The Grand Arcane Arena loomed like a colossus of ancient stone and shimmering enchantments, its tiered seating curving in a full circle around a central field where enchanted disc targets floated serenely above runed stone.
The air buzzed with mana, thick and metallic, like the tense hush before a thunderclap.
Class D arrived last, ushered to a rickety wooden platform creaking under their weight, tucked in the arena's farthest shadowed corner.
No gilded railings like Class A's, no enchanted cushions like Class B's, no polished benches like Class C's—just splinters, peeling paint, and the weight of their reputation as the academy's failures.
They took their places in silence, the creak of the platform echoing their unease.
The inner circle—Eva, Olivia, Nellie, Viora, Myra—gathered tightly at the front, their bodies slick with a sheen of anxious sweat and anticipation.
Eva's skirt clung to her hips, riding up with each shift, the edge of her blue lace panties flashing briefly.
