“This is going to be a big night.” Maksim said, smoothing his son’s suit jacket.

“I hope so.” Casimir said. He did not feel as sure. What if it all went wrong again? What if the past few years just repeated themselves in one mocking finale? What if—

He took a deep breath.

There was no time to wonder about ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. All that mattered was making this Examination Day go perfectly on his end. Either he succeeded or he failed. Casimir could not fail. He would not let himself be ignored this time.

“You’ll do great, son. Those graders won’t know what hit them this year.” Maksim said, clapping Casimir on the back. His father said it like it was a foregone conclusion, but this was one thing that not even he could buy.

Casimir envied how easily Maksim went through life. It was as if he did not even care about the outcome of the Academy’s tests today, about whether his heir would gain entrance to a prestigious university education and the chance at getting access to the System.

“He will have to do better than great this year.” A woman’s voice came from behind Casimir. He stiffened.

“Are you making a rare appearance to the rest of the household, my love?” Maksim Shuisky said. “I would have ordered the servants to lay down a red carpet and crack open one of our best vintages.”

His father’s tone made it seem like he was in a joking mood, but Casimir saw the subtle tension in Maksim’s jaw and hands. Clearly, he had not forgiven his wife for last year’s meltdown after Casimir returned home with a rejection.

“You will have to do better than great this year.” Anastasia Shuisky repeated herself. “Look at me.”

“Don’t you put your pressure on the boy,” Maksim warned her.

Casimir turned, making eye contact with his mother. They shared the same green eyes, though he had his father’s blond hair rather than her brown. Anastasia’s eye color popped when contrasted with the bloodshot veins streaking towards it.

The reddening made it look like she had been crying, and perhaps she had, but he knew that the actual cause of her appearance was something else. He knew for the same reason that if she came closer, there would be something stronger smelling than air in her breath.

“He doesn’t mind.” Anastasia said.

“Yes, he does.” Maksim said, gearing up for an argument. The argument.

“It’s fine.” Casimir said quietly.

“You see? He said it’s fine.”

“He’s just saying that to make you happy.”

He stared at the floor, almost able to see his own face in the shine of his dress shoes.

“Is he leaving now?” A little girl said, coming down the stairs. She held a portable lantern in one hand.

Anastasia froze like she had seen a ghost at the sound of Casimir’s youngest sister.

“Leave an impression, Casimir. Succeed and all is forgiven.” His mother said, glancing up at the girl before she promptly fled for the kitchen. Banished by her own daughter. In a way, Anastasia had seen a phantom, Rina was the spitting image of Casimir’s twin. The girl would be identical if not for being years younger. Sometimes he wondered if his memories of his first sibling would fade until all he thought of was Rina’s face.

Maybe that’s why Mother hates to look at her. He wondered.

“You going?” Rina repeated as she came up to him. He squatted down so that his little sister could hug him.

“Yeah, any minute now.”

“What time will you be back?” Rina said, staring up at him.

“Late. Really late. They like to push everyone to exhaustion to get, well, it’s not important. Just know that it will be too late for you to see me until tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait for you,” she said earnestly.

“You’ll be too tired, just go to sleep when it's bedtime.” Casimir said, putting his hand on her head. “Love you, be good for… well, just be good. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He stepped into thick boots, shoes still on his feet, which would protect the fine glossiness from being scratched or drenched in mud. Over his suit he draped himself in a waterproof coat.

“Here. Take this.” Rina said, lifting up the lantern.

It buzzed softly from the wings inside it, small tapping noises coming from within. Within the metal and glass were insects that burned with an inner red glow. Good for preserving night vision, but enough light to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet. Tap. Tap. Tap. The lantern went as the scarlet glowflies bounced off the glass.

“Thank you. I’ll be back with an acceptance letter.” Casimir promised, walking out the door.

“It’s alright if you don’t make it.” Rina said after him.

That’s nice of you to say, but I know that’s not true. Casimir thought. For him, this was redemption or damnation. There was no in-between.

He did not look back once he had shut the door. No, his eyes burned a straight line invisibly through the air, never once drifting downwards, never glancing aside at the lichen gardens. All that remained was his purpose. His will to try for the System once more.

“My shift will be over in an hour, but the next knows you will be back late, young sir.” The guard at the gate said to him as he passed.

Casimir nodded. “I might be many shifts later, I’m afraid. Might even see you again if you’re back on, Fyodor.”

“Maybe, maybe. Long walk ahead? I’ve never climbed my way to the Academy myself, you see.” Fyodor said.

“Better for me than most going. Forty-five minutes uphill, I should think, if I keep a decent pace.” Casimir said, pausing to speak with the guard. Perhaps it would help settle his nerves.

Stolen novel; please report.

In his expensive clothing for the event, Casimir would stand out once he left the estate district, but he carried only a small wallet that he might hand over to any thieves should he encounter them. Enough money to satisfy them without them realizing he had no need for cash or coins. More than the amount he had chosen might escalate it into a harebrained attempt at kidnapping, and no money at all might anger them into searching him for a payoff. All things that would slow down his day.

Thus, the wallet with four golden coins, and ten silver. A face he did not recognize was emblazoned on its face.

His lantern’s red light illuminated the narrow passages he took, avoiding the exterior parts of the mountainous stalagmite he lived in would avoid general foot traffic, but also exposed him to some odd customers. In one of the pockmarked tunnel’s hollows, a muttering man was chipping away at the stone. Carving it. Shaping it. Cutting excess material away to bully the rock into a humanoid form. To the naked eye, it was garbage work. To his eyes, well, Casimir knew what it was meant to be.

“I am the Burrower,” the madman chanted a familiar mantra. Too familiar. What was this fellow acolyte doing this far up the Pillar?

“And the Burrower is me.” Casimir finished for him.

The carver hissed, flipping around to brandish a knife.

“Careful, brother. What if the Ascendancy notices your shining soul?” Casimir said, despite the madman looking far from even a spark of light in him.

“I want them to notice me.”

“Why? The warrior saints might just slay you as easily as they would bless you.”

“So that they can tell me if there was anything glowing at all.” The madman said.

“I wish I could say that I could not understand you, but I do.”

The man moved slightly, gesturing for Casimir to join him.

“You may carve with me too.”

“Sorry, brother, but I’m trying to sell my life a different way.” Casimir said, quietly opening his wallet and pressing one of the four golden coins into a dirty hand.

The carver squinted at it and then tossed it aside to focus on his work. Worthless. Merely metal. The seventeen-year-old spent the rest of his walk trying not to think of how the madman was wiser for casting aside earthly attachments.

His breathing became harsher as the tunnel’s ascent grew steeper, and light shone from the cavemouth above him. There. Pulling himself up, Casimir mixed seamlessly into the flow of hundreds of chattering applicants. In front of their mob was one small appendage of the Academy’s campus in this city, a cathedral of an auditorium.

“Are you excited?” A redheaded boy whispered to him, shaking with nervousness.

“Ecstatic.”

“You think we’ll get in? I’m Niall, by the way.”

“Casimir. And absolutely.” Absolutely not. Not both of us.

It would be an unfortunate lesson for the kid, but everyone had to learn it eventually. This process was unfair by design.

Niall kept making conversation as they entered the hall and spilled into seats, Casimir absentmindedly kept his responses long enough to not be rude.

Fifteen minutes passed, and then twenty, and then thirty.

Casimir settled in for a long while, ready to have his time wasted and his willpower tested. To an outside view, he would have looked like an eager and attentive, if somewhat quiet, potential student. One content to wait for the speaker arrive and dedicated enough to sit through the whole thing.

“Welcome, applicants.” The professor said, taking the stand. “Do not worry, this should be brief.”

You liar. Casimir thought, drifting into a waking trance he had perfected by sitting through Radicalist sermons in Salvation II’s Lowpillar sections.

I am the Burrower, and the Burrower is me. I am the Burrower, and the Burrower is me. I am the Burrower, and the Burrower is me.

A buzz entered his ears, but his expression never changed. Perfectly focused, and yet entirely unfocused. The name of the game was to care about a presentation that was designed to be useless. Appear to care, anyways.

I am the Burrower, Casimir waited.

And waited. And the Burrower is me.

That buzzing became a waterfall, and the cycle of muscle movements in his face was more effortless than involuntary.

I am—something shiny reflected light into his eye, breaking the trance. What? What is that?

It flashed again, drawing his attention.

The chains, he realized. The speaker’s chains.

Silver chains of office hung around Professor Galvani’s neck, but all Casimir saw in them was a dog collar. Cynical thoughts, but true enough to bite.

And get bitten in return for it. This particular hound is all bark though. He thought as the Examination Day’s opening speaker droned on.

The testing done by the Academy of Salvation’s cavern cities were supposed to be honored, prestigious occasions. A way to uplift even the poorest to the level of the wealthy and give everyone a fair chance. Supposedly. Instead, the exams were predatory weed-out mechanisms. Uplifting the profit pool and giving anyone who attended a fair chance to waste time. The only thing that Casimir could say to the Academy’s benefit was that rich could not buy their way in. His personal experience had taught him that, no matter what rumors whispered.

The scam all began with Professor Galani. Every year the speaker was tasked with boring the applicants into oblivion with his speech in the grand auditorium. It dampened those who were excited, and worried the ones who thought they knew what to expect. He wished that the man was doing it knowingly, but the professor was a blunt tool wielded by cleverer villain.

These impressions were merited, but dangerous. Only a fool would voice them, and they inevitably would. He would be twice the idiot if that person was him. Unlike others, Casimir had seen this charade enough times. He knew that pretending to care was vital. It was why he kept a feigned look of rapt attention going no matter how it killed him inside.

What a joke though. Casimir thought as he nodded at all the right moments. All that vanity without the only status symbol that matters.

The System.

You had to be favored to get your Numbers, not just hardworking. When a stake in the System’s web had to be handed out from an existing user, brilliance and hard work alone could not do the job. You needed luck, and skill, and charisma. Sucking up to those in power was an unstated requirement, and all the other applicants who looked like they were about to fall asleep? They were failing. They would have their lack of focus noted, the faculty never forgot a face.

They certainly had not forgotten Casimir’s.

I’m still paying for that. Gods above the surface, it was one damn mistake. He thought, the memory of his first attendance and the rejection that followed was still burning. What stung even more was the memory of his work being marked ninety-seven percent correct, being told he was going to pass, and then another proctor ripping the paper up in front of his eyes. And then their laughter. That mocking laughter… Casimir’s face kept on smiling, but his hands bunched into fists in his lap.

Speaking of faces, the speaker was looking strained, sweat dripping from his brow. No water had been given and no breaks had been taken. Or maybe neither were allowed. Perhaps Nestor was not as happy as Casimir thought. There was an anxious intensity to his speech, a tension that was new. Something was on the line for him to do his job well. A promotion to a higher place in the faculty? Could the reward be the granting of tenure so that he could never be removed from his job?

Perhaps he sought the System just like Casimir did and had never attained it yet. Casimir would have found that hard to believe, surely anyone who could have gotten Numeralization would have. And achieved it far sooner in their schooling than a professor. Not everyone wanted it. They said that it came with costs you could not imagine. He was not worried about any price though; he would have sold the world for it.

What mattered was whether he could get it. Now it worried him that even if he got accepted, there would be more hooks piercing his cheek to drag him from his prize. And yet, several of the faculty members Casimir had had the misfortune to meet had held the honor.

Maybe you can only have access if you’re the highest order of jerk. He laughed internally.

Galani’s neck caught his attention again when it caught the light and reflected it into Casimir’s eye yet again, making him squint. His eyes watered. Every time those chains shifted in the light of the glowfly lanterns and candles scattered in alcoves and nooks, they glittered.

Worthless metal, but they were the only things about Nestor Galani that shone. The more that Casimir stared at the silver, the more that they took on a new dimension, shifting from the collar of a leashed dog to the bindings of a slave. This man had been promised glowing numbers, and now he danced to someone else’s tune. A puppet.

But can the puppet slice his own strings?

//////

Casimir Maksimovich Shuisky

Stats: Locked

Skills: Locked

Traits: Locked