"Questions?"
Silence answered her. Either no one dared speak first, or the weight of information had left them speechless.
"Good." Instructor Saren returned to the podium, her hands resting on its surface. "Then we begin immediately. A simple question to establish where you stand."
Her gaze swept the tiers.
"How many of you can read and write?"
The question hung in the air. Students shifted in their seats, glances darting sideways.
Cel's mind worked quickly. Nobles received private tutoring from childhood - reading, writing, mathematics, history, all of it standard education for those who could afford it. Commoners rarely had that luxury. Most spent their childhoods working alongside their parents, learning trades instead of letters.
But some commoner parents who possessed literacy taught their own children. Merchants who needed to track accounts. Former soldiers who'd learned in service. The occasional scholar's child.
If he kept his hand down, he'd be forced to attend remedial classes. Hours of pretending ignorance, carefully making mistakes at the right pace to avoid suspicion. The tedium alone made the decision easy.
His hand rose.
Slowly, others followed. One near the front - a boy with ink-stained fingers that suggested a scribe's son. Two more in the back rows, their postures carrying the confidence of those accustomed to books. A fourth from the middle section, hesitant but steady.
Five total out of forty.
Instructor Saren's expression didn't change, but something in her posture suggested this was exactly what she'd expected.
"The rest of you will attend additional classes each evening," she said, addressing those whose hands remained down. "Reading and writing are essential for any Chosen who wishes to succeed. You will learn."
Beside Cel, Lior's shoulders had drawn inward slightly. His hands twisted together in his lap - a gesture Cel was beginning to recognize as his default response to discomfort.
"Those of you who can read," Instructor Saren continued, "your evenings are free. Consider yourselves fortunate."
She moved from behind the podium again, her steps measured.
"Now. A question that should be simple, but experience suggests otherwise." Her gaze tracked across the assembled students. "What is a Chosen?"
More silence. Then a hand rose hesitantly from the third row - a girl with brown hair tied back in a practical braid.
"Yes?"
The girl stood, her voice steady despite the attention. "A Chosen is someone blessed by one of the seven gods. They're given powers - authorities and traits - to fight the creatures that come through rifts."
"Adequate," Instructor Saren said. "Sit."
The girl lowered herself back onto the bench.
"She's correct, but it's incomplete." The instructor's tone shifted slightly, taking on the rhythm of someone who'd delivered this explanation many times. "A Chosen is an individual selected by the divine to serve as humanity's defense against existential threats. The blessing manifests at age fifteen through what we call the Divine Calling - a vision where the deity reveals themselves and marks you as theirs."
She paused, ensuring every eye remained fixed on her.
"Upon receiving your mark, you gain access to divine power channeled through paragons - conceptual frameworks that define how your abilities manifest. Most Chosen receive one paragon initially, granting a trait and an authority. Additional paragons can be earned through exceptional achievements."
A boy in the front row raised his hand. Instructor Saren nodded.
"What's the difference between a trait and an authority?"
"Traits are passive - always active, no conscious effort needed. Authorities must be invoked deliberately, and they consume Divine Energy when used." She gestured broadly. "Think of traits as what you are. Authorities are what you do."
The explanation settled over the class. Several students nodded in understanding.
"Another question," Instructor Saren said. "Who can tell me about the First Chosen?"
Hands rose immediately this time. She pointed to a boy near the window.
He stood, clearing his throat. "The First Chosen founded the Stellarion Empire. He was blessed by all seven deities and forged an alliance from the fractured kingdoms."
"Correct. Sit."
The boy dropped back onto his bench, looking pleased.
"But that's the middle of the story, not the beginning." Instructor Saren's expression hardened slightly. "What came before was the Void Catastrophe."
The room went very quiet.
"Four centuries ago, the northern continent vanished. Not destroyed - consumed. Swallowed by nothing in a single moment. Millions died instantly. The survivors reported reality itself unraveling - space folding in on itself, matter dissolving into emptiness."
She let the horror sink in.
"What remains is called the Void. The Storm Clan guards its borders now, maintaining a desperate defense against emerging creatures."
Lior had gone pale beside Cel. His fingers gripped the bench's edge.
"And that was only the beginning." Instructor Saren continued. "Rifts began appearing across the remaining continents. Tears in reality that connected our world to dead dimensions - places where life had withered and only monsters remained. Creatures poured through in numbers that threatened to end humanity entirely."
Her hands clasped behind her back.
"Then the gods intervened. For the first time in recorded history, they blessed mortals with power sufficient to fight back. The First Chosen emerged - marked by all seven deities, granted strength beyond anything seen before or since. He rallied humanity, established the Empire and created the Great Clans to maintain order."
She paused.
"But we were too late to save the western continent. It fell completely. Now it belongs to the creatures."
A hand rose near the middle rows - a boy with nervous energy written across his face.
Instructor Saren nodded toward him.
"What about the eastern continent?" His voice carried genuine confusion. "The maps show it destroyed too, but—"
"Fifty years ago," Instructor Saren said, cutting him off. Her expression hardened. "The eastern continent fell in a single night."
The room went impossibly quieter.
"A rift tore the sky apart. Not a small tear like the ones we manage now - something massive enough to split the heavens. And through it came a true dragon."
Several students inhaled sharply.
"By dawn, the entire continent was destroyed. Cities reduced to ash. Millions dead. The few who escaped..." She paused, her tone carrying weight that suggested personal knowledge. "Those who survived are broken. Even now, they don't speak of what they witnessed."
Another hand shot up immediately - a girl in the front row, her face pale but determined.
"What happened to the dragon?"
Instructor Saren's jaw tightened.
"No one knows. It vanished after that night." Her gaze swept across them. "Some believe it returned through the rift. Others think it's still out there somewhere, sleeping."
She let that settle over them like a shroud.
"Four continents existed when the Void Catastrophe began. Now we cling to one. This empire, this capital, the lands you call home - this is all that remains of humanity's territory."
The weight of that truth pressed down on the assembled students. No one moved. No one spoke.
"The seven gods," Instructor Saren said, shifting topics. "Name them."
A girl in the back row stood without being called on. "The Sun God. The Ocean Goddess. The Mountain God. The Storm Goddess. The Life Goddess. The Death God."
She hesitated.
"And the Moon Goddess."
"Correct. Six of those deities have Great Clans devoted to their worship and service. Bloodlines that have carried their favor for generations." Instructor Saren's tone remained neutral. "The Moon Goddess has no such clan. Her Chosen have historically been... less prominent."
The pause before "less prominent" carried volumes.
Cel felt Lior's attention flick toward him briefly, then away.
"Each deity operates through priests," Instructor Saren continued. "Intermediaries who serve as the bridge between divine and mortal - they influence the quality of the blessings, interpret the will of the gods, and guide Chosen throughout their entire service. Priest ranks range from one to one hundred, with rank one being Divine Oracles - the highest authority beneath the gods themselves."
She straightened
"Your Divine Calling occurred at age fifteen. All of you experienced this - a vision where your deity revealed themselves, followed by the manifestation of your divine mark."
Around the room, students shifted unconsciously, hands drifting toward where their marks lay hidden beneath clothing.
"Upon turning sixteen, you entered your soul - an internal space where your priest awaits. There you receive your first paragon, along with its accompanying trait and authority. This is called your first blessing."
Instructor Saren's gaze swept the tiers again.
"Subsequent blessings require achievements - deeds your deity deems worthy of additional power. The nature of these achievements varies by god. Some value martial prowess. Others prize acts of mercy, wisdom, or sacrifice. Learning what your deity values is critical to advancing your strength."
The lesson continued, touching on Divine Energy, artifact manifestation and the importance of affinity with one's paragon.
Cel listened with half his attention.Little of this was new to him. But around him, other students absorbed every word like drowning people given air.
Lior's hands twisted in his lap, fingers twitching as if wanting to grasp something that wasn't there. The nervous energy that usually defined him had transformed into intense focus.
"That concludes the theoretical portion for today," Instructor Saren said finally. "Tomorrow we begin the regular schedule. For now, proceed to the training grounds. Instructor Calder will be waiting."
She stepped away from the podium.
Students rose immediately, conversations erupting as the enforced quiet broke. They filed toward the exit in loose clusters, voices rising with excitement or anxiety depending on temperament.
Cel stood. Lior scrambled up beside him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
They descended the tiered steps and joined the flow moving through corridors. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, painting the stone floors gold.
"Did you know that already?" Lior asked quietly, falling into step beside Cel. "About the Void Catastrophe and the First Chosen?"
"Some of it."
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Energy practically vibrated through Lior's words. "Four centuries ago we were on the brink of annihilation, and now we have the Empire, the Great Clans, all of this." He gestured broadly at the academy around them. "The gods saved us. Now they've chosen us to carry on that sacred duty."
His expression shifted - wonder mixed with something deeper.
"When my priest explained my blessing, I didn't really understand what it meant. Being Chosen felt like... I don't know, like putting on clothes that didn't fit right? But hearing Instructor Saren explain the history, the purpose..." He looked at Cel, eyes bright with conviction. "It makes sense now. We're part of something bigger."
Cel said nothing. Lior's enthusiasm felt genuine - the reaction of someone who could still believe in noble purpose.
He'd lost that ability somewhere between the cell and the trial. Between his father's fists and the creature that killed him.
Lior could find meaning in serving humanity, in carrying on the gods' will. Cel only had rage and the cold certainty that he would survive long enough to make them pay.
They emerged from the building into the late afternoon sun.
The training grounds spread before them - a vast courtyard of packed earth surrounded by stone walls. Weapon racks lined one side, filled with practice swords, spears, and various other implements. Archery targets stood at the far end. The center remained open and empty.
An instructor waited in the middle of that empty space.
He stood with arms crossed, a mountain of a man whose presence commanded attention without effort. Scars marked his exposed forearms - the kind earned through decades of real combat, not training accidents. His weathered face carried the same hard-won experience, and when his eyes swept across the emerging students, they held the weight of someone who'd seen too much death.
The students' chatter died as they filed onto the training grounds. They formed rough lines without being told, instinct recognizing authority that didn't need to announce itself.
Instructor Calder watched them settle, his expression unreadable.
Then he spoke, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard despite not being raised.
"Welcome to the part where most of you discover you're weaker than you thought."