Morning in room 404 on the ground floor of D Block began not with sunlight, but with the deafening hiss of the massive steam boilers on the lower level.
When Vane opened his eyes on the thin, hard mattress, his body was stiff, his forehead covered in cold sweat. It wasn't the damp heat leaking from the aether pipes that had kept him awake all night; it was the nightmares. The moment his mother collapsed onto the wooden floor in a pool of blood, the flash of Kael's poisoned dagger in the lightning... When he sat up, gasping for air, he saw that Elian was already awake. The scrawny boy sat on the edge of his bed, polishing that brass pocket watch with an obsessive rhythm.
Vane deliberately slumped his shoulders, buried his face in his hands, and let out a deep, trembling sigh. "I couldn't sleep at all," he murmured, adding that perfectly docile and exhausted tone to his voice. "The sound of these pipes... it's as if the mountain is breathing."
Elian shoved the watch into his pocket and hurriedly stood up. "You'll get used to it, Vane. Come on, we need to go down for breakfast. If we're late, there will be nothing left but the ashes of the boiler room."
The dining hall was where the Academy's ruthless social map was drawn most clearly. As Vane took his tray and followed Elian toward the oak table in the darkest corner of the hall, he knew his stomach would only receive a tasteless, gray oatmeal and a piece of thigh meat of questionable origin.
At the center of the hall sat Prince Julian and the Main Heirs of the Ten Pillars. At the far end were the massive bull Caelum and his lackeys. Caelum held a giant bone in his hand, tearing the meat like a wild beast, when his bloodshot eyes found Vane. That disgusting, predatory smirk appeared on his lips. Caelum waved the bone at Vane, said something to the boys next to him, and a boisterous roar of laughter erupted from the table.
Elian paled, his hands trembling as he spooned his oatmeal. "They're looking at us... Vane, for God's sake, be invisible."
Vane instantly pulled his shoulders in further, burying his head entirely in his plate. From the outside, he looked like a pathetic, crushed child on the verge of tears.
Smile, bull, smile, echoed Vane's cold intellect. Inflate your arrogance. Believe yourself to be invincible, right until that arrogance becomes your tombstone.
Right after breakfast, the bells rang bitterly. Vane and Elian crept along the edges of the crowd and entered the "Theory Amphitheater."
This was the amphitheater for the Academy's third year—the seniors. The nobles had spent two full years in these seats, memorizing the nature of aether, and were now counting the days to graduation. Vane, however, having just turned eighteen, had been thrown directly into the middle of this hell, among the seniors, without a single shred of basic training. He sat in the very back row, melting into the shadows.
Professor Vance stepped up to the podium. This man hailed from House Galea, a vassal of the Sixth Pillar (Storm) that trained the empire's border legions. He scanned the amphitheater with the aether-optic prosthesis where his right eye used to be. The hum of the room was cut like a knife.
"Your third year," Vance said, his voice mechanical and cold. "For two years within these walls, you have etched the laws of aether into your minds. Most of you are ready to be assigned to the border legions or the industrial towers. However..." The rotating mechanical lens of the professor locked onto Vane, sitting in the back, like a hunter. "...it seems we have a 'guest' joining us today by Royal decree, placed in the senior class by virtue of his age, yet with a mind as empty as an infant's."
Hundreds of heads in the amphitheater turned backward simultaneously. Most were giggling; some laughed openly.
Professor Vance smiled faintly, a smile filled only with mockery. "Therefore, I am forced to briefly repeat the Basic Theory we covered years ago, for the sake of this monument of ignorance. Listen closely, perhaps you'll find it amusing as well."
Another wave of laughter erupted from the class. Vane bowed his head, letting his ears flush with shame. But beneath the desk, his hands were clenched into tight fists.
"Aether," the Professor began, emphasizing the words slowly as if mocking Vane. "Is not a simple energy, as the commoners outside believe. It is the invisible blood of the universe. And only the Ten Pillars and those bound to them by blood have the right to command this power. For a mud-rat on the street, aether is merely a battery. For us, aether is power."
Vane swallowed silently.
They call this power, Vane thought with an icy fury. Yet this is nothing but a monopoly on knowledge. They have locked the art of weaponry and aether away in their ivory towers in the Special Wing, and then they turn to us and play gods. It is not our blood that is weak, but this cage they have shoved us into.
"When you reach the age of eighteen," Vance continued. "Your soul crosses over into the physical world. Your Soul Weapon. This is the materialization of who you are, of your lineage. It is a focal point through which you direct the aether." The Professor raised his hand into the air, and a glowing sword formed of pure blue Aether materialized in his palm. "He whose weapon is weak, his Aether is also weak. He whose weapon is flawed... is a mistake of the universe."
As he dispelled the sword, his eyes were on Vane again.
Vane's chest tightened.
My weapon, Vane thought in the dark room of his mind, consumed by despair. A rusted dagger. A rotting lump of iron that doesn't shine. Why is it like this? Is my blood truly so cursed, so weak? A mistake of the universe, he says... Perhaps I truly am. I hold nothing but a piece of iron, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.
"The review is over," Professor Vance declared abruptly. "I will not waste any more of your time on this empty theory. We are descending to the Obsidian Arena to materialize your weapons."
The students in the amphitheater rose with excited and tense whispers. Elian's breathing hitched. "Vane," he trembled, "The Arena... Caelum will definitely be waiting for you there."
Vane stood up slowly. His face held the expression of a helpless, paralyzed victim, but this time, a part of that expression was entirely real.
I have no plan, he admitted to himself, clenching his fists. Theory won't save me when Caelum's axe comes down on my neck. A pawn with absolutely nothing in his hands is about to step onto the knight's square.
His steps were heavy as he walked toward the amphitheater doors. The gears of this hell his father had thrown him into were now truly beginning to turn. And Vane had absolutely no idea whether he could survive in that bloody arena with this useless, rusted iron in his hand. He merely had to walk and brace for the next blow. The dark tunnel ahead was leading him straight into the arms of his executioners.