The class smelled of coffee and fresh paint, but QWERTY did not seem to care at all. She bounced in place, twirling a strand of her hair, a wide grin plastered across her face.
"All right, you little curious minds," she chirped, clapping her hands. "Let us talk about Aetherials. Humans, yep, just regular humans, until pow, something snaps and suddenly they have the power of the eight elements. Some are born with it. Lucky ducks. Some find it when life gives them a good old shove. And some, heehee, are whipped up by clever hands. Like Eve of Tempus and Adam of Ignis. Cute, huh?"
She leaned on her desk, wiggling her eyebrows.
"And if that spark goes wonky, or gets stolen, or just throws a tantrum, do not worry, sugar. There is or was a fountain called The Hippocrene, it was located in Sebastron and basked along with its citizens in its days of glory. Take a sip, do the trial, and voila. A new element, shiny and fresh. Fun, right?"
She spun around, arms wide, like she was inviting chaos itself into the room.
"Now, listen up, buttercups. Every Aetherial has a rank. Five tiers. C, B, A, S, and the big scary EX. EX is the top, the cream of the crop, the head honcho. You find out your rank with the Diagnostic Aetherial Examination. Oh, it is a hoot. Five stages of combat. Level five is filled with Ascendants. Level four has Risings. Level three has Conquerers. Level two has Overlords. Level one contains Cataclysms. And the grand finale, level zero, where a Mourningstar is waiting to say hello."
She wiggled her fingers like she was casting a spell.
"And you can only take this little joyride in Sèbastron, and it costs a neat 2000 Drachma. Cheap for fun like this, huh?"
She leaned forward, voice dropping just a little, but her grin never faltered.
"Ah, the story of it all. 1942. The Wail. Survivors were poked, prodded, and studied by scientists. Their MSTN gene mutated into KRYN2B. Fumes from the disaster, maybe. Who knows. The first generation was totally normal, ho hum. But their children, those little firecrackers. Some could freeze time, burn towns to ash, zap people with lightning, or bend reality like it was clay. In 1945, Dr. Owens gave these powers names. Ready for this?"
She raised eight fingers like she was counting candy.
"Chaos. Ignis. Fulmen. Glaciēs. Lumen. Nox. Cruor. Tempus."
She twirled on one foot and flopped back onto her desk.
"Eight little wonders. Eight powers. Each one a ticket to a world of fun or trouble. Do not forget, sugar. These are not toys. They are companions, mischief-makers, and sometimes a pain in the neck, but oh, the show they put on."
She leaned in, eyes glinting, voice soft but mischievous.
"Remember, puddin's, power is not just given. It is snatched. It is earned. And sometimes it bites back."
She clapped her hands, grinning like she'd just pulled the ultimate prank. "And that, my little puddins, is what happens when that power is given to villians hehe" With a snap of her fingers, the projector flickered and the smartboards went haywire. Speakers blared static, lights pulsed like they were alive, and in a blink, the whole classroom erupted in chaos. Papers, tablets, and coffee cups flew like confetti, chairs spun across the floor, and the ceiling panels rattled like they were laughing. She landed perfectly in the vortex of of the dead classmates, hair wild, grin wider than ever, and threw her arms up. "Boom! Class dismissed!"