(Game Time: 9,344.6 Years)
(Date: The First Day of the Eighth Month — Ruciar)
It was a somber day for every citizen in the Royal capital of Gilgamere. Mortals from all walks of life were invited to gather in the capital's colosseum that afternoon to thank Ren Holo, the greatest General the Corvus Kingdom had ever seen, for his service. Over four hundred thousand prayed for his eternal soul in Gilgamere; abroad, tens of millions lamented his passing. But even on a gloomy day such as this, hope lingered in the air. For today was the day of the Corvus Royal Military Exam, an event held to celebrate the changing of each season. There was a buzz of excitement surrounding the next generation of youngsters that sought to join the ranks of their Kingdom's greatest warriors. Ren had spent his long life protecting these children, dying in his office at the age of nine hundred and forty three. As the Dukes and Duchesses of the capital filed from the funeral procession in a coordinated manner, a single thought remained prominent in the minds of most attendees.
Who knows? Maybe the next Ren Holo is in line today, waiting to lead this Kingdom into the future.
A picturesque spring led into a sweltering summer. But that blissful summer had nearly vanished, marking the start of gust-ridden fall for the Human capital. Maple leaves, colored every shade between blood and gold, littered the pristine brick roads of the Kingdom's capital city. Every brick of every road, and every stone of every building were of the same pewter shade; all aligned perfectly and without a sign of weathering. It was an elegant city, the type of place where you would find sons and daughters of noble lineages perusing shop windows in finely tailored suits and elegant gowns, sewn from only the finest materials from across the Kingdom's reach. Tailors and cobblers made a killing here. With so many potential wealthy clients on the streets, they found it more profitable to display their finest dresses, robes, or boots on mannequins: displayed theatrically in window displays for all to see. There was a very noticeable pattern that most designers in the capital leaned toward: feathers and flames. There was no mistake to this, for the citizens of Gilgamere were proud servants to the Royal Corvus family through and through. They stood behind their King and the Royal Military with unwavering devotion, proudly displaying their love for the Kingdom's flag on their homes and businesses alike.
The flag of the Kingdom was black as night, but on it shined the land's Burning Crow in bold red fabric with its wings spread wide; breathing fire into the blackness on its right side. The bird was the sigil of the Royal Family, of course. After the land had been freed from slavery two hundred years ago, it was the Corvus Family who built their nation back up from the ruins. When all was lost in the darkest times of the Kingdom's birth, the people of this land could always depend on gentle hands from the Corvus family, and that burning crow, to lift them up from despair. At that time, in the fleeting years of the Age of Arén, you could find the Corvus flag in some fashion or another at least three times on every block in the illustrious capital of Gilgamere.
The Red Charles was one of the most talked-about alehouses in all of Gilgamere. The spot had originally been named in honor of the first King who sat on their throne, Charles Endo Corvus. The now high-end pub was an exclusive watering hole for high rollers and decorated soldiers of the Royal Military. Only the most wealthy and influential faces in all the Kingdom were found patronizing the Red Charles. It was here that these titans of industry and the military would come to drown away their pains and divulge their darkest secrets. With the sorrow of General Holo's passing still thick in the air, you'd hear the occasional call for a toast in Ren's honor cut through the hums of drunkenness. His funeral began at eleven in the morning, so the Red Charles had funeral attendees lining up before the sun rose in preparation for the event. At every table, the talk was of Ren's legacy and local rumors of his personal life. That, or about who would be taking on his position as the next General of the Royal Military.
Debates over power-scaling, or how some soldier couldn't possibly best another in a fight were common under the roof of the Red Charles, but today such talk seemed rather disrespectful. To be speaking of General Holo's replacement so soon just didn't sit right with some of the alehouse's patrons on such a dreary day. But still, drunkards never know when to stop talking, and they tend to not mind disrupting the silence of quieter drinkers to do so. Today, Arch-Duke Stanley Marvel's table was the first to disrupt the peace. He was an elder drunk, and one most didn't speak up to when he acted like a bother. The noble had been born to immense wealth, and now, in his seventies, owned the lion's share of their Kingdom's largest news publication: The Red Crow Times. His thinning mane was of a smoky shade that hung just above his shoulders, with peach-toned skin dried and wrinkled from years of tanning and alcoholism at his beach home on the island of Yunus. Today he drank a gin and tonic with two limes and a single large ice cube, he was very particular about his order, and preached to his table about the coming of a new era in their Kingdom.
"Are you mad?!" The Arch-Duke bellowed to his compatriots. "Captain Helen would leave Commander Argo crying in the dirt if they were to come to blows. You know nothing of this Military's structure, nor the relevance of Division Seven."
"No, no, no, no, no, High-Lord Marvel!" A portly Duke in his early fifties sitting across from the drunken Marvel wagged a finger from side to side as he challenged the declaration. "Helen is still a Captain, and there's good reason for that, High-Lord. She lacks the experience—the leadership—to be the General of our entire military." The fatter drunk took a long sip from his glass to give his words more time to fester under Arch-Duke Marvel's skin. "Commander Argo on the other hand, has the knowledge and the record to lead this Kingdom's army into the future. If Helen and Argo were to fight for the position, I'm sure that his strategic mind would topple her raw power." The two drunks continued to badger one another about who the stronger soldier was until a brave rookie drinker stepped in to end their feud.
"We all know who the next General will be..." Interrupted the man in his late thirties who had overheard far more than enough of the table's squabble. "After all, he is a Prince." He let his words settle in the air as he took a long sip of dark rum. "There's no doubt the 'Flame' of our Kingdom would only recognize him."
"The keeper of the flame is not set in stone!" called back the slurring news proprietor. "General Holo wielded the flame, and he had not a drop of Royal blood in him! You had best watch your-"
"General Holo was the only man to receive the flame outside the Royal bloodline since our Kingdom's founding, High-Lord." The younger drunk continued to fight the elder for his right to speak in the alehouse. "You would think the man who provides our Kingdom with news every day would be more informed about our history before making such bold claims." At that, the bar broke into a hail of laughter that shattered Marvel's credibility. The rookie had earned his stripes by shutting down such an inconsiderate man of the Arch-Duke's status. Patrons from around the bar came up to congratulate him and introduce themselves, buying the man drinks long after the laughter died down. However, one of the younger barmaids clearing empty mugs had no time for this nonsense.
Victoria Ramses had to end her shift early before it was too late, for this was the day she would take the Corvus Royal Military Exams. She checked a clock behind the packed bar and called out over the roaring crowd to a tall woman mixing drinks. "Mother!" She pointed at the clock. Victoria's mother, a freckled woman named Ella, acknowledged the time with a nod. Ella wore her hair long, reaching all the way down her back, with a shade as black as their Kingdom's flag. She smiled at her daughter while taking slurred drink orders from over-served Dukes. Victoria's mother couldn't help but watch as her only baby ran out the Red Charles' door in a hurry. It was a big moment for their family, and a big moment for the Kingdom.
Victoria took after her mother, but only to a slight extent. She had freckles and rosy cheeks, and it was obvious to most that she would grow to be a handsome woman. That being said, at the age of sixteen she was in a bit of an awkward stage. Quite a few of her father's stronger traits had grown prominent on her, like his big ears and arched nose. Most had told her that she would grow into these sharp features, but it was a sensitive subject for her when anyone would make comments on her appearance. She looked like her father in more ways than that too, which she despised people pointing out more than anything in the world. Her eyes were thin, toned to a deep smoke color like his. They also shared the same lightly tanned skin tone, one that their mother envied through the winter when her paler complexion would come back. Last year, Victoria dyed her hair red, a phase most Gilgamere teens went through at one point in their lives to demonstrate their patriotism. Her hair had almost fully grown back past her shoulders with the raven shade she was born with, but there were still red tips at the ends that Victoria didn't want to cut just yet. They made her stand out, and people commented on the unique contrast of red and black on her head before ever mentioning her face's similarities to her father's. But more importantly, she liked the way it looked; feeling cute whenever she looked at the remains of her dye-job in the mirror.
She ran through the capital streets without worry as people whipped their heads around at her, lucky to step out of her path before getting knocked over. The fall breeze wrestled against the front of Victoria's black and white bar apron, but she managed just fine against the fall's challenge. She knew the exam would have a fitness portion, so she carried a duffel over her shoulder with a change of clothes. A smile stretched its way across her face as she split the mourning crowd departing the capital square, thinking to herself: It's my turn. Nothing can stop me now. The barmaid's eyes filled with wonder and determination as she pushed forward, the masses fading into a daydream of her unparalleled successes in the exams. She was the next generation of this Kingdom's military, and today she was going to prove her worth to the world. Victoria turned her last corner toward the Deslit Colosseum, where the exams would be taking place once General Holo's funeral ended. Her hopes fell apart as she spotted the line to register, which stretched slightly over three blocks. In her haste, Victoria almost bumped into a young boy in front of her, but thankfully she managed to catch herself before knocking into him with her full weight.
Victoria's shock at the line's size was quickly quelled by her resolve to seize the day. She planted her feet firmly on the sidewalk and waited patiently to register like the brave hero she wanted to be, two hundred and eleven spots away from the registration desk.
Nothing can stop me now.
The line moved along for a good while, but by the time Victoria reached close enough to see the registration desk's attendant, the line came to a complete halt. She tried to wait patiently, but after about fifteen minutes of the line remaining stagnant, the barmaid sadly lost her stoic patience. Victoria tapped on the shoulder of the boy she had run into moments ago and asked him about what the holdup was. He merely rolled his eyes and pointed ahead to the desk.
Ahead, Victoria spotted a blue-haired boy in black shorts at the front of the line. He was yelling at the attendant, though she couldn't make out what the commotion was about. She leaned in to hear more, but what she heard made her regret that decision immediately.
"Look..." Mira argued. "These pants are important to me—I'm not ruining them today. So, if you don't let me in, I'm gonna' take them off. And after that, you and me are boxing. Got it?" The attendant looked at Mira, amused by his odd threats of pantless boxing.
"Kid, it's like I keep tellin' ya, come back in a few years when you're old enough. Ever since Captain Fissure, we've had a ton of kids like you try to sneak into here with bogus paperwork. But this time, I'm on the job—and you're not getting past me." He was an older soldier in his late forties. It was clear that in his younger years, the attendant was once handsome; a man with a strong chin and prominent nose that most thought look attractive. But in his later years the soldier's once dark hair had grayed, and what used to be muscle had bloated to a layer of blubber. The attendant looked past Mira and to the line building behind him. Frustrated by the kid's persistence, the soldier yelled out again. "Next!"
Mira blinked in astonishment a few times and then reached for his belt buckle. "That's it! I'm kickin' your ass!" Fortunately for the crowd, the blue-haired fool fumbled in his attempt to remove his pants, a desperate move to keep his sister's gift safe before the fight. A hand grabbed at Mira's arm to stop him from embarrassing himself further when he made a second attempt at undoing the buckle.
"Mira, stop. Not again." Sachi stared with emerald daggers into his older brother. He had grown another inch and had packed on a bit more muscle since his father's funeral six months ago, but living alone with Mira had clearly exhausted him. Large black circles had grown under his eyes and his temper was already slipping out. He looked over to the man at the registration desk and tried to make amends for Mira's foolishness. "I'm sorry about that, Sir. My older brother always gets into trouble when I leave him alone. But I can vouch for him. He's sixteen."
"Older brother?" questioned the attendant as he looked over to Mira again, ignoring their completely different hair and skin tones. "Ya sure about that? He doesn't look a day over twelve to me." Mira's cheeks grew red. Looking young had never really held him back at anything before. No one in the East Meadow had dared to make fun of Mira's stature, knowing the wrath he was capable of. This was a first for him, and he didn't know how to respond. So, he went with his first impulse, a poorly thought-out threat.
"I swear, I will knock you out if you keep talking to me like I'm tiny!"
Sachi thumped the back of Mira's head and scowled at him again. "Cut it out! You are tiny!" He whispered angrily. As he turned back to the attendant, his scowl turned into a nervous smile. "I'm really sorry about him." Sachi attempted an anxious laugh, but the attendant was having none of it.
Victoria was still eavesdropping from her place in line, her expression oozing with aggravation. Waiting her turn was never one of the young woman's strong suits, and listening to this boy go on had struck a nerve within her. She had an urge to scream at the nuisances to hurry along, or better yet excuse themselves from line altogether, but she remained quiet.
Come on! Other people are here too, y'know!
The line-stoppers claimed to be brothers, but to Victoria this was an obvious lie. One tall, dark and well-built, the other short, pale and thin as a rail. The colors of their hairs were mismatched too, one crimson the other royal blue.
How dumb can you be? They're clearly lying.
Back at the front of the line, the attendant had grown tired of arguing with Mira. He sighed and pushed a logbook forward in defeat. "Alright. Fine. Just give me your names and some info about you boys." Mira grinned and took a wide stance. He had been eager for someone to ask him and Sachi to introduce themselves. In fact, he had been rehearsing a speech for just this occasion.
"Ahem!" Mira cleared his throat loudly and began with a dramatic spreading of his arms. "Two brothers..." The attendant looked down at Mira again with a raised brow. The short boy now grinned from ear-to-ear with his golden eyes shining brightly. "Two brothers, brought together by Fate's web. Forged by the fires of tragedy. Hungry to-"
"Stop. Just stop." The attendant had heard many speeches from many over-enthusiastic soldiers today, and he was not interested in sitting through another. He pointed down to the attendance logbook. "I just need your names, ages, and Clans. That's it." He glanced up to the less irritating of the two kids. "Just skip the rest. I gotta get him out of my line."
Mira was disappointed. He had been looking forward to giving that speech all day. He looked over to his brother, who had his face buried in his palm. He could hear Sachi muttering under his breath in shame.
"Why? Why are you like this?"
Living with Mira and having him as personal trainer had left Sachi worn out physically and mentally. He loved having Mira as a brother, but he also hoped they would be separated after the Exams. Sachi wanted to be true to himself and find out who himself really was. But he feared that if Mira was always at his side, challenging strangers to pant-less boxing matches and fighting in his stead, that he would never get the chance to grow. He looked back over to Mira, who was staring up to him with an awkward smile. He already knew what the golden-eyed fool wanted. Sachi walked up to the logbook and began writing down their information.
"Thanks, dude!" said Mira with genuine appreciation. "Your penmanship is much nicer than mine."
"Yeah, sure." Sachi rolled his eyes at that, they both knew Mira couldn't write his information down even if he tried. The boy was completely illiterate. When Sachi was done filling out their info he turned back to Mira. "Do you wanna sign it?"
Mira shook his head up and down like a toddler being offered the chance to button their own jacket. He stepped up to the logbook and scribbled his simple signature. When he was done the attendant looked down and scoffed. He gave a slight chuckle and handed them each a white button with a number on it in red ink. He smiled at the boys and motioned them along to the Colosseum.
Finally, thought Victoria, once the line started moving again. After another twenty or so minutes she arrived at the attendant's desk. When the portly soldier spotted the barmaid, he lit up with a proud smile.
"Well now, as I burn and breathe. Has it really been sixteen years already?" Victoria blushed and smiled anxiously. She didn't want to be recognized by the attendant. Not here. Not now. This was the start of her journey, and she didn't need her father's legacy muddying it.
"I guess so..." She spoke with a fake smile, forcing out a small giggle to sell the act at a passable level. She pointed down at the logbook, trying to speed things along. "I'll just sign here and-"
"By the Banished God, time sure flies when you get older, lil' Ramses. You'd be good to remember that and enjoy your youth while you still have it. Speaking of old men, how's Antony been?"
"Oh, y'know, he keeps his head up — especially busy today with the procession and all." She was almost done filling in her information, writing the word "Human" in the space for each examinees' Clan.
"Ha! That sounds like him. I'll have to stop by The Red Charles soon to see him. I know I'm not the usual crowd, but I'd hope he'd still let in an old comrade-in-arms." The attendant was not close to the Ramses family. Victoria couldn't even remember his name, but this was a common occurrence in her life. Soldiers and veterans alike would approach her often to give their praises to the progeny of Antony Ramses. This small talk with strangers became even more frequent after Victoria's father was injured and stepped into retirement. It seemed every soldier and every prominent family who ever shared drinks with Antony now acted as if they had been the best of friends while he was in the service. The false familiarity irked Victoria sometimes, but it was nice to feel loved by so many, even if that love was circumstantial.
"I'm sure he'd make room for you, Sir. The doors of the Red Charles are always open to the brave soldiers of the C.R.M." She had done it. Her name was signed perfectly in black ink on the logbook. There was no going back now. "Hmm?" She looked at the names of her fellow examinees, and one of the signatures caught her eye. This was probably because the signature was not like any she had ever seen before, it was just a circle with a slash through it: ?.
Is that his name, Zero? She glanced over to the name section, it read Mira Van'Heatah in graceful penmanship that looked oddly like her mother had written it. Above that was another name with the same penmanship, Sachi Van'Heatah. He must be the tall one, she thought to herself.
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The attendant noticed Victoria giving a sour look to the paper. "Sorry, young lady. It seems ya have a pair of fire-starters in your trials this season. It'd be wise of you to stay clear of them."
"Well, I wasn't ab-"
"After all," he continued. "Your family is highly regarded around our ranks. And you, you're lookin' more like your father every day. I'm sure you're here to preserve his legacy, too."
"Thanks." She spoke through her teeth, trying to forget the comment about her looks. "I'll do my best, Sir."
"Well... I've kept ya long enough." The attendant reached out and gave Victoria her numbered badge. She looked down: 315. He nodded to her with respect, as if the man was nodding to her father. "Best of luck to you, Duchess Ramses." Victoria nodded with a bit of annoyance back to the attendant and continued her way to the Colosseum.
It was true, by all accounts, Victoria Ramses held noble status; although she felt it had only been earned through technicality. Her father had been close friends with General Holo while serving in the C.R.M., in the same way that Ren had been like a father to all of the Captains and Commanders under his command. After Captain Ramses' brush with death, he had made the difficult decision to step away from his military career, feeling that raising his daughter was a far more important job. When he retired, the ceremonies held in Antony's name were magnificent — one could have easily thought he died in action due to the extravagant nature of the celebration. And on that day, to the surprise of not only Antony, but the entire capital and even the King himself, General Holo named the former Captain as a Duke of Gilgamere for his service to the Kingdom. Many challenges followed the surprise announcement, but her father played the game well and managed to retain the title when all was said and done. Now, hailing from a prominent line of warriors and holding noble status, the young Duchess stepped to the Colosseum where her fate would be revealed.
The Deslit Colosseum seated nearly two hundred thousand people and spanned eleven square blocks at the center of the capital city. It was perfect and pewter, like all the stone buildings and monuments of Gilgamere, and it reached higher than any other building; except, of course, the Royal Palace. At the entrance to the pewter monolith hung two large banners bearing the Kingdom's insignia. Victoria's heart sank into her stomach as she failed to see the top of the Deslit's wall no matter how hard she squinted.
Just a few more steps...
She passed through the stone archway and steeled her resolve. Much to her dismay, she was immediately met with another line the moment she entered the tunnel's shadow; more waiting. This was for the written portion of the exam. Victoria had spoken to many of her classmates at Lenisdorf Academy who had already taken the full exam, so she had a fairly good idea of what to expect from their accounts. The written section wasn't going to be a problem. It was an easy test; ninety-eight true or false questions, and two short essays. Victoria had studied, of course. After all, achieving the rank of Captain within the Royal Military had been her dream since the first time she asked her dad what he did for work.
When the written test was over, the top of Victoria's exam sheet read "94%" in big red ink. She looked down at the grade with a disgusted face. "Damn it..." She said under her breath, wishing she had studied harder. All the examinees who passed the written portion were then filed onto the gargantuan Colosseum floor, made from slabs of Graystone each the length of a small park within the capital. To the best of Victoria's knowledge, this was the only major piece of architecture in the capital that wasn't pewter, even if they did look an awful lot alike in color. There was a large wood stage that had been built in the center of the arena, and examinees were slowly making their way to it. Victoria looked around in awe at the many thousands of stone seats that surrounded her. The seats were countless in number, at least twenty levels surrounding the stage.
Victoria was surprised to see three Captains of the Corvus Royal Military atop that ugly wooden platform once she got close enough. All three adorned finely crafted armor sets of Gold and Silver-grade plates, uniquely colored and decorated to fit their individual tastes. Behind them hung a portrait of General Ren Holo large enough to be seen clearly from the highest seats in the Deslit. Ren's funeral procession had been held here just a few hours ago, but they kept his portrait up to remind the examinees what an ideal soldier looks like. Ren was a large man; there was no denying that. His mother came from the Titan clan, so Ren stood at a daunting fourteen feet tall. He was also fat; there was no denying that either. His last weigh-in a few years before his death clocked in just below nine thousand pounds, and his biceps were the size of a hundred year old tree trunks. Ren was talented at hiding his immense weight though, usually preferring a loose-fitting belted robe over the tightness of his plated armor; for his size was something the late-General was always self-conscious about.
If he wanted to, Ren had the raw strength to level the Royal Palace with a stomp of his foot. Due to this, he always made sure to step softly wherever he went, so as to not disrupt others. Some of the Dukes and Duchesses walking the capital streets would even say that he made an effort to tip-toe around so he didn't step on them by mistake. Ren's massive square jaw and triple chins, were hidden well too by a long, peppered beard of curly hair that reached down to his burly chest. His eyes were dark brown, but still somehow looked bright and optimistic in his portrait. He was missing one of his front teeth, something he was too stubborn to have replaced, but his smile stretched across his face and still looked friendlier than most. Atop his head was a mop of flowing gray hair that looked uncombed for the last hundred years. Before his passing, Ren began to have vision problems and started wearing glasses, but he refused to wear them in this photo. He didn't want to look like some softie, even if everyone knew he was soft at heart.
Victoria looked up at Ren's portrait inspired. From behind her, she could hear the voices of the troublemakers at the attendant's desk.
"It's not my fault!" called Mira, trying to defend himself from his brother's wrath.
"A SIXTY ONE!?" Sachi was gritting his teeth and throttling Mira back and forth by his shoulders. "How could you get a sixty-one, Mira!? One point less and you'd be outta here!"
"I don't know what happened!" Mira cried out trying to quell Sachi's fury.
"I even showed you my test!" A vein had started to bulge in the tall brother's forehead as he continued to berate the boy named Mira.
Mira repeated his earlier claim. "It's not my fault! Reading isn't my strong suit, I just ended up filling in random bubbles!"
"You idiot! You're gonna have to beat everyone in the next tests to get in!"
Victoria looked over at the two with a blank face. They could have been amusing to watch fight on another day, but she had no time to get caught up in their antics at this moment. She turned away and walked until she couldn't hear their yelling anymore.
Those two are trouble, and that's the last thing I need today.
After each of the victors against the written exam had formed a half-ring around the funeral platform, one of the Captains approached a microphone at center stage. He wore a full suit of Silver-grade plate that hadn't been dyed, only polished to reflect Holy Sola's glare to a nearly blinding degree. With each step, examinees could hear the clang of his boots, barely muffled by the wood stage as the man strode toward the crowd. Amber wraps of heavy cloth decorated the Captain's knees, waist, shoulders, and elbows, and on his back swayed a long cape of identical shade. He was the shortest man on the stage, but he still stood taller than most of the frail nobles from the capital. The flashy Captain's childish face didn't have a single hair poking out of his pointy chin, despite being in his early thirties. His eyes had a brightness that flashed with every blink, the closest Victoria could call it was the hue of a barrel-cactus. The Captain's ears were a bit too large for his head but he certainly wasn't an Elv or Hoof, and he had two silver rings on each of his oversized earlobes. His hair was auburn, worn in a faded buzz cut; the same cut as most Privates. He also wore a red bandana on his forehead, stitched with the unmistakable mark of a black feather at the center of his face. Before the Captain addressed the crowd, he adjusted his armor and murmured something under his breath. Victoria could barely make the words out, but what she heard was: "It's showtime..."
The next sensation the young Duchess felt was nausea. A force gripped tightly at the backside of her brain and began shaking her senses back and forth; no part of her body was unaffected by the sudden pain that shot into her. Clear sight became a luxury, something only glimpsed in flashes as vertigo—a thick blur filling her eyes. The pain was followed by a crippling swell of anxiety that forced the young woman to stiffen at the knees and squirm from the shoulders up. She tried her best to remain composed, focusing on her breath and doing her best to ignore the churn of her stomach. But all efforts were useless, and despite Victoria's polite attempt to cover her mouth, she spilled her breakfast on the floor of the Deslit.
Humiliated, Victoria quickly wiped at her face with the sleeve of alehouse attire. It would be unsightly, disgraceful even, for a young Duchess such as herself to be seen in such an ill state publicly. This floor wasn't just filled with those bratty capital children who mocked her family's title and business for years, there were guests here. Exams were open for anyone in her Kingdom to sign up: be they children of fishers from the Rivertown; bastards who schemed their way here from Posidon; hunters who wandered in from the Plains; or desperate vagrants from the Green Edge. Her whole Kingdom had just seen her make a fool of herself in this place of all places, but a putrid smell somehow put Victoria at ease. She wasn't the only one rocked by nausea on the Colosseum floor.
All senses returned as suddenly as they were distorted. There was no hand playing with her mind, no shortness of breath, not even a single grumble in her belly. She was whole again. In that moment Victoria made the mistake of looking around her, only to see that she had performed far better than most on the Deslit stage.
At least half of the examinees were unconscious with head wounds from passing out suddenly. Many more still gripped their guts and skulls, writhing on the stones for any form of relief from the unexpected rush of a wicked Radiant Art that perverted their faculties only seconds ago. When the sharp-nosed girl glanced around, her sense of smell twisting into a curse. The watery bile around her shoes was the least foul thing on the Deslit floor. She dry-heaved again after the first full inhale, immediately burying her face into her frilled sleeve. The many groaning examinees around Victoria who still remained on their feet after the sudden bout with illness were relieved by an announcement loud enough for all to hear.
The flashy Captain cleared his throat and addressed the crowd with a level of enthusiasm that took most by surprise. "High-Lords and High-Ladies! Dukes and Duchesses! Boys and girls! Congratulations if you're still standing!" His voice rumbled through the stadium as the speakers built throughout the landmark's foundation sprang to life. "I sincerely apologize for that little bellyache some of you may have just felt — I swear, it pained me more than any of you to do that."
The many attendees did their best to glance back toward the announcement stage from their varied pathetic states.
"Oh! Good! None of you died..." He glanced around to double-check. "That means we're off to an extraordinary start!" The Captain's overly affectionate voice blared through speakers concealed within the stone pillars surrounding the Colosseum floor. "Now... anyone currently struggling all have exactly ten full seconds to stand back up on their feet." The speaker made sure to pause and find each corner of his crowd, only speaking again once he was sure no word needed repeating. "I will begin counting in my head now." A static filled click indicating the Captain's microphone had been muted served as this test's starting gun, and with its signal the young men and women still fighting stiffness of their knees and weakness in their organs began struggling to fulfill his orders. The Duchess was more surprised than anyone that she hadn't been rocked harder by the unexpected "test". She counted six around her who had slept through the announcement. A few dozen more in her corner of the crowd were struggling like turtles to find a way off their backs. Too many had stains on their jackets and pants she didn't want to investigate further.
How am I standing?
Too many questions began flashing into Victoria's head now that she could properly use her brain again. She gawked on at those around who had been devastated by the Captain's Light. Why am I not on the floor like them? Did father's training really make me that strong? Or are they all just weak? Confidence forced her to smile, and she wiped the sweat off her forehead.
She huffed a bit with relief and spoke under her breath, "That was easy."
Those brief seconds passed all too quickly, and when the enthusiastic voice of their exam director greeted his crowd once more, less than six dozen examinees had recovered enough to stand alongside Victoria and the others whom Battle's Game Masters had blessed or damned with purpose for that day.
"Welcome to the Corvus Military Exams! Congratulations to everyone standing on two feet at this moment — you will all be allowed to continue. As for the rest of you... We have arranged for you all to be restored by the Elves of our medical staff. Please, stop crawling about. Our Officers will transport you all now."
Word became action, and as the word 'now' ceased its ring, dozens of members of the Royal Military emerged from the many corridors feeding into the Deslit stage tasked with purging those still down from sight as swiftly as possible. They would all recover after being carried upstairs to the makeshift infirmary set up on the third floor that morning in preparation for this moment. The young Duchess felt a bit sickened at the sight of so many hopeful examinees being carted away like surplus patriotism. Yet still, a far more primal sense, pride, tried its best to force its way to the front of her expression. For when all that unexpected pain was said and done, and she watched the overconfident masses escorted to safety by more worthy Mortals, Victoria was proud to stand with the lucky rather than being one of the fragile children dragged from sight.
Once the participating examinees were the only ones remaining on the Colosseum stage, the bandana-wearing Captain resumed with his plans for their futures.
"Please, try to avoid the piss and shit while you file to the front of the stage in an orderly fashion — we have much to go over. And don't fret about them." He grinned and pointed a gauntleted finger about the many shadowed entrances to the Deslit floor. "Our medical team is the finest in any nation. While you move forward — please — allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kenneth Dori, and I have the privilege of serving as Captain of the Corvus Royal Military's Fourth Division. I know some of you are stressed after that unexpected test, maybe even a little confused about how this exam will proceed, but I'd like to take this time to congratulate each and every one of you for making it this far." Captain Dori nodded proudly, touched deeply by his own words. "After the tragic loss of our beloved General Holo, it's inspiring for the three of us to see so many young faces here today. It takes a lot of heart to come here, and I thank all of you for the passion shown by each of you to serve this beautiful Kingdom we all love so dearly."
The baby-faced Captain began to pace back and forth on the stage, dragging his wired microphone in hand as he addressed the gathering crowd with more confidence than any had thought him capable of. Behind Dori, the other two Captains whispered amongst one another, but the exam director was wise enough to ignore them and carried on. "I know you're all eager, nervous, and a bit woozy, so I won't waste anyone's time — no matter how emotional this morning has been for my comrades and I. Allow me to explain the rules for the next portion of your exam." Victoria already knew what was coming. She stood with a confident smile, knowing a team exercise was right around the corner.
"Unity." Captain Dori continued with his tone annoying the teens more with every overdelivered word. " Unity is the core of this army. Without unity we would have no trust in one another. And without that trust, we would have no way to stand together and protect our Kingdom. Whether you are poor, noble-born, or even Royal... Whether you are Human, Blood, or Hoof... all of that is irrelevant now! We stand as one under the Crow's wings." He took a moment to let the crowd soak in his words. "That's how General Holo ran this army for over two-hundred years, and we'll be damned to see his legacy tarnished under our watch. So..." He grinned with perfectly imperfect teeth. "Your first trial... is to make some new friends." He looked over the stunned crowd and grinned too proudly at his own delivery. "That's right! I want you all to order yourselves into groups of three—however... there is a twist. I want each member of your group to be from a different Clan."
The remaining members of the crowd found their voices again once the request sank into their ears. Many of the noble-born Humans within Gilgamere saw members of other Clans as "lucky" to be allowed in their Kingdom's borders, the Elves in particular, for their people's mistreatment of Humans over their world's history. The idea of co-mingling with those whom they mockingly called "beasts" gave them pause, to say the least. There were many audible conversations around Victoria about pairing up the "In-Humans", none of them positive, but she paid no mind to the chatter. She was here to become a Captain, and she would do whatever was needed to get the next test. Many people from the non-Human Clans had started raising their voices at Humans refusing to partner up as tensions began to grow. It had become quite the commotion, and thankfully it was quelled before anyone put hands on another. Captain Dori spoke up to settle them down, finding all those grumblings from his crowd to be bothersome.
"Now, now..." He cooed in a motherly tone, "I understand this may be upsetting to many of you who live here in Gilgamere, so let me be clear: This is not a choice." His tone flipped on its axis, showing through dark pitch alone why he held his high rank. "As I mentioned before, this army has stood on the principal of unity above all else for centuries." He swung his arm back to the other Captains standing in front of Ren Holo's portrait. "Take a look at those who stand on this stage today. That man in the black mask behind me will be taking over as Captain of Division Two once our capital's bureaucrats get all the paperwork situated regarding replacements. Actually... most of you already know him... because he's General Holo's grandson. Please allow me to formally introduce you all to Captain Revin Holo."
The second Captain to step forward was only a few inches taller than Captain Dori, but it was clear he was the younger of the two by quite a few years. His eyes were dark brown, just like his father and grandfather, with red hair worn in well-styled spikes that must've been done by a professional for the day's events. His complexion was much darker than his grandfather's, closer in shade to coffee, and he was every bit as fit as Ren was fat. In his academy days, Revin had been a star athlete, and when he took the exams to join the C.R.M eight years ago, he passed with flying colors; being drafted first by the attending Captains that season. Now, after six years of faithful service, he stood proudly as a Captain in Gold-grade armor — blacker than coal in all spots apart from a thin trim of silver that embellished his boots and gauntlets further. On his face, Revin wore a black cloth mask that covered just past the bridge of his nose, as well as the entire bottom half of his face and neck. It looked tight to Victoria, itchy even, as she studied the famed mask soldier with her own eyes for the first time. She couldn't help but blush as an unexpected thought found its way to the front of her mind.
How did no one tell me how cute Ren's grandson was? All those old drunks in the Charles ever gabbed about was his service record. With looks like that he should be standing on stage at the Ember Feathered Pavilion with the rest of the Royal Players — he'd be a damn headliner. The Duchess had to turn away from the beautiful man nearly a decade older than her, fearing she might make accidental eye contact and blush further. You're on the wrong stage, Captain Holo...
The crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed at Revin, and Captain Dori continued preaching to the masses like an overzealous pastor. "And beside him is a soldier whom I'm sure you all recognize! He's the man who notoriously fooled our army into letting him join at the age of nine. Please, give a round of applause to Captain Roe Fissure!" Beside Revin stood a giant of a man, a man who needed no introduction to any Gilgamere resident. Captain Fissure stood just over ten feet tall and had a physique like if his late-General had picked up the hobby of powerlifting instead of snacking. His left shoulder and bicep had been covered down to the elbow with an artistic tattoo of the Kingdom's flag in sanguine ink. His right side was cloaked in a meticulously-crafted series of linkages shaped into a capelette that resembled black feathers. The giant's face had a mean build to it, with small eyes of a bold violet shade, and a well-crafted jaw that led down to a cleft-chin with too many angles on it. His head was bald, so bald it sparkled like a well-tanned pearl in the afternoon light blessing their stage. In fact, the only hair visible of Captain Fissure was the well-groomed mustache he wore upon his upper lip; a respectable golden handlebar that would have looked absurdly oversized on any man with a smaller face.
He preferred to only wear his Captain's cape on his upper body, sporting a bare chest and Gold-grade wrist guards that shined nearly as bright as his head. He was already born with the naturally tough skin of the Titan Clan, a hide far more durable than any mail or plate his Kingdom was capable of forging. Roe's torso was chiseled to a point where it matched the angular nature of his face, a result of years of challenging his body through physical feats of strength about his Kingdom. He decided to wear pants today instead of some clunky leg plates like the other Captains, a pair of midnight-black trousers that Victoria estimated to be two sizes too small despite his tailor's best efforts. The tops of the giant man's plate boot, identical in style to his wrist attire, nearly reached Revin Holo's stomach when they stood side-by-side. Roe waved out to the crowd as he stepped forward, rumbling the stage and stadium floor with every heavy landing of his boots. His voice was deeper than most men, but the polite and proper manner in which he spoke was thousands of times friendlier than his face suggested he would.
"Hello, my new friends! It's a pleasure to meet you all!" The crowd clapped and roared out to the large man, relieved that he wasn't as intimidating as they initially thought. He was a celebrity to most in the capital for his hilarious tale of tricking the military into accepting him at such a young age without question due to his size. The masked Captain beside Roe craned his neck to look up at his friend's carefree waving with a frown, wondering why Dori would make him stand directly next to someone so enormous. As tall as he was, Revin still looked like a child no older than fifteen by comparison.
"That's right!" Captain Dori cut in once more with his thespian tone at full effect. After all, he was the star of this show. "And as I'm sure you all know; both of these decorated soldiers share blood with both the Human and Titan Clans. You must see, we all came here to protect this glorious, accepting Kingdom together. We cannot afford to think of one another by appearance, or Clan, or bank holdings anymore. The only class system you will be allowed to recognize is rank; the grade of one plate and the medals they weld upon it. Because, as my eternally wise General used to say... 'With only fire fueling this army, we would burn this Kingdom to ash.' So... cast aside your prejudice! Abandon your Clans' histories! Escape your mediocre companions and join our family's prestigious line of warriors!" He took a brief pause, giving a face that said he'd been moved a bit too hard by that segment of his speech. He brought the microphone back up to his mouth and smirked. "Now then, with all that out of the way... You all have ten minutes. Your next exam begins now."
(To Be Continued...)
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