The stone pathway was a looming presence.

A thin tail above miles of open air, then jagged rocks below. The wind was harsh, and unfortunate for you, rain had began trickle…then pour down.

You, just having had turned twenty, are now standing before the Parapet. The entrance to the riders’ quadrant.

Moving forward bit by bit, you’re getting closer and closer to what could be your end, or perhaps just maybe, a new start.

There’s a table at the side, behind it are sitting two third years, a female with short blue hair and a guy with a short mohawk, taking names. Now, you are by that table.

The man with the mohawk raises his eyes to you, and hell, scoffs quietly and speaks up.

“Name.”