Zazm stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the golden-trimmed black blazer over his white shirt and crisp black trousers. The blazer's collar and cuffs gleamed faintly under the morning light, the embroidered EIAA emblem on his right chest catching the reflection like a quiet badge of authority.
He reached for the scarf, looping it with practiced precision, the deep fabric draping perfectly against his chest.
From the bed, Zephyra's voice chimed, soft but teasing.
"You look hot. That outfit suits you."
He turned slightly toward her—only for her to tilt her head and smirk.
"However… I can't say the same for your hair."
Zazm glanced back at the mirror. The messy strands spilled over his ears and brushed his neck, refusing to fall in line.
"Right now, you look like a very well-dressed homeless man." Zephyra spoke pointing at his hair.
He sighed, already fishing a band from the drawer. "I was going to tie it."
His attempt at a ponytail failed miserably, earning a quiet laugh from her.
"You can't even tie your own hair? Here—"
Without ceremony, she hopped off the bed, muttering something about his height, and deftly wrapped his hair into a neat low knot that fell just above the nape of his neck. From the front, the framing was perfect—sharp, controlled, clean.
"Thanks." Zazm replies his voice flat.
Zephyra gave a slight nod and spoke,"Shouldn't you tuck it into the scarf? Looks more formal."
He considered it for a moment, then slipped the knot beneath the scarf's fabric. Instantly, he looked like someone with short, disciplined hair. Zephyra gave a small approving nod.
"Good luck on your first day."
Zazm turned to her saying,"You're not coming?"
Zephyra shook her head,"Not to those boring ceremonies. I'll join later."
"Are you going to castle?" Zazm asked as he walked towards the door.
Zephyra nodded saying,"Yeah. That's the plan."
With a final nod, he stepped out.
---
The EIAA corridors buzzed faintly with footsteps, voices, and the faint echo of polished shoes on marble. Zazm joined the flow of students toward the main hall, scanning the crowd with detached focus.
Inside, the space was vast—a cathedral of academia, its vaulted ceiling arched high with carved patterns that shimmered faintly under light.
He paused, raising his left hand to cover his left eye completely. The shift was immediate—the material fabric of space itself warped into visibility before him, countless shapes and signatures flaring like faint stars.
"5,678 students… huh."
Dropping his hand, he scanned the seats. Far ahead, Miwa and Ai sat in the front row with Jennie, Kiyomasa, Minos, and Nova just behind them. He himself was 27 rows back.
A voice slipped into his head—unmistakably Miwa's.
'Where are you, Zazm?'
Zazm didn't react nor was he surprised instead he calmly replied, '29th row.'
Miwa quickly spoke saying, 'We saved you a seat. Hurry.'
Zazm asked her in a cold tone,'Why are you using telepathy?'
'Couldn't find you otherwise.' Miwa replied unbothered.
He moved, weaving through the rows until reaching the front—only to freeze. Sitting beside Miwa was… himself. An exact copy.
Without a word, he stepped forward. Miwa's hand shot out, tugging him into the seat, and the illusion vanished instantly. Jennie sat there, giving him a quick wink and a shh.
Ai gave him a side glanced, "You should be grateful we saved you a seat."
Zazm looked at Miwa and jennie.
"And you both used your powers."
Ai replied looking to Zazm with her arms crossed, "Jennie was hesitant, but Nova said no one would notice."
Miwa however looked slightly apologetic, "We'll only do it again if it's really important."
Zazm didn't reply instead he looked at Miwa.
"Miwa, connect me to everyone."
"Gotcha."
Within moments, his voice carried through all of their minds.
'Nova...'
Before Zazm could say anything else Nova spoke saying he's sorry and he won't do it again.
Jennie also apologized saying she'd be careful as well.
Minos cut in lightly.
"This uniform's sick, isn't it, Zazm?"
Zazm gave a slight nod.
His gaze slid toward Jennie, who was whispering to two unfamiliar girls.
"Who are they?" he asked looking at them.
Jennie quickly answered, "New friends I made, I'll introduce you later."
"Don't bother." Zazm answered in the same cold tone.
His voice sharpened as he addressed all of them again.
"Listen carefully. Miwa, Minos, Kiyo, Ai, Jennie—and you too, Nova. Don't get attached to anyone. Don't forget why we're here."
The subtle chatter died down. Everyone understood.
Lisa, sitting beside Jennie, frowned slightly. "Why do you keep zoning out?"
Jennie raised her hands slightly, "Just nervous, that's all." she spoke with a soft smile.
"You're right, Zazm. We won't forget our mission or our purpose. But learning, making friends, understanding the place—it's just another part of the journey."
Before Zazm could respond, the lights died.
The hall fell utterly silent.
From the center stage, a figure stepped into the single spotlight—Seraphina.
She was tall, composed, her presence drawing every gaze without effort. Her black high-collared coat cut sharp lines over a fitted white shirt, the silver clasp at her throat catching the light. A long tailored pant followed, boots polished to a mirror finish. The coat itself carried the EIAA crest in deep crimson thread, a subtle but undeniable mark of authority.
Her eyes swept the crowd like a cold current.
"You're all going to die."
The words hit like a whipcrack. The air seemed to hold its breath.
A few leaned forward in shock. Others froze, unsure if they'd heard right.
"Before you think you misheard… you didn't."
A faint, almost amused smile touched her lips.
"Every single one of you—including me—will die one day."
A small ripple of murmurs began, but her voice cut through them effortlessly.
Nova smirked leaning back, "What a way to start a conversation."
"I think she started off with a joke." Kiyomasa spoke always oblivious.
"What is she saying." Minos asked totally confused aswell.
"Some of us will die bleeding on battlefields with no one there to save us. Some will die quietly, in bed, surrounded by those who loved them. Some will die after accomplishing everything they ever dreamed. And some will die in vain—regretting it all."
She let the silence after those words linger, the weight of inevitability pressing into every seat.
Seraphina's voice lowered—not in volume, but in tone, as though she were speaking directly to each of them.
"How you die…isn't something you get to decide, how you live is the only part you get to choose."
Seraphina's voice carried through the vast auditorium, firm yet calm, a tone that demanded attention without the need to shout.
"You have all chosen a path few dare to walk," she began, her gaze sweeping over the rows of fresh recruits. "Some of you will become healers, mending broken bodies and giving hope where there is none. Some will become engineers, building the machines that keep us alive. And some… will stand on the front lines, staring death in the eye as soldiers."
Her steps were slow and deliberate as she walked across the stage, the faint click of her boots echoing in the silence. She let her words hang in the air, heavy enough to press down on the hearts of those listening.
"But none of that matters," she continued, her tone hardening. "When you die… you die. And when that moment comes, you leave behind the people you love—the ones who depended on you—to face the world alone."
She paused, letting the weight of the statement settle before she spoke again.
"Your status… your powers… your wealth… all of it means nothing when you're lying on the ground, breathless, your vision fading. Does that mean life itself is pointless?"
Her question hung in the air like a blade over their heads. It was not meant to be answered; she already knew no one here could.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her voice softened. "No. Not at all. We do not live because we are destined to die… we die because we have lived. Every heartbeat, every breath, every laugh, every scar—it all gives meaning to our existence. Life is valuable, and no death… is in vain."
Her gaze hardened once again as she paced forward, her shadow stretching under the bright overhead lights.
"When you fall on the battlefield, you do not fall for nothing. You fall protecting the comrades by your side, or stopping a threat before it reaches the innocent. Every sacrifice counts. Every single life, no matter how small or great, is worth something."
She clasped her hands behind her back, posture unshaken. "Reality is cruel. It will break you. It will crush you. And it is far easier to cower, to turn away, to tell yourself it's not your fight. But if everyone refuses to stand… who will protect the world?"
Her voice rang with a quiet fury that sent shivers down spines.
"That is our duty. And if any of you are afraid, if any of you wish to walk away now, you are free to do so. There is no shame in valuing your own life.
But for those who choose to stay… understand this—your days will not be filled with comfort. You will not live in luxury. You will live a life of constant battle. You will lose friends… again and again. You will be wounded, broken, and scarred… again and again. And you will learn… over and over, sometimes in ways that hurt more than any wound."
Her voice lowered, but the force behind it grew stronger. "But those who endure… those who claw their way through hell itself and survive until the very end… will stand as the strongest. The ones who can save lives, not just their own, but countless others."
She fell silent for a moment, letting her words sink deep into the hearts of every person in the room.
Then, slowly, she spread her arms wide. "I welcome you all to the Euphoria institute for applied arts. Where we will forge you into the shields and swords this world needs.
For the next five years, you will face trials unlike anything you have imagined. And as long as you are within these walls, it is our duty to protect you.
But once you step beyond them… it will be your duty to protect not just yourselves, but the comrades who fight beside you."
Her expression shifted into a faint, knowing smile. "Now then—welcome to your first day."
She clapped her hands sharply, and the entire hall lit up at once, the blinding white glare revealing the vastness of the space around them. The recruits blinked against the sudden brightness, their hearts still pounding from the weight of her words.
"Good luck," Seraphina said, her smile never faltering. "You'll need it."
The heavy doors of the grand hall swung open, and Seraphina walked out with her coat swaying behind her, the sound of her boots echoing against the marble floor.
Her crisp white shirt was perfectly tucked into fitted black trousers, a golden chain clipped to her side, and the subtle glint of a silver dagger peeking from her belt. Her coat's collar was high, shadowing her sharp jawline, and her dark crimson hair flowed like a banner of war.
Her words still hung in the air.
You're all going to die.
The moment she left, the hall erupted in chatter.
"That was truly awesome," Nova said, blinking in admiration, leaning back in his seat.
Kiyomasa crossed his arms and nodded. "Those were… some deep words."
Minos laughed awkwardly. "I didn't understand half of it, but yeah, sure, deep."
Zazm didn't join in. He was standing still, his gaze following Seraphina's retreating figure, but his mind was far away. Something about her tone… her conviction… it tugged at a thought he couldn't quite name.
Ai broke the moment. "We're all in the same class—except Zazm and Jennie for some reason."
Jennie tilted her head. "Where are we then?"
"You're in Class C, Zazm's in Class A," Miwa explained, "while the rest of us are in B."
Nova raised a brow. "Why do Jennie and Zazm keep getting pushed around away from everyone?"
"Yeah, it's weird," Minos added.
Jennie gave a small, sad smile. "It's sad when kids…" Her words trailed off until Lisa wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"You've got me," she said firmly.
Jennie smiled faintly. "Yeah."
Another girl—Nirin—leaned in from the side. "And you've got me as well."
Jennie's smile brightened just a little. "Thanks, you guys."
Miwa walked closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "When did you meet this other girl?"
Jennie shrugged. "We became friends after she helped me look for books. We're in the same class too."
Nova smirked. "That's good. Now everyone, enjoy yourselves while you can."
Kiyomasa waved as they dispersed. Jennie left with her two friends, and Zazm turned away without a word. His steps carried him toward his classroom, his eyes still lowered, that cold and expressionless face never changing.
Halfway down the hall, he bumped into someone.
The other boy was knocked to the ground from the impact while Zazm didn't even budge.
"Can't you see—!" the boy snapped, but when his eyes met Zazm's icy, unblinking stare, his voice died.
"Tch… let's just go," one of his friends muttered. "His face is scary."
"Yeah, not worth it."
Zazm didn't spare them a glance. He kept walking until he stepped into Class A.
The classroom was large and open, sunlight spilling in from the windows. Wooden desks stretched across the floor, the front dominated by a raised stage and an enormous blackboard.
Zazm made his way up to the last row, his boots thudding softly against the steps. As he passed, students instinctively shifted their seats away. Murmurs trailed behind him—whispers about his expression, about how "creepy" or "weird" he looked.
He ignored them all, settling into the back corner desk. His gaze slid to the window, where the campus trees swayed gently in the breeze.
A few minutes later, a soft voice broke through.
"Is this seat taken?"
He turned his head slightly. A girl stood there—a striking figure with golden hair that gleamed like sunlight, and golden eyes that seemed to hold warmth itself. Her features were delicate yet vivid, the kind of beauty that turned heads without effort.
He shook his head silently.
Her lips curled into a smile as she slid into the seat beside him. "That's good."
Zazm turned back to the window.
The girl studied him for a moment before leaning forward slightly. "What's your name?"
No answer.
"You should introduce yourself. Everyone thinks you're scary," she said lightly, trying to coax a reaction.
Still nothing.
She pouted. "At least reply to me." Her hand reached out and shook his arm gently.
Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and sharp. "Mind your own business."
The words had weight—enough to make her flinch slightly. But she didn't back off.
Moments later, the teacher entered, introducing himself and calling for everyone to sit. The girl leaned closer, her voice hushed.
"He looks strict," she whispered, but Zazm didn't respond.
She tried again, unfazed. "By the way, my name's Marine. What's yours?"
Her golden eyes sparkled with stubbornness.
When he still didn't answer, she pouted again. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll make you say it eventually."
Zazm didn't even look at her, his eyes fixed on the teacher.
---
Zephyra lounged on the bed, arms crossed, watching Elziora rummage through a mountain of dresses.
"Just decide already," Zephyra muttered.
Another hanger clattered to the floor, joining dozens of others.
"I can't find anything to wear," Elziora complained.
"You have over a thousand dresses," Zephyra deadpanned. "Wear anything."
"A queen should look her best at a party," Elziora replied, lifting her chin.
Zephyra smirked faintly. "Wouldn't know anything about that now."
"Come on, Zephyra, help me out," Elziora said, her tone almost pleading.
With a sigh, Zephyra stood and walked over. "What's the occasion?"
"A prince of a huge kingdom is getting married. Of course I've been invited."
"A wedding?" Zephyra's eyes scanned the racks. "Go with that." She pointed at a sleek red dress with delicate embroidery at the hem.
"You sure?" Elziora held it up.
"You don't understand how beautiful you are. Everything suits you," Zephyra said simply.
A genuine smile tugged at Elziora's lips. "Thanks."
But then her expression shifted—her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a smirk formed.
Zephyra raised a brow. "What?"
Elziora's smirked widened.
"The fuck you want?" Zephyra spoke irritated from the look.
"Nothing much," Elziora said with feigned innocence. "I was just curious about your love life."
Zephyra rolled her eyes. "I've been trying to make one for a while now, but it's not working."
"It will," Elziora laughed softly.
Zephyra tilted her head. "What about you? Is there someone you like?"
The question hit harder than expected. Elziora froze, staring at the dress in her hands as if the world had gone silent.
"Hey," Zephyra called, clapping her hands. "What's wrong?"
Elziora tried to smile, but it faltered. The mask slipped for a moment, revealing something raw beneath.
"His name was Attrues," she said quietly. "He was… a great guy."
Zephyra didn't interrupt. She just sat beside her, listening.
"But we weren't meant to be."
Zephyra's tone softened. "By 'was'… do you mean he died?"
Elziora shook her head. "No. It's…" Her voice faded, eyes unfocused.
"It's…?" Zephyra pressed gently.
But Elziora smirked suddenly, forcing the conversation away. "Let's decide on the dress first."
Zephyra studied her for a moment, then let it go. "Yeah. Sure."
The red dress lay between them, but the air still held the weight of unspoken words.
---
Zazm sat at the farthest desk in the tiered classroom, his posture rigid, eyes fixed forward. The teacher's voice was steady, a dull rhythm against the quiet hum of conversation before class officially began.
Unfortunately, the hum beside him never stopped.
Marine leaned on her desk, golden hair brushing the wood as she tilted toward him. Her golden eyes were sharp, yet her voice carried that same soft lilt she always wore—like honey poured over steel.
"You know, it's rude to keep ignoring me," she murmured. "All I want is your name."
Zazm didn't turn his head, didn't even blink in her direction. His pen scratched idly against his notebook, though there was nothing written on the page.
Marine puffed her cheeks, feigning offense, and leaned just a little closer.
"Don't scare me now, I just want to know your name. That's all."
Zazm finally glanced at her—one slow, unblinking look that could freeze a river. His eyes were void of emotion, his stare sharp enough to cut the air between them.
Marine actually pulled back a fraction, pressing her lips together in mock nervousness.
"...Zazm," he said at last, his voice low, clipped, and cold.
Her lips curved into an instant smile, warm and bright as if she'd just been handed a rare gift.
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Zazm turned back to the front, offering no response.
Marine's smile didn't falter. If anything, it deepened as she rested her chin on her hand.
"Well then… let's try to get along, okay? We'll be sitting together for the entire semester, after all."
Zazm's gaze shifted toward her again, colder this time.
"What's your problem?"
She chuckled—light, airy, as though the question was a playful tease instead of a dagger.
"I have a lot of problems, honestly. But right now? I'm really talkative, and I want to talk to you."
Leaning in again, she let her face hover just a little too close to his, her cheeks faintly flushed. The warmth in her eyes looked genuine… but there was something behind it, something unreadable.
Zazm's face, however, didn't move. Not a twitch, not a flicker.
The teacher cleared his throat, and the room began to settle into quiet. Marine finally leaned back, her smile still in place but her gaze sharper for the briefest moment before softening again.
_____________________________