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<br/>​</div><br/>Robin was not a particularly patient individual, a fact only amplified by the Headmasters’s insistence they remain in the Great Hall as the chairs were slowly cleared away.  Of the massed crowds, only seven students remained—<i>are these the only first years?</i>Robin wondered to himself.  It seemed this motley assortment, himself included, were the most skilled first years Beacon had to offer.  Yet as Professor Cerulean spoke, Robin focused little on her words, more interested in his classmates than any prepared, overly-grandiose speech.<br/><br/>He had already noticed most of his classmates, although only from a distance.  Living with any assortment of them would be an entirely different challenge, especially with his love of personal space and a relatively private lifestyle.  Although, in addition to<i>many</i>other things, his parents still expected him to make friends.  So, attempt to make friends he would.  Perhaps he could start with his team, although Robin wasn’t quite sure how they planned to make even teams from seven students.<br/><br/>Perhaps they would cut one in half?  Like a magic trick.<br/><br/><i>“This year’s initiation…” </i>Robin looked back towards the dais as Professor Belmont produced a scroll from his pocket, the speech coming to a prompt end.<i>“…Will begin…”</i><br/><br/><i>Wait a second.  They cleared the chairs.  That could mean—</i><br/><br/><i>“…Now.”</i><br/><br/><i>Shit.</i><br/><br/>The floor plunged out from beneath him as Robin cursed his poor choice of dress, vainly attempting to slow his speed against the smooth tunnel walls.  In the pitch darkness, he couldn’t judge his speed or time a landing, which meant the best option would be to prepare himself for impact.<br/><br/>Robin felt his aura almost imperceptibly drain as he etched a warding rune onto his chest, maximized for deflecting physical attacks.  A moment later, he slammed into the ground, his warding rune absorbing much of the shock, with a minute amount of energy left over.  He laid on the cool ground for a few moments, before pulling himself back onto his feet, brushing off his dusty jeans.<br/><br/>A faint light emerged in front of him, an orb, swirling around his head.  Robin took a few steps in every cardinal direction, and the light seemed to follow his every move as the voice of Professor Cerulean somehow transmitted through the distant tunnels.  Satisfied, Robin took a few steps forward before drawing his weapon, the metal handgun--Velocitus--a reassuring sensation in his hands.  There were two paths, it seemed; according to Professor Cerulean, neither was the wrong choice.  So, Robin chose one path at random—the path on the right—and decided to continue onwards.  The specific location was of little concern.  He doubted either of the paths would prove impossible to handle, especially with additional teammates.<br/><br/>At the end of the tunnel, a singular door blocked his entrance to whatever lay beyond.  While he was quite assured in his own abilities, Robin wasn’t stupid.  It would be presumptuous of him to assume he could take on alone whatever Beacon threw at him.  So as much as it pained him, Robin decided to wait: his hand tight around Velocitus, the gentle movements of what sounded like…water barely perceptible through the door.