The three representatives took their positions before the towering flagpoles. With practiced precision, they presented the banners to the Imperial honor guard, their movements synchronized as the flag-raising ceremony began.
Standing at the singer's side, Elder Isaac ensured her voice didn't just carry—it resonated in the very marrow of the crowd. As the Imperial anthem rose, supported by the full might of the Orchestra, the sound became a physical presence, wrapping the stadium in a shroud of Valerian pride.
A wave of movement swept through the stands as the spectators stood in a sea of Valerian pride. With fists pressed to their chests, they joined the anthem; the sound wasn't just a song—it was a roar of loyalty that shook the very foundation of the arena.
**
From the hallowed ash of the ancient lands,
Where the currents of the past run deep,
We claim the light that we call our own,
From the silent vows that the Spires keep.
Through the shadow of the fallen wall,
We march where the heroes once have stood.
We answer to the Empire's call,
Signed in spirit, bound in blood.
OH, RISE, VALERIA, WITH THE DAWN IN YOUR EYES!
LET THE THUNDER OF OUR SPIRIT WAKE THE HEAVY SKY.
FIRM IS THE FOUNDATION, BOLD IS THE BLADE,
WE ARE THE LEGACY THAT CANNOT BE SWAYED!
The stars may fade and the mountains tier,
But the Valerian flame shall never die.
We cast away the shroud of fear,
Underneath the Valerian sky.
Valeria...
Ever Standing.
Ever True.
**
A sudden, breathless hush fell over the stadium as a figure materialized in the high Pulvinar. Draped in heavy black and gold silks that seemed to swallow the light, the Emperor looked down upon the masses.
It had been years since he had graced the public eye, yet his presence remained as commanding as a mountain peak.
Elder Isaac took the initiative to greet the Emperor, as the Tournament Emcee stood stunned in place.
The Emcee remained a statue of terror, his microphone trembling in a numb hand. Stepping forward to bridge the gap, Elder Isaac took the initiative. He didn't shout; he simply spoke, and the sound-dampening charms of the Pulvinar seemed to bow before him.
"A rare honor, Emperor Valerian," Isaac said, using the ancient address of the line. "Your timing is, as always, impeccable."
A faint, knowing inclination of the Emperor's head was his only movement. "Time is a different creature when one is lost in the flow of essence, Isaac. My seclusion was necessary, but the cycle has turned. Once the dust of these games has settled, we shall catch up as we once did."
Valerian's gaze traversed the thousands in attendance until it found its target. In that slight moment of contact with Markus, the rest of the stadium seemed to blur into insignificance. It was a greeting offered in the absolute silence.
Empress Amelia sat in poised elegance beside her husband, a portrait of serene authority.
Beside her, the atmosphere was far more spirited; Rosalind was leaning forward, waving with an unrestrained enthusiasm that broke the solemnity of the Pulvinar.
Her eyes were fixed solely on Markus, her joy radiating across the distance between the stands and the flagpoles.
A heavy, breathless hush rippled through the stands. Every eye was fixed on the junior who stood so calmly under the Emperor's gaze and the Empress's smile.
The crowd remained in a stunned trance, unaware of the political storm brewing now that the veil had been lifted on Markus's true standing within the Empire.
Markus let out a visible, weary sigh. With a single, enthusiastic wave, Rosalind had unwittingly painted a target on his back.
To impress the Imperial family, the other students would no longer just compete; they would hunt him, desperate to prove their worth by toppling the Throne's friend.
Beside him, the two seniors stood in a paralyzed silence, their jaws dropped as they struggled to reconcile the quiet boy from the dressing room with the figure now being hailed by the Throne.
The air between them cooled instantly; they weren't just looking at a junior anymore—they were looking at a legend in the making.
With two deliberate claps, the Emperor seized the atmosphere of the stadium. The swirling winds stilled, then surged, acting as a physical curtain that shielded Markus from the crowd's scrutiny.
"Headmasters across every province have heralded your potential," Valerian's voice boomed, amplified by the elemental pressure. "You stand before me as the pinnacle of our lineage. Prove them right—or face the silence of the forgotten."
Before the Emperor's words could even fade, the stadium floor was met with the heavy thud of hundreds of knees.
From the center of the field, a singular, earth-shaking cry rose to meet the throne: "YES, YOUR IMPERIAL MAJESTY!" In that moment, the individual rivalries of the academies vanished, replaced by a terrifying, unified loyalty to the Crown.
The opening ceremony unfolded in a seamless tapestry of motion and sound.
A succession of elite orchestras and dance troupes took the stage, their performances a masterclass in Valerian elegance.
Each movement was a testament to their discipline, a powerful display where the grace of the arts met the rigid precision of the Empire's highest standards.
The ceremony reached its silent crescendo as Markus ascended the stairs of the central stage.
In his grip, the air fractured as the Starlight Bow manifested—a curve of pure, swirling nebulae and ancient constellations held within his palm.
Markus drew back a string of shimmering gravity, aiming toward the distant basin of the Spires.
With a silent release, the arrow streaked across the arena like a falling star, striking the spark with a resonant crack and erupting into a pillar of eternal flame.
This flame, a symbol of Valerian endurance, would cast its shadow over every victory and defeat throughout the coming days.
The crowd burst into a frenzy. Cheers for the young Blackwell shook the foundations of the Academy, the applause like a rhythmic storm.
Amidst the chaos, every eye remained fixed on Markus—the boy who had manifested the stars themselves, standing amidst the roar as if he were the eye of the hurricane.
While the commoners cheered, the representatives from the rival academies sat in a grim, watchful silence.
The applause was for a student, but they knew they were now measuring themselves against a monster.