the hall, the girls’ dorm painted a different picture. Jeanne tossed her boots onto the bed without a care. Evelyn meticulously aligned her notebooks and quills in perfect symmetry, while Lyra quietly hung her hood on the bedpost before sorting through her spell manuals.

“Don’t scuff the sheets,” Evelyn snapped.

“Oh, relax, princess,” Jeanne smirked. “You’ll survive a little dust.”

Lyra sighed softly, sliding a book into place. “This is going to be a long semester…”

The bell’s chime summoned all initiates to the central lecture hall.

Taiga and I sat together, the girls across the aisle. The cavernous room glowed with floating crystal lamps, while the wide chalkboard was already filled with runes and sketches of beasts.

At the podium stood a stout man with a balding head and a magnificent curled mustache. His blue coat shimmered with golden trim, and his posture was more theatrical than academic.

“Students!” he boomed, spreading his arms wide. “I am Professor Magnus Feldcroft—scholar of magical beasts. And yes, the Magnus Feldcroft, famous author of How to Tame the Beast by Understanding Your Inner Beast!”

The room filled with awkward silence.

Magnus twirled his mustache proudly. “A Guardian must be courageous! Dependable! Wise! And most importantly—strategic! This reminds me of a story. A tale of a young, handsome man… me! When I was but a boy—”

I slouched in my seat. “This doesn’t feel like just a lecture anymore.”

Meanwhile, Taiga was already doodling. He angled his parchment toward me—a sketch of Magnus with stink lines and a mustache twice his size. I nearly burst out laughing.

The droning “blah-blah-blah” of the lecture cut off when Evelyn raised her hand, posture flawless.

“Professor, if you require a demonstration, I would be more than qualified.” Her tone dripped smugness.

“Ah, Miss Crystalis!” Magnus beamed. “Excellent! Step forward, child, and show us the elegance of your family’s legacy!”

With a clap of his hands, the back wall shifted. Runes lit across the stone as a heavy cage slid forward, reinforced with glowing seals. Inside, a hulking shape stirred—the metallic form of a training golem, its body layered with stone plates and Aether conduits.

Its eyes flickered crimson as the restraints hissed open.

Gasps rippled through the class.

“A golem?!” Jeanne leaned forward.

“Relax,” Magnus said, twirling his cane. “This construct has been warded for training. It will not kill you… probably.”

The murmurs of unease grew, but Evelyn smirked as she stepped into the arena. Her Chronosphere unfolded into a gleaming rapier crackling with mana.

The golem roared, stepping from the cage, shaking the floor. Dust spilled from the ceiling as it raised massive stone arms.

“Show them how it’s done, Princess!” Jeanne hollered.

Magnus clapped his hands with flourish. “Let the trial—begin!”

The cage door fell away. The golem charged.

Evelyn pivoted, her rapier flashing as she deflected its strike and rolled aside. Sparks showered across the arena.

“Ha-ha! A bold start!” Magnus laughed.

She countered, aiming for the glowing core, but the construct snapped its arms shut, wrenching the weapon from her grasp and flinging it across the floor.

Gasps again.

“Oh-ho!” Magnus’ eyes glittered. “What will our prodigy do without her weapon?”

The golem’s fists cratered the floor where Evelyn had been a heartbeat earlier. She slid across the dirt, reclaiming her blade just as the construct folded into itself. Stone plates ground together, forming a rolling sphere that spun toward her like a runaway boulder.

The crowd cried out. Evelyn planted her foot, drove mana through her rapier, and struck.

A glowing rune circle flared beneath her. At the last instant, she vaulted upward, flipping over the spinning mass. Her blade plunged down into the exposed core.

Cracks spread across the construct, light flaring—then fading. The golem collapsed into rubble.

For a moment, silence. Then thunderous applause.

Magnus clapped like a proud patron. “Magnificent! A performance most worthy of a Guardian-in-training!”

Evelyn stood tall, breathing hard but masking it with pride. She gave a curt nod and returned to her seat, smirking at Taiga on the way.

Taiga blinked, bewildered.

“Wow, she really hates your guts,” I muttered.

“What did I do?” he whispered back.

The dining hall of Camelot Institute bustled with noise and the smell of roasted meats. Jeanne waved us over, already halfway through a loaf of bread. Lyra sipped soup across from her. Evelyn sat with perfect posture, quills and parchment stacked neatly beside her untouched tray.

“Over here, slowpokes!” Jeanne waved a drumstick like a signal flag.

Taiga plopped his overloaded tray onto the bench. I sat beside him, shaking my head.

Taiga blinked, spoon in midair. “What? I’m a growing warrior. Fuel is important!”

“Growing sideways, maybe,” Jeanne cackled.

Lyra sighed, though the corner of her mouth curved. “You’ll regret it during afternoon drills.”

“I’ll have the stamina of three Guardians!” Taiga declared, jabbing his spoon triumphantly.

Evelyn’s smirk widened. “Truly an impressive display of discipline. The Institute must be honored to have you.”

Taiga slumped. “What is her problem?” he muttered.

“My problem,” Evelyn said coldly, “is that I take this seriously. Some of us are here to become Guardians. Others…” her gaze sliced toward him, “…are here to play.”

A low, distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

The problem? The sky was perfectly clear.

“That’s not normal” I mummer, glancing upward at the cloudless blue.

Before I could hear Taiga could reply, movement at the far end of the hall caught my eye.

A rabbit-eared girl had been cornered. Her notebook was on the floor, kicked aside by a sneering boy as two others blocked her path.

“Didn’t know they let animals in the Institute,” the ringleader mocked. “Guess standards are slipping.”

I tried to ignore it. Jeanne didn’t. She started to rise, but Lyra pushed her back down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lyra hissed.

“I’m not gonna sit here and watch that,” Jeanne snapped.

“Intervening will only make it worse.”

“Better than sitting around letting scum like him push people!”

Lyra shot back, “Big words from someone who thinks saving people is stupid.”

Jeanne froze, scowling. “And what about you, then?”

Her words struck deep, and I felt my chest tighten.

Damn my conscience. Goodbye, peaceful school life.

Before Lyra could answer, I was already standing.

“Hey! Cut it out.”

The three bullies turned, eyes narrowing. The broad-shouldered ringleader sneered.

“I remember you. Avalon. Sorry to burst your bubble, but you don’t have power here.”

“So?” I asked flatly.

“Do you know why Camelot still stands, while newer academies rise and fall? Because this is my town. And you’d better—”

I stepped forward and headbutted him mid-sentence.

“You talk too much.”

The ringleader stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood dripped between his fingers.

“Y-you little—!” he snarled.

The dining hall erupted.

Trays clattered as his two cronies lunged for me, sending plates and bowls spinning across the floor.

One goon reached for me, but Jeanne vaulted the table kicking him square in the chest.

“Finally!” she shouted.

Lyra buried her face in her palm. “…Idiots. Every single one of you.”

The second swung wild. I leaned aside, let his fist sail past, then flicked my hand up—palm to his wrist, elbow to his ribs. He gasped as I shoved him forward into Taiga’s tray.

“NOOO! My pudding!” Taiga wailed.

“Sorry!” I said

The ringleader roared. He cracked his knuckles. “That’s it.”

He lunged, heavy fist swinging. I tilted my head just enough for the punch to whistle past my cheek, my coat brushing with the air. His momentum dragged him forward.

I tapped his ribs with a short, sharp jab. He grunted, staggered, swung again.

My fists and elbows cut in quick syncopated strikes—tap the jaw, flick the wrist, knee to the gut—every hit small but precise, pushing him off balance.

And then everything froze.

Ice crystals spiderwebbed across the floor. Trays hung mid-fall. Soup droplets hovered in the air like glass beads.

Professor Aira strode in, long coat trailing like a shadow, her heels sharp against the stone. Her eyes glowed faintly with icy light. She lifted one hand, and the frozen tableau shattered, sound crashing back into the hall.

Her gaze swept across the chaos—at the bullies, at me, at Jeanne crouched on a table, Taiga still holding an empty spoon like a dagger, Evelyn sipping her tea as if nothing had happened.

“…Detention,” she said coolly, voice like frost. “All of you.”