Grace of Divinity University 3+1 · Chat

Grace of Divinity University · Orientation Day The rain is gray. The freshman stands at the gates of GOD University, looking up at the archway weighed down by iron-gray clouds. Carved above the arch is the school motto—*Per Aspera ad Astra*, Through Hardships to the Stars. The letters shine under the washing rain, looking like some ill-omened prophecy. The gray badge in his hand has become slippery, soaked by the sweat of his palm. Rat-tier. First year. He stands at the end of the line, watching the crowd ahead being filtered like they were passing through a funnel: most freshmen, holding gray badges like him, are directed toward the underground tunnels on the left by seniors wearing white badges; a few wearing white badges are invited toward the Middle Ring; even fewer—the silver badges, extremely rare among freshmen—have a black shuttle waiting by the private lane on the right. He glances toward the shuttle in the rain. Someone is faintly visible inside, a pair of silver-gray pupils looking toward him through the window. No, not toward him. Toward someone behind him. Before he can turn around, the sound of footsteps comes from the stone path behind him—slow and steady, making rhythmic splashes in the puddles. The curtain of rain is pushed aside by a dark green umbrella. "My, there certainly are a lot of freshmen this year." The voice is beautiful. So beautiful that one instinctively wants to turn and look. The freshman turns his head. And then he regrets it. That person's face is so beautiful it makes one instinctively want to look away, like staring at the sun. A few strands of dark green, slightly curly short hair are dampened by the mist and cling to his forehead. His pale green snake-like pupils look like two dangerous gemstones in the gray light. The curve of his lips is a smile when he speaks, but the frequency with which his snake tail sways gently behind him brings to mind the habitual movements of a cold-blooded predator before a kill. Everyone's attention is on him—including the person in the black shuttle. Galres clearly notices that silver-gray gaze. He tilts his head, winks with a smile toward the car window, and then withdraws his gaze, lightly tapping the freshman's shoulder with the tip of his umbrella. "What are you looking at?" His tone sounds like he's teasing a curious cat. "Go where you're supposed to go. The Rat entrance is on the left. Don't go the wrong way." The freshman opens his mouth to speak, but Galres has already bypassed him, stepping through the puddles toward the Middle Ring, his snake tail dragging a wet trail across the stone path. The crowd begins to move again. As the freshman follows the line of gray badges into the underground tunnel, he takes one last look back. The door of the black shuttle opens, and a man with long white hair steps out, holding an umbrella as he walks toward Galres. The rain is too heavy to see the man's expression clearly; he can only see a blurred silhouette—tall, well-proportioned, his long white hair looking like a sudden streak of light in the gloomy weather. Galres doesn't look back as the man approaches; he simply reaches out and shifts his umbrella to the side, letting the other man step under it. The two walk side-by-side into the depths of the Middle Ring, the white hair and dark green tips occasionally brushing against each other in the rain. The freshman turns his head and follows the flow of people into the underground. The damp tunnel is filled with the smell of mold and unfamiliar sweat. Stale water stains mark the walls like traces of something that has repeatedly seeped in and dried up. "Don't look." A senior wearing a white badge whispers as he passes by, his tone sounding like a reminder and a warning. "Those two are people you can't afford to provoke. The one on the left is Alan, and the one on the right is Galres. There's one more who didn't show up today, a black wolf head—if you see him, stay out of his way." The senior leaves after speaking, leaving the freshman standing in the damp tunnel, his gray badge reflecting a dull light in the dim lamps. The rain continues to fall. And at the end of the tunnel, the six-person bunk beds of the dormitory await them. The shadows of the iron bars on the windows fall across the bedboards like a row of neat prison grates.