Situated at the very heart of the island stood a vast tent, beneath which numerous eminent figures gathered to observe the commencement of the games. They watched through a grand glass mirror that vividly reflected the locations and movements of the students scattered across the terrain.
The Headmaster entered the tent with an air of composed authority and greeted the dignitaries—members of the Five Pillars and the selected representatives tasked with determining the most promising candidates for their respective Pillars. They settled onto an elongated couch spacious enough to accommodate them all, each holding a glass filled with shimmering alcohol.
"I trust everyone is finding their time here agreeable?" Sylvia asked.
A man in his early forties slowly rotated his drink, then took a measured sip.
"This is the finest the Academy could offer, is it? I have tasted an array of spirits—many that stirred a sense of longing within me—but this… this fails to rouse even a whisper of that feeling."
Before the silence could thicken, a brown-skinned woman with intricately braided hair responded while keeping her gaze fixed on the mirror.
"She did not request your life's memoir, old man. She asked whether the drinks were good. A simple yes or no would have sufficed."
"Felicia Foust," the man retorted, his eyes narrowing, "you seem confused about whom you're addressing. I am the Vice-Commander of Tower Hercules—Thomas Holmes—and I will not tolerate disrespect from someone of your modest standing. What rank are you again? Third… fourth… or perhaps even fifth?" He grinned, savoring the provocation.
Felicia offered no reply, her attention instead fixed on the participants navigating their harsh environments.
"I do not understand why you boast about rank," a young man in his mid-twenties said as he cast a glance toward the Headmaster, "when we all know only one person here has any right to flaunt such a thing."
The Headmaster smiled softly as she made her way to her seat. She lowered herself gracefully, sinking into the plush couch.
"That was a long time ago, Philip. I no longer stand above any of you."
"That may be true," an olive-skinned woman countered, her gaze admiring, "but in our eyes, you remain the strongest Star Master to ever walk this world."
A quiet chuckle drifted from the corner of the tent. A young man with a tanned complexion and a sharp scar running over his right eye stood with a faint, knowing smile.
"Do my words amuse you?" the woman asked.
"Yes," he replied calmly, "but I cannot blame you, Trinity. As a representative of Pillar Aries, of course you would believe the Headmaster is the strongest. Yet I think we both know who truly holds that title."
"You hold your leader in high regard, and I cannot fault you for that," Thomas said gruffly. "I would never denounce such loyalty. But your Pillar's arrogance will be its downfall, Blake Foster."
Blake exhaled a weary sigh. "If you say so, old man. But your words do not change the fact that we are the highest-ranking Pillar—and that the most promising talent in this Selection Game lies firmly within our sights."
Felicia glanced back, subtly confirming which team had drawn the attention of Pillar Orion's representative.
"Am I correct in assuming you came to watch the team of Benjamin Vermillion?"
"I suppose all of you believe that," Blake replied, tone thick with pride, "but my leader tasked me with observing the most unpolished gem."
Their curiosity sharpened. They fell silent as Blake moved toward the mirror displaying the current status of the participants. He raised his hand and pointed toward the corner that showed Amelia White, Garfield Frutia, and Tristan Merigold.
The room erupted with laughter.
"You must be jesting," Thomas said, wiping tears from his eyes as he continued laughing. "The only capable one there is Lady Amelia. The other two are mere afterthoughts."
Felicia immediately recognized the boys as the troublemaking pair who had distinguished themselves during the entrance exam.
"What made your leader choose that team?" she asked.
Blake shrugged. "I have no idea. She simply instructed me to pay close attention to the three of them—but her focus was especially fixed on this one."
He pointed toward the crimson-haired boy.
"Tristan Merigold. Your leader has a sharp eye," the Headmaster said, surprising everyone.
They turned to her in utter confusion.
"Among all first-year students, Tristan Merigold possesses the highest intellect. And in terms of potential, he stands equal with Lady Amelia."
"Not to question you, Headmaster," Trinity began, "but how did you determine this? You have not known the first years long enough to make such assessments."
Sylvia paused, her gaze resting upon the image of the trio.
"Well, Amelia belongs to House White and wields their sacred technique. As for Tristan—the red hair is unmistakable. A descendant of House Vermillion, blessed by Ares, the God of War. Even Garfield Frutia—the golden-haired boy—radiates an extraordinary degree of untapped potential."
"I suppose we will need to keep watch on them as well," Thomas murmured.
Meanwhile, the trio continued their trek through the desolate desert terrain. Each step sank deeper into the burning sand. The heat was merciless, forcing sweat from their bodies with every movement. Fortunately, each carried a bottle of water.
"Perhaps we should set up camp here," Tristan suggested as they crossed over a dune.
Amelia nodded. "Agreed. We should rest now and continue at night when it's cooler."
They set up three separate tents, then gathered together inside one after finishing.
"We were not informed about this at all," Garfield said, breath uneven.
"It would hardly be a genuine test if they had warned us," Tristan replied, taking a long drink from his bottle. "I'm assuming the purpose of this entire game is not only to test our teamwork, but to see how we cope under these conditions."
They remained in the tent for nearly an hour, slowly cooling off as the shade offered a small reprieve from the heat. Weariness crept in, eyelids growing heavy, though they fought to remain awake.
Then the ground trembled.
It trembled again. And again—until it startled them fully from their daze.
"What is that?" Garfield asked.
Amelia stepped outside, followed closely by Tristan and Garfield. They scanned their surroundings, finding nothing—and for a moment, the rumbling ceased.
"Maybe it was nothing," Garfield muttered, stretching as he trudged back toward the tents.
He yawned, eyes half-closed, but as he approached the tents, the ground shook once more—violently this time.
A split second later, a colossal sand worm burst from beneath the earth, erupting upward in a violent frenzy and consuming the tents—and all their supplies—in a single monstrous strike.