Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 252: Your Past Brought You Here ....But Your Choices Decide Whether You Stay

Chapter 252: Your Past Brought You Here ....But Your Choices Decide Whether You Stay

The sky above Astralis University’s central landmass had already begun to shift.

High above the cliffs and tiered towers, nestled into the slope like something ancient, the Hall of Presence stood waiting.

It wasn’t just another building. It was carved directly into the land—wide, circular, and quietly massive.

The sky panels above it curved like a dome, letting in the soft morning light without ever showing the sun directly. The light moved like it was alive, adjusting subtly to each moment.

There were no signs, no loud announcements, but everyone who came here understood what this place was.

A ceremonial amphitheater. The starting line for thousands of lives.

Students arrived in steady waves, but not all at once.

The university timed it deliberately—small groups per minute, guided by floating walkways, summoned pods, or light platforms that shimmered in and out of view as if the land itself was unfolding to make room.

Some arrived in proper uniforms. Polished boots. Faction insignias. Names already known.

Others came in long coats, travelwear, or robes tied at the waist. A few wore battle gear. One or two had bare feet, like they’d walked in from somewhere forgotten.

No one stopped them.

There were no gates.

Only direction.

Inside, the amphitheater was massive but quiet. Circular rows of seating spiraled downward toward a raised central platform—unadorned, wide, and stone-colored.

The air carried a low vibration, just beneath hearing. It wasn’t uncomfortable more like a presence.

Lights pulsed gently around the outer edges, syncing slowly with the morning’s rhythm. They dimmed in gradual layers as the hour drew closer.

There were no loudspeakers. No countdowns.

Just movement. Breath. And waiting.

At first, students spoke in low voices. Then, it even started to fade. As the lights dimmed, the walls shifted—panels of sky-tinted crystal turned pale silver, muting the colors in the air.

Everything felt... focused.

Not tense. Just expectant.

Among the crowd, a few stood out.

A boy with sharp eyes and a second-hand datapad tucked under one arm. He stayed near the edge, watching the lights overhead, adjusting the scroll speed manually to read each symbol as it passed.

His eyes barely blinked, too used to teaching himself from scraps.

A girl near the back stood with her hands clasped tightly. Her gloves covered the suppressor ring on her right hand, but the twitch in her fingers gave it away.

She wasn’t hiding; she was just staying still. Her mutation was mild, but obvious if the ring was removed. She stared straight ahead, jaw tight but controlled.

One row up, a tall student with quiet posture scanned the exits. Not for fear—just habit. Mercenary family, probably.

Already counting how many exits, how many staff, and how long it would take to respond to a panic alarm.

And near the lower rings, a noble boy sat straighter than most. Polished badge. House crest at the collar.

Sweat was building under his collar, though he didn’t touch it. Probably trained not to. His fingers tapped once against his thigh, then stopped.

He didn’t talk to anyone.

No one around him did either.

And slowly, the murmuring stopped.

The panels overhead finished their shift. The light cooled to a pure, clear silver. The platform at the center brightened.

Not with flash or fanfare—but like the space itself had finally decided to wake up.

Then a single spotlight dropped.

Silent, direct.

The figure who stepped into the center didn’t need an introduction.

The Dean didn’t wear a robe. She didn’t stand with a circle of faculty. No banners. No floating names. No ranks projected above her.

Just a slate-blue coat. A silver insignia at the collar. And eyes that didn’t blink as she scanned the room once.

She waited.

Not long.

Just enough for every rustle to fade.

When she spoke, her voice wasn’t loud. But it reached every corner of the Hall.

"Welcome."

One word. But it landed.

She let it sit before continuing.

"You are here because something in you—whether born, trained, or broken—brought you through the gates."

She didn’t smile. She didn’t pace.

"But being here is not an achievement."

Her tone didn’t sharpen. But it didn’t soften either.

"This university does not exist to reward you. It does not care about your family, your faction, or your past accolades."

Some in the crowd stiffened. Others stayed still.

"It is not here to offer comfort."

She paused.

"It is here to reveal your trajectory. To break your limits. To reframe your worth. Not to others—but to yourself."

She stepped once toward the front edge of the platform.

"Astralis does not teach. It demands."

No sound followed.

"This is not a school. It is a proving ground. One built by over fifty sovereign factions to house those who have possibility—but no guarantee."

She looked upward for a moment, toward the glowing dome overhead, where banners floated slowly now, each bearing a different symbol of alliance, tradition, or domain.

"Your points got you in."

She lowered her gaze again.

"But your presence here is temporary."

She let that line breathe. No echo. Just silence.

"You must earn your continuation. You must shape your outcome. And if you do, what waits beyond these halls is more than most colleges will ever offer."

The Dean paused.

Not because she had nothing left to say.

But because silence was the point.

She didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Just stood there, steady in the middle of the platform, letting that last line hang.

"Your past brought you here."

A second passed.

"But your choices decide whether you stay."

The lights above shifted—nothing dramatic, just a soft flicker. The stone floor caught the glow and threw it back in quiet reflections.

Up near the dome, a few banners turned slowly, showing crests and old emblems that looked half-forgotten.

Still, she didn’t step away.

Her eyes moved across the amphitheater once more.

She wasn’t waiting for applause.

She wasn’t expecting anything.

She was letting it land.

The students didn’t move.

No one spoke.

The Hall stayed quiet—not frozen, just still. Like everyone was holding their breath without realizing.

Because deep down, they knew it.

This wasn’t the end of the speech.

It was the start of something else.

She was still up there.

Because it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

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