I wake up in a cramped, claustrophobic space that smells of old stone and something sour I can't quite place. The room is barely larger than a closet, with uneven, flickering torches casting weak shadows on the damp, cracked walls. It's more like a forgotten storage room than a place to rest. I sit up slowly, feeling the ache of tired muscles and stiff joints, and glance around. The only furniture is a small wooden pallet pushed against one wall, and the air is thick with dust and the faint scent of mold. It's a prison cell masquerading as a room, and I can't help but sigh deep and weary knowing I've been shoved into worse places, but still wishing I'd had even a scrap of dignity.
Suddenly, banging rattles the door. Loud, insistent. Niko's voice barks through the wood, tense and urgent. "Ayato! Wake up! Get your ass moving! Julian and Evanaora are waiting. We're supposed to be at the Sky Court in what, fifteen minutes? Less? Come on dude!"
I groan, rubbing my eyes and trying to clear the fog. I still wear the same ragged clothes we arrived with, no baths, no clean-up, no comfort. They didn't even bother to give us a moment to wash or change. Just shoved us into tiny rooms and told us to sleep and wait for the morning. I swing my legs over the edge of the pallet, my stomach twisting with irritation. The proctors' callousness is almost impressive how they can strip away all dignity and not care. I stand slowly, stretching stiff limbs, and resist the urge to murder the first person i see.
The door bursts open before I can even reach it, and Niko's face appears, impatient and annoyed. "Hurry up, Ayato! They're waiting! Julian's got that stone-cold look, and Evanaora's grinning like she's already won a bet. You don't want to keep them waiting, not now."
I nod stiffly, gathering myself. As I step out into the corridor, I notice the hallway is empty save our little gaggle fuck. Evanaora smirks at me as I step out of the cramped, shadowed hall. Her crimson lips curl into that familiar, mocking smile, and her eyes glint with amusement. "Good morning, dear Awakened Daath," she drawls, voice smooth and teasing. "Hope you had nice dreams."
I narrow my eyes, already annoyed by her tone. I bow my head slightly, trying to hide the flicker of disgust boiling inside me. "Good morning, Proctor," I mumble, voice hoarse from the cold and lack of sleep. "Thanks."
She hums softly, a sound that's almost dismissive, and then turns her gaze to Julian, who's been standing silently at her side. "You're the last one to emerge Awakened Daath," she adds, almost conversational, as if that matters to her in the slightest.
Julian's expression doesn't shift. His voice is flat, devoid of any emotion. "You didn't need to come," he says calmly, voice like a cold wind. "They're capable of handling this on their own."
Evanaora shakes her head and laughs, a high, clear sound that echoes off the cold stone walls. "Oh, Julian," she replies, her tone amused, "I wouldn't miss something this entertaining for a little more sleep." She gestures dismissively toward us, as if she's already bored with the conversation. "Come on, then. Let's get moving."
Without waiting for a response, she turns and begins to lead the way, her boots clicking against the marble floor as she ascends a staircase that spirals upward into the depths of the academy. We follow in her wake. I don't see any other students or proctors along the path no one else is visible. But I know they're somewhere in this building. This place is a fortress, after all, built to contain, to test, to judge. We're just untested guests at this point not even allowed to bunk with the rest of our house. Such horseshit when you think about it.
Lucian tries to establish contact through our link, his mental voice sharp with curiosity. Ayato?
But I'm not in the mood to speak. My mind is a jumble of anticipation and frustration so I push the link away, deny the connection outright. I don't want him to know at least not yet just how excited I am how eager I am to face these dragons. I catch Lucian's eye, giving him a subtle shake of my head. It's enough to let him know not trying to talk, right now. He shrugs, understanding the signal, and turns back to Rye, speaking quietly with her about something.
The staircase stretches on thousands of steps, my legs aching with every rise. I can feel the burn in my calves, the ache in my lungs. Finally, after what feels like hours though I know it's probably only been 15 minutes or so our staircase opens into a larger chamber. The air shifts here, cooler and somehow charged, like a storm brewing just out of sight. The room is expansive, with a high vaulted ceiling supported by enormous stone pillars carved with faded symbols. I look up into the sky through a massive glass ceiling.
The sky beyond is dawn, a pale wash of gray and gold, it would be almost peaceful if our lives we're not about to be tested. The entirety of the chambers ceiling is covered by what looks like glass. But as my eyes adjust to the lighting, I see the faint shimmer of a force shield an invisible barrier woven with power, flickering at the edges where the glass meets the air. It's a shield of raw magic, holding back the world outside, and I can feel its strength even from here. It must take multiple Elites using their marks in tandem to generate a shield this massive.
The first blush of sunrise stains the rim of the horizon, Our little cohort Rye rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Lucian running one anxious hand along his vambrace, Imara quietly praying the others also do other odd things huddles near the center of a vast circular room. Julian stands motionless at at the staircase where we entered, robe rippling in the high, chill wind. Evanaora leans against the wall beside him, all languid ease, the white of her cloak throwing sharp contrast against her pink eyes. She's humming again some jaunty tune that catches on my nerves and plucks them like strings. God shes annoying.
Out of nowhere though the sky detonates in a thunderclap so violent it feels personal. Sound slams into me like a battering ram. My vision whites out, my bones vibrate, and my ears explode in pain. Instinct folds my knees; marble bites my knees. Around me the others crumple Lucian doubled over, Rye curled like a child, Vihaan swearing through clenched teeth. I taste bile and blood; my eardrums have popped, and the world is muffled, warped, as if I'm hearing it through water.
Two people do not kneel.
Evanaora stands tall, laughter bright and cruel spilling from her lips. I hear only half of it through the ringing in my head, but the mocking lilt carries. She claps slowly, theatrically. "Really, children? Didn't anyone teach you to cover your ears?"
My jaw clenches so hard my molars grind. Pain spears behind my eyes, and a throbbing headache blooms from temple to temple. I want to spit back a retort, but the words tangle in the cotton of my skull. All I manage is a hiss of breath.
Julian doesn't spare us a glance; he looks skyward. He seems carved from granite unmoved, unmovable.
I drag one knee under me, try to rise, but the ground chooses that moment to quake not an earthquake, but a tremor born of something vast moving through air. My gaze jerks upward.
Two shapes bleed out of the clouds. The larger of the pair banks left, and dawnlight slides across its hide scales blacker than night, so polished they drink the weak sun and give nothing back. Each plate looks edged, honed, yet they lie so seamlessly one over the other that the beast seems sculpted from single onyx. I feel an absurd stab of envy; the color is so perfect, the black cloak i wear now feels cheap.
Beside it glides a slightly smaller form, but "small" loses meaning here. Its body is a living sapphire scales flawless and gem-bright, facets catching every scrap of light and shattering it into starlight. Where the onyx titan radiates menace, the blue one radiates cold beauty divine, aloof.
My breath leaves me. Wind tears at my robe as the pair drop lower, wings barely stirring. Pressure builds not mere air displacement but a psychic gravity that flattens thought. Power rolls off them in waves; my pulse trips over itself, and suddenly every petty concern Evanaora's sneer, the ache in my knees shrinks to nothing in the presence of Dragons.
They angle toward the dome.
"Shield," Lucian croaks beside me. "They'll crash...."
They don't. The barrier ripples when the dragons meet it, a translucent curtain fluttering in a gale, and then simply parts. Not a splinter of glass, not a spark. The twins pass through as though the shield bowed out of respect and drew aside to grant them entry.
They descend the final dozen meters like falling feathers and alight on the marble with a softness that defies physics. No boom of impact, no cracking stone just two titans folding wings the span of cathedrals with the delicacy of dancers. The floor doesn't even groan. It's the world itself that adjusts around them, rearranging reality to bear their weight.
Kharon the black as he can be no other plants one claw the size of a wagon wheel and lowers his head. Serrated horns sweep backward, ridged and matte, like obsidian blades hammered into a crown. His eyes are cold stars, twin voids rimmed in smoldering ember. Where they pass over me, my skin prickles as if exposed to vacuum.
Saphiel the blue one settles gracefully at his right, neck arching, frill flaring like a frost-rimmed fan. Her eyes are molten electrum, shards of dawn captured in amber. When she exhales, the air crystallizes briefly, little snowflakes spinning in the breath of summer.
Rye whimpers; Imara presses her forehead to the floor. The rest of us quickly follow her lead.
Julian speaks now his voice resonant, clear despite my damaged ears. "Kharon. Saphiel. I present the remainder of House Apophis's first-year cohort for Choosing."
The dragons just stare at him and no one moves. Finally Kharon's throat rumbles and him and his sister turns towards us.