Lizen, Kara, and Azurae make their way to the training grounds, straw dummies and other equipment sit at the center of the massive track and field. Students from other classes are also in attendance, however; due to the sheer size of the area they fall just short of the horizon making conversation seem impossible. Bleachers sit far from the track towering over all like a mountain, immovable in its size. They approach a cheap wooden sign, lazily nailed into the soil with the words, ‘Class 3&4’ sloppily painted in red. They sit near the sign as more students pool in until all are in arrival. 

A whistle catches the attention of several nearby, “What the hell’s taking so long?” The boy shouts. This is Gorden Usper, class four’s main event. He tugs on his golden locks as he stomps around the training grounds.

 “Perhaps this is a test of patience?” says a half-orc, if not for his grueling tusks and green skin his misleading height would lead one to believe he’s a hobbit.

Gorden cackles at the remark, “Does the orc speak of patience?” He falls over himself “It must be the end of days!” He draws his longsword, the blade alone is the size of his body yet he swings it with ease as he points to the croud of students, “How of a little game?” 

The question sparking a sense of adventure and virtue inside of Lizen causing intrigue.

“There's a lot of us so how about a friendly scrimmage, three versus three seems good enough to entertain ourselves.” He looks around with confidence oozing from his eyes before locking gazes with Kata, “Class one isn’t full of cowards, is it?”

Kata's eagerness overrides precedent hesitation as he steps forward, imitating his father's authoritative tone. "My class, we will show these low lives what it means to be on the side of Aisenhower! If you wish to fight, step forward."

Derik rizer was the first to approach from class one, he carried the usual swagger he holds in each step, “I dont care about anything else here besided breaking that sneaky dragonborne’s face!” His hand whipps into a blade and he raises it to Azurare.

Azurae breaks into a hysterical roar of laughter, “Aren’t you the guy whose face I knocked off?” Derik’s usual forest green complexion to that of a bright and burning flame. 

“I dont think this is a good Idea guys, maybe we should wai–” A boot meets the Half-orcs nose breaking it on impact.

“Ah shut up will you, for the love of God, I thought that ‘peace and love’ bullshit was a joke. Are you sure your an orc, or are you just another pissy elf?”

The atmosphere quickly freezes over and the moisture in the air dries like it would in a desert. A pulsating chill overcomes the area as an Elven girl from class one approaches, “I wont stand for such disrespect against my people, as the Princess of Latius; I, Jayne Thaimine will fight in their honor.” Her appearance was ineffable, her tight curls bounce softly over her face with each step. Lizen cant help but admire her skin which that of caramel and its richness is explicit in the sun’s radiance. Lizen grips his slightly winded chest as all he could think to himself was how breathtaking she was.

“A daughter of Latius wishes to partner with I in combat?” His face grew to an obnoxious standard with a grin flashing across his features, “So be it!”

“Not so fast!” The voice catches Jayne's attention, causing her to look sharply in its direction. To her surprise, she sees a short kid with a yellow cape. His eyes barley fall under his bowl cut, and he’s so short, his shortsword is nearly the size of his body. “I, Finn, The Luminant Hero of Light, shall fight in thy princess’ stead.” 

Is that her boyfriend? Lizen thinks to himself. No, of course not. He's never heard of him before, nor has he heard anything regarding a daughter of latius entangled with anyone, and from the looks of it, she didn’t know him either.

“You wish to fight in elven honor despite not being an elf?” Jayne asks.

“Ignore my ignorance princess but, I can't see how that matters!”

“It matters because I am fighting with the honor of my people in mind.”

“I guarantee only victory princess!”

“Enough!” Kata shouts, “Is this ‘imp’ fighting for you or not?”

Jayne’s initial scepticism wavers with a sigh as she steps back, “Fine, you deal with it.”

Finn steps up next to Kata,  engulfs his fist in fire and aims it toward Gorden. He declares, “Who else from class four dares to delve into battle against a Brandugald?” The question seeming more like a threat than a inquiry; however, a hulking figure in a ball of metal steps up to the plate. He looks down onto the five of them and only puffed his words. A much smaller boy weasled up his arm and sat on his shoulder, “This here is my mate Drag– Drag Donovan, not much of a talker he is.” He extends an arm forward shaking the hand of Jayne, “Hello there Ms. Princess, I’m Luise Frand, it truly is a pleasure to meet such unique people and, my friend here thinks so too.”

“Why hello there Drag,” Gordon slaps his hand on Drags back a few times before alerting his gaze to Kata, “Well prince, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Kata says mirroring Gorden’s lust for battle.

Kara tugs on Lizen’s shoulder, however Jayne’s allure has set him in some sort of hypnotic state. It takes a few slaps to the back to wake him; however, he falls again just as quickly. “Oh come on Lizen, what could possibly have you like this?” Kara pouts. She would have continued to press the matter however, explosions were already being set off and her attention soon divided.

A burst of fire, much similar to Kara’s, explodes with a raging ferocity. Kata stands at its center. In his palm, embers of flame, like charred scraps of paper come together taking the shape of a sword, “Hino Ko Ki: Burix– Blade of Royalty!” It is truly one of a kind, a special weapon forged by the imagination and strength of Kata– the prince himself. He swiftly makes his way to Gordon, who quickly draws his greatsword in defense. Every arcing swing from Kata erupts an explosion and devastated the ground beneath his steps. 

Gorden surprisingly charges as well, may he be boneheaded or confident none will truly know for sure; nevertheless, what can be said about him is his tactics are surely peculiar. He uses his greatsword like a pogo-stick, continuously springing himself around the battlefield avoiding Kata at every swing. 

Nearby another challenge sets the stage. Intense in every right Azurae and Derik step toward one another. The Delinquent against The Dragon, both toned in their fighting ways. Azurae is always confident, his ignorance usually plays a part in that. As for Derik not much can be assumed, to Lizen he was nothing more than another student reving for a fight to be won and its best to believe it someone didn’t believe Derik was tall before, seeing him tower over Azurae surely changed their mind, it’s like a parent standing next to their child.

They stand strangely close to one another, perhaps speaking of something only necessary between them. Azurae’s fist flies upward and slugs Derik, his eyes glosses over for a moment just before he retaliates with a bash of his own. The two hasten their blows to batter each other's faces; Azurae, unlike Derik, was in his element. His fists manage to move faster with each throw and soon he overpowers his opponent, by this point it's like punching a wall of jello. Derik, ever so adaptable, forms multiple limbs in an attempts to keep up with the savage dragonborne, if not in terms of speed then the numbers should make up for the lack thereof. It seems the two enter a trance like state, repeatedly issuing blow for blow in an attempt to take down the other; whether that’s because of pure stubbornness or pride, it sure as hell is entertaining.

Finn surrounds himself in a beam of light. He takes a mad dash through the field slipping between the catastrophe of spells and swords. He flashes to Drag with his shortsword held overhead. In one long arc Finn clears the space between them and cuts him down. Drag, in his abominable size, stands formidable, his large boulder-like body is surrounded by armor with a small slit over his eyes allowing for sight. Finn moves like a fly– zipping around Drag as he chips away at his armor slowly but surely; however, Drag’s armor continuously repairs itself like a liquid, resurfacing on parts of him that have been previously exposed. He morphs the armor into a shield and sword before rushing Finn. Despite his size, Drag is quite quick, the two don't seem to land a decent blow on the other. 

The fight seems frustratingly fun, despite their intensity it felt truly like nobody would really get hurt. At least, until Rylan took a swing at Lizen. He dodges, now Lizen wasn't worried for his own safety at all, in fact the idea of that sneaky posh bastard striking him quickly fades as he watches Rylan swing his blade like one would a bat. His swings are aimless, he’s exactly like the kids from Waldenstead– untamed and unaccustomed to the art of swordsmanship, though neither was Lizen in the grand scheme of things. Still, he seems good enough to best Rylan in combat and he knows it. He knows it so well in fact that he decides to test himself once again by restricting his blade to its sheath. Is he actually a student here? Lizen thinks to himself. It didn't seem possible, He slips past Rylan’s sword and knocks him back time and time again. “Hey, aren’t we supposed to watch those guys fight?” Lizen asks.

“Shut up and stop running!” Rylan cries.

“Sheesh, don't go pissing your pants again.” Lizen snickers as he continues to spin away.

Rylan slams his hand into the ground as mana circulates his arm. Before anything can happen however, glass panes slap into the sides of everyone in attendance concealing them to one spot.

A deep, gruff, and authoritative voice is heard in the distance. “Alright, that's enough, for Zenith sake, what can a guy do around here for some Z’s.” Despite the roughness and assertiveness in his voice, it's evident that he is constantly battling fatigue. He’s wearing a bright red pit- stained track suit with a broken zipper up to his chest revealing a white undershirt. His hair is bushy and disheveled and his puffy red eyes hint that he had just woken up.  “Damn it Usmann, you couldn’t watch these bugs for a few minutes?”

“I was out looking for your lazy ass!” Dr. Usmann adjusts his circular–copper framed glasses before folding his brown leather jacket over his arm. Dr. Usmann from what can be inferred is a highly intelligent individual. He sports a green vest and a white button–up with black polished oxfords and brown caches. His posture is also very impressive, in each step it seems if he glides with how straight his back is and you would believe he's a ghost of not for his peach colored face and rosy cheeks. His nose also shares that same rosy complexion like he's always down with cold.

“Hey, there’s kids here, no cursing.” His words occasionally come out slow and drawn out, “So what’s going on here, in all my years of teaching in Zenith no class has had this many delinquents.” the glass surrounding the students shatters and dissipates. “Come on out with it.”

Rylan creeps forward, “We were just having a friendly sparring sesh coach.”

Dr. Usmann becomes evidently pissed, and rightfully so. He had just entered the battlefield of at least one hundred students in the most successfully proclaimed school in the world. A vein on his forehead nearly pops as his blood pressure visibly rises, “You fools should be expelled immediately for such a horrific display of magical discipline.”

“Well with all respect sirs, you two were late.”  

Another student chimes in, “Yea, you left two full classes of kids alone with nothing but time, what did you think was gonna happen?”

“I would hope you kids would show a little restraint and wait like good students of Zenith,” He continues with a mutter, “clearly I was wrong.”

“Both classes will face punishment for today's actions, this is not how we conduct ourselves.” Dr. Usmann reprimands.

Students cry aloud as they kick their feet into the ground. Murmurs of blame are tossed to Gorden forcing his quick-witted personality to take shape. He glides to Mr. Wilkers and begins pleading his case. “Sir, please, not everyone should be punished for but a few foolishness. May we please settle this with a challenge to determine which class shall be punished?”

“Class?” Mr. Wilkers' curiosity peaked, “Dr?”

Dr. Usmann shakes his head and defeatingly sits on a nearby bench. Mr. Wilkers turns back to his students clapping his hands and glass panes appear around them. “Alright, we’ll have a 1v1 in a nice clean game of Baju Ball.”