Sensus Wrought

AKI:

"Reverse the tide?" I leaned back, studying the young Seculor of House Manar. "That sounds like war."

Efeleese's jaw tightened. "It already is."

The words hung between us for a time, heavy. Around the table, the others shifted uneasily. I let my gaze sweep over them—seven faces, each carrying the weight of choices that would ripple far beyond this refectory.

"I cannot champion your cause," I said. Not yet, but I left that thought unsaid.

"I mean to ascend in strength under your banner. It'll take me a mortal lifetime at the very least to become the warrior I must become. Our time serving in the war will aid me well."

I tilted my head, watching the flicker of resolve in his eyes. "And you are sure I will take you to war."

"Everyone knows of your ambition to join the War Institute." Efeleese's tone sharpened, almost accusing, almost as if I'd insulted his intelligence. "All the most prominent Leaf candidates aspire to aid in The Old Queen's conquest. Only the less powerful, those of a similar caliber to myself, stay, hoping to amass enough influence at home where there is less competition and chances of death."

I exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the rim of my bowl. "I am… of House Lorail."

"For how long?"

"Indefinitely, as far as I know. My mother will not allow me to defect."

"For now. There will come a day when Manar returns. We may even come across her while on campaign."

I felt my pulse hitch. "You think she'll free me from Lorail?"

"If you ask it of her, and if tales of deeds align closer with her than your mother…"

I nodded, seeing a plan being born out of those Knite and Lorail had erected for me.

"Very well," I said, my voice low, deliberate. I let my gaze shift from left to right, lingering on each pair of eyes I came across. "You've all come here for a reason. Not just to escape the path, but to carve a new one. Mine."

No one spoke. I pressed on.

"If you follow me, you follow me to the end. There will be no turning back, no sanctuary in tradition, no mercy from those whose clutches you flee. You will be hated by all who matter. And if we fail…" I let the thought trail off, unfinished, because failure was a word I refused to breathe into an idea, a possibility.

Efeleese met my stare, unflinching. "We understand."

"Do you?" I asked. "Because this isn't about banners or bargains anymore. I may offer solace from tyranny because I will not treat you as others might, but it will cost you the enmity of almost everyone we come across, which, in its own way, is a greater and more onerous tyranny to deal with."

Sil's voice cut through the quiet, soft but steady. "We understand."

I turned to her, and for a heartbeat, the weight of her words pressed against my chest like a challenge. Then I smiled—a thin, reluctant curve. "I take it you are of a similar mind?"

Dako's heavy hands fell on my shoulders. "I am."

A voice echoed Dako's, and I realised only one of the hands on my shoulders was his. I looked back. The other hand and voice belonged to none other than Edon.

***

I collapsed. Sweat glistened off my naked chest, dripped into my eyes, stung my cracked lips, and left the taste of salt across my tongue. I could not recall a time when my breathing was louder.

"Shall we call it a day?" Dako's voice came from the wall where he sat slumped, knees drawn up, head bowed. He was still breathless from our last bout, though he tried to hide it behind a gaping grin.

Edon wasn't hiding anything. He staggered upright, bent double with his hands on his knees, and heaved like a man trying to cough up his innards. The blow to his gut that ended our contest had emptied him once already, but the pain kept him searching for scraps of breakfast to surrender. So he leaned over his disappearing vomit, heaving and spitting.

"Sil and Malorey… will soon… be called to the sands," he managed between gasps.

I licked my lips and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "We have nothing to worry about on that front. They've both stayed in their group exactly to avoid stiffer competition."

"You're a monster," Dako said to me.

"Not a single win between us," Edon agreed. "And we had the luxury to rest between bouts."

"The Ascendants aren't monsters," I said, pulling my tunic over my head and using it to mop the sweat from my chest and face. "They're the Houses' finest, a new generation of gods."

"You don't believe in gods," Edon said, one hand on his aching stomach.

I met his gaze, calm now, breath under control. "I believe in the strength that allows them to claim such a title."

We left the training hall in silence, each of us shackled to the same thought; impending dangers have a way of taking over one's mind. Younger students scurried out of our way. Whispers followed in my wake, the story of my past shared in hushed tones between younger students. That infamy cut us an easy path, and commoners and godlings alike gave way.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

We went to our rooms, bathed, changed into fresh uniforms, collected our weapons of choice, which for me had become an obsidian longsword crafted from the bones of a nightmare jackal, and met in the courtyard next to the broken statue of Knite. Efeleese and Wiltos were already there, waiting. The latter paced back and forth, head down. He rubbed his hands nervously and muttered under his breath. When he saw me, his jaw tensed, and with a determined look in his eyes, he strode my way.

"May we speak?" he asked.

"Of course," I said. "Though what you have to say need not be said."

With a touch to my elbow, Wiltos led me away until we had a semblance of privacy, in sight but out of earshot from the others. Some of his conviction had bled away, and he began to rub his hands again.

"How are your funds?" I asked.

Wiltos waved the question away. "I am far better at artificing than at combat. My purse is healthy enough. That is not what I've come to discuss."

More pacing. More rubbing of his hands. The uniform he wore, one he had to purchase himself, had a streak of red sewn onto its nape, denoting his fall off the path. Around his neck was a visitor's medalion, another purchase, also red, to further mark him.

"Wiltos," I prompted.

He stopped and turned to face me. With an effort of will, he let his hands fall to his sides. "I…"

"Have you seen Malorey today?"

"Yes."

"Did—"

"Give her time," he blurted.

"You mean for me to give you time," I said. "Malorey is not one to forgive, which explains why you dither. It does not, however, explain why you thought it a good idea to lie to her in the first place."

Wiltos looked away in shame. "I am her son."

"So am I."

"But Malorey and I share a greater bond."

"More reason to avoid lies."

"You want me to admit it." Wiltos's tone grew frantic. He began to wave his hands at me. "To tell you how much of a coward I am."

"Calm yourself, brother. I want you to be the boy who braved against a godling as a commoner, the one who faced the impossible trials of Lorail without crumbling into a suicidal madman. You have faced worse than Malorey's judgment."

"Nothing is so daunting as her favor or lack thereof," Wiltos said. "Nothing."

"The longer you lie, the worse her estimation of you will be. I see we share a tendency to be clever fools. Tell her, and be done with this spell of madness."

Wiltos nodded, dejected. "Are we—"

"It is not for me that you must tell her. It has been a moon cycle. Keep the secret if you wish, doomed though it may be. I shall respect your decision either way."

"Thank you… brother."

"Dinner?" I called after him. "Tonight? You and Malorey both. So you can tell me the good news and I can enjoy her attempt at an apology."

Wiltos smiled, but it was a lightless thing, forced and wan. "Tonight," he said.

I watched him leave, worried. Malorey was not one to forgive. Yet I had more pressing matters to deal with, and soon, I returned to the courtyard and those I'd face them with.

"Word has spread," Efeleese said upon my approach.

"How did you fare?" I said, ignoring the question he wanted me to ask in favor of the one that would follow.

"Sixth in my group."

"The others?"

"Some were approached. Mention of your support dissuaded the other parties from turning a request into a veiled command. All have survived without interference."

Dako clapped me on the back. "Given your strength, none but the Ascendants dare hinder our people." And in a soft whisper, so soft it nearly escaped my hearing, he added, "And my brother."

"I'm surprised they did not take the chance to do exactly that," I said.

"You're a man of many surprises," Edon said. "The Ascendants are, by necessity, a cautious lot. Do not expect to be confronted until they have a better measure of you."

Efeleese summoned a carriage at the Academy gates. We climbed in. The city rolled past in its usual indifference, its streets alive with chatter, merchants hawking wares, oblivious to the storm brewing in our world. Edon broke from his contemplations long enough to divert us for a quick stop at his favorite bakery.

"Blame yourself," he quipped, daintily enjoying one of the half-dozen sweet rolls he'd purchased. I agreed with silence.

We walked into the arena. Again, we became the centre of attention. Spread across the lower rung of seats, faces turned to watch us head towards where Sil sat. Fights were ongoing. Grunts of effort rang continuously. Steel clashed against steel. Someone cried forfeit. Still, the crowd's attention was ours.

Edon, first of our recently arrived trio, had an easy time of it. Half of his opponents forfeited, two he beat handily, and the strongest three he let win. They seemed ready to fight regardless. Edon had a way of appearing the victor even as he declared his loss, the utter look of disregard he bestowed upon his foes drawing their ire.

Six fell to Dako's martial prowess before the fated match was called.

Dako and Drulikir faced each other within the circle of red, the younger cheerful, the older full of wrath. Dako stood loose and limber, his favored weapon—spiked vambraces crafted from his own condensed bone—lay outside the circle. Drulikir shook in place, teeth gritted. Every muscle he possessed was taut with tension. His axes, their silver crescents sparkling with sunlight, were buried hilt-first outside the boundary of their match.

"Are you ready, brother?" Dako said. From the way he uttered the word 'brother', a foreigner untaught in our language might've thought it an insult.

Drulikir growled in response.

My friend was, by nature rather than nurture, a godling of old, men and women of substance glorified in the days of Merkusian, the ones commoners had called gods before overbearing thugs had come and taken such things by force. Dako's honor meant a great deal to him, and so it was unsurprising that he proved his promise true.

Drulikir, driven by fear-fed anger, charged and howled. The two brothers clashed, and the circle became a storm. Limbs elongated, bones sharpened into spears, flesh hardened into armor. Where once they'd stacked strength against strength, speed became the weapon of the day. Long sessions in the training chambers and greater talent made Dako better suited for the task.

After a particularly vicious exchange, concluded by Dako skirting under and behind another of his brother's desperate swings to swipe bone-tipped fingers across the back of his ankles, there was a brief lull in the storm.

"The gap between us lengthens," Dako said. His mask of cruelty appeared genuine, though I wondered how much of it was a mask. If ever Dako knew hate, his brother was the source.

Drulikir knelt on one knee and two fists. He looked up at Dako as he waited for the sundered tendons that attached his feet to his legs to reattach themselves. His expression was stone. Blank.

"No words to share?" Dako asked. "No laughter? An insult? Speak of her again, brother. I dare you. Utter her name. Tell me I am the lesser of us two. Call her a fool to have ever thought otherwise." Each word dug into Drulikir like a blade, and his stony expression twitched with the urge to wince or grimace or snarl.

The bout did not last much longer. Drulikir was broken. He made a token effort to survive. Dako bled that from him with a flurry of deep cuts. In the end, as Drulikir lay prone, Dako grabbed him by the ankle and dragged his limp, moaning form from the circle.

"You cannot die," Dako said as he watched a healer rush to tend to his brother. "I'll not allow it. Not yet."

Dako left the sands then—with seven recorded wins, he did not need to. He sat between Sil and me, his mask of cruelty pointed at his Drulikir. Dako had come a long way in the mind games of godlings because the smile he wore was drenched in malice.

I was a Leaf candidate, chosen of Lorail. As such, I was an Ascendant. As gods are wont to do, the world shifted to make this true—to place me in the top five. Besides Samiel, whose good-natured competitiveness made an exhibition out of our bout, none of my opponents so much as lifted a finger against me.

Then came the final ten, and they did not go through the usual motions. Things had changed there, too, no doubt because Lorail had elevated me to an Ascendant. Much remained the same. There was only one change: Lamila forfeited every bout. It was then that I knew my worries were premature; that danger would not come that day.

She would come the next.