Amun.

***

“Man, time flies when we’re having fun.”

I turned my eyes away from the rows upon rows of neatly arranged chests and bags to snicker at my Doppelganger. “I know that’s right. Though….” My voice and eyes drifted into silence among the constant bangs and rings panging through the workshops of Noctis Reach. Either from the expanses below, the prospects of the near future, or the hundreds of undead dwarves scattered about the place, the place felt rather small. Cramped, even.

Despite the upper floors remaining as sparse as they’d been for the last six months, the same was felt for the rooms above. The vast annexes and alcoves that would soon become portions of our towers felt like broom closets and alleys from the sudden return of the candidates from their crucible. Even then though, they spent half of our final week of the school year recuperating and lounging about within the tower while I continued to toy with the tons upon metric tons of materials, metals, and gems sent from even further below by my Doppelganger, who spent the last three months at work overseeing the budding community.

In yet another community, set in the next Realm over, Giorno and Letta had been hard at work tailoring load-outs, uniforms, and the personal wear designed by the now-Captains. Through their link with me, their Doppelgangers were able to make a ‘handoff’ through the darkness to exchange artisanal goods and garbs for information and Darkworld metals.

As for me, I spent whatever free time I had during the crucible remaking the Legions’ standard-issue items and forging the officers’ arms out of adamantine or mithral. In doing so, I learned quite a bit about the Darkworld metals from the undead dwarves. Mithral in particular was non-ferrous and as strong if not slightly stronger than steel, but significantly lighter. That much I already knew. What was unknown to me, however, was that it needed some type of mana application to be formed into the complex shapes that armor required, and more so, the metal was just as magically conductive as Carbury’s horn. It could be outright infused with magical energy, granting it effects said to be more versatile than enchantments.

The horn of a unicorn. That, I learned, was the catalyst that birthed Zaraxus’ magical weapon, not my arcana as Forgruna assumed. And mithral, being the same, meant that I or anyone else could do the same with theirs. But only during the time of forging. In the same way adamantine couldn’t be reformed once it was quenched- in magma, might I add- mithral couldn’t be magically altered after taking on the form of a weapon or piece of armor. But that made it no less fascinating.

For the most part, however, I let that knowledge fester within my mind until I found my way to Bakewia. Only one set out of hundreds was imbued with magic. One weapon and a suit of armor held the essence of the Mani, though it wasn’t placed in the pile of gear meant for its owner. Instead, it was sent into the darkening sky to be seized by the moon and carried away as if it marked the end of this officer candidacy course.

With its disappearance came the start of the festivities and the oncomings of a new chapter. The chapter I’d been looking forward to the most since I was born into this fantastical universe. So without wasting any more time, I excitedly gathered up the stacks of equipment, then filled my voice with power before I Bamfed myself to the main foyer.

“Congratulations to you, Captains of the Legio Noctis!” My voice echoed through the open archways, startling all but six of them to attention. With Toril to my right and Jaimess to my left, Roheisa and Lucia off to their sides, and Ed to my front, I gazed upon the bodies of human and halfling and half-orc alike and felt the burning fires of excitement blossom within my heart. “Captains unlike any other!” I continued with the dramatic flair of a great general. “The first Captains of many, exalted above all others. Whether you grow to lead one of the Legions or retire in the capital, forever and always, that will remain true.

“Now then, behold your rewards!” I Bamfed their equipment load-outs above their heads in a shower of moonlight and twilight speckles. “The first reward of many is that of your pay. Seven hundred fifty gold a week for the last six months amounts to thirteen thousand five hundred gold a piece.

“That includes you.” I grinned at those beside me, then ignored the abject reactions by letting the bars, nuggets, and Nox-minted coins detach from the masses of material above and flow into the umbral pockets kept ajar by their Doppelgangers.

They were kept open even after the flowing gold ceased, as various clothes and tents and other bits and bobs fell in after them once they were ‘summoned’ by my calls. They were all un-enchanted things, but things they’d need nonetheless. Watches, cooking equipment, rucksacks, ponchos, shovels, stools, and the other things Giorno made for the Legions. Things that I couldn’t wait to upgrade in just over a month. Or, in some cases, things I did not need to.

“More will follow. Until then, however, I have but three tasks for you,” I said once the excited murmurs ceased. “The first and most pertinent is to form your parties. Start with a large party of individuals, and remember, we may be working backward but we’re recruiting our staff officers first. A future Executive Officer and Marshal. An Engineer, a Civil Chief, a General, a Witch, and some type of Mage. Plus two individuals for every unit formed beneath you. Worry not about their skills, they can be educated and trained. Their character is what’s most important. Pick those whose morals, values, and beliefs best align with yours.

“Second, keep your towers as just that.” I continued. “Use them as your mobile homes or personal retreats or whatever else you like. I’ll give you another Wise Rock to make your cities or groves or whatever else you intend to make for your citizens, and later, another one to build into your headquarters. One for you. One for your citizens. And one for your Legionaries.” I reiterated. “Other than that, rank up as much as you can in your classes; and as always, have fun.”

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“I guess that’s curtains for the tower then?” Zarzok chortled derisively with a gesture to the many floors above. “So grandiose, only to last a mere six months. Such a shame”

“A matter of perspective.” I shrugged. “Like us, the tower will soon undergo change. It will be split at the seams to remain with the Legionaries who call it home.”

“I suppose that’s checkmate.” The strifling sighed in defeat before taking to the upper floors. “All there is to do now is play the waiting game I suppose.”

I looked out to the vibrant moon and chuckled. “Shouldn’t take long.”

After dawdling for a bit, I arrived in the main salon to hear Scarlett’s voice rising above the general ambiance. “I wonder what classes everyone will get.”

“We’ll get what we get!” Elurial chided with a warm laugh. “I’m more interested in what our towers will look like.”

“They’ll be extensions of our rooms.” Rommy pointed out in that boyishly condescending tone of his. “And our rooms are essentially extensions of our classes, which are extensions of our lifestyles.”

“That’s true.” I absentmindedly added, if only to prevent an argument. Instead, a small period of silence ensued. A small and insignificant one, but one that changed the tide of the conversation for the better.

“All this gold! Hahaha!"Rhody’s maniacal cackle cut through the silence. “I wonder what kind of minions I’ll have!”

“Minions?” Scarlett nearly gagged. “Is that what you think of your followers?”

“We’ll be makin’ subguilds, lady.” Rhody snickered without as much as turning her way. “I’ll be making a thieves guild. Minions is what thieves have.”

“He’s not wrong,” Winston interjected, surprisingly. “Those who join our parties, even the civilians who live in our territories are akin to vassals serving a… a royal. We’re seeking those who can fight with or for us or… people with interesting talents. Artists or bards to tell our stories. At least, that’s what I intend to do”

“That’s exactly what I want too!” Samson slammed his mug down voraciously. “A bard to sing of my glory! And maybe someone to make me ale.”

“That’s the spirit!” Els shouted from behind his mug. “I for one’m gonna find a good dwarven brewer to make me some’a the finest ale in all the lands. And maybe an orc butcher to teach‘im the finer arts of dwarven cuisine.” He muttered, scratching his great beard.

“What about you?” Scarlett asked me just after I found my seat.

“Well.” I sighed to think. Then simply started thinking aloud. “My party will have to be filled with people who are immune to necrotic energy. To that end, I’ll probably have to make a few pacts. I’m thinking of having a bard, for urban reconnaissance. A wizard or an alchemist to buff my undead. A druid to maybe manage the menagerie as they grow and to converse with them. A ranger and or a rogue to scout. And maybe a fighter to… well, fight.

"I am a caster after all.” I gave her a charming smile, just before a distinctive whoosh of air caught my ears.

“Pardon the intrusion!”

Collectively, we turned to see Doyle and Olga standing triumphantly in the archway with a gesture for us to follow. They said nothing more, did nothing more. They didn’t have to. The anticipation of the coming tide drove us all, even me, to swarm into the nearest gateway. Letting the excitement build, they led us at a pace that slowed and slowed further upon entering the central hub at the base of the mountainous trunk, and even slower upon our ascension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, we arrived in the same room that started this subjectively long chapter of my objectively long life. A round room of wood grain walls and marbled floors and a central grand fountain splayed in amber light. But instead of tables, a seemingly endless row of chairs skirted the wall. They reclined at an angle, with prominent armrests like the vector chairs found in the torch ships across the Sol System, but made of the same glowing vines coiled throughout the ceiling.

There was not a morsel to be seen. Yet, I found my mouth inexplicably watering the moment I reclined in the nearest seat. And not just me. We all were ravished. Everyone darted towards the nearest seat, paying little regard for any notion of class, social group, or party. And Zorrenor loved every bit of it.

The cursed bastard watched silently, smiling widely until every pair of eyes facing him grew visibly impatient. Then, he spread his clawed hands out wide and bellowed. “Welcome back, Pages of Class Nine-Nine-Nine! But Pages no more after this day!” His rotted lips curled back to expose fiendish teeth. “Your long-awaited ritual is upon you.” He bowed graciously, then rose to line his finger with the bridge of his nose. “But first,” he growled, “is the task of determining the best and brightest among you. These ten are those who will find themselves attending the Guildmaster Course after your third year of study here at the Bodhi Tree. In tenth place, garnering ten-thousand points, is Zeke Silva!”

‘Seriously?’ I scoffed in surprise. However, I soon realized that he must not have tried, or rather, tried his damnedest to land precisely where he wanted to be. “Interesting.”

“Edward Pascal, in ninth place!” Zorrenor continued. Then went on down the line with Jaimess, Winston, Lucia, Roheisa, Zarzok, Toril, Lance, and of course… “In first place, garnering forty-six thousand seven hundred eleven points is Amun!” He sounded almost dejected with the declaration, and I then noticed the ceiling above writhing to impart a sealed scroll onto the ten of us.

"Congratulations to the ten of you. And congratulations to you all!” Zorrenor bowed to us a final time, then rose with a grandiose wave that sent the vines above into a frenzy.

In our hands, they dropped a familiar item. A strange marble with an open face on the rough surface, though it was smooth against my skin as I rolled it between my fingers. Within seconds, the pebble malformed to snake around my left bicep, releasing a strange sense of contentment in the back of my mind. However, I was quickly distracted by Zorrenor’s voice spreading through the hall, seemingly causing the vines to shudder in ecstasy.

“By completing your ritual, you move from Pages to Novices in your favored class. Mind you, however, the Mystic Ranks known by the Guild Associations are different from the class levels. Thus it is not being promoted in your class that makes you an Adept of your specialty, but ownership of a wise rock pebble. In this.” Zorrenor gestured to the rocks many of us were still fawning over. You will leave this campus being recognized by the Guild Associations as Adepts in your class. Thus you can and are encouraged to form parties of your own.” He smiled warmly and clapped gently. “And should you obtain a divine tree seed, you can call yourselves a Master.

“For now, however, you will eat the fruits of your labor and meet with your instructors for guidance, thus concluding the ritual. When you leave this hall, you will be free to wear what you please and can migrate to the southern kingdoms if you so wish. Otherwise, you may continue exploring the Wilds or even take the Bifrost to Polaris for your vacation. But enough dawdling.” He clapped once more, bringing our gazes to the vibrant mass of vines still writhing above.

“The brooding ground of the Divine Aphids is what sits above you,” he said. “The Aphids produce the mutation in your fruit that allows you to make sense of the changes you’re to undergo and what is required to progress in your classes. Simultaneously, the construct will allow us to see who has access to what Classes so the relative instructors can know who they can expect.

“Now!” He waved a final time, creating an array of falling vines to befall from the ceiling. “Bear the fruits of your labor!”