[@HereComesTheSnow]

[b]Marsail Cirsium[/b]

Approximately sixty percent of the potential hunters were Signal students.

It had initially started as little more than a mere curiosity after sighting one of her former classmates in the crowds, but at some point her eyes had begun to seek out every graduate of her combat school she could find. Marsail Cirsium was not, and had never been, somebody who subscribed to the belief that it was better to sit idle than work for nothing, and the activity of identifying her friends and acquaintances amongst the throng of youths that had filtered into the beautiful stone amphitheatre provided her with a way to pass the time while she waited for something to occur upon the empty wooden stage at the building's centre.

One example of those identified acquaintances being the easygoing Conall Linumbienne sitting by her side.

"[color=#b53389]I don't believe muckledom of excitement is a virtue here,[/color]" was her reply, glancing at the smirking visage of her fellow Signal attendee through her black-rimmed glasses. "[color=#b53389]It's not on purpose. I hope.[/color]"

There was no need to inflame the vigour of youth any further. Of all the individuals present, she was absolutely, one hundred percent certain that none of them were anything but full of excitement and anxious energy, waiting for the change that Beacon would wash over them, [i]hoping[/i] that it wouldn't leave them worse for wear. It was clear in the air, a jittery apprehension that was so thick that she could almost taste it. Conall could taste it. Everyone could taste it. The combined restlessness of every youth in the room, even her. It was why she hoped that Beacon was not attempting to rouse those emotions beyond what they currently were. Marsail Cirsium was far from someone who would transform into a mad rocket because of something like that, but ...

She shifted in her seat, linking the fingers of her hands together on her lap.

This was Beacon Academy. One of the four great Huntsmen Academies of Remnant.

A cauldron from which heroes emerged.

She would be off her head if she said she wasn't excited.