The Academy gates stood open like a mouth preparing to swallow them whole. Students gathered in the courtyard before them, each carrying identical packs the Academy had distributed the night before - leather bags stuffed with bedrolls, dried rations, waterskins, basic medical supplies, and whatever personal items could fit in the remaining space. Forty young Chosen, most wearing expressions that ranged from nervous excitement to barely concealed dread. Lior stood perhaps three steps away, his sky-blue eyes tracking across the assembly with the particular anxiety of someone who'd spent all night worrying about this exact moment. His hands kept finding his pack's straps, adjusting them unnecessarily, searching for something to do that wasn't just standing still.
Cel watched him for a moment, then turned his attention elsewhere. The crowd had organized itself into loose clusters already - nobles gravitating toward other nobles, commoners finding comfort in familiar faces.
The courtyard hummed with low conversation. Nervous laughter. The shuffle of boots against stone. Everyone waiting for something to happen.
Instructor Saren emerged from the Academy building, her footsteps cutting through the ambient noise, drawing everyone's eye. She stopped before the assembled students, posture military-straight, gaze sweeping across them with clinical assessment.
"We depart now. Follow me."
The crowd moved as one, flowing toward the open gates. Cel fell into step with the others, letting the current carry him forward. Beside him, Lior matched his pace, still worrying at his pack straps. Around them, groups continued forming - natural alliances and pre-established friendships pulling students into orbits that felt safe.
Someone settled into position on Cel's left.
He glanced over.
Hestia walked beside him, crimson eyes forward, her expression carrying the same composed neutrality it always did.
Other students noticed.
Several sets of eyes cut toward them. Quick glances that lingered just long enough to register the oddity before looking away. Hestia - heir to House Mortveil, future leader of the entire Death Clan - choosing to walk with commoners instead of her own social class.
Cel studied her profile for another moment. Waiting for some sign of discomfort maybe. Or any other kind of reaction.
Nothing.
She walked with the same steady gait, unbothered by judgment, speculation or whatever conclusions other students were drawing. Her hands remained empty, pack settled comfortably on her shoulders, gaze fixed somewhere ahead.
"Are you alright?" Lior's whisper came from his right, barely audible.
Cel turned. Found sky-blue eyes watching him with concern that seemed disproportionate to the situation.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're..." Lior's gaze flicked toward Hestia, then back. "Never mind."
They continued through Stella's streets in relative silence after that. The city spread around them in its usual organized chaos - market stalls being set up for the day's trade, early morning workers moving with grim determination, the smell of baking bread mixing with less pleasant scents from alleys where waste collected.
But something felt different.
The crowds thickened as they moved deeper into the city. Not the normal flow of citizens going about their business. These people lined the streets deliberately, pressing close to buildings to create a corridor down the middle. Children sat on their parents' shoulders for better views. Vendors had abandoned their stalls entirely to watch.
The path opened onto the main road leading west. And there, stretching as far as Cel could see, stood what looked like half of Stella's population.
They erupted.
Applause crashed over the students like a physical wave. Voices shouted praise and encouragement - "Good luck!" "Make us proud!" "Come back safe!" - overlapping into a roar that drowned out individual words. People waved from windows. Others had climbed onto low walls for better vantage, hands raised in gestures of support.
The students stumbled slightly, caught off-guard by the scale of it. Even the nobles seemed surprised, though they recovered faster, straightening their postures and acknowledging the crowd with practiced grace.
Beside Cel, Lior had gone completely still. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes wide, taking in the spectacle like he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
"They're..." His voice cracked. "All of them came to see us off."
The wonder in those words was almost painful. Pure and unguarded in a way that made Cel aware of how different their experiences had been. Lior saw celebration. Recognition that what they were doing mattered.
Cel on the other hand…
…felt the weight of it.
All these people - citizens who'd never set foot in the Academy, who didn't know his name or face - expected something from them. Expected protection. Expected success. Expected these forty students to prove that the divine system worked, that gods created defenders worth the social hierarchy they propped up.
The applause continued. Faces blurred together into a mass of need that pressed against his skin.
On his left, Hestia's expression remained unchanged. She moved through the noise with the same composed neutrality, indifferent to the spectacle. Her gaze stayed forward, focused on some point beyond the crowd, like the celebration was happening to someone else entirely.
How did she do that? How did she walk through this kind of attention without feeling crushed by it?
Someone started chanting "Chosen! Chosen!" and others picked it up, the word repeating in waves that rolled across the crowd.
Cel forced himself to breathe.
The main road stretched ahead, carrying them closer to the western gate with each step. To the boundary where protected human territory gave way to wilderness. To the point where Academy walls and instructor supervision would vanish, leaving them only their own capabilities.
Eventually the crowd thinned. The noise faded to something more manageable. Buildings gave way to open space, and the western gate loomed before them - massive stone construction, standing open during daylight hours but always watched.
They passed through.
The transition was immediate and absolute. Behind them, Stella's organized safety. Ahead, the road narrowed to a dirt path that led into the woods.
The celebration's echo died completely.
"Hold."
Instructor Calder's voice cut across them with authority. All students halted, turning toward him with varying degrees of confusion.
He stood perhaps ten steps before the woods, Instructor Saren beside him.
"From this point forward," Calder said, his tone carrying the flat certainty it always did, "you travel independently."
Silence pressed across the assembled students.
"You are responsible for your own survival, your own decisions, and your own mistakes." His gaze swept across them without mercy. "Instructor Saren and I will not be accompanying you any further. We'll meet you at the designated locations to verify your progress and provide any necessary coordination with local authorities."
Someone's breath caught - audible in the sudden quiet.
"Safe travels."
He turned. Started walking away along a different path than the one leading toward Life Clan territory. Instructor Saren followed without looking back.
The students watched them go. Forty young Chosen who'd spent months inside Academy walls, protected by instructors and institutional structure, suddenly stripped of both.
Movement broke the paralysis.
Theron's group formed up quickly - practiced efficiency suggesting they'd planned this beforehand. Sylvaine Grovethorn adjusted her pack, expression neutral despite the situation. Owen Peakscale stood ready with his massive frame taking up space like he'd been carved from stone. Cordelia Tidecall's light blue hair caught sunlight as she moved into position beside them. Percival Tempest looked eager but focused, summoning his armor.
They departed without ceremony, following their map toward whatever route they'd chosen.
Kyros's group went next. Fire-red hair and amber eyes leading the usual cluster of followers. They moved with deliberate confidence, making their competence visible to anyone watching.
The remaining students - all commoners - looked at each other with growing uncertainty. Groups began forming tentatively, people gravitating toward familiar faces, but the organization felt loose. Directionless.
"Everyone." Hestia's voice carried across the space without shouting. Just clear projection that demanded attention. "Gather here."
Heads turned. Feet shuffled. Slowly, the scattered students consolidated around her, creating a rough circle that felt less like a mob and more like something with structure.
Hestia waited until everyone had settled. Then she spoke, her tone carrying the same clinical precision Instructor Saren used during lectures.
"We're going to proceed as a coordinated group rather than scattering randomly." Her tone left no space for argument. "I'm dividing you into smaller teams based on similar capability levels. This ensures no group is disproportionately strong or weak."
She pulled a handful of whistles from her pack - simple metal instruments that gleamed dully in the morning light.
"If you encounter a creature, don't engage immediately. Signal with your whistle instead." She demonstrated, bringing one to her lips and producing a sharp, piercing note that cut through the air. "I'll come to your location then. We'll assess the threat together and form a hunting plan that doesn't get anyone killed."
Several students nodded, relief visible on their faces.
"Each evening, we'll establish a meeting point where the entire group camps together. Safety in numbers." Her crimson eyes swept across them. "Any objections?"
Silence answered. Not hostile. Just complete acceptance of someone actually taking charge and providing direction.
"Good." Hestia pulled out her map and began calling out names, assigning them to groups with the kind of casual knowledge that suggested she'd been tracking everyone's capabilities since the first day of classes.
Cel listened to the assignments, impressed despite himself. She knew which commoner students excelled at defense or offense. Knew who had good instincts and who needed someone to make tactical decisions for them. Knew how to balance groups so each one had a reasonable chance of handling whatever they encountered.
Lior's name came up, paired with two other students Cel recognized from conditioning training. Both competent enough. Both people who wouldn't freeze under pressure.
The groups formed, students clustering together to discuss their assigned teammates and review their maps.
Cel waited.
More names. More groups taking shape around him.
Eventually, he was the only one left.
Cel's gaze found Hestia, waiting for her to call him over to whichever group needed another member. Hoping she'd assign him to Lior's team.
But she didn't say his name.
Instead, she gestured to the group leaders, pulling them aside and spreading her map across a flat rock. Her finger traced the parchment, marking the location where they'd all reconvene tonight. The leaders bent close, memorizing details, asking clarifying questions about terrain features and timing.
Cel's confusion deepened.
Had she actually forgotten him?
He approached, stopping at a respectful distance and waiting for a break in the conversation. When Hestia finished explaining something about water sources, he cleared his throat.
"Lady Hestia."
She looked up, crimson eyes finding his without surprise.
"You forgot to assign me to a group," Cel said, keeping his tone formal. Careful.
"No." Her response came immediate. Certain. "You're coming with me."