The Drafting Pavilion sprawled across a vast, open expanse, rising like a silver-boned coliseum against the backdrop of the Star Academy's towering spires. Silver banners hung from the arches above, fluttering gently in the breeze. Each banner bore the sigils of the prestigious houses—emblems passed down through generations, symbols of power, lineage, and pride. House Azura, with its flame-bound crest; House Theron, marked by a massive, coiled serpent; and House Vireon's swooping hawk.
House Selira, the newest, stood farthest from the center, its banner blank for now—a quiet reminder of their inexperience and uncertain status.
As Orion and Iris made their way toward the entrance, the murmurs of the crowd grew louder, then quieter. The stares followed them, sharp and calculating. Some were filled with curiosity, some skepticism, and some—a whispered judgment.
"That's him, the one with the Crescent mark…"
"Didn't even go through the regular trials. Barely anyone's even heard of him."
"Did she really bond with Mara? She was the first and only option, wasn't she?"
"You heard? They say they passed the Trial of Intent… alone."
Iris felt it first—the weight of their eyes, their doubts. She stiffened, her jaw tightening as she tried to ignore the murmurs. She hated being under scrutiny like this, hated that her name was already the subject of rumors, whispers. She glanced sideways at Orion, who walked with quiet determination, unfazed by the attention.
They reached the far side of the amphitheater, where House Selira's table awaited them—far from the center, smaller than most. Their banner was a soft, unmarked gray, still without its proper sigil. The table was empty save for a few ceremonial scrolls, markers for what they still lacked: reputation, history, respect.
Iris sat first, her gaze darting to the others at the table. "They're all waiting for us to fall," she muttered, eyes flicking to the rival houses, who spoke in hushed tones and pointed.
Orion sat beside her, his presence steady. "Let them watch." His eyes were trained on the far end of the pavilion, where the second day of drafting would begin.
The voice of the Headmaster boomed from the speakers, amplified by magic, reaching every corner of the Pavilion.
"The second day of drafting begins now. Today, each House will continue the process of assembling its members: warriors, tacticians, healers, and scholars. Remember that your decisions will shape your journey—each of you will be tested, pushed, and forced to grow."
Orion could feel the weight of the words in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't just about choosing team members. It was about the shape of their futures, their paths laid out in front of them.
"Houses are more than just names. They are families, cohorts bound together by blood and the stars themselves. The strongest rise to the top, ascending through trials, dungeons, and the bonds they create. So choose wisely. Choose as if your very life depends on it… because it does."
A ripple passed through the crowd at that. The tension was palpable. The room was already filled with the buzz of gossip, speculation, and expectation. Everyone knew what came next—this day would set the stage for everything.
The crowd fell into a hush as the Headmaster gestured toward the center of the pavilion.
"And now," the Headmaster's voice rang out, "we begin. The first House to draft today will be… House Caelion."
A cheer erupted from the side of the arena as Lucien strutted to the center, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He was flanked by his housemates, a confident, polished group that spoke of years of legacy and privilege. House Caelion sigil burned bright on their banner.
Lucien was a striking figure, his dark eyes glinting with arrogance. He locked eyes with Orion across the arena, his grin widening as he made his way toward the stage.
"Selira," Lucien's voice rang across the crowd, "I was wondering when you'd show up. I thought for a moment you'd back out entirely, but here you are, looking as out of place as ever."
The crowd stirred, eyes flicking between them. A murmur ran through the spectators—was this a challenge?
Orion met Lucien's gaze coolly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You think we came all this way just to watch?"
Lucien laughed, a sound that rang with mockery. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood, Orion. It's not about whether you watch or not. It's about whether you can keep up. A challenge, then—just to see if you deserve a spot in the draft."
Orion's eyes narrowed. He could feel the weight of the entire pavilion's gaze on him now. The tension crackled through the air like static.
Lucien leaned in, his voice low but cutting. "A duel. You and me. Winner takes the next draft pick." He turned his gaze toward the rest of the crowd, his voice rising. "If Orion wins, he can choose who he wants. But if I win—well, they'll know their place, won't they?"
The crowd hushed, waiting for Orion's response. The challenge was clear. A duel in front of everyone, with the fate of Selira's next pick hanging in the balance.
Orion stood. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, Lunaris, as he stared down Lucien. His thoughts were clear, no hesitation in his voice.
"If you think I'm backing down, Lucien, you're sorely mistaken. Let's settle this."
The arena fell silent as the challenge was set. A ring of space was cleared in the center of the pavilion. The heads of the other houses leaned forward, whispering to each other as they watched, eyes flicking between Orion and Lucien. The tension was thick, an almost tangible weight that pressed on the air.
Orion stepped forward, his hand brushing his sword's hilt, his stance unwavering. Lucien mirrored him, cracking his knuckles, his own blade flashing in the sunlight—sharper, heavier, and more imposing than Orion's elegant Lunaris.
The Headmaster raised a hand, and the hum of magic filled the air, ensuring the duel would be fair. "Fight to yield, or until the winner claims their pick. No deadly force." His words hung in the air, the weight of tradition settling over them.
With a sharp motion, Lucien lunged first, his blade aimed for Orion's midsection. The crowd gasped as the two swords clashed, ringing out with a sharp echo that reverberated throughout the pavilion. Lucien pressed forward, his strikes relentless, each swing powered by years of training and raw strength. His blade was heavy and fast, aimed to overwhelm.
But Orion—silent and composed—moved like the night. He sidestepped each blow with a fluidity that matched the grace of the moon itself. Lunaris shimmered with each movement, a faint silver-blue sheen that glowed as though it were an extension of Orion's very being. He didn't waste energy; every parry, every counter was precise, calculated.
Lucien growled, growing more impatient with each dodge. His strikes became more erratic, fueled by frustration as his opponent evaded with ease. Orion's eyes remained calm, his focus sharp. His mind was clear, as though his bond with Selene was guiding him, allowing him to see and react before Lucien even moved.
Then, with a sudden pivot, Orion countered. He danced forward, his footwork light and fast. Lucien's eyes widened as Orion disarmed him with a single, clean movement. The crowd let out a collective gasp as Lucien's sword flew from his grip, landing with a soft thud on the ground.
Orion stood still, his sword raised but not pointed at Lucien's throat. The arena was silent, save for the sound of Lucien's breathing, ragged and heavy.
For a long moment, Lucien stared at the ground, seething with a mix of anger and disbelief. Orion's eyes locked with his. "This was your challenge, Lucien. You've lost. I get the pick."
Lucien sneered, stepping back. "You haven't won the war yet, Orion. This was only one battle."
Orion didn't respond, merely giving a nod to the Headmaster, who gestured to the side, signaling that the duel had concluded.
The Headmaster called the next phase of the draft. The crowd's murmur rose again, excited for the first choice of the second day. House Selira stood at the ready, its banner fluttering gently in the breeze. Orion stepped forward first, Iris beside him.
Lucien's glare remained on Orion, the rivalry far from over, but the fight for this pick had been decided.
"Orion of House Selira, you've earned your pick."
Orion's heart pounded in his chest. He scanned the gathered candidates. Powerful, talented, eager—some of them were skilled warriors, others sharp tacticians, but his eyes landed on one figure, standing slightly apart from the crowd. A figure marked with a brand of Abyss, a Fallen Star.
His name was Azrael.
The murmurs from the crowd were immediate. Whispers buzzed through the air like the crackle of lightning.
"Did he… choose Azrael?"
"He has a Fallen Star brand! It's Abyss. Don't be fooled by that strength."
"Is this a mistake? A dangerous one…"
Orion stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he stepped forward and made his decision. Azrael met his eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.
"I choose Azrael," Orion declared, his voice steady.
The crowd fell into an awkward silence. It wasn't just surprise—it was shock, disbelief, and a thin layer of fear. No one had dared choose someone marked with a Fallen Star. But Orion saw past the stigma, past the rumors, to the power and potential within Azrael.
Azrael was strong. Azrael was skilled. And Azrael was loyal.
The murmurs of the crowd grew louder. Some gasped, some shook their heads. But Orion didn't care. He met their gazes with confidence. This was his choice.
Azrael stepped forward, his cold eyes flashing with the fire of approval. "Thank you," he said simply, but the raw power in his voice made it clear he wasn't a boy to be underestimated.
The Drafting Pavilion hummed with dwindling tension. Most of the houses had made their selections, and only a few candidates remained—those deemed unremarkable or too much trouble to risk.
House Selira, still the talk of the day after the duel, now stood at the edge of their final choice.
Orion crossed his arms as he studied the remaining names and faces. Beside him, Iris leaned slightly toward him. "There's not much left," she murmured. "Unless you see something I don't."
He did.
One girl stood at the edge of the group—half in shadow, as if she preferred it that way. Her cloak was ash-colored, her hair like coal. A subtle flame flickered across the star branded on the back of her hand—the Star of Cinders, a rare and often overlooked flame aligned with destruction and rebirth.
"She didn't step forward once," Iris noted.
"She didn't need to," Orion said. "She's waiting to be seen."
He raised his hand.
"We choose her," he called. "The one with the Cinder Star."
The announcer hesitated—just for a beat.
"Confirmed. House Selira claims… Serah Veyne."
The crowd stirred with curiosity.
Serah lifted her head slowly, eyes like smoldering embers. She walked forward with measured steps, neither shy nor proud—just controlled, as if holding something back.
When she reached them, she didn't ask why.
Instead, she met Orion's gaze and said softly, "Don't expect warmth just because I burn."
Orion smiled faintly. "I don't need warmth. I need someone who survives the fire."
She tilted her head, considering him, then joined Azrael without another word.
Two recruits now stood beside Orion and Iris. All strange. All powerful. All chosen for reasons the rest of the Academy wouldn't understand.
House Selira was no longer a footnote.
It had begun to take shape—sharp-edged, dangerous, and alive.
The House Drafting pavilion had grown quieter, the echoes of announcements and the rush of excitement settling into an exhausted calm. As the recruits gathered in their new groups, the weight of their selections hung in the air, thick with uncertainty and potential. The last of the chosen stood apart from the crowd, their faces a mix of pride and nervousness.
Orion, having just made his selections—first the brooding Azrael, and then Serah, the quiet yet determined girl with a marked star—leaned against the polished stone railing of the pavilion. He watched the recruits exchange glances and whispered words, their future paths now intertwined with their stars and the choices they had made.
Iris stood beside him, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the group of recruits. "It's strange," she murmured. "We're supposed to lead them, but half of them are more powerful than we are."
Orion turned to look at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Maybe… but it's not just power that defines leadership. It's about guidance and trust."
A hesitant voice interrupted their quiet exchange. It was Serah, the last recruit chosen. She approached the duo, her eyes still carrying that distant look of someone who was still processing the weight of it all.
"You really think we can make it?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.
Orion smiled faintly, a reassurance he hadn't given much thought to before now. "I think you'll surprise yourself." His voice was warm but firm, like the quiet strength that Selene had always instilled in him. "No one here is destined to fail. Even if you doubt yourself, there's more to you than just what's on the surface."
Iris, who had remained quiet for a moment, leaned in slightly. "And if you need help, we're not far away. The trials are tough, but we're all in this together."
Azrael, who had stood slightly apart from the rest of the recruits, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression, finally stepped forward. "I don't need anyone," he said, his voice low but clear. The weight of the Fallen Star's mark was heavy on his skin, but his posture was unyielding. "But you gave me a chance, so I'll do the same."
There was a flicker of something almost like understanding in Orion's eyes, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he turned his gaze to the others, the recruits from various backgrounds who would make up the core of Selira's new house.
A young recruit from another house with dark hair and a sharp gaze spoke up then, his words laced with concern. "I heard about you," he said, looking directly at Azrael. "About your brand. What do you think that means for your house?"
The others, hearing this, began to whisper amongst themselves. Some of the whispers were filled with fear, others curiosity, and still more with skepticism. It was clear that Azrael's presence was unsettling.
Azrael didn't flinch. He just shrugged, a gesture that seemed almost practiced, as though he had grown used to the discomfort. "I'm here because I was chosen, not because of my past."
There was a beat of silence before Serah spoke up, her voice steady and confident. "We all have our pasts. Mine's no better. I'm here because I chose to be. I'm not worried about anyone else."
Orion smiled at her, pride flickering in his chest. "Well said."
Iris stepped forward then, looking at all of them in turn. "We're all in this together. This house isn't just about power. It's about trust, loyalty, and pushing each other to become something more."
There was a moment of quiet as the recruits processed her words. Then, one by one, they nodded, each in their own way acknowledging the weight of their new path.
Orion felt a weight shift in his chest. This wasn't the house he'd envisioned—at least not in the way he'd imagined it before the draft. But there was something here, something more than he'd expected. His house wasn't just a group of people with stars; it was a team, a collection of individuals with their own struggles, weaknesses, and strengths.
"We have a lot of work to do," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I think we're ready for it."
As the recruits dispersed to their quarters, their final words lingering in the air, Orion turned to look at Azrael one last time. The Fallen Star's mark might have been a source of fear for others, but Orion saw something else in his eyes—a glimmer of potential, something that could be shaped, not destroyed.
Iris followed his gaze and nodded slightly. "You know, I think you made a good choice."
Orion didn't respond immediately. He was lost in thought, watching the recruits filter away into the twilight. They had a long road ahead of them, and the trials of the Academy were just beginning.
But as he turned back toward the gathering of new recruits, something in him felt solidified, like a promise he'd made, not just to himself, but to the people who had now become his responsibility.
"Let's get to work," he finally said