"Would it be alright if I sat with you?"
Cel studied the boy standing at the table's edge. The fidgeting hands. The downcast eyes. The way he held himself like an apology given physical form.
"Yes."
The boy's shoulders dropped slightly - relief washing over features that had been braced for rejection. He set his tray down carefully, as if afraid the dishes might shatter, then lowered himself onto the bench.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry to intrude, I just—when I saw your mark during the ceremony, I thought maybe..." He trailed off, fingers twisting together. "I'm Lior. From a farming village near the Ocean-Sun border. I've never been to a city this big before, and the dormitory rooms are so much nicer than I expected, with actual beds and—"
He caught himself, shaking his head. "Sorry. I'm talking too much. I do that when I'm nervous. Which is—well, always, really." A self-deprecating laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"Celvian," Cel said.
Lior blinked, then offered a small smile. "That's a nice name. Where are you from?"
"Storm Clan territory. A small village."
"Oh." Lior processed this, his fingers still working at the fabric of his sleeve. "That must be... difficult. Being so close to the Void, I mean."
"It has its challenges."
Lior's gaze dropped to his plate. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Around them, the dining hall buzzed with energy. Students clustered at tables, voices rising and falling in excited bursts. Every conversation seemed to circle back to the same topic - the princess, her speech, the honor of her presence.
Lior pushed food around his plate without eating, his attention drifting toward the animated discussions nearby. His expression shifted - wistful, almost dreamlike.
"She was incredible, wasn't she?" The words came soft, reverent. "The princess, I mean." He glanced at Cel, then quickly away. "I've never seen anyone like her. When she spoke, I couldn't look away. It was like... I don't know. Like the whole world narrowed down to just her voice."
He finally took a small bite, chewing slowly before continuing.
"And her beauty—" Lior's voice dropped lower, almost embarrassed. "Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful?"
"No," Cel said.
The lie came easily. Instinctively.
Compared to Selina, the princess was just another face. Refined, yes. Attractive by any reasonable measure. But beauty that served political purpose felt hollow.
'Why chase a beauty when an even greater beauty already resides in my soul?'
Lior's expression brightened at Cel's response, taking it as agreement. "Right? I thought I was being ridiculous, but she's just…stunning."
He set his fork down, leaning forward slightly. "Do you think... if I joined the Chosen Legion, I might see her again?"
Cel's attention sharpened. "You want to join the Legion?"
"I do." Lior's fingers twisted together. "I mean, they're the only ones who might actually take a Moon Chosen, aren't they? The clans want their own, or the most talented ones..." He trailed off, then pushed forward. "But the Legion judges on merit. They accept anyone the gods chose, regardless of talent or... or how useful our blessings are."
The Chosen Legion. The Royal House's personal military force. The largest faction in the empire, surpassing even the Great Clans' strength. Unlike the imperial army that fielded common soldiers, the Legion recruited only Chosen. Elite warriors bound directly to the throne.
And at the top of them stood Esrin - the Hallowed who'd nearly killed him.
"What about the Mercenary Guild?" Cel asked.
"I thought about it." Lior's expression flickered with uncertainty. "But I've heard it's... rough. Really rough. The kind of place where they don't care if you survive as long as the contract gets fulfilled."
"The Legion's different," he continued, voice firming slightly. "They train you properly. Give you support. Structure." He paused, then added more quietly, "A place to belong, maybe."
Lior smiled - genuine warmth breaking through the nervous energy. He finally began eating properly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "What about you? Have you thought about where you'll go after graduation?"
"No."
The honest answer. He hadn't thought beyond surviving each day. The future felt distant, abstract.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Around them, the dining hall's energy remained high - students still riding the excitement of the opening ceremony.
Then footsteps echoed from the entrance. Sharp. Purposeful.
Conversations died in ripples spreading outward from the doorway. Heads turned.
An instructor stood at the threshold - a woman in her thirties wearing deep blue robes marked with the Royal House crest. Her gaze swept the room with practiced authority.
"All students," her voice carried easily across the sudden quiet, "proceed to the main classroom immediately. Leave your trays - staff will handle them."
Benches scraped against stone as students rose, forming loose groups as they moved toward the exit.
Cel stood, Lior following suit.
They joined the flow through corridors that opened into a different wing of the academy. The main classroom rose ahead - a large structure with high windows and double doors standing open.
Inside, tiered seating stretched upward in semi-circular rows. Each level of benches sat perhaps two feet higher than the one before it, creating clear sightlines to the instructor's podium at the room's base. The benches themselves were simple wood, sized for two students each.
Students filtered in, claiming seats without obvious organization. Some gravitated toward friends from the dining hall. Others chose spots near windows or walls.
The first three rows sat empty - benches crafted from polished wood with cushioned backs, noticeably finer than the plain wooden seats filling the rest of the tiered classroom. No one moved toward them.
An older student near the door noticed a younger boy eyeing the empty cushioned seats. "Those are for nobles," he said quietly. "Don't sit there."
The boy retreated quickly to the upper rows.
Lior glanced at Cel, uncertainty crossing his features. "Would you... I mean, if you don't mind..."
"Middle section," Cel said, already moving.
They climbed the steps to the seventh row - roughly centered in the room's vertical arrangement. Cel took the seat closer to the aisle. Lior settled beside him, adjusting his position several times before finally going still.
The room filled gradually. By the time the last students entered, perhaps fifty of them occupied the tiered space.
The instructor from the dining hall entered and closed the doors behind her with deliberate finality. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet.
She crossed to the podium with measured steps, her boots clicking against polished stone. When she turned to face them, her expression was professionally neutral.
"I am Instructor Saren," she said, her voice carrying the same easy projection as before. "For the next four months, I will be responsible for your theoretical education and ensuring you survive long enough to become functional Chosen."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the seats. Instructor Saren's expression didn't change.
"You are commoners," she continued. "Which means you enter this academy with significant disadvantages compared to the noble students who will join you in four months' time. They have been trained since childhood in combat, politics, etiquette, and the proper use of their blessings. You have not."
Her gaze swept the tiers.
"The next four months exist to correct that deficit. To transform you from farmers, merchants' children, and laborers into something resembling proper Chosen. The curriculum is intensive. The expectations are high. Many of you will struggle."
She paused, letting the weight settle.
"Your daily schedule begins at dawn with physical conditioning. Breakfast follows. Morning sessions cover theoretical knowledge - creature classifications, Hollow Realm geography, divine blessing mechanics, imperial history. Lunch. Afternoon sessions focus on combat training - weapons practice, Authority usage, Divine Energy control. Evening meals. Then additional lessons in literacy, numeracy, and etiquette for those who require them."
Lior's hand had moved to his sleeve, fingers worrying the fabric. Around the room, other students shifted in their seats.
"You will learn to read and write if you cannot already. You will learn mathematics sufficient to manage resources and calculate odds. You will learn how to address nobility without embarrassing yourselves or insulting powerful houses. You will learn to dance, because court functions require it. You will learn which fork to use at formal dinners, how to bow properly, when to speak and when silence is expected."
Her tone remained matter-of-fact, but something in the words carried an edge.
"When the noble students arrive in four months, you will be expected to know your place in the hierarchy. To show proper deference without needing to be reminded."
The room had gone very quiet. Even the fidgeting had stopped.
"However," Instructor Saren continued, "you are still Chosen. The gods selected you despite your common birth. That blessing carries responsibility. You will be trained to fulfill that responsibility - to stand between humanity and the creatures that crawl through rifts into our world. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. To serve the Empire and its people."
She moved from behind the podium, her posture relaxing slightly.
"Your final examination will take place in the twelfth month," Instructor Saren said. "A month-long patrol through rural territories where you will hunt creatures, assist villages, and prove you deserve the title of Chosen. Instructors will supervise, but you will be expected to handle most situations independently. Injuries are common. Deaths, while rare, do occur."
She let that sink in before continuing.
"Questions?"