The accepted definition of a mistake: a misguided action. But what if the action, fully understood, still leads to unforeseen consequences? Is it still a mistake, or something else entirely? Vanta, pen poised over his acceptance letter to the prestigious Blueblood Academy, wrestled with this question. He closed the worn notebook, the scent of ink and old paper lingering in the air, and set down his lukewarm tea. The chipped ceramic felt cool against the polished wood of his desk. He reread the letter, the crisp official script still unbelievable. The clock ticked, each second a hammer blow against the silence of his room, urging him forward. It was almost time.
He grabbed his worn leather satchel, the familiar weight comforting. "I'm leaving," he announced to the empty room, his voice swallowed by the ticking clock and the vast emptiness of his small cottage on the outskirts of Orion's Kingdom, a place known as the Pillar of Colors for its vibrant sunsets.
Stepping outside, he breathed deeply, the warm sun kissing his skin, the air alive with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. He hailed a carriage, the worn wood groaning under its weight.
"Blueblood Academy," he stated, his voice barely a whisper against the rumble of the wheels.
"Five hundred rens," the driver replied, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Vanta paid, sinking into the worn leather seat. The journey was a blur of passing landscapes – fields of golden wheat shimmering under the sun, forests of emerald green, the occasional flash of a sapphire river. As they approached the Academy, the grandeur of the place hit him with the force of a physical blow. A colossal billboard, gleaming white against a backdrop of vibrant blue, proclaimed "Welcome to Blueblood." The academy itself was a breathtaking spectacle – towering spires of intricately carved stone, interconnected by elegant walkways and arched bridges, all bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.
"Not bad," he murmured, a grudging admission of awe.
The entrance was a hive of activity: proud parents, nervously adjusting their children's pristine uniforms; excited chatter; the hushed reverence of those witnessing the beginning of a new chapter. Vanta felt a pang of loneliness. I wish they were here, he thought, pulling his dark hoodie over his short black hair, the soft fabric a shield against the world.
He wandered, becoming hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine corridors. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping a tiny, razor-sharp kunai mere inches from his neck.
"That was close," a voice said, calm but laced with warning. "You shouldn't be so absent-minded."
He turned to see a boy, slightly shorter than himself, with striking turquoise hair and eyes that seemed to hold the color of the ocean.
"Ehm… thank you," Vanta stammered.
"You're welcome," the boy replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Raymond Turquoise."
"Vanta Black," he responded, extending a hand.
Just as he was about to continue his search, Vanta asked, "Do you happen to know where the introductory ceremony is?"
"That hall," Raymond pointed. "Remember to use your student ID card to get in. It's locked."
Following Raymond's directions, Vanta found the massive hall, easily capable of holding a thousand people. He found a seat and slumped down, exhaustion washing over him.
"I'm sleepy. I want to go home. I'm so bored," a female voice sighed from behind him. He ignored her, focusing on the three figures approaching the podium – two girls and a boy, impeccably dressed in the academy's uniform of white and various shades of blue, their robes adorned with three delicate golden cords.
The girl with short brown hair stepped forward. "My name is Shasha Brown, and I'm one of the student representatives. I apologize for the principal's absence; he had urgent matters to attend to. I know getting here wasn't easy, but it was worth it…"
Vanta understood. The entrance exams had been brutal, a grueling test of both intellect and physical endurance.
"...We'd like to welcome you. The principal has instructed us to conduct an exam," Shasha continued. A murmur rippled through the hall. "You'll be given a book; read it carefully. Good luck… and try to survive."
Survive? The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread.
Before he could question it, the hall vanished, replaced by a lush, vibrant jungle. The sudden shift was jarring; he instinctively broke his pinky finger, the sharp pain a stark confirmation of reality.
"Damn. Feels real enough. This is no illusion," he muttered, surveying his surroundings. But how had they gotten here? What was he supposed to do?
As he cautiously moved through the undergrowth, a monstrous wave of miasma erupted in the distance, a dark, ominous cloud. He stumbled, snapping a twig. A black blade sliced through the air, stopping mere inches from his neck.
"Crap!!"