Chapter 7
The Aegis Academies are the training schools for new entrees into the Hermetic Order of the Aegis. First-year students are titled Slates. After the first year, students are chosen by the sect that best fits their talents and are trained exclusively to fit that sect’s role.
Day 0, Quenchenday
While I made my way through the cavern of christening, Thallos stood before the entry gate waiting for me, alongside the academy’s Mysteriarch and a professor from each sect. This next bit I got from him almost a year later.
“I bet Iver is going to butcher that spider. From what I’ve seen, he’s quite the marksman,” Thallos boasted.
Master Mystagogue Neckar, the head caster of the Sect of the Blackened Crown, a pink-haired Gnome, groused audibly. “I doubt it. The child was probably the one butchered.”
“Why would you say that?” asked Professor Mallock, the old Human tweaking his rough bionic left arm with a screwdriver.
“Why do you think, old man? The Darkling isn’t worth the water he was born with,” sniped the Orc, Master Mystagogue Bail, a snarl on her one-eyed face. “Starved little fiend would’ve been turned to slurry.” She was the Master of the warrior sect, the Crimson Blade.
The spymaster from the Sightless Eye, Kellar, shrugged. For a Human, he looked remarkably plain.
“I’ll have to agree with Neckar. Little snotling probably made for good bait,” Professor Bail said with a yawn.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Darrdain,” Thallos defended. “Just because he’s a Darkling doesn’t mean he’s scum. I’ve trained the boy, and he works harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. Just wait until you see the footage.”
All at once, each of the masters received a chirping chime on the therra-nodes mounted to their right temples.
A long moment passed as each of them watched the video. Master Mystagogue Bail let out a barking laugh. “Warrior, my green ass.”
“I’d have to agree,” said the 3’5” form of Master Mystagogue Neckar. “This Maverick boy seems to have no talent, arcane or martial.”
“What about that shot?!” Thallos interjected. “That was a marksman shot that killed the critter in one go.”
“Marksman shot?” Bail scoffed. “The cobbled-together bit of wreckage is not an arrow, and the fact he made the shot is little more than luck. Besides, you know the laws of the trial. Kill by weapon, tool, or element.”
“So what?”
“He didn’t use magic, so he cannot join the Blackened Crown,” came Professor Neckar.
“The kill was not from direct combat,” said Master Bail.
“The kill was not from an ambush,” stated Master Keckarra of the Silent Heart Sect.
“The kill was not avoided,” said Spymaster Kellar.
“The boy did use what he had on hand to craft his weapon and turned the environment into one as well. Not to mention how easily he solved the door. If he has half as much talent with a wrench and solder, then I think I will be the one to take him,” Master Mystagogue Mallock said with a crooked grin.
“Oh, he will not be amused with this,” Thallos said in an almost amused tone.
Thallos quickly hid his smirk as a figure appeared at the mouth of the cave.
I cursed and spat the dust from my mouth as I rose from the cavern. I was stressed, tired, annoyed, and bleeding. I passed from the mouth of the cave into the heart of the mountain, a crater that hollowed out its very core. Within the blasted crater nestled a forest unlike any other. The leaves came in shades of blue and crimson alongside green. Some held a glow of their own. Standing among the exotic trees stood a series of squat grey buildings lined with runes in black ink. Standing in front of the main building was Thallos beside another six figures.
Beside Thallos stood a plain Human man, a scarred Wood Elf, a female Gnome with vibrant pink hair, a female Orc with her right eye and jaw replaced with steel, an old Human man with a bionic left arm and eye, and a High Elf, her blond hair partially hiding a scar along the side of her neck that should have been a death blow.
I marched right up to the group and gave a deep bow. “G-good evening. I am Iver Maverick. I would like to know if I scored well enough to join the academy.”
Thallos broke into a wide grin as all the instructors glared at him.
“You didn’t explain how this works?” the scarred High Elf inquired.
She was garbed in a long, black, flowing cloak hemmed with silvery-grey embroidery. The form of the cloak cut off to reveal tight, black, thief's leather pants. Covering her feet were what looked like some bastard hybrid between six-inch heels and steel-toed work boots. Crowning the entire getup was a crooked wizard cap.
If her outfit caught the eye, her face was a step above. Her left half was the image of Elven grace and beauty. Her right side held a dichotomy between beauty and horror. The right side of her neck was a sight of puckered and pale scar tissue. Her right cheek was torn open, and what remained was a scarred mess, displaying teeth that had been shattered and repaired with gold into viscous fangs. Her right eye was framed by a spiderweb of pink scars, the orb itself a modeled globe of bloodshot tissue and milky scars that promised this woman would never see from it again.
“Sorry, Lady Mysteriarch. I had him focus on training,” Thallos offered, an explanation that sounded cheap even to me.
The robed Elf woman, the one Thallos called Lady Mysteriarch, turned to me, bending to look me in the eye. She spoke in a soothing voice thick with an accent from the Elven highlands. “Young Mister Maverick, I am the leader of this school. I am Mysteriarch Maidra Kaydammin, but you can call me Mysteriarch K. The others here are the Master Mystagogues, the master instructors for each sect.”
I nodded numbly.
“Just by getting through the cave, you passed. The only fact that matters now is how you made it through.” Mysteriarch K stood up straight. “We watched how you dealt with the problem, and your actions show you have great possibilities with the Sect of the Burning Hand.”
With those words, my hopes shattered. “B-but Lady Mysteriarch, is there any way I can become a warrior? I have my heart set on being out in the world with a weapon in hand.”
At this, the female Orc Mystagogue crossed her arms and gave a derisive snort. “Not unless you can grow a spine and some semblance of talent in the next year.”
I felt a flicker of hope. “Excuse me?” I pressed as politely as I could manage.
Another figure stepped out, a Human man who looked to be in his late seventies. His left eye was an older bionic piece, heavily modified. His left arm… fascinating doesn’t begin to express it. It was clearly a custom job, made of various metals, and I could tell there were dozens, if not hundreds, of tools.
“Greetings, young Master Maverick. I am Master Mystagogue Kenis Mallock, Master of the Sect of the Burning Hand. We feel you would fit best with me. You see, if you had attacked the beast and won, you would have been selected as a warrior. If you had snuck around it, a spy. If you had killed it with a single, unaware strike, an assassin. And if you had used a spell, a caster.”
“B-but Mystagogue, I killed it, didn’t I? Why can’t I be an assassin or a warrior?” I knew it was a lie, but I was getting frantic.
“You are slated for the engineer sect because you used an abstract form of combat. You crafted a device and used the environment to kill the creature, which shows a sense of awareness, precision, and complex thought needed for our field.”
“But couldn’t I be an assassin by those same standards?”
The Wood Elf woman stepped closer, but the old engineer raised a hand. “I chose you instead of Master Mystagogue Keckerra because we saw your hesitation at the thought of harming another creature. With such empathy, you would do no good as an assassin.”
I opened my mouth to protest but found Mystagogue Mallock’s finger over my lips. “But I see your determination to learn the art of combat. Lucky for you, you have an entire year to change our minds.”
“W-wait. What?” I asked, completely confused.
“As of right now, you are an entry trainee. For the next year, you will be trained in the fundamentals of all sects. We will ready you for the Day of Choosing.”
At that point, Thallos stepped in. “Everyone starts as a Slate. You will find your uniforms and everything you need in your room in the Dorm Hall. If you impress the Master Mystagogues with your skill in another field, then on your Choosing Day, you will be selected to join that sect.”
Mysteriarch K turned. “We have wasted enough time. Kenis, see that the boy is tended to. Thallos, follow me. Everyone else, I assume you know what needs to be done.”
The group dissolved. I felt a weight on my shoulder and refocused to find Master Mystagogue Mallock. “Follow me to your new home, Ticker.”
“Ticker?” I asked.
“Yes, you. I give my students nicknames. You are Ticker. When under pressure, you take your time and think, those seconds ticking away like a kitchen timer.” I looked at him in shock to see him flashing me an amused grin. “But given time and tools, you answer any question. The only sound that came to my mind as you crafted was that tick, tick, tick of a timer.”
For his age, that old master had one hell of a hustle. I was too busy trying to keep pace with him to ask any questions.
“You’re lucky to have gotten here on Quenchenday. This gives you the rest of the day to relax. But tomorrow, Igniday, you will start foundation classes. On Smeltesdays, you will study spycraft. Temporikdays will be combat tactics. Castesdays will have magic theory. Hornadays will be my classes. And Quenchendays are for rest. Oh! And you will have physical training every morning.”
By this point, we had reached the seven-story grey dormitory. The Master Mystagogue bustled up seven flights of stairs.
“And this is your room, Number 780.” He pressed a key into my hand. “First-years are always on the seventh floor.”
I slipped the low-tech key into the lock. “This security seems a little… lacking.”
“Oh, don’t fuss. Tomorrow, we will run tests. During that, we will add a therra-node mount and a R.A.T. Tail. Once those are added, we will add B.I.Cs to your wrists.”
I stepped into my room. “I will leave you to get settled. The DFAC, or cafeteria, is the closest building. Be up and ready for a challenge by 6 AM.” Master Mallock turned and began heading back down the hall, only to stop. “Oh, and be sure to read the handbook.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stepped into my room and locked the door. I pressed my forehead against it and took a slow, deep breath.
This was insane. I wasn’t adventurer material. I was going to get myself killed here. What was I doing? I had about as much spine as a jellyfish. This was a place where legends were born. Thallos told me stories of heroes who were part of the Order. There was no way I was going to make it. I should just ask to leave.
But then what? Go back to being homeless? Stay powerless, weak, and starving? Live with the nightmare of my father’s death and spend my life kicking myself because I could have done so much more?
No. I started this journey to find that murderer and the stolen box, and I was damned well going to finish it. I was going to join the Crimson Blades, graduate, and find that man, or die trying. I needed to grow a spine, here and now.
The old Iver, the weak, shy, powerless Iver, died in that cave. As of that moment, I was going to be a man.
I lifted my head from the door and surveyed my new home. The room was small, no more than eight by ten. The back wall was a holo-window, currently dormant. Mounted to the right wall was a weapons rack called a Black Rack. Against the wall beside me was a wardrobe, no doubt stocked with uniforms. In the back-left corner was a full-sized bed, neatly made, the comforter displaying the insignia of the Order. But what really caught my eye was the workbench against the left wall.
The bench was forged from steel, with its own Black Rack above it holding a range of tools. The front was lined with drawers. Feeling a hunger that had nothing to do with food, I skittered over. I ogled the tools, ecstatic. I went through the drawers, cataloging everything: screws, solder, wire, nuts, bolts, blank quartz boards, diodes, resistors, capacitors, and more. This was a great start.
I was so wrapped up I almost didn’t notice the book on the bench. Bound in clean black leather, it was the handbook. I picked it up, set aside my bag, and let my bow and hunting knife clatter to the floor. I pulled Sasha, my tattered blanket, from my bag and flopped down on my first actual bed in almost a year. Splayed face-down, I waved my arms and legs like I was making a snow angel and emitted a muffled groan of pleasure. I flopped over onto my back and turned to page one.
Welcome, trainee, and congratulations on your first step on the path to forging a better tomorrow.
Of course. Here is the next round of edits, covering Chapters 8 through 12. I have applied the same comprehensive edits for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and formatting as before.
The narrative is really picking up pace, and the introduction of the academy's harsh realities and the bullying subplot adds significant tension and character development for Iver. My edits aim to sharpen the impact of these scenes.
Here is the edited text.
