The feeling of impending doom is heavy on my shoulders. I cannot help but bow my head as I march beside the victors. We marched to the institute’s bailey. Upon arriving, we meet Sersia, all dapper in their clean uniforms. Yaesera and Nutarth fall in beside them as we are. The ten students in my group all look comical, dyed head-to-toe in red.

My death is nigh. I want to run and hide or scream and beg for my life, but my pride stands before my fall. I look at the teachers in their faces, but I falter when they meet Plaara’s. I take a glance at Shaza in her outstanding blue uniform. Her massive thighs fill her pants, and her boots shine in the light. Tears flow as she cries silently, accepting her demise, and I feel a kinship.

I will die again, unable to reach my fullest potential. What a disappointment I must be in the eyes of Plaara. Her goal of seeing my father’s dream through is cut short before it has even begun. I can’t bear to imagine what she thinks of me. I almost hold my head in despair.

That old man in the dark robes arrives, floating across the bailey like he doesn’t have legs. I look at Shaza, who bows her head, fighting a sob that almost wracks her body. My heart beats like it wants to run away and leave me to my fate. I expect him to blurt out how much of a failure we are and our deaths, “You have fought well,” he abruptly says before bowing. “But only one academy is allowed to claim victory. Yaeserans! Stand proud; you are the victors. Urimos! Esteemed centurion of Yaesera, step forward and claim your golden crown.”

Urimos steps forward, shoulders back and chin held high with an imperious smirk. I cannot hide my malice and receive a glare from Plaara. I immediately avert my gaze from the boy. Urimos bows before standing at attention before Ercassiel walks from inside the institute with her bubble gum hair tied in a bun. She places the crown upon his head before smiling at him and saying, “Stand beside me.”

The old man fixes his attention on us now. “Students of Nutarth and Sersia, you are dismissed, but your centurions will remain.”

They all bow before making their way to their rooms. My chest is rising and falling. I am angry. Shaza and I watch as the students of Yaesera are given the medallion of the midnight legion. “Stand proud, students of Yaesera. This signifies your acceptance into the legion. Dismissed.”

Ercassiel glares at Shaza and me evilly. Is she enjoying this?

The old man stares at us now, his emotions unreadable. He is given a piece of Iron with a circular end. My hands begin to shake as I wonder if this is the weapon he will kill us with. The old man conjures fire and begins to heat the end of the metal in his hand.

“You two know the consequences of losing this, correct?”

Shaza holds her head low, unable to speak. I nod, “Yes, melior.” Shaza barely mumbles it. The old man is silent as he twirls the metal in his hand. A low laugh rumbles from Ercassiel’s throat before erupting into a witch's cackle. She is enjoying this. I clench my fist. I looked at Plaara, who sighed and rolled her eyes.

“A clever deception we have fed you, younglings,” Ercassiel states abruptly. “We are not stupid enough to waste resources such as yourself,” She laughs again, wiping away a tear. “You will be branded and then accept your entrance into Grand Duke Nortamo’s Midnight legions, along with your other peers we have deemed competent.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The tears from Shaza have stopped. Her knees give way beneath her, and she begins to thank Ercassiel for her mercy. “Enough of your insolence before I change my mind,” She warns before flicking her eyes to me, analyzing me carefully, and flashing what seems to me to be a genuine smile. She turns while still staring at me and walks away sensually, her hips swaying in a hypnotizing manner as she does so.

What was that about?

I sigh, bowing my head, thankful that we do not have to die. The weight of the world is lifted from my shoulders. I almost want to cry. The old man came face to face with me immediately before grabbing my face. “Please, no!” I say involuntarily. He presses the branding iron beneath my left eye roughly. I try to suppress my scream of surprise, but my face feels like it is being melted by lava. I try to hold my face, but the old man swats my hand away. No mercy for me. He finally releases it, and the iron somehow still glows. I drop to my knees as my tears evaporate on my hot face. I am shivering, but I am still alive, and I am laughing.

Shaza begins to scream.

<<>>

My face hurts like a bitch. I asked Plaara to heal the brand and she refused, so now, I sit in the Nutarth section of the institute with my face feeling like it's going to fall off. At least I’ve got the room to myself, as soon as I entered the room vacated quickly.

I lay back on my assigned bed looking at a handheld mirror. The mark is beneath my left eye, and it is detailed. It resembles an eye that is closed with tears running from it. “A mark that signifies that a centurion has failed,” Plaara told me. Staring at the mark was beginning to make me angry. Those fuckers branded me like fucking cattle, now I have to walk about with this fucking thing on my fucking face. I fling the mirror across the room shattering it into tiny pieces. That’ll be a bitch to clean up now.

Sitting up, I run my hand through my hair, a little something I brought to this new world. It helps me calm down. I take a deep breath. This could’ve been much worse. The mark beneath my eyes is merely an inconvenience to overcome. I smile. I’m alive. I begin to laugh. “I’m not dying today! HAHA!!”

Someone knocks on the door, and I spring to my feet. Plaara comes in. I hold my face to hide my joy, when it dissipates, I lift my chin before speaking. “You could’ve told me that the loser's execution was a farce,” I tell her.

“And what would that have accomplished?”

“I-it could’ve taken some weight off my shoulders—allow me to think clearly.”

“Then that would’ve defeated the purpose of why said so in the first place.

“What was the purpose?”

“To gauge how you react under pressure. To see…how you would lead your peers even though your death could’ve been right around the corner, and you’ve failed,” she berates, sighing. “No matter, that is not our ultimate goal. You winning would’ve made it easier, but we can still move ahead.”

I rub my face, “The Archdemon said she was choosing others who she deemed competent. Who else was chosen to join the legions?”

“Ah, yes. Quite a few to my surprise. There is Cassiun of course.”

I roll my eyes.

“Then Inrissa, Casthus, Ozemon, Skarius, Dharron, Andreus, Niasao, and Anihiri.”

I couldn’t help but raise my brows, “That is quite a lot.”

“Nortamo’s desperate. He’s afraid of being overthrown so he is building up a loyal force that follows his orders and his orders only. Too bad he doesn’t know he’s gonna get hit from the inside.”

A smirk parts my face. “How fun, but what do we do from here?”

“Nothing, for now. Establish yourself in the midnight legions. Do what you are ordered to do, you’ll be notified when we’re ready.”

“Easy enough.”

Plaara nods.