Interlude A2.IV
Vaast von Bahrfeldt
Vaast’s palms were slick with sweat as he made his way across the campus of Brightwash Military Academy. The skies above Wrifton had melted into a hazy fire as the sun set over the island. During the semester, the campus would be bustling with crowds of students trucking themselves from one place to another. During the break between semesters, the campus felt like a phantom of itself. The East Range was practically empty and eerily quiet as he crossed the grass covered expanse on his way to the Chapel Hall.
Chapel Hall was a towering monstrosity of concrete archways and ornate stone carvings. Grotesque gargoyles adorned the outer walls, their empty eyes keeping solemn watch over the Academy’s grounds. Most students had taken the opportunity between semesters to return home to their families or travel. Then there were those who failed to remain in good standing, or who graduated the previous semester. Those students were off to the Front, conscripted into the Crown Coalition Forces to complete their two years—or more—of mandatory military service in repayment for their time at Brightwash.
A shiver ran down Vaast’s spine. To serve in the Coalition Forces and fight for the survival of humanity against the scourge of the Maldrath . . . It was an honor. But, Vaast would be lying if he didn’t admit it was an honor he was happy postponing for as long as feasible. At least until he could earn a comfortable position with a nice stipend and administrative oversight of somewhere far, far away from the Front. Preferably somewhere near the ocean, he added silently.
Vaast quickly made his way through the corridors of Chapel Hall, eventually reaching the room he had been summoned to. A polished bronze plate was affixed to the heavy oak door. It read STUDENT COUNCIL.
The Pillars.
The news had arrived on the final day of his fourth semester, catching him off guard (if he was being honest). He, Vaast von Bahrfeldt—ranked Bronze when he first graduated from Recruit into the Lower School—had climbed all the way up to Rank 10. He would be a Pillar.
To be a Pillar was a position of honor, one bestowed only on the highest-ranking students of the Academy. One of the top ten students. Most students were assigned a rank of Bronze upon entering the Lower School, and most graduated from the Upper School with that same rank. There was nothing wrong with doing so. Having Brightwash Military Academy on your resume was enough to kickstart an excellent career and open many doors.
Remaining a Bronze, in Vaast’s case, would have been a scandal, an absolute embarrassment. He was of the House von Bahrfeldt, one of the oldest bloodlines in Broceliande. No, he was settled with the expectations of his family and the other noble Broceli clans. And he had done it. Through hard work . . . determination . . . and perhaps a few favors called in by his family, he had achieved what few could dream of.
The Pillars were so called because the success of their fellow students, and the reputation of Brightwash, rested upon their shoulders. As Vaast stared at the door, gathering his mess of nerves into the best bundle he could manage, he contemplated the new set of expectations he had obtained to join those of his family name.
“No,” he whispered under his breath. “You’ve earned this. This is your destiny.”
The door had no handle or door knob. It was magically sealed and would only open to a Pillar or those explicitly permitted by the Student Council. Taking one last deep breath, he stepped forward and the solid portal of oak parted, separating into the surrounding wall to permit him into the door. I belong here.
Inside, a long, polished table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Burned into the surface of the table, in front of each chair, were a series of numbers, beginning at ‘10’ closest to the door, and ending on ‘1’ at the far end of the table. Eight students were already seated, their faces illuminated by the glow of lanterns placed at intervals around the walls. Vaast quickly scanned the room, his heart hammering in his chest. Following the prior semester, five members of the Student Council had graduated, opening those spots for students to claim in the new rankings released at the end of each year. Vaast was curious who else had earned one of the new seats on the Council.
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He recognized most of the students seated around the table, but one face stood out immediately.
Olvira Stromsonn.
Her reputation preceded her. She sat at the head of the table, the scorched ‘1’ before her, her back straight and her gaze sharp as a blade. Her long, messy vermillion hair tumbled down her shoulders, framing a pale face marked with red tattoos beneath her eyes. Her eyes, blue and icy, held a commanding presence that made Vaast’s throat dry. When she spoke, revealing a slightly pronounced canine tooth, it felt like the room belonged to her alone. Despite being in the same class as Vaast, Olvira had claimed the top Ranker position at Brightwash when, during their third semester, she claimed the title of Dux per Par—granting her both honors and a Celestial Treasure. Everyone whispered about how she might become the first student in Brightwash’s history to win that title twice.
Olvira was speaking to another student, one who Vaast recognized as Einar Dahl. Older than Olvira and in his final year at the Academy, Einar was ranked number 2. His build was broad, his skin weathered from years of training, and his piercing gray eyes surveyed the room like a hawk. He listened intently to whatever Olvira was telling him, nodding thoughtfully as he did so.
Next to Einar sat Claire Roux, the youngest and, by far, the most impressive member of the Pillars (in Vaast’s mind, at least). Claire was also Broceli, and the Roux family were an old noble house like the von Bahrfeldts. Vaast remembered seeing her at several events back in Broceliande, but even those memories didn’t fully capture the shock of seeing her now, sitting there comfortably around the table alongside the likes of Olvira and Einar. Claire was only fifteen and, like Einar, was entering her final semester. With chin-length blonde hair and golden-brown eyes that sparkled with warmth, she seemed almost out of place among the older, battle-worn students. Yet, her rank—Number 3—spoke volumes about her capabilities.
Vaast’s gaze shifted, taking in the rest of the Pillars seated around the table, together with a single empty chair behind where the number ‘7’ was scorched into the polished surface of the table.
“Take your seat, Vaast,” Einar said, his voice deep and resonant. “We’re about to begin the meeting.”
Vaast took his place in the final chair at the table.
Einar cleared his throat and leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “We’re here to discuss preparations for the Entrance Trials,” he began, his tone all business. “The Academy’s reputation rests on how we handle this process. The new recruits must be tested thoroughly, and the Trials need to challenge even the strongest among them. As you all know, graduation into the Lower School is determined solely by these Trials.”
He glanced around the room, his eyes locking with each of the Pillars in turn before landing on Olvira. “Olvira,” he said, “as the top Ranker and head of the Council, will be leading the planning.”
Olvira gave a slight nod, her gaze sweeping the room as she rose from her chair. Even standing still, she seemed to radiate an energy that made Vaast feel small by comparison. She walked to the center of the room, her hand resting lightly on the back of her chair as she spoke.
“I know we have several new faces amongst us this semester,” she began, her voice steady and commanding. “Why don’t we do a quick round of introductions? I’m familiar with each of you, but some of our newest Pillars may still be unfamiliar with some of us.”
She began with herself, of course. “Olvira Stromsonn.”
Einar followed, his deep voice cutting through the room. “Einar Dahl.”
Then Claire, her bubbly personality brightening the room. “Claire Roux. I look forward to working with you all!”
One by one, the others introduced themselves.
“Haru Iwata.” Number 4. A Jyvaskan woman in the same class year as Vaast. He didn’t recognize her.
“Wu Hsu.” Number 5. A young man from Osmanpatur with a long mohawk. A senior student in the Upper School.
“Akachi Moshesh.” Number 6. He was from Hykaera and one of the new additions to the Council. He shared many classes with Vaast the prior semester.
The empty chair.
“That seat belongs to Guarani Adonargui,” Olvira said, her voice cutting through the air. “He was unable to attend this first meeting as he is currently on his field mission. Lower School students don’t typically make it this high so early, but Guarani’s . . . well, exceptional. I’m sure he’ll be excited to meet you all soon.”
Vaast couldn’t help but feel a surge of awe, and jealousy. To be ranked in the top ten after only two semesters? His own accomplishment of climbing from Bronze to Rank 10 seemed suddenly small in comparison.
The introductions continued.
“Alcinous Vlahos.” Number 8. An older student from Elbrec.
“Quidel Rayen.” Number 9. A Bacan woman, which was very interesting. Not many came from Iqin Bac to attend Brightwash.
“Vaast von Bahrfeldt,” he finished.
Olvira gave the entire Council a wide smile. “This year, we have some promising recruits. Some with reputations already. Haven’t even stepped one foot into the hallowed halls of this Academy, and people are singing their praises.” Her sharp canine flashed as she smiled. “We’ll need to make sure the Trials are . . . adequately challenging.”