Six years had passed since Millbrook burned, and Marcus Hale had grown skilled at burying his hatred beneath a mask of composure.
He stood in the broad courtyard of Westbrook Secondary Academy, surrounded by a sea of students who, like him, were awaiting their life assignments. The academy was functional but plain, with weathered stone buildings rising on every side and worn practice fields stretching out behind them. This was not one of the prestigious schools in the capital where nobles trained their children. Westbrook was a place for orphans, refugees, and the forgotten, where young men and women learned the barest essentials of magic, combat, and obedience to the realm.
The wind carried the faint scent of damp stone and iron as hundreds of sixteen-year-olds murmured nervously, shuffling in tightly packed rows. For many, today would mark the start of lives filled with honor and purpose. For others, it would confirm what they already suspected about their limited potential.
Marcus tried to steady his breathing, but the familiar knot of dread tightened in his stomach. He already knew what his assignment would be. Six years of struggling with even the simplest spells had left him with little room for hope. Yet, despite knowing the inevitable outcome, his feet still carried him forward through the growing crowd as Master Thorne approached the raised platform at the front of the courtyard.
Master Thorne's voice boomed, amplified by a subtle charm spell that made every student flinch slightly. "Results are being posted now. Remember, this is not simply your graduation. It is your placement in our great society. Defenders, Attackers, Mages, and Rulers. Each of you has a role to fulfill, a path to serve the realm. Embrace your destiny."
The great board shimmered to life behind him, names appearing in glowing golden script. Students surged forward, desperate to read their fate. Marcus hesitated for a heartbeat, then forced himself to push through the throng. Elbows jabbed his sides as others jostled for position, but he finally found his name.
Marcus Hale – Defender.
He stared at the word as if seeing it written in fire. Defender. The lowest tier, the shield-bearers who stood between the enemy and those who truly mattered. Defenders absorbed the blows while others claimed victory. Attackers charged ahead to seize glory, Mages wielded power and commanded respect, and Rulers—those born to noble blood—held dominion over all.
The weight in his chest grew heavier. He could almost feel the eyes of the others around him, and soon enough, the familiar venomous voice cut through the murmuring crowd.
"Defender?" Garrett Winslow's voice rang with cruel amusement. "Of course the orphan boy ends up with the reject class."
Marcus turned, his face carefully blank. Garrett stood a few feet away, surrounded by a small group of laughing students. The son of a merchant who had once been wealthy in the capital, Garrett had not handled his family's fall from grace with dignity. Instead, he had made Marcus his favorite target, eager to assert what little superiority he could still claim.
Garrett, tall and broad-shouldered, strode forward and snatched Marcus's assignment scroll from his hands before he could react. He unrolled it theatrically, reading aloud for the assembled crowd. "Marcus Hale, Defender class, assigned to Valorheart Academy." His voice dripped with exaggerated sympathy. "How tragic. I hear Defenders at Valorheart spend most of their time scrubbing the floors and fetching water for the real students."
Laughter rippled through the nearby students. A few glanced at Marcus, some with pity, others with contempt. But Marcus kept his expression steady. Reacting would only give Garrett more fuel, and he had long since learned that angering him only made things worse.
"Actually, Defenders are far more important than you seem to understand." A clear voice rang out, silencing the laughter instantly.
The crowd parted slightly, and Isabella Rodriguez stepped forward. Her assignment scroll was clasped in one hand, the word Mage gleaming on its surface. She was one of only three Mages in their entire graduating class, a rare and coveted designation that spoke of both talent and promise.
Marcus felt his breath catch at the sight of her. Isabella possessed a quiet confidence that set her apart. Her dark hair glistened in the sunlight, and her deep brown eyes carried both intelligence and warmth. She moved with grace, her posture perfect, her voice steady and composed.
"Without Defenders," Isabella continued, her gaze shifting between Garrett and Marcus, "our Attackers would fall the moment real danger appeared. Shields are not beneath swords. They are what allow swords to strike at all."
Garrett's face turned an angry shade of red. His pride could not tolerate being corrected in front of an audience, especially not by someone of Isabella's stature. "Easy for you to say, Rodriguez. You're going to be a Mage. The Council will probably snatch you up and plant you comfortably in the capital, far away from the dirt and danger."
Isabella's calm never wavered. "Perhaps. But I will not forget where I came from, or the people who stand between us and destruction. Even if their role is not glamorous, it is vital." She looked directly at Marcus as she spoke, her voice softening just slightly. "All of us owe them our lives, whether we acknowledge it or not."
For a moment, Marcus could not find his voice. The years of isolation, the quiet humiliations, and the whispers behind his back had never been interrupted by anyone before. No one had ever stood up for him. No one had ever suggested that his assignment was anything other than a mark of his failure. Yet here she was, speaking as if his role held honor.
"Thank you," he finally managed to say, his voice quiet but sincere.
Isabella smiled at him, and for a brief moment, the noisy courtyard seemed to fade away. The sun caught the edges of her hair, turning it almost golden as she offered him a warmth that reached deeper than any words.
"We are all headed to Valorheart Academy now," she said. "We should look out for one another. It will be different there."
Valorheart. The name stabbed at Marcus like a knife. It was the glittering city that had turned its back on Millbrook, that had abandoned his parents to die while the Enforcers flew their airships to protect the noble districts. For six years, Marcus had carried that bitter memory, knowing that one day his training would take him back to the very place that symbolized everything he despised.
Yet, as he stood in Isabella's presence, her kindness stirred something unexpected inside him. Perhaps there was a reason he needed to return. Perhaps this was not the cruel twist of fate he had always feared.
"I would like that," Marcus said.
Garrett scoffed and turned away with a muttered curse, but Marcus barely noticed. His focus remained on Isabella, committing to memory the way her smile softened the sharp edges of his world, the way her voice steadied the chaos that usually consumed him.
He did not yet understand it, but even then, standing in that courtyard beneath the pale blue sky, Marcus was already falling in love.
In Valorheart, where the powerful held sway and the Enforcers patrolled gleaming towers, that love would one day either save him or lead to his ruin.
The assignment scroll crinkled slightly as his fingers tightened around it. Defender. The lowest tier, the ones who bore the burden of protecting others while remaining invisible.
Marcus thought of his parents and the Enforcers who had chosen who lived and who died. One day, he would face the same choices, standing between strength and sacrifice.
But for now, he was only a sixteen-year-old boy who had found someone who gave him hope, and for the first time in years, that was enough to carry him forward into the unknown future waiting in Valorheart.