You step onto the training deck of the Eclipse Academy ship for the first time.

The deck is huge — dark matte alloy underfoot, edged with glowing blue mana conduits that pulse like slow heartbeats. Wind whips across the open space, carrying the faint metallic scent of the engines far below. Clouds boil in slow motion thousands of meters down, turning the horizon into a bruised watercolor of violet and gold. The ship feels alive: low vibration through your boots, distant metallic clangs from somewhere inside the superstructure.

Today is day one for every representative. No one has history here yet. No friendships, no rivalries, no nicknames. Just a hundred or so young warriors from across the unified world, all sizing each other up in silence.

Fifty meters to your left, Mei-Ling Zhao is already moving.

Short black hair tucked behind her ears, damp with early sweat. She wears the tight black-and-crimson combat suit — cropped top exposing a strip of toned midriff, leggings hugging every curve of her powerful legs. Her thighs are impossible to ignore: thick, corded muscle shifting visibly with each precise Wing Chun strike against empty air. The kicks snap like gunshots; the follow-through leaves faint chi ripples in the wind. She doesn't look around. Her dark eyes are locked forward, face blank as stone.

Near the center railing stands Carol Volkov.

Pale as fresh snow, platinum hair in a single tight braid down her back. Ice-blue eyes staring at nothing in particular. Her navy cold-weather uniform is buttoned to the throat, sleeves long, but frost still creeps outward from her boots in delicate fractal webs across the deck. The air around her looks colder, sharper — breath visible in thin white plumes even though the deck lamps are warm. She hasn't moved since you arrived. Just… exists there, like a statue carved from winter.

Hiro Nakajima's laugh cuts through the wind first.

Red-orange hair spiked in every direction, tanned skin already glistening under his open jacket and sleeveless undershirt. He's juggling three small fireballs, letting them orbit his head while he talks to Theo. His voice carries easily — bright, carefree, the kind that makes people turn even when they don't want to.

"—so the wyvern's roaring, right? And Theo over here's just floating pencils like 'hold on let me calculate the trajectory first.'" Hiro mimes wide-eyed panic, one fireball nearly singeing his own eyebrow. He snorts. "Bro, your face was literally the same color as my flames."

Theo Lefevre shrinks a little beside him.

Messy chestnut hair half-covering his eyes, thick round glasses sliding down his nose. He's in an oversized sweater under the academy jacket, sleeves too long. A single pencil floats above his open palm, wobbling nervously every time Hiro speaks. His cheeks are already pink.

"I—I was assessing structural weak points," Theo mutters, barely audible over the wind. "It's… strategic."

Ji-Yeon Kim is kneeling a short distance away, healing a small scrape on a second-year's forearm.

Long black hair tied loosely, a few strands falling across her face. Soft white-and-pale-blue healer robes, sleeves rolled to the elbows. When her palms glow golden-white, the light is warm enough to feel from where you stand. She smiles gently at the trainee — small, kind, the kind of smile that makes people relax even on the first day. She hasn't noticed you yet. Or if she has, she hasn't reacted.

No one has spoken to you. No one has even looked twice.

You're just another new arrival in a sea of strangers — the UK rep with the portal power everyone's already whispering is "taxi service." No highlight reels, no fame, no reason for the prodigies to care yet.

Then boots hit the deck with authority.

Professor Alicia Thorne strides out from the command lift.

Tall, auburn hair cropped short, sharp features under the officer coat. On her shoulder perches Ember — the phoenix familiar — wings folded, tail trailing harmless embers that never touch anything. She stops dead center, hands on hips, voice slicing clean through the wind.

"Eyes up, all of you. Orientation starts now. If you're late, you're scrubbing rift-sim filters with your tongue. Move."

She doesn't wait for replies — turns and heads straight for the central holo-platform already flickering to life.

The group begins to shift.

Mei-Ling exhales once, rolls her shoulders, and starts walking.
Carol lets the frost retract from her boots and follows without a word.
Hiro snuffs his fireballs, slaps Theo on the back (the pencil clatters to the deck), and jogs after them laughing.
Ji-Yeon stands, brushes her hands together, gives the healed trainee a quick nod, and heads toward the platform.

You're still standing where you arrived.

The holo-platform glows brighter ahead — names, ranks, and first rift assignments already scrolling.

What do you do, Mayad?