The procession wound through a long corridor lined with towering statues. Each figure was carved in radiant stone, their eyes set with glimmering crystals that shimmered faintly as the students passed. The air felt heavy, as though every step carried the weight of centuries.
De'Oliver slowed, gawking at the statues. "Who are they? Old teachers? Heroes?"
A second-year walking alongside the group smirked at the question. His cloak bore the crest of Taurus, the bull etched in silver across the fabric — a proud display of his Zodian Binding.
"Founders," he said, tone edged with pride. "The first generation to ever be bound by the Zodians. Without them, there would be no Prestigeon."
Gasps stirred among the first-years.
Cynthia folded her arms, raising a brow. "So we're supposed to live up to statues? Sounds like a setup."
Kaitlyn tilted her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Not a setup. A warning. They're reminding us what happens if we fail — or succeed."
The second-year chuckled at her insight. "Smart one. You'll need it."
De'Oliver shuddered. "I vote creepy. Do those things… move?"
Professor Selora's voice carried from ahead, calm but firm.
"The statues are reminders, not curses. They stand as witnesses to what you may become. Or what you may squander."
Jordan's gaze lingered on one statue at the end of the hall — a warrior holding a shattered sword, his face worn with sorrow. For a moment, Jordan swore the stone eyes flicked toward him, and his chest tightened.
Jayden's voice cut low at his ear. "Looking for approval already? Pathetic."
Jordan said nothing, fists curling at his sides.
As the group pressed forward, laughter drifted from an adjoining hallway. A trio of upperclassmen leaned casually against the archway, uniforms marked with embroidered constellations — proof of their Bindings. One of them, a tall girl with golden braids, called out:
"Fresh meat, huh? Try not to trip over yourselves on your way to the Hall. The flames don't like cowards."
Snickers followed, though her tone was more amused than cruel.
De'Oliver muttered, "She's not wrong. I already tripped twice."
The upperclassman's gaze flicked briefly toward Jordan, her smile fading. There was something sharp in her look, as if she saw more than she should. Then she turned away, leaving Jordan unsettled.
Selora struck her staff again, guiding the group forward.
"Do not mistake laughter for truth. The Sorting will reveal you, not them."
The lanterns ahead flickered brighter as the group reached another vast chamber, its ceiling painted with a mural of the twelve constellations circling a blank thirteenth space. A ripple of whispers spread.
"Why's that one empty?"
"Maybe it's unfinished."
"No… it's deliberate."
Jordan stared at the hollow space, unease prickling his skin. He didn't know why, but it felt like the mural was waiting for something — or someone.
The tour pressed onward, tension mounting with every step.