Yellow Jacket

The pit no longer resembled a battlefield. Instead, it stood transformed, stone polished smooth, deep crimson and gold running through the floor like veins. Banners of the Red Citadel's crest unfurled above. At the center, tiered platforms began to rise, each one slow and deliberate, shaped like the foundation stones of something greater yet to be built.

The skyboxes above were silent now. Even the nobles leaned in, watching not just for spectacle, but for the names.

Ruby's voice cut through the air. Measured. Commanding.

"Nearly ten thousand hopefuls entered this tournament."

"Let it be known: the top one hundred have earned more than placement. You are now cadets of the Legion."

"Congratulations… and welcome to the Hammer of the Nine."

"But you're not here to celebrate the hundred. You're here for the sixteen who clawed their way through blood and brilliance to reach the top. So, without further ado, these are the ones who didn't just survive, they dominated."

A wave of approval rippled across the Crowd. Instructors didn't clap. They didn't need to. Their presence alone was acknowledgement.

Ruby raised one hand. The lights shifted. A golden arc formed across the platform line as the lowest eight stages lifted in sync.

These weren't the champions. But they were more than survivors.

"These are the survivors. The killers. The legends-in-the-making. And today, they receive not just glory… but the marks of what they've earned."

Eight platforms rose in an even arc. Modest elevation, but unmistakably honored. Each lit with soft gold beneath the feet of the cadet who stood there.

Vexa Drevin

Leron Drevin

Roan Vess

Torman Vell

Ramis Coil

Rokhan Vaskor

Varnai Myre

Fenn

"These eight endured longer than thousands. They reached the Citadel's inner ring, and for that, they are awarded the Bronze Ring."

Ruby let the moment hang, not rushed, not overplayed. Just long enough for weight to settle on each name.

"Each of you will be granted a private room, and your own standard AI, a combat-oriented assistant designed to train with you, strategize beside you, and serve as your tactical edge."

"These rings are not decoration. They're contracts. You've stepped into a higher game. And from this day forward… you fight with the Legion's eye on you."

The platforms remained still. The cadets stood tall. And the next tier began to stir.

The platforms shifted again.

Four more rose, elevated higher than the last, forming a sharper arc across the centerline. Each name appeared in shimmering white above their heads, flickering in and out of visibility like breath on glass. A faint chime rang out with each new elevation, subtle and clear, like a bell marking the moment history took notice.

Lessa Dune – The Wave Cutter

Wesley – The Support

Xera – The Spider's Fangs

Sylen Verdance – The Crimson Executioner

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Ruby's voice took on a harder edge, sharper with pride.

"These four didn't just survive. They dominated. They cut their way through chaos with precision and pain. They broke formations. Shattered expectations. And made damn sure the world remembered their names."

"They didn't ride momentum. They became it."

"They are awarded the Silver Ring."

Each of their names pulsed once as the words echoed, casting long shadows that danced across the arena floor.

"You will each be given a better private room, equipped with a dedicated training room, and your own standard combat AI assistant, designed not just to support you, but to challenge you, push you, sharpen you. Every day from here on out, you'll be training alongside a weapon that thinks."

Ruby turned slightly toward the crowd. Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial.

"These four are not rising stars. They're already burning. Bright. Beautiful. Dangerous."

"Watch them closely. Because if they keep rising like this… some of them may burn straight through the ceiling."

The arena dimmed slightly. A hush fell across the stands, not by command, but instinct. The moment demanded silence.

Two new platforms rose, closer to the center, higher than all the others so far. They stood across from one another in perfect symmetry, mirror placements flanking the rising center stair like sentinels at the gate of something greater.

Jurpat – The Iron Wolf

Chime – The Silent Belle

Their names ignited in gold above their heads, not flickering, but solid and sharp, etched into the light itself like brands of recognition.

Ruby's voice dropped low, nearly reverent, touched with something close to respect.

"These two were more than contenders. They were storms, both of them. One howled through the chaos. The other silenced it. Jurpat shattered formations and struck fear through packs. Chime moved like wind through wire—grace without sound, death without warning."

"They didn't just survive the rounds. They rewrote them."

"They receive the Gold Ring."

The pit pulsed gold. It wasn't thunderous, but deep, like the ground itself recognized something sacred had been earned.

"You are granted the best private rooms in the Red Citadel, along with a dedicated training room, your own personal gym, and your own standard combat AI assistant, the same grade used by full-ranked Legion operatives. It's not here to comfort you. It's here to sharpen you."

Ruby turned toward them fully now.

"These are not students who need to grow into greatness. These are cadets already operating at the edge of mastery."

She pointed skyward.

"One missed moment. One turn of fate. That's all that stood between them and the final match."

The camera drones circled wide, capturing their silhouettes against the Citadel's red-stained banners.

"They are not legends in the making. They already are."

Ruby smiled, just barely.

"They just haven't made their final kill yet."

The arena fell silent.

Two platforms remained. The first rose to a height no other had matched yet. It hovered just below the peak, its light pure white edged with silver-blue. Clean. Controlled. Still. The platform didn't rise fast. It ascended like a breath long held, measured, patient, and earned.

Elian Sarn – The King's Will

Ruby's voice returned, quieter now. Not somber, just calm. Like the closing of a chapter that had finally found its end.

"Elian Sarn. Heir of House Sarn. The boy who never raised his voice, and never had to."

"For every round before this one… no hand rose against him. They were lowered willingly. Not out of fear—but in recognition. Of presence. Of patience. Of a weight few could stand against."

"He did not conquer. He endured. And that endurance became gravity."

"He moved through the pit not as force, but as fact. Others fought. He simply remained."

"He was met, finally. Not by noise or spectacle, but by someone who understood what it meant to stand. And for that, he receives the Opal Ring."

"Elian is granted a private home, a full staff, personal training grounds, a private gym, and his own combat AI, less a tool, more a mirror. It will press him. Challenge him. Help him become what comes next."

"He will also select one rare Legion skill from the vault. Not for dominance. For growth."

The crowd erupted into applause, cheers building like a tide across the lower tiers and up into the Skybox. But above it all, the instructors rose together in silence. A standing salute, quiet and complete.

And Elian, Elian smiled.

Just a little. Just enough.

Not for the praise. Not for the gift. But because, at last, someone had truly tested him.

He had waited so long to feel it: the edge of his limit. And now he knew where it was.

The applause didn't fade, it rose, wave after wave.

A boy who stood alone until someone stood with him.

He didn't bow. He didn't blink. But in the space behind his eyes, something bright had formed.

Joy.

The record was broken. The crown cracked. And he had never been more ready.

The silence that followed wasn't the end.

It was the beginning he'd been waiting for.

Then the final platform rose. Higher. Alone. Bathed in red and gold. It didn't rise, it ascended, like judgment passed by the world itself. The light around it bent, drawn inward. Like even the air was listening.

Vaeliyan Verdance – The Siren's Song

Ruby's voice flared.

"He came from a backwater. No noble title. No prestige. Only a sponsorship from our very own Instructor Isoldian Brent."

"He entered with nothing but a name and a warning."

"And now, he stands alone. Above the Citadel. Above history."

"This is the champion of the 93rd Entrance Tournament. The one who stood against them all... and made the world go quiet."

"He did not climb through mercy. He carved his way through giants. Through killers. Through the best hopefuls the Citadel has ever seen. And he didn't flinch."

"He is not a symbol. He is not a miracle. He is the reminder that power does not ask for permission, it takes the stage, and the sky parts to let it rise."

"He is awarded the Ruby Ring."

"Vaeliyan will receive a private flying manor, full bot staff, personal gym, training grounds, and his own Tier-Zero AI assistant, an honor reserved only for first-place champions. This AI is not only built for combat, but also for strategic coordination, psychological adaptation, and command support."

"He will also be given the right to choose two rare Legion skills."

"But those are gifts. Not what earned him this place."

"He earned it in silence, in blood, and in song. He earned it the moment cadets three years his senior chose not to raise their hands against him. Not because they feared him. Because they knew better."

Ruby's voice didn't rise. It softened.

"The Siren's Song has only just begun to sing."

The crowd didn't just cheer. It shook.

The Skybox stood. Then the instructors stood too. Every last one. A perfect line. No delay. No command given. They rose as one and raised their right hands in salute.

The cadets followed. From every row. From every rank. A sea of salutes met the platform's rise.

The Citadel saluted its champion with one voice.

Vaeliyan stood at the platform's edge. Unmoving. No smile.

Just a breath.

A voice carried without volume.

Not words. A hum.

The song had already started.