The nameless Proctor with the striking yellow eyes escorts me off the sands of the Colosseum. She doesn't congratulate me. She doesn't offer a word of advice on my sudden promotion to First Lieutenant. She simply walks with a fluid, silent grace that unnerves me, leading me into the cool shadows of the exit tunnel and pointing a gloved hand toward the main Academy building.
"Report back to the academy and go to the grand hall" she says, her voice flat. "Your Head Proctor will be waiting to hear from you."
She hands me a letter with the imperial seal, and I assume this is transfer orders proving I have passed.
I nod, adjusting the cuffs of my uniform. I turn to look at her one last time, but she has already turned her back, fading into the gloom of the tunnel like a ghost.
I make my way back to the Academy. The grounds are strangely quiet, devoid of the usual bustle of students rushing to classes. The air feels pregnant with the storm that is coming.
When I push open the heavy oak doors the scale of the mobilization hits me.
The room has been converted from a ceremonial hall into a staging area. Rows of long tables have been pushed against the walls, replaced by clusters of chairs where students no, soldiers now sit in varying states of tension and excitement.
I scan the room dissecting everyone and everything.
The Fourth Years are gathered on the left. Almost all of them are here. They sit with the stoic resignation of people who knew they were destined to watch their friends die, checking gear, and murmuring in low voices. They were ready to leave anyway; they only had a year left until graduation so this is just slightly earlier with a slightly higher rate for potential death.
The Third Years take up the center. There are fewer out that year, but still probably eighty percent of their class. They look less stressed and more excited. I wonder if they think this is some type of game.
The Second Years are a sparse group on the right. Maybe forty percent of them made the cut.
And then there are the First Years.
Scattered among the older students like lost children are about thirty familiar faces from House Luxor, Vespera, and Melruth. They look terrified. They sit in tight knots, clinging to house loyalties that won't matter once we leave this place.
I walk past them, feeling their eyes on me. I ignore them.
I head toward the front of the room, where a raised platform dominates the space.
Three Proctors sit behind a long table, reviewing scrolls and logistical manifests.
To the left is Proctor Charles. I know him by reputation only hes a year two proctor who specalizes in Earth based marks he also teaches structural engineering and fortification.
In the center is Proctor Julius. He is reading the same leather bound book, his face showing no emotion. He looks up as I approach, his eyebrow raises in acknowledgement.
And to the right... is a man I don't know.
He is skinny, almost skeletal. His robes hang off his frame like they were draped over a coat rack. He has wild, grey hair that stands up in tufts, as if he's constantly being electrocuted. But it's his aura that makes the hair on my arms stand up. It feels... greasy. Oily. It radiates a creeping sense of unease that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with intent. His deep brown eyes dart around the room, never settling, dissecting the students with a gaze that feels invasive.
"Awakened Daath," Proctor Julius says, his voice carrying over the murmur of the room. He corrects himself immediately. "Lieutenant Daath, I suppose is more accurate actually now isn't it "
"It is," I say simply, coming to a stop before the table.
"hmm" Julius mutters, setting his book. "A First Year officer. The world really has lost its's mind."
"The General understands Julius," the skinny Proctor hisses. His voice sounds like dry paper tearing. He looks at me, his brown eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. "New wars require new blood. :We need new monsters who will feast upon the rot of chaos" he grins eyeing me with a knowing look "And this one here is a monster if i've ever seen one."
I hold his gaze until im forced to look away. Fucking creep.
"Sit," Proctor Charles grunts, pointing to a section of empty chairs near the back right of the room reserved for House Apophis.
I walk over and sit down.
The chairs around me are full of students with a few empty ones left. I look around studying the students around me who all seemed content to offer me a few words then go back to their various conversations or mediating.
I realize with a start that if my cohort passes and the rest make it through—House Apophis will be empty. The Academy will have zero students remaining in the so called Spell breaker house. Every single one of us from every single year will be sent to Verion.
It confirms what I told them in the waiting room. We aren't students anymore. We are a specialized unit of potential Spellbreakers, harvested early.
I lean back, crossing my arms.
The rules of the holding area are strict. No communication with the testing block. No outside contact. Total silence regarding the nature of the tests.
I chuckle darkly.
Rules, the voices in my head sneer. Rules are for sheep.
I close my eyes and I reach for the bond.
It is a thin, silver thread in my mind, stretching out into the distance. It connects me to Lucian. It is the result of his Mark. It is a soul-tether that defies distance and logic.
I pluck the string.
Lucian, I project nudging at the wall between our minds.
There is a moment of resistance, and then a flare of amusement from the other end.
Whats up my good man? Lucian's mental voice sounds in my head loud as if he was right next to me. Don't tell me you tripped and fell and they are escorting you to the medics!?
I'm in the Grand Hall, I send back. I passed obviously you freak. Watch.
I don't use words. Words are slow. I just share my memorie of the tests including all my thoughts and emotions of the what happened after I left the room with the yellow eyed proctor.
I package the memory of the execution. The feel of the Federation soldier's mind breaking. The General's order.
Then, I package the memory of the card game. The Scythe. The Lamb. The trap. The taste of the paper in my mouth.
It's rigged clearly even a child could recognize that trap, I say making sure they he tells the others to think of their own way to pass. The morality test is an execution. Do it without hesitation. The logic test is a cheat. Do not play by their rules. Break the game.
I feel Lucian absorb the information. I feel his shock, and then his amusement.
Eating the card? he sends back, a mental laugh bubbling up. You're insane. I love it.
Tell the others, I command. Vihaan will love the killing. Zaria needs to know about the logic puzzle or she'll overthink it when it's presented. The others should be fine but give them a warning anyways.
I pause for a second then continue "And speak to Rye privately make sure she understands what going to happen and make sure she is prepared. All of house Apophis has passed Lucian, she is the weakest of us if she fails she will remain behind and I'm not sure how pleased Julius will be with that. "
On it, Lucian replies. See you soon, Lieutenant. he chuckles,
I sever the connection putting the wall between our minds back up rolling my eyes.
The room is the same of course only a few seconds had passed. The Proctors haven't moved. No one noticed the telepathic briefing I just conducted under their noses.
I sit there, feeling the lingering hum of Lucian's presence in the back of my mind.
I find myself thinking about his Mark.
It is, without a doubt, one of the strongest utility Marks I have ever seen. On the surface, it seems simple. He can bond with one person.
But the applications are terrifying.
While bonded, we share a passive regeneration buff. It's probably not as strong as when I find the trigger for my regenerator mark, but it speeds up natural healing by a factor of ten. Broken bones mend in minutes only leaving bruising and tenderness. We have a mind link, allowing for silent, instant communication.
But the real kicker... the real ace in the hole... is the Swap.
As long as we have line of sight we can switch positions instantly. It's how we caught Avraind off guard in our house test. Obviously though Lucian only told the proctors his bond allows for Swap and passive healing. He did not mention the ability to speak via minds or the ability to always locate each other.
It is the perfect Jack-in-the-Box mark.
I smile, a small, pleased expression. I am very glad Lucian is on my side. If I had to fight a duo that could swap places and heal each other and could plan and understand each other instantly I would be pretty upset.
My thoughts are broken by the sound of the main doors opening again.
The chatter in the room dies down. All eyes turn to the entrance.
A figure steps through.
He is twirling a curved karambit, looking bored.
Vihaan.
He scans the room, his dark eyes flat and dead until they land on me.
Then, he smiles.
It is a dark, twisted thing. It is the smile of a man who just found out that his favorite playground is open for business.
He walks toward me, ignoring the Proctors, ignoring the terrified looks from some of the other year ones.
He collapses into the chair next to me.
"Ahhh," Vihaan whispers, leaning in close. "The soldier screamed nicely."
"And the cards?" I ask, not looking at him.
"I didn't eat it," Vihaan chuckles. 'I am not disgusting like you. I just said I would never take such a risk in battle by going into the unknown without sending scouts first. Taking a 50/50 is foolhardy then I told the headmistress she could choose a card if she wanted to gamble so badly."
I nod, smirking
"And?," I ask.
"She chose the scythe" he laughs.
I nod feeling satisfied. I just need the rest of my cohort to pass now.
Come on, you dogs, I think. The war is waiting for us all.