long.
The air in the Prismadium is thick, a physical pressure compounded by the roar of a thousand spectators and the low, electric hum of hovering media drones. You stand among a sea of new students on the obsidian floor, the vast arena shifting as holographic projectors cycle through terrain options—a flicker of a cityscape, a flash of a glacial field.
A Proctor's voice, magically amplified and utterly devoid of emotion, echoes from above. "The Orientation Trial will now commence. The objective is simple: remain standing. The rule is singular: do not kill your opponents. All other tactics are permissible. Combat begins in sixty seconds."
A massive holographic timer materializes in the center of the arena, its digits ticking down. Around you, the returning students crack their knuckles, summon flickers of elemental energy, or simply watch with predatory smiles. The energy in the air crackles, a mixture of fear, ambition, and raw, untamed power.
59... 58... 57...
The hum intensifies, the very floor vibrating with gathered magical force.
3... 2... 1...
A deafening ~BUZZ~ shatters the tension.
Pandemonium erupts instantly. Spells flash, and the air fills with the shouts of combat and the grunts of impact. To your left, a student is encased in a block of ice. To your right, another is sent flying by a concussive blast of force.
There's no time to strategize. A student from the returning class charges directly at you. His skin has taken on the rough, grey texture of living stone, and his fists are clenched into rocky hammers. He doesn't shout or taunt; his focus is absolute, his intent to remove you from the Trial as efficiently as possible. He closes the distance in seconds, a monolithic figure aiming to crush you.
