The group strolled leisurely across the campus.
Students instinctively step aside fearfully, casting nervous glances in their direction—none daring to meet the eyes of a particular figure among them.
"I still can't believe you're actually wearing that bucket hat in the middle of winter. They are nicknamed "Fishing Hats" for a reason, as a matter of fact—you never shut up about how much you hate fish," Arthur says with an incredulous face.
"These beautiful things are meant for all seasons, alright. And fish is the most disgusting creature to exist, I'm pretty sure everyone agrees with me on that," Giuseppe responds as if it were obvious.
"Leave it be, Art. You know he is code-locked into wearing those things," Tandav says, smirking. "He is the type to wear beach shorts in a snowstorm if he feels like it."
"Besides, I don't really think you have room to talk," Tandav says, a small smile on his face as he eyes Arthur head to toe, with visible mockery in his eyes.
"Are you tryna fight me, right now?" Arthur narrows his eyes.
Before Tandav could answer, Daniel interjected, voice a little louder than necessary.
"Did you two hear about the new combat instructor?" He changes the subject.
"Nope."
"Nah."
"I haven't."
"I have," Giuseppe says casually.
The others blinked.
Daniel released a quiet mental sigh. Crisis averted. But out of everyone, Giuseppe knew something like this first. That was new.
"Well, I didn't catch her name," Daniel continues, "but apparently she used to be some kind of war veteran. I overheard Mr Grey and Ms Killian talking about it earlier."
Marcus's eyes widened for a brief moment at Daniel's words, an optimistic look appeared in his eyes, before going back to normal. Giuseppe glances at Marcus silently before deciding to pretend he hadn't noticed anything.
"E.V.E. said her name was…Mavana, or something like that," Giuseppe adds, offhandedly.
"…I see," Marcus says, the fleeting optimism in his eyes diminishing slightly at Giuseppe's words.
"We should get moving," Tandav suggests, tapping his connector. A holographic screen appears.
[11:05 AM]
"Looks like we are already late," Arthur muttered.
Giuseppe shot a glare at the entire group at that, immediately blaming everyone but himself for this.
Beep. Beep.
A chime echoed from their connectors.
A school-wide announcement appeared across every screen.
[Notice: All classes for students of Year 1 have been cancelled by Combat Instructor Mavena. Combat Class has been changed to 11:15 am to 5:30 pm. All Year 1 students must report to The Combat Arena immediately. are urged to join Instructor Mavena at The Combat Arena, as soon as possible.]
A wide smile threatened to tug at Giuseppe's lips.
'I think I like her already.'
***
The Combat Arena of Glory Academy is a colossal, high-tech battleground, designed to test the limits of its students in both physical and strategic warfare. A seamless fusion of advanced simulation technology and brutal real-world conditions, the arena can alter its terrain at will, shifting between scorching deserts, frozen wastelands, dense forests or even low-gravity environments like the moon—all at the push of a button.
This technology is powered by the Simulation Core underneath the arena.
The main battleground is an expansive, circular arena with a floor made of adaptive nano-alloy plating, capable of reconstructing itself into obstacles, trenches or towering structures. Suspended high above, holographic screens project live battle data, tracking combatants' vitals, techniques, and tactical efficiency.
Referee drones hover around the field, ensuring that every duel remains within academy regulations.
The spectator stands wrap around the arena in large rows, capable of holding thousands of students, instructors, and elite guests. VIP observation rooms are lined with reinforced glass and analysis equipment allowing for accurate data readings.
In one of these VIP observation rooms, the newly appointed combat instructor, Mavena can be seen talking to her assistant.
Mavena strides into the room with an imposing presence. Tall and powerfully built, she carries herself with the confidence of a warrior who has seen countless battles. Her dark ebony skin, scarred yet smooth, contrasted sharply with her long, wild, curly white hair flowing down her back, streaked with faint silver strands that catch the light.
She wore a dark, form-fitting combat ensemble, designed for both mobility and protection. She wears a black, cropped top with off-the-shoulder sleeves, exposing her toned midriff. The outfit is completed with tight black pants adorned with golden accents and thigh-high slits.
Despite her rather simple uniform, her fit, athletic physique is impossible to hide. Her sharp, cold green eyes shone like a viper, sweeping across the room, assessing everything with a single glance.
From the observatory podium, she can see the tens of Year 1 students sitting in the spectator stands. But she easily notices that a certain few are missing.
It just so happens that those missing students are the ones she was explicitly told to keep an eye on.
"Where are they?" Mavena asks, towering over her assistant. Her voice, melodious and graceful, held an underlying edge that left no room for questioning.
Linda, her assistant, was a petite woman at 5'3, dressed in a neatly pressed black suit, giving her the look of a civil servant. Her long, reddish-pink hair flowed past her shoulders, contrasting with the soft yellow eyes hidden behind sleek silver glasses.
Without even needing to question who the people she was referring to were, Linda answered.
"They were last seen making a commotion in the grand library at 11:00 am, I will track their connectors now."
A mass of holographic screens appeared before her eyes, she navigated through them with swiftness that almost rivalled that of Giuseppe—before long, she enlarged one of them and placed it in front of the eyes of Mavena.
She gazed silently at the live-feed image of Marcus Vathen, Arthur Rain, Tandav Soman, Daniel Gonzales, and finally Giuseppe Castellano.
The video showed the five of them walking leisurely towards the arena, which they would reach in only a few minutes.
At that moment, Giuseppe lifted his gaze.
He looked directly at the drone—straight through the lens feeding live footage to both Mavena and Linda.
His grin grew slowly, unnaturally wide. His eyes curved into crescents, there was a sick joy in them.
A smile full of malice.
It was the kind of smile you would give to an old friend—one you were about to bury.
On the other side of the screen, Mavena leaned forward.
The sight of that smile sparked something in her. A slow, creeping curve pulled at the corners of her mouth, threatening to bloom into a grin that was far too familiar.
It was as if they'd spoken without words. Understood without ever meeting. Two maniacal flames recognise each other.
Linda glanced at Mavena with quiet unease.
But Mavena didn't care to notice.
She was already staring into the smile of a boy who reminded her far too much of herself.
They were kin.
Cut from the same damned piece of the most calamitous story.
***
High above the academy grounds, beyond the reach of many, the Principal's chamber sat still beneath a dome of starlit glass. From this vantage point, the world seemed quiet, even obedient. A sanctuary from the world beneath.
Principal Aldric Malchus Hadi stood near the edge of the observatory his silhouette outlined by the bright sunlight coming through the glass.
He stands with an imposing figure, his very presence seems to command the air around him. Standing tall with a broad, muscular frame.
His hair, a wild mane of silver-white, in a windswept style. A thick, well-groomed beard frames his stern jawline, his aged face adding to the air of authority and wisdom. His piercing grey eyes betray a man who has seen more than his share of life.
Aldric's attire consists of a tailored black vest over a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with intricate tattoos that swirl like ancient runes. A black bow tie sits neatly at his collar, and a pocket watch chain dangles from his vest.
He wears dark, pinstriped trousers paired with a black belt adorned with a golden buckle. But the belt seemed to have an empty gold clip that seemed a perfect place for a sword.
His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight as a blade, gaze cast toward the students below—his thoughts unclear.
Behind him, the quiet tapping of heels echoed.
"Head Secretary," Aldric said without turning.
"Sir," Orelia responds, her voice smooth and measured. She stopped a respectful distance behind him, the data slate in her hands humming softly.
She has medium-length, slightly tousled hair—its colour is predominantly white with black highlights. Her eyes are a vivid red which appear calm yet confident.
She is wearing a form-fitting, sleeveless black dress that accentuates her figure. The dress features bold design elements, including cutouts on the sides that are laced up with black straps in a crisscross pattern.
The dress has a high slit on one side, revealing part of her leg. Her hands are adorned with long, black gloves that extend from her hands to her upper arms.
"Has she started?" he finally asks.
"She has. Mavena's class begins soon. She cancelled the rest of today's classes."
"Hmm," Aldric tilted his head slightly. "She always did like a dramatic entrance."
"Do you think Mavena will follow protocol?" Orelia asked, her tone suggesting her uncertainty.
"No."
The word felt like iron.
"Then why let her in?" She questioned. "She's not stable. Her presence alone is enough to trigger 'them'. The old wards are still strained from the Red Scar incident."
"She is effective," He turned slowly, finally facing her. His eyes were the cold colour of dying stars, ageless and knowing.
"Every year since Leona graduated around half a decade ago, each new batch of students has been progressively weaker. Until this year.
"We have been fortunate enough to gain a group of monsters.
"If we want to mould them to be the best weapons for the glory of humanity. We must cull the weak.
"Mavena is a scalpel. They need that."
Orelia's hands tightened around the data slate. Her thoughts were unclear.
"And what of Evelynne?" Aldric asks.
"She remembers too much, and too little. As always," The secretary responded, her voice quiet. "But she's playing her part."
Aldric stepped toward the central table—an ancient chess piece carved with golden runes stood on a chess set. On the other side was a red king piece.
He placed one hand on its surface.
The glass dome above suddenly shimmered, casting strange reflections on the floor: a brilliant golden spear cloaked in lightning…A scale broken in half…a red crown spinning in slow circles, dripping threads of blood.
The light returned to normal. The symbols vanished.
Orelia blinked. "Sir?"
Aldric looked up again.
"Let the next cycle begin."
__________________________________________________
Author Note:
;)