The first thing I see upon stepping foot onto the moon Akademos is the Ivory Tower. It’s a massive structure, easily the biggest building I’ve ever seen with my own eyes. Technically speaking, it’s two towers, linked in the midsection by a series of bridges and open-air walkways, each culminating in a half-circle at the top that doesn’t quite meet the other side. It’s the heart of the Citadel, which happens to be the second thing I see. Of course, it would be hard to miss, considering it’s the size of a city.
There’s some irony to the fact that the largest educational institution in the Imperium is also the one with the fewest students. There are about one hundred and sixty of us at present, half of which are members of the incoming class like myself, while the rest are upperclassmen. You’d think we wouldn’t need such a massive facility considering we’re so few, but then again, would Nobles tolerate anything less?
To understand why the Citadel is so large, and why it occupies one of the moons of the Imperium’s capital world, one must first understand what Nobles are. Despite the name, Nobility isn’t exactly a hereditary trait within the Imperium. After all, nobody has biological children anymore, so special bloodlines aren’t of much importance. Nobility is passed down via a different method entirely. You see, when a child’s personality is formed, it’s typically as a gestalt of their parents’ personalities, all of which are arranged in different ratios. But in certain cases, another influence is present. The influence of one of the Imperium’s Founders.
Before the Imperium, there was war. It went on for so long that most people had long since forgotten life before it, and had little hope of seeing life after it. Until the 888 Founders came around. They united various factions under one banner, and subjugated the ones that wouldn’t capitulate. But they had no confidence that the Imperium would persist once they were gone. History is, after all, full of stories where a father’s great accomplishments are undone by their wayward son. So they found a way to ensure they never had to give up power at all. Each one of the Founders left a ‘ghost’ within the system that allocates the personality matrices of a child’s parents. As such, when a Founder died, their ‘ghost’ would be passed down to a newborn child, as if he were one of their parents- but with an influence that would greatly outweigh that of all the others. Such children were to be known as Nobles.
Each Noble inherits a number of things from their Founder’s ghost. Strengths and weaknesses, skills and deficiencies, habits and traits. If a Founder was left-handed, it’s exceedingly likely that all of the Nobles in their line will be too. More importantly, if a Founder had a unique competency or set of skills, their Nobles will inherit all of those, which is precisely what makes them well-suited to managing the Imperium. However, not every Noble is guaranteed to be as good at their job as their Founder was. Any number of unpredictable factors can result in an inferior specimen. As such, it was necessary to devise a way of separating wheat from chaff. That method is the Citadel. Every Noble from across the Imperium attends, without fail. Should they excel, they’ll inherit their Founder’s position, whether it’s as a general, a minister, a governor, or the Emperor himself. Should they fail, they will be discarded without a second thought, and another candidate will be procured.
I am, of course, a Noble. There would be no hope of a girl from Demeter VII coming to Akademos otherwise. But if I wasn’t a Noble, I doubt I’d ever have developed the ambition that led me to want to leave in the first place.
Since the education of a Noble must necessarily be extensive, the Citadel was designed to be vast. From the position where I emerged, I can see a number of notable buildings that I recognize from my extensive studies of the Citadel and the moon itself. The ivied dome roof of the Garden of Grace, where a sample of the native flora from every world in the Imperium can be found. Exalt Arena, where the more athletically-inclined Nobles compete for glory and bragging rights. Since just about everyone is on a level playing field from the physical perspective, it’s really more of a contest of wills, with whoever can manifest the most focus and determination emerging victorious. Gofannon’s Forge, named for the Founder they called the Fractalsmith, a prodigious quantum physicist and engineer, whose discoveries resulted in the technology that formed a foundation for such devices as the Q-tool. His Noble line, and that of other Founders who specialized in building, rather than destroying, have long reigned there.
I remain entranced by the Citadel’s majesty for a minute or two, until a brainband notification shakes me out of my stupefaction. It helpfully informs me that all new arrivals are to promptly report to the Entrance Hall. Galvanized, I get moving. The brainband update included the location of my destination, although I don’t need it at the moment, as there’s really only one path forward- a bridge hewn from glittering sapphire, leading from my current location, the transport hub, to the outer wall of the Citadel.
Behind me, another of the teleportal units activates, and a girl no older than nine emerges, dressed in a Noble uniform of her own. She doesn’t spare me a second glance, just walks right on past, towards the Citadel. Since not all Nobles are born at the same time, each ‘class’ tends to contain people of various different ages. Some, like me, are discovered at a fairly young age, and have to wait several long, painful years before it’s time to come to Akademos. Others, presumably like that girl, are discovered mere months before a semester is about to start, and get-fast tracked. On one hand, I’m somewhat jealous, as she’s been spared all the tedium I had to endure. But on the other hand, it gave me plenty of time to make plans, whereas she’s clearly been thrown straight into the deep end.
The bridge gleams in the bright sunlight. It has no guardrails, which I suppose is the first test they expect us to pass. While most forms of death are no longer permanent, anybody who happens to fall is probably stupid enough that they wouldn’t make a suitable Noble. Beneath it, I can see a park, where some of the older Citadel students seem to be walking about, as well as others in marble-white uniforms I take to be members of the support staff. Almost every building I’ve seen is made from the same marble as the Ivory Tower itself. Much of the Citadel’s architecture was carved directly out of the mountains and cliffs of Akademos, giving it a multi-tiered geography that provides a refreshing alternative from the flat plains of Demeter VII.
Though the Citadel is quite large, it’s also the only settlement of note on the entire moon. Everything else has been left untouched deliberately, in order for the wildlands of Akademos to provide a fertile testing ground for young Nobles. Certain species of predator are deliberately bred to stalk the jungles, so that we might prove ourselves against them. The sky above is another change from the world where I spent my life up until this day. Thin clouds drift across the heavens, which are a gorgeous amethyst color. Beneath the peak on which the Citadel is situated, I can see a sea of mist and fog obscuring perilous, jagged stones. Nobody would get very far trying to flee this place on foot. Or attack it, for that matter, although such a thing would be exceedingly unlikely. After all, the Imperial War College is located on the nearby moon of Tacitus, where Myrmidons are trained to kill without mercy. And then there’s the third moon of Prime, known as Carceri- where the worst of the Imperium’s criminals and outlaws are kept locked beneath the surface.
As I’m about halfway across the bridge, I hear footsteps behind me, getting louder. Somebody is hurrying to catch up with me. Unless one of my brothers has secretly been a Noble this whole time, there’s nobody on the entire moon who should recognize me except the Citadel’s administrators. However, as I turn around to face whoever wants my attention, a simpler explanation occurs- he saw my tail, and was intrigued. After all, such visible cosmetic alterations to one’s body aren’t exactly standard in the Imperium’s core.
Appropriately, the young man approaching me lacks any sort of cosmetic changes on the same level as mine, although his hair is a brighter shade of orange than can occur naturally. Perhaps that’s what passess for avant-garde this close to Prime. He certainly carries himself like a Noble, that much I can say for certain. Once he’s caught his breath, he straightens and extends a hand to me, flashing a bright and friendly smile.
“Good afternoon! I am Tellis Ayedar, sixty-fourth in the line of Senna, the Corsair Captain, Lady of Retribution. My apologies for the intrusion, but I caught sight of your... appendage, and I decided I simply must know your name.”
With two blinks, I access the brainband and download a primer on who his Founder ghost was. Apparently Senna was something of a roguish character, infamous for commanding raids on enemy supply lines during the War of Conquest, often in direct retaliation for prior strikes on Imperium bases. How that sort of character manifests itself in such a formal, well-heeled individual is currently a mystery to me. Evidently not all Nobles display the traits of their Founder as outwardly as others.
“Izanami,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly, and flashing a quick grin at him. “You can call me Iza.”
Tellis watches my tail closely as I swish it back and forth. It takes a moment before he realizes I’m doing it deliberately to distract him, and he snaps his attention back towards me, cheeks pink.
“A pleasure. And of what line are you, if I might ask?”
“Seventy-first in the line of Adebayo, he of the Thousand Rings,” I lie.
Plenty of Founders earned their titles within their own lifetimes. They were living legends. Others, however, only barely qualified as Founders in the first place. Most of them only received titles well after they died, in an attempt to mythologize them in the way of the more notable Founders. Adebayo is one such case, having been given that title simply because he had a habit of wearing a different ring on each finger every day of his life. He was an Undersecretary of Finance in the early Imperium, as I’m sure Tellis is now learning, after a quick double-blink of his own.
There are more than a few reasons why I’m lying, even though he’ll be finding out who I really am soon enough. For one, positioning myself as someone of less importance than him will give me some insight into what kind of a person he is. Being further along in the Adebayo line means that more previous Nobles of that line have washed out of the Citadel, and been replaced, than those of his line. That tends to be a pretty good metric for the quality of that Founder’s heirs. More relevantly, if I told him the truth, he’d probably have come up with some excuse to take his leave, if not simply ran away.
“I see, I see. And from where in the worlds do you hail?”
“Demeter VII,” I answer, after just a brief enough pause to indicate that I feel some amount of shame for being from so lowly a station before coming here. In reality, I feel nothing of the sort, but it’ll help confirm his biases about me.
“Ah, a farm-world. How lovely. The Imperium rests on the shoulders of worlds such as yours, you know. I have no doubt we’ll be partaking of your bounty at the feast tonight, as well.”
“Probably. And what about you? A local, I presume?”
Tellis laughs good-naturedly. Sure, he’s reeking of condescension, but not in an intentional way. It’s just a natural consequence of how he was raised. Even if the rest of his family wasn’t Noble, they were clearly of the upper class.
“Yes, I was raised on Prime. My father runs the main branch of the Imperial Bank in Nimbus City, so you can imagine how thrilled he was to discover I was a Noble... and then disappointed when he realized I’d inherited a warrior’s spirit, rather than that of a moneychanger.” He laughs ruefully. “Something tells me he’d get along quite well with you.”
Well, damn. Hopefully he doesn’t try to quiz me on the intricacies of the Imperial banking system, or else my little ruse is going to fall apart much faster than anticipated. I need a subject change, and fast.
“You’re a member of the Ox unit?”
Tapping the pin on his lapel, Tellis smiles again.
“Yes, and proud. The Emperor himself was an Oxen, during his time in the Citadel. And I see you’re... a Gazelle. Fascinating.” There’s a brief silence, as we both simultaneously realize we’ve essentially run out of things to talk about. Then Tellis speaks up again. “Would you like me to accompany you? I suspect we’re headed in the same direction, after all.”
“Sure, why not?”
If he’d been a member of the same unit as me, I’d probably have refrained from lying to him, since doing so would have risked alienating an ally. But we’re going to be rivals no matter what- even if there’s no personal animosity between us, we’ve been set on conflicting paths by the powers that be. If my little lie ends up motivating him to do his very best to defeat me, all the better. I’d hate for my time here to go to waste for a lack of worthy opponents.
The two of us walk a ways without speaking. Tellis gives me a slight berth, due to the motion of my tail. I suspect part of the reason for his fascination with me is simple fetishization. He’s expected to adhere to the more austere cultural norms of the inner worlds, while I have the freedom to do whatever I please with my body, so long as it doesn’t violate Imperium law. But since he isn’t even allowed to think about his own desire to modify his body more extensively, he sublimates the impulse through attraction to people who can. Of course, fetishization also tends to have an element of disgust to it, so I doubt it would be too easy to wrap him around my finger, but it’s certainly a potential option.
“I must say, I consider myself something of a student of the Citadel’s history, and the case of your Gazelle unit is a curious one. As I recall, it was rather unceremoniously retired after a series of crushing defeats. In its latter years, students would frequently attempt to transfer to other units before the semester even started, as they viewed being assigned to the Gazelles as a near death sentence for their ambitions,”
He’s not telling me anything I didn’t know, but clearly he assumes I didn’t bother doing even the most basic amount of research before coming here. It’s always nice to be underestimated.
“Well, that’s discouraging. I certainly hope you’ll go easy on us.”
Tellis laughs, loud enough that I can see the young girl, who’s far ahead of us, glance over her shoulder at him.
“Well, I can’t make any promises until I know if I’m to be the leader of my unit or not. Those of my line often are, but I daresay there’s to be some stiff competition among our fellows. All the prediction markets seem fairly confident that the latest in the Grim Dragon line will be one of the unit commanders, and you can certainly expect no mercy from them.”
Although the information on which Nobles will be studying at the Citadel in a given year isn’t publicized, people pay close attention to when a Noble dies, and estimate when the next person in their line will be old enough to attend. That means we know in advance which of the big-name Nobles will be in our class. The Grim Dragon is a notable figure, more of a household name than either Tellis’s Founder, or the false one whose line he thinks I’m a part of. It would be no surprise if his latest Noble ends up being one of our class’s unit commanders.
“Maybe they’ll end up leading the Gazelles. Could be that the administrators decided it would be a fitting challenge.”
Tellis strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“Interesting observation. I hadn’t considered that. If you’re right, I certainly look forward to facing them on the field of battle.”
“Well, it seems like you won’t have to wait long to find out.”
Indeed, we’ve reached the end of the bridge. A marble wall rings the center of the Citadel, with four banners draped over it, two on each side of the gate before us. Each one represents one of the four units the members of the incoming class have been assigned to. On the left, the Ox and the Peregrine. On the right, the Komodo and the Gazelle.
“Let’s hope so,” Tellis replies, heading through the arched gateway a few steps ahead of me. “I’ve certainly spent long enough anticipating this day. Drawing out the suspense much longer simply wouldn’t do.”
Again, I wonder to myself how the Corsair Captain’s ghost could have produced a Noble like him. Tellis seems entirely too refined to ever earn himself a title like the Lady of Retribution. But then again, maybe I’m the one guilty of underestimation here. It’s entirely possible he’s got a hidden, vicious side that’ll reveal itself on the battlefield. I’m not the only person capable of concealing their true nature, after all.
From where we are, the Entrance Hall is only a short walk. It’s made longer, however, by the fact that we both slow down to appreciate the scenery. Many of the buildings are in the same style as the Ivory Tower, gleaming white marble spires, while others are short and wide, with domed roofs of polished sapphire. Based on what I remember from my studies of the city’s layout, the school’s main facilities are arranged around the Ivory Tower, while the buildings closer to the wall are various restaurants, shops, and other such services. Since the Citadel rarely has more than a hundred and fifty students at any one time, it’s not exactly a proper economy, but having those luxuries easily available to all the young Nobles is seen as imperative, so the Imperium subsidizes the various businesses that would otherwise never have nearly enough traffic to keep themselves afloat. It has to be a pretty cushy gig, if you can get it.
Being inside of the Citadel also means, for me, being surrounded by more buildings than I’ve ever seen in my life, except for pictures and video. Considering my previous baseline was one, though, that’s not much of an accomplishment. I’ve toured plenty of megalopolises in VR to prepare myself, but no amount of that can prepare you for being there in the flesh. Fortunately, there aren’t very many people around, so I have no trouble keeping my composure. Tellis doesn’t miss a beat either, though he can’t completely hide his awe as we make our way through the spotless stone streets. Unlike a proper city, the Citadel doesn’t have any hovercars, which makes walking around much easier. There simply aren’t enough residents to make accommodating motor vehicles a necessary component of civic planning.
Soon enough, we both seem to reach a silent agreement that we’ve seen enough, and head straight for the Entrance Hall. It’s pretty much dead ahead, and almost impossible to miss, considering its size. Atop the oaken double-doors, which stand open to allow us entry, is the Citadel’s crest- a pair of crossed blades pointed downwards, and one in the center pointed upwards. Two latin words frame the symbol, engraved into the smooth white stone. Noblesse oblige.
It’s a sentiment many of the elite throughout human history have expressed, but never has it been so literal than in the Imperium. We Nobles are quite literally obligated to serve the people. Most view their child being born a Noble as a good thing, because it affords them opportunities the vast majority of children in the Imperium lack, but from a certain perspective it’s a curse. Once you’re identified, Akademos is your destination, one way or another. Try to run and they’ll send Myrmidons to hunt you down and drag you back. And after you get here, you have to fight to survive. Of course, the Imperium values the sanctity of life, but there’s more than just that to lose if you fail.
I’m not the type to resent the fact that I have no other choice but to be here, though. After all, I had no way to realize any of my ambitions back on Demeter VII. Here, a myriad of possibilities unfold. Many of them involve me dying, temporarily or permanently, but I intend to avoid those outcomes. I’ll cut a path through to the future I most desire, even if I have to leave some bodies in my wake.
“Well, here we are,” Tellis remarks pointlessly, as we approach the steps leading up to the Entrance Hall’s entrance. “I suppose we must part ways now. When we see each other again, it will most likely be on the field of battle.”
“Unless we happen to attend the same lecture,” I reply dryly. “There’s more to being here at the Citadel than just combat.”
While it’s true that there are ordinary classes we’ll be expected to attend, the competition between the various units is the most important part of our education. However, that’s not what a Noble of the line of Adebayo would say. And I see no point in dropping the ruse just yet.
“Quite so,” Tellis responds, amused. “Nevertheless, we’re to be foes from here on out. And in that spirit, I say... let the best man, or woman, win.”
He extends his hand once more, and I regard it silently for a moment, before clasping it firmly. Tellis smiles, and we head into the Entrance Hall together.
An older man in a sapphire-blue robe, with white insignias marking him as a member of the school’s staff, stands in the middle of the entranceway, holding a datapad in the crook of his arm. There’s no need for him to ask our names, he just pulls the information straight from the brainband.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“Ayedar. You’re in Room 113, down that way.” He gestures to the left-hand corridor. “And... you. You’re in 124, over there.” He gestures in the opposite direction. “Off you go, now.”
Tellis gives me a last look, nods solemnly, and heads towards the Ox unit’s room. I raise an eyebrow at him, and go where I’m told. My lack of a surname is fairly unusual here, evidently. Of course, it would have been difficult for my parents to decide which of their names their children would inherit, so they simply decided that it would be none of them. A fairly common practice among larger families, especially outside of the core worlds of the Imperium. Conversely, people from Prime and the other surrounding worlds tend to place more emphasis on family names and such. It’s for much the same reason that there’s a soft cultural taboo against extensive body modification- they’re deliberately trying to retain the culture of old Earth, even as technology and social progress rapidly advances. But those taboos are harder to enforce the further you get from the heart of the Imperium, which is how you get people like me.
Inside of Room 124 is an oval-shaped table, wide enough to accommodate about fifteen people, which is around the number I’m assuming we’ll have in our unit. Sixty total students in our class, divided into four units, give or take a few here and there. A quick headcount as I walk in tells me that there are currently fourteen people here, counting myself- although one of them clearly isn’t a student. She looks like a teacher, judging by the way she’s dressed- a variation of the Citadel uniform that comes with a tie, although hers is loose. Since we can make our bodies look as young or old as we’d like, it’s not as easy as it once was to gauge someone’s age just by looking at them. However, based on the way she carries herself, I’d estimate her to be around middle-aged, which in the Imperium would put her around a hundred and fifty years old or so. Her auburn hair looks like it would be about shoulder-length, if it wasn’t done up in a messy bob. Overall, she doesn’t look nearly as well put-together as I’d have expected a Citadel instructor to be.
“Well, it looks like most of you are here,” she says, already sounding exhausted. “We can probably get started. I’m Professor Allison Gabrielli, and I’m going to be the sponsor for your unit.”
I might be making an unfair assumption, but Professor Gabrielli doesn’t seem especially enthused about her role as our sponsor. Rather than take a seat, I rest my arms on the back of an empty chair and lean forward, curling my tail under my shoulder.
“Before anybody asks, I don’t know who the unit commander is going to be. The Dean is going to announce all of them later. Right now, we’re just going to go over some basics.”
While the professor is speaking, I glance around the room at my fellow Gazelles. Much like the professor herself, many of them don’t seem incredibly excited to be here. Perhaps the unit’s reputation was already known to them. The first one to catch my eye is a girl with hair that errs strongly on the ‘platinum’ side of platinum blonde. As I look closer, I start to suspect it might actually be metal. She’s clearly bored, resting her chin on her palm and staring at the professor disinterestedly. Another is watching Gabrielli intently, but immediately turned to look as I walked into the room, only returning his focus to the professor once he concluded I wasn’t an immediate threat. Like me, he’s got immediately visible physical alterations- in his case, gunmetal-gray skin and a completely bald head. He’s also built like a tank. Others I see include a guy with a pair of jagged black horns jutting out from his forehead, and the barest hint of what I presume are fairly extensive body tattoos peeking out from under his collar. He, too, looks disinterested, having not even bothered to glance in my direction when I walked in.
“Obviously,” the professor continues, “you all know who you are, and why you’re here. I’m not going to make you introduce yourselves. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. But in case you’ve completely failed to familiarize yourself with what will be expected of you here, let’s review.”
She taps a long, sharp nail on the table.
“You are all part of the Gazelle unit, one of four. You’ll be competing with the other three units for the duration of your time here at the Citadel. That competition will take many forms, from war games, to athletics events, to how well members of your unit perform academically. While myself and the other units’ sponsors may also be professors, rest assured we will be entirely impartial in evaluating your work.”
The way she says that makes me suspect she means the exact opposite. Not much of a surprise. For all the Imperial propaganda about the Citadel, no institution is free of backroom deals or pure, petty tribalism. And considering how uninterested Gabrielli seems to be in doing her job at all, I doubt we’ll be benefitting from any of that corruption in the way the other units will be.
“We cannot force you to attend classes or participate in other activities, nor will we punish you for failing to do so. However, abstaining will only be to the detriment of your unit, and your commander will have the authority to punish you however they see fit.”
I can’t imagine many of the Citadel’s students would be so unmotivated as to sit out of all their classes and activities. After all, the Founders were all ambitious people, and that’s one thing just about every Noble inherits.
“Your unit has been assigned quarters in the Hyperion Building. The apartments are generously furnished, but you will still be living in the same building as other people. Don’t get on each others’ nerves. It’ll be the unit commander’s job to deal with you if you do.”
Being able to manage your soldiers off the battlefield is just as important as being able to command them on it. Plus, it would be unseemly for the non-Nobles of the Citadel’s faculty to be punishing us, considering we’re being trained to one day rule over them. Maintaining the appearance of propriety is crucial.
“Question,” says a guy with dreadlocks. “What’s the procedure for transferring to another unit?”
Laughter ripples through the room. I can’t help but chuckle along with them. The professor, on the other hand, looks annoyed, although I can’t tell whether it’s because of the specific inquiry, or just at having to answer any question at all.
“If you have a legitimate grievance with another member of your unit, and all attempts to resolve it have failed, you may request a transfer to another unit. However, unless that other unit is short-staffed to begin with, you’ll need to find someone from that unit to trade places with you. Furthermore, general dissatisfaction with the unit you’ve been placed in is not considered valid grounds for a transfer.”
“Noted,” the questioner replies wryly.
Before anybody else can comment or ask a question, the door to the room bursts open, and another Noble rushes in, looking exhausted. He leans against the wall, breathing heavily for a moment, before looking up at us. There’s an animated, shifting gear pattern around his right eye.
“Sorry I’m late,” he wheezes, breath still not fully caught. “What did I miss?”
Rather than respond aloud, one of the others simply blinks twice at him, transferring their memory of the last few minutes. He nods appreciatively, and drops into the seat next to me, brushing up against my tail and giving it a curious glance before turning his attention to the professor.
“Well, unless anybody else has an interruption they’d like to make, let’s move on. Your class schedules have already been arranged, and you’ll receive them after the Dean’s address, along with the access codes for your apartments. Some of your classes will be shared with the rest of your unit, while the others have been chosen for your individual strengths and weaknesses. That means you’ll be attending them with members of other units.”
Considering the wide variety of roles that the various Nobles occupy, it’s necessary to separate them by specialization. Those suited to administrative and bureaucratic positions will have been assigned classes relating to those fields, while the more tactically-minded will be studying troop formations and the like. However, I imagine everybody will be expected to participate in combat-preparedness classes, considering even the laziest bureaucrat can have a world-class athlete’s physique these days.
“Now, unless there are any further questions, you’re all free to talk amongst yourselves until the Dean is ready to give his speech.”
Without waiting to see if there actually are any more questions, Gabrielli leans back in her chair and shuts her eyes, likely accessing her brainband social media feeds. For a few moments, the room is silent, as we all look around at each other warily. I catch a younger girl with slightly unkempt hair staring at me, though she swiftly averts her eyes when I look her way.
Eventually, the girl with the platinum-blonde hair speaks.
“Well, I think this year is already off to a great start,” she says cheerfully, with a guileless smile I instantly know isn’t the least bit genuine. Her words do serve to lower the level of tension in the room somewhat, though.
“I’ll drink to that,” the horned boy jokes, then pulls a very real flask from the pocket of his uniform and takes a swig. “So, any bets on which one of us is going to be commander? I can promise you it’s not going to be me, at least.”
“I heard the Grim Dragon is in our year,” I pipe up. “That wouldn’t happen to be any of you, would it?”
Most of us look around the room at each other, although a few people seem to be pointedly performing their disinterest in the conversation, likely laboring under the misapprehension that apathy makes them look cool. Nobody says anything, however, until the guy with the horns points a finger at me.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Afraid not,” I answer truthfully. “Besides, does that really sound like something the Grim Dragon would do?”
“Fair point,” he says, sizing me up for a moment. Whatever he sees doesn’t seem to impress him much, though.
“I-it might be me,” the nervous girl says quietly. “At least, that’s what my mother said...”
“Really?” asks the hornhead. “What’s your line?”
“Finnala, the, ah, the Shieldmaiden, Master of the Valkyrie Corps.”
The way she says it feels more like someone reading lines from a script, in contrast to Tellis’s more confident delivery. Still, it’s a Noble line with an impressive pedigree. The Valkyrie Corps is an institution that’s endured since the days of the Founders, something many others can’t boast of. While plenty of the more military-minded Founders had their own divisions in the Imperial Navy, many of them ended up being disbanded during a period where their Noble line produced a series of failures, resulting in their divisions being administered by a steward. The Shieldmaiden’s line has had very few failures of that nature. Although, perhaps that’s going to change soon, given the temperament of their latest Noble.
“Well, I’m fairly certain they take disposition into account when selecting a unit commander,” I offer. “So you probably don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Th-that’s reassuring,” she says, though I don’t get the feeling she’s particularly reassured. “M-my name is Katrina, by the way.”
“I’m Iza,” I reply with a wink.
“Nikolai Genov, fifty-ninth in the line of Tsukuda Ken'ichi, the Stormwolf,” the horned guy says matter-of-factly, without any of the pride I’d have expected. Two quick blinks and I pull all the relevant information on his Founder ghost from the brainband. The Stormwolf was a renowned warrior, one of the very first Myrmidons, but he fell from grace after the war, ultimately becoming an enforcer for an organized crime syndicate. There was even talk of stripping him of his Founder status, despite his contributions to the war effort, until he received a full, posthumous pardon after giving his life to save the Emperor’s son from a truedeath assassination attempt. Since then, those of his line have generally been treated with distrust and suspicion, which they’ve responded to by justifying it, many of them following in the original Stormwolf’s footsteps, except for the redemption bit at the end. Of course, there have been plenty that simply did their duty without incident, but those aren’t nearly as memorable as the ones that crashed and burned.
“Wow, you’re totally right,” the blonde says. “There’s no way they’ll make you commander.”
“And I suppose you think you will,” Genov says, although not in a tone that suggests he’s particularly offended.
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s likely, but if there are truly no other suitable candidates, I’ll just have to rise to the occasion.” She flashes a saccharine smile. “Sofie Lang. It’s great to meet all of you. I was a five-time decathlon champion before coming here, so if nothing else, we’re sure to score big in the athletics competitions. Oh, and I’m the sixty-second in the line of Helene, the Silver Shadow.”
Interesting that she spoke of her own personal accomplishments first, and her Noble line almost as an afterthought. That could be a sign that she’s a genuine narcissist, or it could just mean she has a level of healthy self-respect that isn’t predicated solely on being a Noble. Only time will tell.
“Good for you, but I don’t think they’re going to put an infiltration specialist in charge,” Genov says. “Most of that job involves being away from the rest of the group for long periods.”
I look to the gray-skinned behemoth, who hasn’t yet said a word, just looked between the different speakers silently, his expression never shifting.
“What about you, big guy? Is there the soul of a leader under all that muscle?”
“No,” he replies flatly.
“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”
“Yes,” he says, and I swear I can see the barest hint of a smile, though it disappears before I can be completely sure.
The kid with the gear mark around his eye is the next to speak up. Almost immediately upon hearing his voice, I can tell what sort of person he is- the kind that has minimal self-awareness in social settings, and thinks everybody is much more interested in their inane, banal contributions than they actually are. If he notices me rolling my eyes, he gives no indication.
“If we’re doing introductions, I suppose I can go,” he smirks. “I’m Bret, seventy-second of the line of Sa’adah El-Amin, the Wrought-Iron Eye.” As he taps the animated tattoo, the smirk intensifies. “Maybe you can guess why.”
It’s difficult to put my finger on precisely why, but something about the way he speaks is intensely annoying to me. It feels like he’s just regurgitating pop-cultural cliches without any understanding of what makes that kind of dialogue work, or the fact that nobody in the real world actually talks like that. The end result is that he just sounds like a poorly-programmed neural network.
A long stretch of silence follows his statement, and he looks around the room blankly, as if wondering why nobody is engaging with his pathetic attempts at ‘banter.’ Before anybody can change the subject, however, a brainband notification pops up, informing us that we’re to proceed to the Assembly Chamber for the Dean’s address. At last, Professor Gabrielli stirs, the notification likely having overridden whatever privacy filters she was using to completely ignore our conversation.
“Well, I hope you all had a productive discussion,” she says disinterestedly. “Shall we go find out which of you is going to have to wrangle all of the others?”
Gabrielli’s aura of sheer apathy discourages anybody from actually responding, but we all get up and follow her out of the room. On the other side of the hall, one of the other units is doing the same thing- judging by their pins, they would be the Peregrines. They’re walking more or less in single file, while we Gazelles move more like an amorphous blob, most of us trying to be the ones at the very back. Towards the front, I can see Bret walking beside Gabrielli, speaking to her animatedly. I can only imagine her misery at knowing she’ll have to deal with him all year. He’s not the type to ever really get the message that she doesn’t care what he has to say.
The walk to the Assembly Chamber is fairly short, although extended by the fact that we’re moving in a group, and that all three of the other units are also heading in the exact same direction. Fortunately, the hallways are wide, just as the ceilings above us are vaulted. As we head into the Chamber itself, it becomes clear that all four units were given slightly different sets of directions over the brainband. Specifically, we’ve each been directed to assemble under one of four banners, corresponding to our unit’s symbol. From left to right, there’s the Komodos, the Peregrines, the Oxen, and finally the Gazelles. All of the other three are in position, standing in neat rows, before we’re even all in the room. Gabrielli rests her chin on her hand as she watches us try to mimic their positioning, and only halfway succeed.
Aside from us, the Assembly Chamber seems to be empty. It’s a large room, as the name would imply, but I see no sign of the Dean. That is, until the floor before us splits open, and a stage emerges. Once it’s fully risen, stairs extend from the sides, allowing our respective professors to stand next to their colleagues, who are all assembled behind the Dean. The Citadel’s head administrator stands behind a podium, wearing a black suit with a sapphire tie. His face is fashionably weathered, with flecked salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines, although I suspect he had them added intentionally to make himself seem friendlier than he actually is.
After a moment, the other units start clapping respectfully. Most of the Gazelles follow suit, although I see a few obstinately abstaining. For my part, I do a golf clap, the perfect in-between gesture to indicate I’m neither a brown-noser or a wannabe rebel. Nobody seems to appreciate the artistry of it, though, mainly because their eyes are all on the stage.
“Thank you, thank you,” the Dean says jovially. “Thank you all for being here, truly. It’s mandatory, of course, but still- I don’t believe we had to send Myrmidons to bring any of you here this year. That’s a real accomplishment.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
“I’m Dean Norman Gennis, sixty-third in the line of Enora, the Tutor. As long as the Citadel has existed, a Noble of my line has been the Dean- unless we were a student at the time. That means I’ve been in the same position all of you are in right now. I know it’s daunting, especially because not all of you are going to make it. But the life of a Noble is filled with hardship, so that we might make it possible for the ordinary citizens of the Imperium to live without it.”
Frankly, that strikes me as meaningless pablum. Particularly because many Nobles live exceedingly comfortable lives, and many of the Imperium’s ordinary citizens live with a great deal of hardship. My family is lucky enough not to, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less aware of the plight of those less fortunate than me.
“Now, I know you’re all anxious to learn who will be leading your units, but before I tell you, there’s something else I think it’s important to mention. I urge you to take this to heart. Your performance as an individual is what’s ultimately being judged. Yes, the success or failure of your unit matters, but if you excel at your role while the rest of your unit is incompetent, you’ll rise while the rest of them fall. And conversely, if the rest of your unit excels, while you’re incompetent, you can’t expect to benefit from their hard work.”
A curious thing to be reminding us of, right before announcing unit leaders. Is he intentionally trying to sow discord in the ranks? Maybe that’s standard procedure here. It’s certainly not as if there’s no infighting among Nobles in the rest of the Imperium. In fact, that’s precisely why they have such a high turnover rate, which is how the Citadel gets so many new students on a regular basis.
“Without further ado, let’s announce who this class’s unit leaders will be. If your name is read, please come up onto the stage, and stand beneath the appropriate marker.”
With a wave of his hand, the Dean conjures four holographic animals behind him, each with a healthy amount of space apart from the others. The komodo dragon is enlarged, to compensate for its relatively small size compared to the other, and snarling viciously. The peregrine falcon is swooping down, talons outstretched. The ox is charging, horns pointed forward. And the gazelle is leaping high, as if fleeing a hunter.
“For the Ox unit... Thomas Starling, fifty-ninth in the line of Julianna Tarkov, the Steady Hand!”
More polite clapping, hardest from the Oxen themselves, as their commander takes the stage, looking rather surprised to have been chosen. The easiest way to describe him would be ‘inoffensive.’ Nothing particularly eye-catching, but nothing to scoff at either. Just a decidedly average specimen. Then again, considering he chose to look that way, it could belie a more calculating mind, who figured making himself seem less than perfectly beautiful would actually be an advantage in politics. That’s certainly the arena he’d be fighting in, as that was the arena of his Founder. As I download the information on her through the brainband, I discover something curious- she was the Governor of the sector of the Imperium containing Demeter VII. Meaning, if he survives the Citadel, Thomas Starling will have the authority to kill my parents on a whim. Is that a mere coincidence, or was he chosen specifically because of that connection to me? It seems a bit self-centered to assume the latter, but stranger things have happened.
Once the applause has died down, the Dean speaks up again.
“For the Peregrine unit... Anton, sixty-eighth in the line of Manaia, the Starhammer!”
The applause starts up again for a second, then breaks off abruptly as nobody emerges from the Peregrine crowd to take the stage. Then somebody nudges somebody else, and the latter individual marches up the stairs, seemingly truly annoyed at having been chosen. The Peregrines make an attempt to start the clapping back up again, but his evident irritation makes it difficult for others to join in.
Based on what I pull on his Founder from the brainband, I can guess why he isn’t thrilled to have the coveted role. The Starhammer was a highly talented engineer, who unexpectedly rose to a command position after all other officers on her ship were killed, and performed far past expectations through the use of technology she’d previously been barred from testing in the field. That was how she earned her title, by weaponizing a Dyson sphere to wipe out a huge chunk of an enemy fleet, turning the tide of an otherwise hopeless battle. However, she remained an engineer at heart, and rejected all further command postings after the war. Maybe they’re forcing him into it now with the intent of trying to draw out that same genius, as the line hasn’t produced much of note through allowing its Nobles to stay off the battlefield and in the workshop.
“For the Komodo unit... Lucia Hark, fifty-fourth in the line of Vance, the Grim Dragon, He Who Walks With Ash In His Wake!”
To the surprise of literally everyone except the Dean himself, the person to take the stage for the Komodos is the same young girl I saw walking ahead of me when I arrived earlier. She can’t be older than nine years old, but her expression is lethally serious as she takes her position next to Anton. People are clapping, but among the Gazelles I hear more than a few suppressing laughter as well. I’m not among them. No matter how young its latest Noble, the line of the Grim Dragon is not to be underestimated.
Once more, the applause slowly dies down, and I can feel every eye in the room turn to the Gazelles. Most of us are looking amongst each other. There’s still no obvious candidate, at least to them. Personally, I’ve known who it’s going to be the entire time. But I wouldn’t spoil the surprise for them. That would be cruel.
“Finally, for the Gazelle unit... Izanami, eighty-eighth in the line of Thorn, Admiral of the Deceiver Fleet, the Tyrant’s Bane!”
The Assembly Chamber is instantly silent. Each of my footsteps as I make my way across the smooth marble floor is like a gunshot. I can feel the eyes glued to my tail as it sways back and forth. The teachers and the other unit commanders are staring at me as well, so I flash them a grin as I take my place at the far end, right next to Tarkov.
“I hope you’re all happy with your unit leaders,” the Dean says without a trace of irony. “If not, I’m afraid there’s no changing them, unless your current commander dies a true death.”
For a moment, I wonder if somebody is about to take a shot at me. It would certainly seem as if he was inviting them to. Perhaps they’re simply too dumbfounded to even consider it.
“Now, you should all be receiving the access codes for your apartments, and your class schedules. Why don’t you head to your respective dormitories, and try to get to know each other a bit better? You’ve got a long year ahead of you, after all.”