My hand is a cramping claw of agony, but I don't stop. I can't stop.
The scratches violently against the parchment, the sound lost in the cacophony of scribbling from the other commoner students around me. Ink splatters, creating tiny black nebulas on the page, but I ignore them, forcing the nib to keep pace with the woman pacing the front of the lecture hall like a caged panther.
Proctor Eve Melnyk, Head of House Melruth, does not teach. She assaults you with information.
She is a terrifying creature of medium angles with her white robes marking her as a Proctor, her long purple hair pulled back into a bun so tight it pulls at the skin around her eyes, giving her a permanent expression of skepticism. She doesn't use a podium. She stalks the rows of desks, her voice projecting with a tone of annoyance.
"Listen, cadets, Listen!" she barks, slapping a ruler against a student's desk as she passes, making him jump. "Knowledge is the ammunition of the mind, and right now, most of you are firing blanks!"
I grit my teeth, dipping my quill again, writing so fast my handwriting has devolved into a personal cipher that only I will be able to decode later.
Gods, I think, a bead of sweat tracing a line down my temple. I know nothing.
I remember the old woman Cain hired back in Lont a dusty, fragile hag who would hit my knuckles. She had sat with me in the drafty library of Cain's estate, trying to teach me to read and do basic sums. I thought I was learning the world then.
I was an idiot.
That fucking hag knew nothing. She was teaching me nursery rhymes. Compared to Proctor Melnyk, the old tutor was a blind woman describing a sunset and would have been smited by the sheer disappointment in the Proctors eyes.
"The Foundation!" Melnyk snaps, spinning on her heel at the front of the room. She waves a hand, and the massive chalkboard towards a terrifyingly detailed map of a landmass I don't recognize.
"Seven hundred years ago," she recites, her voice crisp and devoid of warmth. "Humanity as you know it did not exist here. We existed there."
She points to the dark, jagged huge landmass drawn on the board.
"The Dark Continent," she says, the words landing with heavy significance. "The cradle of our race. And our first failure."
I scribble furiously, I remember some of this from my lessons but I hate to admit I never cared much.
"It was a land of plenty," Melnyk continues, her eyes scanning the room, daring anyone to look away. "Until the concurrence. We became complacent. We allowed our dedication to the gods to stagnate, our vigilance to waver. And in our arrogance, we ignored the signs. The Chaos rose."
She pauses, letting the silence hang for a split second before shattering it.
"Monsters," she spits the word. "Not the stray wolves or bears you feared in your nurseries. True monsters. Abominations of flesh and magic. They overran the cities of the Old World in a single generation. They ate our history. They burned our libraries. They slaughtered billions."
I glance up. The noble-born students in every house look bored. They are leaning back, spinning their quills, checking their nails. They grew up with these stories. They know this.
But the commoners? We are frozen in shock.
"We fled," Melnyk says, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The First King, Malik the Great, gathered the remnants of humanity. He rallied his Cohort of Elites the first bearers of the Marks and the first of the Holy Inquisitors lead by the first Pope Aren. They constructed the Great Fleet and they sailed into the dark, leaving the screams of the dying behind them."
She gestures to the right side of the board, where the chalk is now frantically drawing a new coastline. Our coastline.
"They crossed the Dark Sea," she says. "A voyage of three years. Disease, starvation, mutiny. Half the fleet was lost to the depths. But King Malik did not waver. He followed the stars believing it was the God's will leading us to penance."
Penance, I write, underlining it twice. Religious justification for colonization. How Conviennent.
"When they landed here," Melnyk says, slapping the map of our continent, "they did not find an empty land. They found this continent was also infested. Not as heavily as the Old World, but the rot was here. The Chaos had touched this soil, too."
She walks to the center of the room, her grey eyes flashing.
"So, King Malik made a covenant. We had failed the Gods in the Old World. We would not fail them here. We would not just survive; we would purify."
She emphasizes the word with a sharp nod.
"The Holy War began. The Purge. For seventy years, the First King and his soldiers marched across this land. They fought viciously against the abominations. They hunted the beasts. They drove the darkness back with fire and steel and the holy light of our Marks. They united the scattered tribes of this continent forcefully, when necessary under the newly founded Imperial Banner. They built the Empire of Elarion on a foundation of monster bones."
I stop writing for a second, my mind reeling.
Forcefully, when necessary. That's a polite way of saying they conquered everyone they found and told them to join or die.
"This holy war," she says as if reading my mind, "was not conquest for conquest's sake. It was divine obligation. A sacred duty to prevent another Dark Continent from ever rising again."
She begins pacing now, slow and deliberate.
"They united fractured nations and clans under one banner. They eradicated monsters. They imposed order. Law. Stability."
She taps the board.
"And thus, the Empire of Elarion was born."
Our Empire.
I write the words
He was a butcher, the voices whisper in my ear, sounding delighted. A glorious, bloody butcher. He saved them sure Ayato but he also owned them. How glorious.
Shut up, I tell them, but I don't disagree.
"The Empire of Elarion," Melnyk announces, pointing to the sprawling map that now covers the board. "The shield of humanity. The sword of the Gods. And you..." She points a long, bony finger at us. "...are the rivets in that shield. You are the sword.
She moves on, the pace unrelenting. She begins to dissect the Empire, slicing it into its constituent parts with the precision of a surgeon.
"Center your attention," she commands. "I expect every one of you regardless of lineage, wealth, or provincial origin to possess the same foundational knowledge by the end of this week." "And do not delude yourselves into believing noble birth excuses ignorance," Proctor Melnyk continues without pause sneering at some of the kids who were spacing out on her lesson.
She turns back to the board and slams a new title onto it in bold strokes.
FOUNDING OF THE EMPIRE
"Avrael."
The chalk outlines a massive, vaguely heart-shaped country in the center of the continent.
"The Heartland," Melnyk says. "The Crown Jewel. Avrael is the seat of the Royal Family and the administrative core of the Empire. It is primarily landlocked, protected by natural barriers basically on all sides."
I look at the map. I see the familiar names of cities. Lusa, the Capital, sitting like a spider in the center of its web slightly in the northeast of the country.
"However," Melnyk taps a section to the west of the country. "It is not entirely cut off. The Dark Sea snakes its way inland here, cutting through the continent like a river before widening into the Great Bay."
My eyes narrow as she points to a small dot near the coast of that bay.
"Lont," she says. "A vital trade hub. It serves as the primary port for goods coming from the western territories."
Lont. Home. Or what passed for it. It looks so small on the map. Just a speck of chalk dust. It's strange to think that the alleyways where I fought for scraps, the alleys where I learned to hate, and the estate where Cain bought me it all exists in that tiny white dot.
"To the West," Melnyk continues, her pointer sliding across the board. "Verion."
The chalk outlines a massive territory directly bordering Avrael.
"Verion," she says, her tone shifting slightly. It becomes… drier. Less reverent. "A land of industry and vast, open plains. It is largely landlocked, save for its western coast which touches the dark Sea."
She taps the chalk against the board, creating a cloud of dust.
"Pay attention, this is logistics. Verion is crucial. Why? Because almost eighty percent of the Empire's Mana Crystals are harvested from the strip mines in the Verion Canyons."
I write that down immediately.
"These crystals," she explains, "are what allow our Architects to power the Amulets, some of our lighting systems, the heating grids, and the transit rails without the constant need for an Elite's direct input. Without Verion, the Empire goes dark. Without Verion we would be set back two hundred years technology.
She walks back to her desk, taking a sip of water, her eyes never leaving us.
"Culturally," she says, wiping her mouth, "Verion is… distinctive. The climate is temperate, prone to extremes. Harsh winters, scorching summers. It breeds a hardy, loud people."
She sniffs disdainfully.
"They have a peculiar fondness for the illusion of choice. In Verion, they hold local elections. They vote for mayors, for governors, for representatives. They love to talk about 'the will of the people' and 'liberty.' They elect their leaders to shout at each other in council halls."
She leans forward, a shark-like grin on her face.
"The current Duke of Verion is Dennis Panther. A man who plays the part of the 'Man of the People' very well. He shakes hands. He kisses babies. But make no mistake," she says, her voice turning cold as iron. "At the end of the day, when the King calls, Duke Panther bows. When the tithe collectors come, Verion pays. Their 'freedom' is a leash. It is long, yes, because we respect them and their contributions so we allow them to play their own game but don't think for a second it's not attached to the Throne in Lusa."
I suppress a smirk. It's amusing to hear her dismantle an entire culture's philosophy in three sentences.
They think they are free, the voices giggle. Sheep voting for which dog herds them.
"Moving on," Melnyk snaps, ignoring a hand raised by a student likely a Verion native wanting to defend their honor. "To the East. Trola."
The chalk moves to the opposite side of the map, sketching a country separated from Avrael by a massive, jagged scar.
"The Sinwade Mountain Range," she says, tapping the scar. "We are here. right now. The Academy sits nestled in the lower peaks of the Sinwade inside a pocket. She pointely ignores a few raised hands attempting to ask what that means. These mountains are a natural fortress, a wall of stone that separates the Heartland from the East."
She outlines Trola. It is a vast, triangular landmass that juts out into the eastern ocean.
"Trola," Melnyk says, her voice taking on a slightly more respectful tone, though still tinged with Imperial superiority. "An ancient land. Before the Empire and the First King, they were a collection of warring Rajahs. We unitedthem. Trola is a land of heat and spice. Their winters are wet, and their summers are boiling."
She describes the culture, and I try to visualize it.
"They value tradition, hierarchy, and medicine. It is why they produce so many potent healers. Their architecture is intricate temples carved into living rock, cities painted in vibrant hues."
"The current ruler," she notes, "is Duke Adaa Desai. A woman of commendable intellect and sharper politics. Trola provides the Empire with its textiles, its exotic spices, and, most importantly, its steel. The mines in Trola have an abundance of iron. If Verion powers the Empire, Trola arms it."
"And finally," Melnyk says, turning to the bottom of the map. "The South."
She draws a large, dense landmass connected to the southern border of Avrael.
"Jarvix," she says.
"The most recent addition to the Imperial family," she says, her eyes narrowing. "Seventy years ago, Jarvix was not ours. It was a wild land of jungles and rivers, independent and stubborn."
She begins to pace again, her heels clicking rhythmically on the stone floor.
"Sadly, Jarvix allied itself with the Federation," she says, and the word 'Federation' hangs in the air like a curse. "They fought alongside the Nation of Lumor and its collected Federation in the North to resist our advance. They believed the lies of Chaos that the Empire was a tyrant, that we were conquerors."
She stops, looking at us with a grim satisfaction.
"They learned the truth the hard way. Being so far south, isolated from their Federation allies by the sheer distance and the blockade of the Dark Sea, they were crushed. The Imperial heel came down, and it broke their resistance." "Eventually at least"
She laughs, a short, dry sound.
"But here is the irony. Once they were broken, they healed stronger. Today, Jarvix is perhaps the most loyal territory in the Empire. They are a martial people. They respect strength above all else. Once they saw that the Empire was stronger than the Federation and that we were not just going to slaughter them, they did not just submit; they converted."
She describes the climate humid, tropical, a land of endless rain forests and massive rivers.
"It is a harsh land that breeds harsh warriors. Their culture is one of duty and honor. They do not complain. They serve to the best of their ability. The Jarvix Legion's are the shock troops of our army. They are led by Duke Silas Vane." "Even their markless soldiers are terrible indeed, it's why it took us so long to finally take over the entire country."
She adopts a mocking tone, tilting her head. "They are... enthusiastic. They wave the flag harder than anyone in Elarion. It is the zeal of the convert. They have to prove they belong I suppose."
She steps back, encompassing the whole map with a sweep of her arms.
"Avrael. Verion. Trola. Jarvix. Both coasts united. The South secured. The Empire is a fist, clenched and ready."
She leans against her desk, the lecture shifting gears.
"But Why?" she asks, her voice dropping to a whisper that carries to the back of the room. "Why do we conquer? Why do we unite?"
I smirk. The geography lesson is over. Now comes the indoctrination.
She looks directly at a girl in the front row, a commoner whose hand is shaking as she holds her quill.
"To march North," Melnyk answers her own question. "To spread the Divine Will. To finish what King Malik started."
She turns back to the board and violently crosses out the top section of the map—the lands north of the Empire, occupied by the Federation and the Nation of Lumor.
"The Federation," she sneers. "They call themselves free. They call us tyrants. But what are they, really?"
She slams her hand on the desk.
"They are collaborators!"
I roll my eyes, keeping my head down so she doesn't see. Here it comes. The sermon.
"The Inquisitors have confirmed it," Melnyk says, her voice rising with the fervor of a true believer. i resit a snicker as most of the class hangs onto her every word. "The Federation leadership is compromised. They are being influenced by the remnants of Chaos. They do not fight us for land or resources. They fight us because the Shadow whispers in their ears." "There is no other explanation as to why they would resist the Gods will"
She begins to walk down the center aisle, her robes billowing behind her.
"They harbor the enemies of humanity. They tolerate the existence of the unclean. They believe that we can 'coexist' with the darkness that drove us from our homeland."
She stops right next to my desk. I can smell the chalk dust and the expensive, sharp perfume she wears. I keep writing, staring at the paper.
"We bring the God's Will to these lost countries," she declares, looking over the top of my head at the rest of the class. "We purge the evil. We burn the rot. We are ensuring that a repeat of the Dark Continent never occurs again. We fight so that humanity has a future."
She walks away, back to the front.
"There are those who say the war has lasted too long," she says. "There are those in the Royal Court who say it is too expensive of both lives and gold. But they are fools. You cannot put a price on survival. The monsters still exist, cadets."
At this, a ripple of unease goes through the commoner students.
I watch them. Their eyes are wide, fearful. They grew up in villages where "monsters" were stories told to frighten children into behaving. They were told the King had killed them all centuries ago. They were told the walls were safe.
But the nobles?
I glance at Lucian, who is awake, looking bored. I look at the Luxor students who are all Nobles. They aren't surprised.
They know, I realize. Of course they knew.
The nobility has never hidden the truth from themselves. They know the monsters are still out there. They know the "truth of why we fight." It is only the poor who are kept in the dark, fed a steady diet of "The King Protects" so they keep working the fields and the mines without panic.
Lies for the sheep, truth for the wolves, the voices murmur. And you are a wolf in sheep's clothing, aren't you? Or perhaps you are the monster they are so afraid of. Hmm Little God? You've already fought one of these so called monsters after all.
I smirk, staring at my notes.
Melnyk is rambling now about the "Holy Inquisitors" and their divine mandate to sniff out corruption. She paints a picture of a world under siege, where the Empire is the only lighthouse in a storm of demons.
It is absurd propaganda. But they would claim these thoughts I have as "Chaos influenced" it's almost impressive the con.
"The Federation is not just an enemy army," Melnyk shouts, pounding the blackboard. "They are the carriers and warriors of Chaos! When you face them on the battlefield, you are not killing men. You are excising a tumor!"
Sure, I think. And I'm sure the Federation tells their soldiers that we are brainwashed zealots who use religion as an excuse to take and take and take.
The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. The Federation fights for resources; we fight for control. The "Chaos" and the "Gods" are just convenient masks to wear while we butcher each other over land and crystals.
But as Melnyk drones on about the "purity of our cause," a darker thought settles in my mind.
If the Empire is so obsessed with purging monsters... what happens when they find out that my soul orb is cracked? Is that void i see past my own soul actually chaos? Is their some truth based in the religious fanaticism?
I could be the very thing they claim to be fighting. I am the Chaos they preach against. And yet, here I am, sitting in their Academy, wearing their uniform, learning how to lead their armies.
Melnyk's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Class dismissed!" she barks, wiping the board clean with a single wave of her hand. "Read chapters four through eight of The Divine Mandate by tomorrow. If I ask you a question and you stutter, you will be cleaning the latrines for a month."
The tension in the room breaks instantly. Students scramble to pack their bags, desperate to escape the intensity of her presence.
I close my notebook slowly, the cramping in my hand finally starting to fade. I look at the blank blackboard where the map of the Empire used to be.
The Shield of Humanity. The Sword of the Gods.
I stand up, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
A shield can be broken, I think as I walk toward the door. And a sword can be turned against its wielder.
I step out into the hallway, the noise of the Academy washing over me.
"Hey, 'Scholar'," Lucian grins, falling into step beside me. He looks annoyingly refreshed from his nap in the previous class. "You were writing so fast I thought your hand was going to catch fire. Did you get all that down? Or were you just drawing pictures of Melnyk getting eaten by a dragon?"
"I was taking notes, Lucian," I say dryly. "Some of us actually plan on passing the written exams."
"Boring," he singsonged, stretching his arms. "I just listen. I have a memory like a steel trap. Besides, half of that was horse shit anyway."
I look at him. "Which half?"
"The part about us being the 'good guys'," Lucian says, his voice dropping just low enough so only I can hear. He winks. "Everyone knows we're the villains, Ayato. We just have better uniforms."
I stare at him for a second, surprised by the sudden flash of cynicism from the usually carefree boy.
Then, I let out a short, genuine laugh.
"You might be right," I mutter.
"I'm always right," Lucian beams. "Now come on. Lunch. I'm starving, and if we don't hurry, the Umbra kids will take all the good meat."
I follow him down the hall, the voices in my head quiet for once, seemingly satisfied with the morning's lesson.