Flint gave a final, dismissive wave. "Okay everyone, your dorm instructor will take you through everything else." He turned and strode away, the heavy door of the auditorium sealing shut behind him with a soft, definitive thud.
A new presence filled the space before them. She was tall and muscular, with a warrior's poise. Her hair was the color of spun gold, cropped short, and her eyes held a keen, assessing sharpness that missed nothing. Holstered at her hip was a handgun of polished, dark metal, intricately carved with channels that pulsed with a faint, internal light—an Essence weapon.
"My name is Shayla Gravemont."
Immediately, the hall erupted in echoing whispers.
"Huh, a Gravemont, waw."
"I heard they're very good in production and commerce,"
"That's what makes them dangerous. Just look at that handgun she has,"
"Yeah, I'm sure it's not even her best. That's the fought-and-renewed version."
"Yes," a shifter near the front said with clear disdain, his voice cutting through the murmur. "It can blow up a level 1 shifter's head."
A cold silence fell. The statement was a brutal, simple fact that made the weapon's danger terrifyingly real.
A smirk touched Shayla's lips. *'It's a good thing we had that little war with the shifters,'* she thought. *'It really brought up our house's prestige, fear, and respect. But I can't say the same for our losses. Left to me, it was an unnecessary war.... Anyway.'*
"Silence!" Her voice cracked through the hall, not loud, but carrying an undeniable weight of authority that vibrated in their bones.
Vex, standing beside Zerathos, grinned with recognition. "She's in the 4stage at a Master level" he announced, louder than necessary. "Capable of manifesting an Essence weapon."
A fresh wave of murmurs swept through the students. The 3rd Stage was a realm most of them could only dream of. To have an instructor of that caliber was both thrilling and intimidating.
Shayla ignored their reactions and continued. "You will move to the dining hall now, where your rank will be placed—dorms, classes, etc. Once you move out, you will see a train craft outside." Before anyone could blink, she dissolved into a shimmer of golden light and was gone.
On the way to the dining hall, Zerathos grumbled, "Why does everybody I've met today like disappearing?"
"You've met someone else?" Vex asked, his interest piqued.
"Yeah, a recruiter. What was his name again..... Hads..... Ha**—"
Vex's foot came down hard on Zerathos's. "Ow! What was that for?"
"Did you just say recruiter *Hay*?" Vex's voice was a tense whisper.
Zerathos rubbed his foot, confused. "I... maybe? "
Vex's mind raced. *'I know Hay picks slums kids, but this one... he smells of the Umbros prison.'* He shook his head, deciding to table the thought. "Forget it. You'll know with time. For now, we've arrived."
***
The dining hall was a cavernous, awe-inspiring space that stole the breath from Zerathos's lungs. It reminded him of ancient cathedrals he'd seen in salvaged data-slates, but grander and humming with latent power. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, but his eyes were drawn to the high stage.
At the left corner sat six chairs, ornate and foreboding, reserved for the Shadow Council. They stood empty, but their presence was a palpable weight. At the right were eight slightly less intimidating seats for the House Elders. But it was the center that commanded attention.
Three kingly thrones dominated the platform. The central one was the largest, carved from what seemed like a single piece of night itself—the seat for the Umbra Crown. To its right was a slightly less grand chair for the Headmaster, and to its left, one for the King's second-in-command. Flanking this central trio were six extra seats, three on each side. "Five," Vex explained in a hushed tone," were for the House Leaders",
"And the last one," Vex pointed to the seat furthest on the left, which seemed to be made of woven light and shadow, "is for the Eternal Scribe. The Head of our Order. The immortal Keeper who records everything in the Obsidian Codex, a living book said to rewrite reality itself. Only the King and the Eternal Scribe may touch it. His name is Azerion Vaelorn."
Zerathos stared at the empty thrones. Though the King's and the Scribe's seats appeared calm, looking at them for too long made his spine tingle with a primal warning. *"Never approach it,"* he muttered to himself, the instinct undeniable.
They found a spot at one of the long tables, where platters of food were already laid out. The hall was filled with the clatter of cutlery and the low hum of conversation. Zerathos was just about to take a bite of a roasted chicken leg when a hand slammed down on the table between him and Vex from behind.
The impact jolted his arm, sending the chicken leg tumbling into his lap before falling to the floor. Zerathos turned with fury in his eyes, only to be met by a smug, aristocratic face, already sneering in anticipation of a fight.
Vex placed a restraining hand on Zerathos's arm. "House Vareth. Don't make a mistake you'll regret."
"What's this," the Vareth member drawled, "the slum kid finally got some balls?" He raised his hand, a blur of motion too fast for Zerathos to track, aiming a slap to humiliate him. But the hand never connected. Vex's own shot up, catching the wrist in a grip like iron.
Silence fell over their section of the hall.
"Isn't that Han Vareth? A direct child of the main family?"
"Yeah, the ninth child."
"Waw," a girl whispered, her eyes wide.
"He's at the 3rd stage of Disciple!"
"Then he should be able to create an essence weapon "
"That slum kid is in trouble."
At the high table where the House Heirs sat, heads turned, eager for the spectacle. Then, a shared, dawning realization passed between them. *'Wait, did Han just make a move on a Keeper first?'* While most houses vied for the Keepers' favor, House Vareth was famously, defiantly different.
Back at the table, Vex still held Han's wrist. "What are you doing at my table?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Han Vareth lowered his hand and laughed, a loud, grating sound. "You think I'm like the other houses? The Vareth will never lick boots. So mind how you talk to me, book-boy, or you'll die."
Vex stood up, his slender frame seeming to gather shadow. "Be careful. I am at a master level, second stage."
Han laughed again, wiping a mock tear from his eye. "What's a master level Keeper going to do to me? What? Read me to death? Recite a poem until I fall asleep? Calm down, bookworm. Your being at a master level changes nothing." He reached out to pat Vex condescendingly on the cheek.
In a move faster than the eye could follow, Vex grabbed the offending hand, twisted it violently, and delivered a sharp kick to Han's midsection that sent the larger boy stumbling back several feet.
Silence. Absolute, dead silence.
"Did a Keeper... just start a fight?" a Disciple from a nearby table breathed, utterly stunned.
Han stood up, shock giving way to a dark, bleeding rage. A trickle of blood ran from his nose and split lip. "He's definitely an Ascendant. What a punch."
Every cell in Vex's body was screaming at him to run. As he looked at Han, he saw a terrifying grin spread across the bloody face. The air around Han began to shimmer with heat, a visible aura of essence igniting. No one moved to interfere. The unspoken rule of the academy was clear: *'As far as both parties initiate the first fight, nobody will interfere.'*
And in this case, though Vex had thrown the last blow, Han had thrown the first insult and the first strike. It was a sanctioned duel. Vex felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He was finished.
Until a figure stepped between them.
"Zerathos!" Vex exclaimed, horrified.
Zerathos's heart hammered against his ribs. *'I don't know what's happening, but I have to stop this before he uses that creepy smile as an excuse to hit me later. I might as well take my share of the beating now. He'll probably just kick me out of the way.'*
"What the?! Out of my way, slum-rat!" Han snarled.
"Please, take it out on m—" Zerathos began, but Vex tried to pull him back.
"Zerathos, get out! I can han—"
"No, it's my fau—"
But before he could finish, Han Vareth made his move. With a roar of pure fury, he thrust his palms forward. A searing ball of condensed fire, bright as a miniature sun, erupted from his hands and rushed across the short distance, engulfing both Zerathos and Vex in a torrent of flame.