The muffled cheers of the crowd erupted into an enormous cacophony when Cyan pushed open the doors to the auditorium, and for a moment it felt as though she had walked into a solid wall of sound. She let her eyes adjust to the dimness, and quickly scanned the room. Two sets of tiered bleachers currently packed by the guests in attendance sat on opposite walls. The center of the room was dominated by an elevated hexagonal-shaped platform, accessible through several sets of iron stairs at the corners. It was a multipart prefabricated unit, designed to be a portable stage that could be quickly set up and taken down. A number of spotlights had been rigged to the ceiling overhead, and they were currently focused on the stage's sole occupant.
As she stepped away from the entrance, her eyes focused on the fully armed and armored Atlesian soldier waving a trio of attendees towards an unoccupied section of the bleachers. Looking around, she counted over a score of them scattered throughout the room. Quite a bit more security than she was expecting for a simple demonstration. She slowed down as she approached him and made an effort to erase the look of worry on her face that she saw reflected in his masked helmet. With a cursory glance and an affirming nod, he stepped back and directed her around the front of the bleachers to a staging area on the far side of the room. She hesitated briefly before nodding back at him and continuing onward.
Her eyes we drawn to the activity on stage as she made her way past it. A dozen devices, each one comprised of two flat discs roughly the size of a grapefruit with a pair of stabilizer fins jutting out of the back, swarmed through the air, occasionally pausing long enough to point its small array of weaponry at the student, and a small beam of white energy would lance out. It was these opportunities that allowed Cyan to recognize the Atlesian combat drones, modified— she hoped— to deliver stinging pin pricks rather than lethal force.
The student on stage flicked her gaze towards the incoming attack and brought her weapon up to bear against it. Near as Cyan could tell, it consisted of little more than nine bright silvery lengths of metal, connected by cord designed to stretch under tension. The tip was sharpened to a fine point that glistened brightly under the spotlight. Overall it gave the impression of a multi-segmented whip. The wielder twirled artfully and swatted the energy beam out of the air. The drones their pattern of fire in rapid succession, and she deflected one attack after another. Never once did she lose her rhythm: her movements were fluid and graceful, almost hypnotic, as they flowed seamlessly from defense to offense. With a sudden, yet subtle, shift in momentum, the spiked tip of her weapon pierced the center of the camera lens on the nearest drone, sending it to the ground in a flash of sparks. Her attacks found their mark again and again, and the encircling swarm began to rapidly thin until only two of them remained. These drones swung outwards into a wider arc that took them well out of the whip's reach. The student manipulated a control on the weapon's handle in a blur of motion, and the metal segments began to light up one by one with a greenish glow. With a ferocious cry she whirled again, faster than ever, sending a pair of thin, crescent-shaped bursts of energy at the drones, cleaving them neatly in two. Cyan could feel the force of wind gusting from where she was standing outside edge of the ring.
Unsurprisingly, the crowd loudly applauded the performance. Even what little of it Cyan had seen had been an incredible sight. With a quick flourish, the student curled up her weapon and secured it to her waist. It wasn't until she turned to address the bleachers on this side of the room that Cyan finally recognized Autumn. She was wearing a dark, tight-fitting bodysuit with deep orange coloring that denoted additional protective padding, and, Cyan couldn't help but note, showed off the curves of her figure a little too well. Her orange hair, which seemed a shade darker than she remembered, had been pulled back into a long braided ponytail. Autumn waved graciously to the crowd as she made her way towards the edge of the stage, where Jet was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She quite literally leapt into his arms, and he stopped his applause just in time to wrap her in an embrace as she planted a deep kiss on his lips.
Cyan rolled her eyes and made a face, desperately looking around for something else to focus her attention on. She settled upon Lyohniy, who was just ahead of her and very excitedly waving his hand in her direction. As she drew closer to him, she spotted Roan and her brother, as well as the enormous shape of Instructor Jared. He stood facing the stage, his back to the four of them as she approached, discussing something with one of the Atlesian guardsman standing nearby.
"Phew!" he said to her with a broad grin, "Some performance, huh?"
Cyan gave him a level gaze, "Was it? I didn't really notice."
Vermilion grinned and cocked an eyebrow down at her. He looked very impressive dressed in the full suit of deep crimson armor, but the fact that he now seemed even taller than usual brought her no end of annoyance.
"Oh really?" he asked, his voice betraying the amusement hidden by his blank expression.
"Really." Cyan made a sipping gesture with one hand, "You know, like when you're drinking something, and a little bit spills on your shirt, and you don't notice? Just like that."
Vermilion chuckled and shook his head. Lyohniy smirked, placed both hands on his waist, leaned in closer and said, "Aw, who's jealous?" as if talking to a small child.
She smirked right back and gave him a quick elbow in the stomach, causing him to choke on his laughter as the breath was blown out of him. It was about this time that Jared noticed her from the corner of his eye, and excused himself from his present discussion with an assertive nod. He joined the four of them as several more guards went to work clearing the arena from Autumn's performance, preparing it for the next presentation.
"Cyan." he said simply, but his eyes searched every detail of her, presumably noting her change in attire.
"Well, how do I look?" she grinned, not really expecting an answer.
After several more seconds of silence, he offered her a nod, "Ready."
She smiled again, and chewed on her lower lip. Her eyes searched for something that would help settle her nerves, then she looked up at the instructor and frowned.
"You didn't forget her, did you?"
"'Her?'" Jared said with one eyebrow raised, "It's a 'her' now? Since when?"
Cyan looked offended, "She was always a 'her'!"
Jared quirked his mustached mouth into an amused grin, "No, of course I didn't forget…"
The instructor walked over to a nearby bench that had been moved to the side to make room for the bleachers, and lifted an enormous object wrapped in a dark blue cloth bag and fastened shut with a length of fine rope. He handed it to Cyan, who smiled and cradled it gently in her arms.
"Thanks for letting me keep her here overnight." she said, still smiling.
He continued to shake his head, and watched her with fascination, "I understand that you're proud, but it is just a weapon."
"It's not just any weapon." she insisted, "It's mine."
"If you can help it, sir, try not to discourage her." Vermilion's voice carried over the din of the crowd, "It's the first clear sign of affection she's shown for anything besides the three of us. It's growth."
Cyan glanced back at him and stuck her tongue out, "Of course I like her more than you. Just look how quiet and supportive she is. It's one of her most endearing qualities."
Vermilion grinned and put his hands up in surrender, then went back to his conversation with Lyohniy. Cyan turned her attention back to the auditorium.
"This is quite a turnout." she said, hoping the conversation would help calm her down, "And a lot of security for a simple ceremony."
"There are some pretty important visitors." Jared explained, "Not to mention the large amount of military hardware being made available to the students for their demonstrations."
He then gave her a hard look, "Which you would have learned all about if you had bothered to show up on time."
She winced and looked over her shoulder to find Vermilion and Lyohniy both struggling to contain their laughter. She gave them both a dirty look and asked, "So how do they decide who goes next?"
"Random draw." Jared said, "After everything's said and done, it was decided that was the most fair way."
She nodded and looked over at Roan. As usual, he was carefully studying the room, both the stage and the bleachers around it, making a thorough note of the locations of everything and everyone present. After having spent so much time training with him she now understood why. It was the nature of his Semblance. Since he needed to be able to see where he was going, having a clear mental picture of his surroundings aided him greatly. The more he was aware of what was around him, the less time he would need to pause in the heat of battle to pick a destination. He could simply react, guided by instinct rather than conscious thought, She reflected on how obvious it seemed once he explained it, and how silly she felt for not working it out on her own.
The voice of the announcer suddenly boomed over the arena, "The next student demonstration, Zee Lyohniy…"
The sound of his name pulled her back out of her thoughts and she turned around to see an enormous grin spread across his features. He walked forward, traded fist-bumps with Vermilion, and exchanged a nod with Roan as he clapped a hand on his shoulder. He smiled even wider and winked at Cyan as he strode up to the ring, where he was greeted by measured applause from the crowd. She returned his smile, wishing that she felt even half as confident as he currently looked. As he passed by the Atlesian soldier at the bottom of the stairs, he handed him what appeared to be an index card, and walked to the center of the stage. The soldier read over the card, and touch a hand to his helmet to activate his radio.
She looked back up at Instructor Jared, who seemed to sense her incoming question, "Once you are called to go up," he paused and pointed at the soldier standing at the steps up to the arena, "hand the guard there your list of written instructions. The military will take care of anything you need for your demonstration."
"Anything?" she asked.
"Obviously not anything." he held up a hand and began counting on his fingers, "Mark III Hover Drones and Atlesian Basker Hounds. Or stationary targets, if you prefer."
He turned his head and gave her a critical stare, "You aren't planning on going up there and just winging it, are you?"
She stared back at him in preparation to deliver an appropriately snappy retort when the voice of the announcer drowned her out, "Lyohniy will be wielding his custom Meteor Shell, 'Ilya' and 'Muromets'."
Her attention was drawn back to the stage, where Lyohniy rolled his shoulders around in an effort to loosen them, and shifted the harness he had strapped over his duster so that it rode a little higher than it had been. It consisted of two simple brown leather bands over his shoulders buckled at the waist, with two holsters at his back. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Then looked over at the guard nearest to the stage and nodded. The lights in the room dimmed, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. Lyohniy tensed, the fingers on his right hand twitching in anticipation.
A loud warning buzzer sounded, along with the snap-hiss of a hydraulic system coming from somewhere under the stage, and small cylindrical column suddenly sprung upwards from the floor, with a red and white bullseye target half a meter in width affixed to it. In less than a fraction of a second, Lyohniy snatched the pistol from his right holster and spun into a crouch as he took aim. It was a powerful, high caliber weapon that looked large in his hand, even from the distance Cyan was standing. With a smooth pull of the trigger, a single shot splashed against the target precisely in the center of the bullseye, which promptly lit up on impact. Lyohniy adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger two more times, landing a shot on both of the surrounding rings. Once they were both alight, a higher pitched confirmation alarm buzzed out and the target sank back into the floor. In the same instant, a second target appeared on the opposite side as the first, but farther away. Lyohniy drew a second pistol and drilled it with three more hits, sending it back underneath the stage.
The targets began appearing faster and faster in sequence, and at random distances. Lyohniy deftly spun about the central portion of the stage, hammering each one with incredible precision. Two of them sprang up on opposite sides simultaneously. In response, he spread his arms to the side and alternated six shots; starting from the outermost ring on each target and moving towards the center. A second buzzer sounded, and several more spotlights flooded the arena. Lyohniy artfully twirled both pistols around by the trigger guard, thumbing a control button as he did, and they began to alter their shape. Protective plating expanded over one side, curving into a half circle. He crossed his hands in front of him, and allowed the weapons to interlock and form a rough sphere. He took this new form in one hand and spun in a circle, dragging a thick thick cable from one end out to just over a meter before grabbing it with his other hand. The cable continued to stretch two additional meters in length as Lyohniy whirled it in a furious circle overhead.
Another target appeared directly in front of him, and Lyohniy shifted his stance to allow the momentum he'd built to propel the sphere forward. It struck the target and completely obliterated it. He spun again and pulled up sharply on the cable and settled the weapon into a comfortable circular pattern, with appropriate flourishes and directional shifts, continuing his assault on the targets as they appeared around him. After another five successful strikes, one final buzzer sounded and he swung the weapon overhead, smashing it into the floor and bringing it to a dead stop. The sound of the metal stage crunching under the weight of impact echoed loudly throughout the auditorium.
The crowd broke into applause as Lyohniy touched another control on the handle that caused the cable to retract, and just as swiftly returned the pistols to their original configuration, then secured them to their holsters. He grinned a triumphant grin, and pumped his fists towards the crowd, riling them up into even louder cheers. Cyan smiled as she and the others joined in as well. Lyohniy traded high fives with Vermilion as he descended from the stage.
"So did you notice that?" he said, drawing in heavy breaths, but still grinning from ear to ear.
"I saw." she smiled back at him, "You did great."
The three of them all stopped to stare at her, Vermilion and Lyohniy with open-mouthed shock.
"Whaaaat?" Lyohniy allowed the word to drawl out slowly, "A compliment? And a genuine one at that? V, who is this, and where did your sister go?"
She scowled at him, "See, that right there is exactly why I never tell you anything."
Both of them continued to laugh at her expense while the guards swarmed the stage behind them to replace the damaged panel. Jared took a step closer and said, "If you like, I can run you through a list of all the errors in your form."
It took a moment of uncomfortable silence for Lyohniy to realize that the instructor wasn't serious. He laughed again, and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead before collapsing on the bench nearby. Cyan looked around the auditorium once again as a sudden thought occurred to her.
"Sir? The amount of space between the bleachers and the stage seems a little… well, hazardous."
Jared nodded to her and pointed towards a strip of lighting around the edge of the stage currently being examined by one of the maintenance personnel.
"There's a safety barrier in place during the demonstration. It's small, but strong enough to catch most of the energy from a misplaced attack."
She noticed what seemed to be more than a little emphasis on the word.
"Most of the energy?"
"Most." he repeated, staring directly at her, "It's not an excuse to cut loose. Students are expected to demonstrate control as much as they are raw force."
Cyan couldn't help but think that most of that explanation was added specifically for her benefit, and was unsure of how to feel about the insinuation.
"And what happens if one does not exercise the proper restraint?" she asked.
The instructor folded his arms across his chest when he responded, "That's the other reason for all of the extra security."
She took the hint, and didn't press the issue any further. Several more demonstrations proceeded without incident, and Cyan could feel the nervous tension start to build inside of her again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, our next demonstration, Vermilion Athelward, wielding the Bowlance, 'Crann Taca'." the announcer's voice drifted over the chatter in the room.
Cyan turned to face her brother, who at some point in the last few minutes must have retrieved his weapon, which was now loosely slung across his back by a strap at his shoulder. The lance stood taller than he did, measuring nearly two and a half meters from tip to tip, with an array of curved points at the head, like a cross brace that had been bent upwards. The edges were also sharpened to allow for horizontal and vertical slashes as well as thrusts. The deep red, almost rust-color, gave it an even more menacing feel. Vermilion smiled to the rest of them, nodded once, and made his way towards the stairs without a word, declining to pass any instructions to the guard on the way. He took his weapon in hand at the top and walked to the center of the stage to the applause of the crowd, and waited for silence before proceeding.
He started off small: assuming a wide, relaxed defensive posture, the tip of his lance pointed downward. After a few measured breaths, he took a short sliding step forward and thrust. It was a flawless maneuver, gathering the momentum from his leg, transferring it with a sharp twist of his hip, and finally delivering the force of the attack out through his shoulder. It also set the stage for everything that was to follow. Vermilion worked through a relatively standard floor exercise, but every single nuance of movement was thoroughly calculated to achieve maximum effect. Even the non-standard techniques flowed seamlessly together as though they belonged; a sharp sweep drawn backwards to hook a target's leg out from under it, a forward twirl that criss-crossed the many sharpened edges rapidly through air in front of him, and a half-spin into a backwards thrust.
One full minute after his demonstration started, he abruptly shifted his grip forward closer to top of the weapon. With a sharp twist, the haft split in two and spread outwards, the two ends folding in on themselves until they formed the arms of a recurve length bow. A bright line of energy sprang in between the two ends where the bow would normally be strung, and he grasped it with his right hand. As he drew back, an "arrow" of pure energy materialized between his fingers and the portion of the lance head that now formed the riser. Vermilion darted forward and fell to both knees as he took aim at the ceiling, then released. The shot traveled upwards until it struck the the invisible dome of the safety barrier. She soon realized that he had deliberately held himself back, creating an attack strong enough to reach it's mark, but still weak enough to be dissipated on impact. The top of the barrier where the arrow hit briefly glowed white hot, worrying Cyan for a moment that the attack was still too strong. But the barrier held, turning the energy into a dazzling shower of sparks that gently fell to the ground.
The lights returned to normal as he rose to his feet and returned the bow to it's original configuration before securing to the back of his armor. The crowd again applauded, and Vermilion responded by offering a formal salute to both sets of bleachers. He then stepped out of the arena, humbling accepting the praise from several other students and teachers he passed along the way. Like Lyohniy, he had put on an incredibly demanding physical performance. Unlike Lyohniy, he wasn't even breathing hard when he had finished.
"Impressive." Instructor Jared said as Vermilion approached.
"Mm." Roan nodded along with him.
Cyan couldn't help but agree. After all, anything effective enough to elicit a response from Roan was something worthy of admiration.
"Thanks." Vermilion smiled at them and took a seat next to Lyohniy. He accepted the water bottle offered to him, settling himself down in a calm, upright posture. Cyan couldn't help but wonder where he got his energy from.
"Our next demonstration," the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker once again, "Roan Shikari, wielding the Dual Shot Daggers, 'Solemn Zastra'."
That certainly was fast, Cyan thought to herself. Of course, it's not like Vermilion's performance left a lot of repairs to be done. She turned to face Roan, who tugged at one of the straps that fastened his weapon to his forearms. A pair of straight-edge blades that stopped just shy of his wrist gleamed brightly as they passed through the spotlights, as did the small knives strapped to the harnesses he wore around each of his thighs. In their current position though, with the tips pointed in the direction of his elbow, they seemed more suited for blocking and defense than attack. Roan approached the stage in silence, barely slowing down to hand an index card to the guard as he stepped into the ring.
"Some random draw." Cyan said, "First Lyoh, then Vermilion only a few presentations later, and now Roan right away?"
The instructor gave a half-shrug, "There aren't that many students left to present. That you all are going up so close together isn't surprising, given your late arrival."
Her face faulted once again, "With respect, sir: please learn a new tune, already."
Jared fumed at her, but before he could respond the crowd grew quiet as the lights dimmed once again. Roan stood unmoving, facing the center of the arena, as a small circle parted in half about five meters away. A four-legged machine, about the size of a small horse was lifted into the arena by a raised platform, accompanied by a warning buzzer and a hum of electricity that whirled it to life. Sharp claws on the ends of each foot clacked against the arena floor when it moved forward, and it's jaws opened to show a perfectly-arranged row jagged spikes for teeth. Armed with a suite of visual and audio sensors, Basker Hounds most often functioned as supplemental security forces, though occasionally they were used for training, standing in for the Beowolves they were modeled after. The machine loosed a mechanical growl and loped across the stage towards its target.
Roan stood unfazed, and waited until the creature was nearly within striking range before he moved. His right hand flicked to the harness at his leg and withdrew a single knife, hurling it forward in a blur of motion. The knife lodged itself at the joints near the Basker Hound's front foot with a grating sound. It continued forward, and a second knife found its way into the other forefoot moments later. Flailing jaws snapped shut around air as Roan vanished and reappeared some distance behind it, hurling a third and fourth knife into its two hind legs as he spun around. The Hound tried to rear back so that it could turn to face him.
That's when the knives exploded.
First the one in it's right forepaw, throwing the machine wildly off-balance, and then the next. One after another the knives exploded in sequence, lifting the Hound higher and higher into the air. With his arms still held outward, Roan clenched his hands into tight fists. The blades on both gauntlets swiveled forward from the sides, each forming a single large punching dagger when they snapped into place. He leaped from the ground and vanished again, this time appearing directly in front of the flailing machine while it was still in midair, and crossed his arms in front of him. The strike brought the razor-sharp edges of both blades into the cables at the Basker Hound's neck, severing the head in a single swift motion.
Roan turned his jump into a forward tumble and landed back on the stage in a crouch as the remains of the machine smashed to the ground in a heap. The crowd sat in hushed silence, and it wasn't until Roan stood up straight that they began to applaud. Cyan shook her head in astonishment, and glanced at her watch to confirm that the whole process had taken only a matter of seconds. Roan left the arena without acknowledging the crowd at all and moved to stand beside Vermilion and Lyohniy, both whom blinked at him incredulously.
"Wow. That was…" Lyohniy paused, searching for the right word.
"…Efficient?" Vermilion supplied, glancing between Lyohniy and Cyan for approval.
"Thank you." Roan turned the corner of his mouth into a grin, and went back to watching the guards clear the stage.
Cyan let her mind drift again as she tried to relax. When that didn't work she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, allowing the sounds of the auditorium to wash over her in waves. The announcer's voice once again brought her out of her trance.
"And now for our final presentation. Ladies and gentlemen, Cyan Mireille…"
Cyan tightened her grip around the cloth bag and held it closer. She could feel the eyes of her friends and the instructor fall upon her as the crowd began their measured applause. A sense of urgency played across their features as they waited for her to approach the stage, but in spite of her mental commands, her feet refused to cooperate.
Jared stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, "You're going to do fine. Focus. Remember your training. And don't forget to breathe."
She locked her gaze onto his and nodded several times.
"…Breathe." he repeated, this time as an order instead of advice.
Cyan blinked at him and forced the air out of her lungs, along with a nervous chuckle. She glanced around at the other three and smiled. Roan offered his customary polite nod and Vermilion joined in the applause. Lyohniy placed both of his hands at her shoulders, gently spun her to face the stage and then prodded her towards it. It was only then that she finally started moving forward.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, the guard looked down at her expectantly. She froze in place as the nagging feeling that she had been forgetting something suddenly resolved itself. She bit her lower lip in thought, and then subtly, if frantically, gestured the guard closer. He turned his head, and then cautiously leaned down so that he could hear her over the crowd.
"One Basker Hound." she said, "In assault mode. One minute and fourteen seconds after I begin."
The guard leaned back up and stared at her for a moment from behind his expressionless mask, shrugged, then touched a hand to his helmet and relayed the instructions into his radio. Cyan clenched even tighter around the bag in an effort to stop her hands from shaking as she ascended the stairs.
When she took her place in the arena the announcer finally continued, "…Cyan Mireille, wielding the…"
His voiced trailed off, and Cyan heard the quiet thump of a hand clamping over the microphone.
"Is this right?" a muffled voice asked, "…yes? Sorry everyone, wielding the…" the announcer paused again, still apparently unsure of his own words, "Full Bore Zweihander, 'Ardent Sky'."
A hush began to settle over the audience as the members began to express their confusion. Cyan couldn't explain why, but in that instant, something caused the anxiety to drain out of her. Her trembling stopped, her stomach settled, and the thoughts whirling about in her mind abated, leaving a calm stillness in their wake. She smiled, walked to the middle of the stage, and waited for silence before proceeding.
The spotlights surrounding the stage whirled around to center on her and Cyan felt a little dizzy from the sudden intense heat. She steadied herself and took a few more steps forward to place herself in the exact center of the stage as she reached her right hand inside of the cloth bag and firmly grasped her weapon. With her left, she tugged the rope free and pulled on the cloth as she swept her hand across, as though she were drawing from a scabbard. The bag fell to the ground, and the sharpened edges of Cyan's massive great sword gleamed a mixture of icy blue and silver hues under the bright spotlight. Though the sword was double-edged, the blade was split down the middle, and an enormous gun barrel ran the length of the sword where the fuller would be. From pommel to point, the sword was almost as tall as she was, and measured nearly thirty centimeters at the crossguard, where a modified Dust turbine hummed with energy as she gingerly touched the trigger hidden in the grip.
Despite the weapon's massive size, Cyan almost effortlessly hefted it over her shoulder with one hand and braced it across her back in an imaginary sheath. She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and blew it out fast.
With a quick forward stride, Cyan "drew" the blade out from behind her, gripped it in both hands and swung it downward in a furious arc. At the end of the swing, shifted her grip, took another step and swung again from the opposite side, and then again, and again, each strike faster than the one before it. With every step she could feel the weight of the sword dragging her slightly off-balance, and made a mental note to widen her stance with the next series. She planted her foot, and brought her forward movement to an abrupt halt and thrust the point of the blade behind her, and then spun to face that direction.
Her movements grew more forceful as she made her way towards the other set of bleachers. This time she swung the blade in flat horizontal arcs covering almost a full two-thirds of the area in front of her. As the weight of the weapon threatened to pull her from her feet, she followed through with the swing by deftly spinning on the balls of her feet in a complete circle, and then assuming a reverse grip. After another half-step to the side, she twirled the sword, one-handed, in front of her several times before sweeping it backwards and then into an upwards pommel strike. She then transferred the weapon to her other hand and lifted it behind her back once again, before bringing down into the floor in a thunderous crash. All the while, she silently counted the seconds off to herself.
Upon entering her final series, she flicked the control lever that whirled the turbine to life. With each swing of the sword, it churned hungrily as the energy began to build and emit a soft blue glow. A buzzer rang out and Cyan heard the hiss of the raised platform behind her, and then smiled. Perfect.
She let her momentum of a large and low sweep carry her around in a circle to face the Basker Hound with the sword held high behind her head just as it entered the ring with a mechanical bark and charged. She ground her teeth with a loud grunt of effort, swung the sword downward one final time and squeezed the trigger. A huge crescent-shaped beam of energy lanced outward from the barrel, as though it was being painted into the air by the tip of the blade. At the end of her stroke, the attack was propelled forward, violently tearing through the arena floor and into the Hound, which barely managed to leave the starting platform before it was sheared clean in two in a hail of sparks.
But the energy didn't stop there.
Cyan eyes widened as the crescent beam carved a path in the stage floor directly at the bleachers on that side of the auditorium. She had gravely miscalculated the Hound's durability. There was no way the safety barrier would stop what was left of that blast. Judging from the reactions of the onlookers nearby, she was far from the only person to notice this. The Atlesian guards began to take up positions near the bottom of the stage, weapons drawn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Instructor Jared, his axe seemingly materialized in his hands from thin air, move with unbelievable speed to back them up. Short exclamations of surprise and terror came from the bleachers, as members of the audience began to try and move out of the way in the precursor to the stampede of a full panic.
Cyan let one hand fall from her weapon and extended it towards the audience. The few of them that had already started to move stopped when they saw the energy wave begin to shimmer and lose cohesion. It quickly grew smaller as the power was drawn across the stage towards Cyan where it mixed with her aura in a glow that nearly outshone the spotlights upon her. What remained of the attack collided with the barrier, which groaned under the pressure of struggling to bleed off all of the remaining energy at once. The barrier strained, but ultimately held as the glow from the attack faded.
Silence reigned over the room as Cyan stood unmoving in the arena, drawing heavy breaths from both the strain of her routine and her sudden unexpected flexing of her Semblance. She clenched her fingers a few times as she let her hand fall, glancing worriedly around the room. All eyes remained upon her, but no one moved.
Finally, after several more seconds of silence, the sound of a single person clapping echoed in her ears. She turned back to the remains of the Basker Hound to see a man in bright white Atlesian formal military attire calmly applauding. Gradually the other members near him began to applaud as well, and it wasn't long before the entire room had joined in. A few in the audience, likely assuming everything had gone according to plan, got to their feet with cheering and loud whistles. She looked back down at Instructor Jared just in time to see him swipe his hand from his forehead completely down over his face, before shaking his head and joining in the applause as well. Cyan grinned, finding it strangely difficult to cope with the adulation. She hoisted Ardent Sky behind her with one hand, sheathing the weapon in a leather strap slung over her shoulder, and waved to the crowd with her other hand as she began to descend the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lyohniy, Vermilion, and even Roan greeted her with applause. She quite literally leaped into their collective arms in a hug. Vermilion, having seen it coming, laughed and easily moved in time to catch her. Lyohniy seemed surprised, but quickly hugged her back. Roan was more confused than anything else, and responded by gently patting his hand around her shoulder. She stepped away from them still grinning from ear to ear.
"That was amazing!" Lyohniy said, trading a high five with her.
"I know." she winked back at him.
Vermilion shook his head and smiled, "You did it."
She rubbed the sweat from her forehead, and was surprised to find her hands were still trembling, "I did, didn't I?"
The applause finally began to fade as the announcer made his closing remarks and brought the ceremony to a formal end. General rumblings arose of the audience rose as they began to get up from their seats. Some of them headed for the exit, while other began to congregate in small groups to discuss the events. Parents in attendance greeted their children with congratulations, and work crews began the long process of cleanup.
Cyan felt a presence approach her from behind and turned to see Instructor Jared standing there with his arms folded in front of him, tapping one finger on the inside of his bicep. Her smile finally faded as she approached him.
"No, we aren't just going up and winging it," he said with a raised eyebrow, "right?"
Her face flushed as she sputtered out a response, "I had everything under control."
That came out as a shout, even though she didn't intend it to, and Cyan braced herself for the oncoming lecture. But instead he only smirked.
"After a fashion, I suppose so."
She opened her eyes and blinked at him.
"And I'm proud of you."
It took a moment for the words to finally sink in. She felt a warmth of pride begin to well up inside of her, and gradually beam out across her features. He smiled back and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder.
"Well then," he said after a brief silence, "If you can tear yourself away from your celebrations for a moment, there's someone who was asking to meet you."
Cyan looked up at him curiously, and bid a brief farewell to the other three before following the instructor through the crowds. He led her towards a group of three people in the midst of a discussion. The shorter man had silvery-gray hair and a thick bushy mustache, and was dressed in a white double-breasted jacket and matching formal pants with a blue collared shirt and a white tie. The other man stood much taller, almost two full meters in height, clean-shaven, with neatly parted black hair that was greying slightly around the temples. He wore a white overcoat with a gray vest over a black sweater and a red tie, alongside matching pants and black boots that reached his knee. She also noted a white glove over his right hand. Between the two of them was a young woman, possibly in her twenties, with pale skin and white hair tied up in a bun on the back of her head, and light blue eyes. She stood rigidly formal, with her hands held behind her back, in a long white military coat with black full length gloves, a blue button up vest, and tall high-heeled boots that reached her mid-thigh.
"That is a shame." the taller man said, "I had hoped to hear back from your other daughter before the end of the month, Mr. Schnee."
"As did I," the businessman wrinkled his mouth into a small frown, "But I'm afraid she has her heart set on attending Beacon, and when she puts her mind to something, she can be a little, well…"
"Stubborn." the woman finished, though without the coldness such a terse response would imply.
The other man chuckled and made a pacifying gesture, "Dedicated. It's an admirable quality you both possess in abundance." he said, nodding in the woman's direction.
Jared stopped a little away from the group and adopted the same formal stance that the woman currently held, the tall man took note of him and his expression seemed to brighten, "Excuse me for just a moment, President Schnee. Winter."
"Sir." the woman saluted, and then turned to her father to continue their conversation.
The other man strode towards them, grinning as he approached. Cyan now recognized him as the first person to applaud her presentation. But there was something else familiar about him…
"Sir Jared," he said, "there's no need to be so formal."
"Old habits, sir." the instructor replied offering a salute. The other man responded with a smile and they exchanged a friendly handshake.
Cyan blinked and stared as she replayed the the exchange in her mind. Sir Jared?
The instructor stepped to the side so that Cyan was facing the other man directly and then gestured at her, "Allow me to introduce Cyan Mireille, one of my top graduating students this year."
Looking back to her he then said, "Cyan, I'd like you to meet General James Ironwood."
She froze in place and stared up at him. Not knowing how else to respond she quickly offered a salute. The general laughed and offered his right hand down to her, which she shook. It was strong and powerful, even through her armored gauntlet, and overflowing with confidence.
"A pleasure." he said with a friendly smile, before raising an amused eyebrow at her, "Judging from that awful salute, I'm guessing you already know who I am?"
She felt herself blush with embarrassment, "Headmaster of Atlas Academy, commander-in-chief of the entire Atlas military. I don't think there's a student here who doesn't know."
His laugh made him seem incredibly approachable for someone with his standing, "I suppose that's true. In any case, I'm glad to have the chance to personally congratulate you on your successful presentation."
"Thank you, sir." she quickly replied before glancing away, "That is, I mean… I did my best, considering."
"Not at all." he made a dismissive wave, "You adapted to a situation with quick thinking and sound judgement. You overcame a mistake and prevented an incident as a result."
Cyan was taken aback by his praise even more than she was by his sincerity.
"Tell me," he continued, "have you given any thought as to which academy you'll be applying?"
She turned her head at him, her brow knotted in confusion, "Are you… recruiting me?"
The general chuckled again, "Well I'd be foolish not to, wouldn't I? Someone with your transcript and level of ability could have their pick of…"
Before he could finish his thought, the woman named Winter approached the three of them from behind holding a scroll in her hand, "Pardon me, General? For you."
General Ironwood acknowledged her with an expression that was equal parts affirming and understanding. It was clear that she wouldn't have even bothered him if it wasn't something that demanded his immediate attention.
"Ah, duty calls." he said in the easy courtesy of a practiced diplomat, "Cyan, I look forward to seeing you again. Sir Jared." he nodded once to each of them and then took the scroll as he walked away, "Yes, this is Ironwood. Go ahead."
Winter looked Cyan up and down once with a blank expression before turning to follow on the general's heels. She and the instructor both stood there silently as the crowds filed around them.
"Okay." she said at last as she looked up at him, "What was that?"
"He was rather impressed, I thought."
"Not that." she said, "Sir Jared? You were knighted?"
As he grinned, a mischievous twinkle appeared in his eye, "I told you I wasn't always just an instructor."
Before she could press the issue further, Vermilion, Lyohniy, and Roan rejoined them, along with a small mob of other faculty that had been waiting to speak with the Instructor. As her three friends filed in around her, Jared departed.
"What was that all about?" Vermilion asked in disbelief.
Cyan shrugged, "Apparently my reputation precedes me."
"Uh oh. I sure hope not." Lyohniy snickered as he feigned a worried glance at Vermilion.
She narrowed her eyes at him once again, and smirked, "Now who's the jealous one?"
They laughed again, all except for Roan, who had his eyes trained on General Ironwood as he took his call. Something must have gotten his attention, because his wolf-like ears were turned sharply in that direction. After a minute of listening, his expression changed. It was a subtle thing that didn't show very much outwardly, but she knew the look he had in his eye meant that something was up.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Closer." he said, without looking back at her, "We need to hear this."
The four of them quickly exchanged glances. The general had moved to a less crowded part of the room, and getting closer without being obvious was risky. But then again, it was also quieter in that part of the room, so they wouldn't have to get that close, and neither Ironwood nor Winter were exactly on the lookout for eavesdroppers. She nodded to them, and they made their way to the edge of the crowd nearest to where he was standing.
"Where did this happen? How?" his tone was still calm, but firm, masking a fury that Cyan wouldn't otherwise have thought him capable.
"Installation 37" the voice on the other end crackled in response, "Details are unclear, sir."
"One of our research labs." the general said, "What did they take?"
"Supplies. Three cargo containers of Dust on flatbed trucks. They broke through the east gate and escaped onto the highway."
"And you're sure it's him?"
"Yes, general. We got a positive I.D. from the camera footage. It's Torchwick."
Cyan's expression widened and she traded looks with Roan.
"Which direction were they headed?" General Ironwood demanded.
"South towards Route 15. Our nearest forces are scrambling now to intercept but at best they're still twenty minutes away."
He glanced at the wall in thought, "That's not too far from here. Winter, start assembling a response unit from the ceremony detail."
The woman shook her head, "Sir, we don't know what he's planning. If this is part of some larger plot, we can't risk leaving you or anyone else here unguarded."
For a moment, he looked as though he were going to order her to action, but then nodded and sighed in resignation and spoke again into the scroll.
Cyan had heard enough. She turned away from the situation and headed for the doors leading out of the auditorium, with the others following closely on her heels.
"Hold on." Vermilion said, "Where are you going?"
"Where do you think?" she replied, pushing the door open into the hall, "This is what we've been waiting for!"
"This is a military matter." Roan said, "It will be dangerous for us to get involved."
She considered that for a moment, and then shook the doubts away, "It might also be our only chance. If they get to him first, or worse, if he gets away, we might never find him again."
Vermilion and Roan seemed to agree. Lyohniy folded his arms in front of him and looked down, "I guess so, but… how are we supposed to catch up to him?"
Cyan looked off into the distance of the empty hallway in front of her as the possibilities whirled in her mind. Then she looked up at Lyohniy as a smile slowly crept across her lips. After a moment, he noticed her grinning at him.
"What?"
