On the forth day of the Summer Festival a boy of royal blood was born. Son of the Norse King, his birth was celebrated by both men and women of the six western Clans.

He stood there on the sidewalk, watching people go by with sadness clearly seen in his eyes. Nobody bothered to ask him if he was alright, or give him money. He was only a little boy, too young to know about death, but had met it face-to-face. Minute cuts decorated his face as water raced down his pale cheeks. It was pouring hard, and fast in the city of Mayian, city of dreams they said, but dreams were always shattered.

Walking down the stainless steel gray hallway was a group of teenagers chatting; three boys, and two girls. They were walking towards Class 3B where their last exam was for the semester in Mr. Dweller, the hardest teacher that ever worked at Academy. If they passed then they could move to the third floor where the advance warriors were.

"Come on guys, if we don't hurry, Mr. Dweller will take points off," informed a tall boy named Shunshuke.