The Age of Serenity

4

  Bastien

The day after I speak to the Prophet is the most peculiar morning of my being. When I wake up, I recognize I've slept in a chamber that doesn't belong to me, and no one had come searching for me. I try to get dressed in a hurry, forcing open the wardrobe, praying to find at least a tunic. Instead of the grey and dark blue uniform of the Maven class, there are dozens of silk colored robes, pale blue and silver, and bronze. Before I put them on, I look at myself in the glass, not able to identify the man looking back at me. My hair stands up all over my head, and healing wounds stare up from my ribs, wrapped in yellow bandages. I strip them back, getting a closer look at the ugly lifted scars, pinkish skin stretching and cracking tortuously.

'When did this happen?' I murmur to myself, just as the door behind me cracks and I start.

'Bastien are you up?' The casual voice of Caius calls through the door. The skinny blonde boy carries a tray of food and a few books under his arm.

'Caius, what the hell is going on? I fell asleep in the Dorms, didn't I? How did I...'

He's shaking his head and snickering, moving into the room, and placing the plate on the table nearest the fireplace.

'Yeah, you did. The Sentries came and took you early this morning. I don't know why, but they told me I could bring you food.' He explains, sitting down, so I sit down beside him. He is looking pointedly at anything but me, and I look down realizing I did not put on the robes.

'None of these clothes are mine,' I whisper, looking about the room. 'Do you have any more?'

'No,' He shakes his head. 'The Grandmaster said you should wear these.'

'Really?' I gulp, moving my fingers over the silk robes, stroking my thumb over bronze armoring.

'Yes. Now breakfast and then get dressed,' Caius tells me, wiping his hands on his robes. 'Then you have to come to the amphitheater.'

'Amphitheater,' I echo dumbly, shuffling to the food. Caius chortles, leaving me alone. I eat casually, my mind droning with nothing until there's nothing left. I don't chew, I don't register the food going into my body, but I feel better. Less hungry. I wash my face thoroughly, deliberately, though there's no real incentive to. I'm biding my time, trying to understand, but it doesn't feel as if my subconscious belongs to me. No matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to challenge the things occurring. The idea of doing so petrifies me.

I slip the robes off the hanger, realizing it's two pieces. A long silk tunic, and dark blue cloth leggings. I pull them on, arranging the neck piece carefully, then pull my hair back from my face. Without seeing the mirror, I leave the chamber. .

Gwyn

I sit amongst the Wards, though few of them venture very close to me, save for group of boys who sit directly behind me, talking loudly to one another as if I am not here at all. It makes me laugh to myself. Whether they think I am here to harm them, or they are merely afraid of me, and too proud to say; I don't know.

The amphitheater seems more like an opera house than a place for novices. An ornate silver stadium, with deep azure and cerulean paint, white diamond chandeliers shimmering between the statues of their 'Prince.' His austere features stare down from the ivory, undiscerning eyes gazing coldly at all of us.

Most of the Wards have been here for the last half hour, and Bastien still hasn't appeared. The students grow uneasy, Master Cain seems to be struggling to rein one young man in particular. A small boy with blonde curly hair is planted firmly on the man's lap, hiccuping every few moments, making his tiny body shake. I walk over to Master Cain, and all eyes are on me, the room suddenly silent.

Going to start singing? Raziel sniggers.

Hardly. I reply. I hold my hands out to the little boy, who eyes me cautiously for a bit, before holding up his arms. I scoop him up, resting him on my hip comfortably. He gazes at me for a while, then stretches up a chubby fist and pulls on one of my dreads.

'Ouch..' I giggle, and he laughs too, taking my face in his little palms and pulling it close to his.

'Nice!' He screeches, beckoning at all his friends, the other small children. 'Her nice!'

I ignore that he's called me a woman, and ignore the laughs it earns from the older Wards, permitting small children to crowd me. They tug on my habit, my hair, moving my fingers, and sniff me. Some of them shout things like, 'pretty...', 'shiny...' and 'why?' while others simply make cheery sounds. My heart swells a bit, and I touch their heads gently, looking around the room at the other Wards.

''I'm not here to hurt you,' I say to all of them, watching faces flash with emotion. Distrust, interest, and fear that give way to curiosity and hope. 'I only want to make things better.'

Then I return to my seat, and the boys behind me are quiet for a time before one of them taps my shoulder lightly.

'How?' He asks, his face calm and even, empty eyes peering into mine. 'How will you make things better?' I stare at him, and his face I see an infinite face of Kings, I see men on the backs of dragons, and the magnificent birds, bringing the mountains to life and taming the seas.

'What is your name?' I ask him, watching him lean away from me, his face blank.

'Stavros, Holiness. Grisha Starvos.' He says, looking me over carefully.

'How would you have me change this place? How would it better for you?' I ask him, and he seems surprised.

'I would make it stop,' He whispers, wringing his hands for a brief moment, before leaning back in his seat. He says no more, and I can't bring myself to say anything else, so I turn back to face the stage, waiting for Bastien to make his appearance.

In truth, we didn't have to wait long, for seconds after speaking to Grisha, the doors at the back of the auditorium fly open. Bastien tumbles down the dark blue carpet, his face red, his hair sticking up around his head, and the new robes he'd been given open and done up the wrong way. When he notices the auditorium is full, he composes himself instantly. It's a bit impressive; actually, I've seen royalty struggle to overcome embarrassment of such a scale, but Bastien, merely adjusts his robes, smooths his hair and walks down the center aisle, head held high. The panic that had flared across his attractive features was replaced with authority that did not belong to one of his age. His gaze was steady on something in front of him, and I turn my head to follow it. He is looking at Master Damion, who is looking back at him, the same sort of authority on his face.

Interesting... Raziel purrs, leaving the seat beside me and approaching Bastien. Galidiah grows uneasy on the other side of me, gripping the arm of her chair tightly, her knuckles white.

What are you so scared of? I ask her, and her eyes flicker to mine, still full of fear.

Nothing, my child, nothing at all. The lie seems to come quickly, and she smiles, a smile that does not reach her eyes. Eyes which still follow Raziel as he follows Bastien up until the steps onto the stage. Then he stops and watches the boy cross to Master Damion. Raziel arches his eyebrows, licks his lips and grins, before returning to my side.

What was that? The lady hisses at him, her eyes wide. Raziel chuckles.

That was a choice being made. Raziel answers, and she grows pale, all the color draining swiftly from her face.

What choice? I ask, only to be met with cold silence.

Sebastian gathers himself slow and walks over to shake Bastien's hand. Bastien looks to Damion as if for permission and the young Master gives it, nodding his head slightly. Behind me, I hear a scoff, a soft noise of indignation bubbling from the lips of the boy beside Grisha. I take a moment to look at the group over, four young men between the ages of 18 and 20. The boy who scoffed has long dark hair, and grey eyes, eyes filled with anger and resentment,. His features that might be handsome appear pained, as if watching this brings him physical distress.

'The time has come for me to name my Heir,' The Grandmaster says, and the room holds its breath. 'I name you, Bastien Nameless, as my pupil, and the next Grandmaster.'

All the room explodes with thundering applause, all the Obelisk standing, hooting and booming Bastien's name. All but the boy who jeered, who remains seated, his eyes trailing Master Damion.