The news of the official teams spread like wildfire through the corridors of the academy. Hakime, with a tight heart, rushed to the lists displayed. His gaze quickly scanned the names, desperately searching for those of his friends.
Team 7:
· Hakime
· Arthur Leclerc
· Conor
-Lyra Melthorn
Intense relief overwhelmed him. They were together. The attribution system, for once, had respected the natural affinities that had been created. Other reactions around him were more mixed: shouts of joy, grunts of disappointment.
Arthur almost jumped around his neck. "We're together! I knew it! The beginner's luck!"
Conor put on a rare smile: "Well, we already know our strengths and weaknesses."
Lyra, more reserved, simply nodded. "Logic. It maximizes our chances of success."
On the other side of the hall, Loïd consulted his own team. His face closed when he read the names: himself, Elara Griffin (the girl with the ice), Kaito Tanaka (the magnetic) and another heir to a minor family. An elite team, forged in blue blood. His gaze met that of Hakime, full of a silent challenge. The competition between their two groups was now formalized.
The next step was the armory. The room was large, cold, smelling of oil and ozone. Racks of basic weapons and etheric armor lined up as far as the eye could see. An instructor welcomed them.
"Choose wisely. This equipment is your life for the next twenty-four hours."
Hakime walked unhesitatingly towards the spears. He took one of the standard models, the low-pulse ether crystal tip. She was well-balanced, familiar.
Arthur opted for a pair of short daggers and a light harness. "Mobility and speed are my style!"
Conor chose a large rectangular shield and a mass of heavy weapons. He lifted them up with ease, satisfied.
Lyra, on the other hand, took no conventional weapons. She was content with gloves reinforced with palms encrusted with microcrystals. "My glass is my weapon," she explained to the instructor who looked at her, skeptically.
They each received a standard package: a water bottle, compact survival rations, a thermal blanket, and a rudimentary treatment kit. The whole thing had to fit in a tactical backpack.
The day before departure, the academy granted an exceptional leave of absence. Many students went to see their families for what could be a final goodbye. Hakime, Arthur, Conor and Lyra found themselves on the rooftops, where they had promised to remain united.
The atmosphere was different, more serious. Arthur's bravado had given way to palpable nervousness. He was constantly fiddling with the mechanism of his daggers.
"You think there will be a lot of goblins? I heard they smell of rot and rotten ether."
Conor sharpened the tip of his mass with a whetstone, methodically. "Their number doesn't matter. As long as they fall under our blows."
Lyra checked her bag for the tenth time, making sure that each item was perfectly tidy and accessible.
Hakime watched them. They were his friends, his brothers and his sister-in-arms. He felt the weight of responsibility gripping his chest. He was their unofficial leader. Their lives depended in part on his decisions.
"We have a plan," he said, breaking the silence. "We stay together. We avoid unnecessary confrontations. We prioritize survival and observation. Arthur as a scout, but never more than fifty meters away. Conor in anchor. Lyra and I are supporting it."
He looked them all in the eye. "We trust our training. And we cover each other. Whatever happens, we find ourselves at the final meeting point. No one is left behind."
Arthur stopped groping his daggers and raised his head, a semblance of his usual smile on his face. "No one stays behind."
"Nobody," repeated Conor, laying his mass.
Lyra closed her bag with a dry gesture."
They spent the evening reviewing maps of the area, memorizing water points and potential danger zones. There was no room for doubt or pretense. Every minute was devoted to mental preparation.
As night fell on Nova-Aeterna, Hakime looked one last time at the distant haze of the Laziness Tower. Tomorrow, he would be below. The fear was there, real, but it was now channeled, transformed into a sharp determination. He had a team. He had a plan. He was ready.
The silence in their room that night was that of soldiers the day before a battle. No words were needed. They fell asleep with the certainty that their lives would change, for better or for worse, at sunrise.