The towering golden gates mark the entrance of Sapphire Academy, its majesty rivalled only by the foreboding reality of what waits on the other side.

I had heard the rumours, everyone has. For the nameless, Sapphire Academy is the equivalent of a death sentence, and that's what I am. Nero XIII, nameless. Born a nobody into a family of nobodies. I grew up with nothing and even that was taken from me.

Since the day I was born, no one expected anything from me. No one, but Father, and he's gone now too.

My right hand clenches into a fist at my side. Maybe no one expects anything from me, but I am strong. I have come too far to turn back now.

As I move forward, the titan gates to the academy squeak gradually open permitting me entry. Pressing ahead, I pass the threshold of the school and enter into its gaping maw. As I progress, the clap of feet alerts my mind to the people behind me. A few pass by. Some walking in groups, others like me are alone, but from each face I glimpse, I notice the same expression of nervous apprehension I suspect is mirrored by my own.

'I'm going to die', I hear someone whisper. Repeatedly, like a mantra, the acknowledgement of impending demise spreads through the crowd like a plague born of words.

The truth is, They might....

No.

They probably will. Their fears are not misplaced. It isn't an odd occurrence for applicants to die during the Sapphire Academy entrance exams. It isn't rare at all.

Of the hundreds of candidates each year, I've heard that only fifty pass. Maybe around fifty fail to try again, but the majority, they die. Their bodies returned to their Clans or unceremoniously buried in unmarked graves beneath one of the fields of the nameless.

"There's no equality in this world, not even in death."

Father's words spring to my mind, releasing a surge of rage-fuelled adrenaline throughout my body. Nails claw the flesh of my palm as my fist tightens.

Breathe.

Allowing air to rush in, I recenter my mind and retune my senses to the surroundings.

Like a fish swimming with a school, guided by the multitudes, I navigate the vast and unfamiliar academy grounds. Allowing my thoughts to wander, I drift with the tide of fellow applicants and allow them to guide.

Unsure of how much time has passed, I return to myself as I feel the push and pull of the crowd around me relent.

We have arrived.

An Immense stone tablet protrudes from the earth beneath. Engraved on every inch of it, a name, written in large, underneath a group number, ranging from one to one-hundred and forty. Systematically, my eyes traverse the groups and names until I find my own.

"Nero XIII – Group: 132. Waiting Area: E"

Tracking the signs throughout the academy grounds, I make my way to the prescribed waiting area. A large tented space. Inside, a bustling crowd with more gradually trickling in.

'Group one three two', I hear someone shout.

'Group one three two!' Another voice, a male voice timidly replies.'

'I'm in group one three two.' In the sea of roaming bodies, locating a single call amongst the wave of harmonious voices presents a challenge. Through swivelling head and roving eyes, I find the source of the cries.

A girl and a boy no older than fifteen wade through the crowd and make their way to one another. I follow suit.

'One-three-two?' The girl asks. The boy nods. 'Ha!', she screams enthusiastically, 'Well it took you long enough, I've been waiting here forever! You know, it's not good to keep a lady waiting. Where's the other one', she asks, frantically shifting her from head side to side as if in profound disagreement.

'That would be me,' I reply.

'Well you took your sweet time getting here, but I'll forgive you just this once since this is our first-time meeting. Amy II', she says without pausing. 'Nice to meet you.'

'You're nameless?' I ask.

'Yeah, and what of it?' Amy retorts. 'I don't need a name, with my boundless potential I'll make a name for myself!', she declares while making her hand into a fist and pumping her arm. 'What am I supposed to call you anyway?' She asks

'Nero XIII', I say back. 'Like you, I'm Nameless-'

'Boundless you mean', Amy interrupts. 'Don't let anyone tell you otherwise', she continues with a beaming smile on her face radiating enough warmth to rival the sun.

'And what about you?' She asks, turning to the cowering boy beside me. The boy turns and looks at me as if pleading with me to somehow save him from some unrelenting force. I shrug, and his expression turns from one of silent petition to mournful acceptance.

'Tarik West, my name is Tarik West', he tells us.

'I haven't heard of your clan,' I tell him.

'That's actually why I'm here on this suicide mission,' he replies. 'The West clan is the smallest in Area VIII. We're not well known and we're not particularly powerful. If I'm being honest, I don't have any business attempting these exams', he says in a defeated tone. 'It's not a foregone conclusion, one must always account for the possibility of a miracle, but I'm reasonably confident I'm going to die here', Tarik says in an increasingly downcast voice. For a moment, between the three of us, it is silent. Amy lifts her right arm to the sky; she balls her hand into a fist and forcefully hammers Tarik's head with it.

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'You need a miracle?' She asks, 'well you're looking at her.'

'You don't understand', Tarik begins

'No, you don't understand', Amy interrupts. 'You're in my team, that means victory is guaranteed! No more of this "I'm going to die" nonsense.' She turns to me and says, 'and that goes for you as well! Nameless, low-tier, mid-tier, or high-tier, it doesn't matter. All that matters is the will to be somebody, and I have enough of that for all three of us. I'm strong', she continues. 'So, don't worry so much; If you feel weak then you can lean on me.' Whatever nerves I had been feeling evaporate under the warmth of her words, even Tarik appears at ease.

'That's a heavy promise to make to people you just met', Tarik says. Amy moves her fist directly in front of Tarik's face.

'Do you want another whack?' Amy asks in a tone that blurs the lines between playful and genuinely menacing. 'I've said it now, and I always keep my promises', she finishes confidently. I hear laughter erupt, my laughter I recognise it as my laughter. I hadn't laughed like this since before I met Father...

'You think I'm kidding around', Amy growls.

'It's not that', I say. 'I'm just happy I got to meet you, both of you', I say, turning my head towards Tarik. Amy smiles. Her smile widens.

The minutes tick away as we talk among ourselves. Amy tells us the story of growing up in Area II's Tanker Village. She tells us about how she was the only person in her entire village able to use tension, how she used to stand up to bullies and protect the downtrodden and oppressed in her community's middle school.

Giving a partial re-enactment, Amy regales us of how she single-handedly protected her village from mounted goblins and spider-wolves. She tells us of how her mother didn't want her to attend any Academy and how, in order to live up to her potential, she had to disobey them, hitch dozens of carts, and bunk a dozen more journeys on a steam train just to get here in time to enrol this year. Tarik's less than encouraging comments regarding her decision to join the academy is met with disproportionate, playful violence, and we all laugh together.

Without feeling the time, hours pass.

'So, you know why we're here. 'What brings you to Sapphire?' Amy asks, looking in my direction.

'I was born in Sunlet Village, right at the border of Area XIII', I say, inspiring silence from both Tarik and Amy.

'When the Xander Clan attacked, my family were one of the many to die. I was orphaned. Orphaned as collateral damage in the power struggle between high-tier Clans. Though it was their fault', I say in an increasingly aggressive tone. 'Not a single highborn bastard did anything for any of the nameless survivors of their war.'

Seconds pass in silence before I continue. 'I'm here so that I can get stronger, strong enough to conquer the Grand Tower, and put an end to rot decaying this world.'

We stand where we are, none of us saying a word. A moment passes, Amy wipes a tear with one hand and with the other, she places it atop of my shoulder.

'Now that's what I'm talking about!' She screams in my face, as if unable to hold back a stream of excitement. 'Two nameless nobodies are about to change the entire world.'

'The Grand Tower?' Tarik exclaims. 'No one has been able to conquer the Grand Tower since the First King, thousands of years ago. You two are crazy!'

Amy's smile broadens, she puts an arm around my shoulder as if the two of us have taken a united stance.

'All the best people are.' She replies.

Tarik and Amy argue back and forth on the merits of their opposing worldviews, occasionally turning to me for support. Though Tarik espouses a bleak worldview where the strong oppress the weak, and we all die before the sun sets, I notice that being around Amy calms him. He doesn't believe what he is saying, not in the way he had just minutes before.

At the peripheral of my eye, I sense a gaze from across the tent. Turning to identify the source of the glare, I see a well-dressed boy. His hair is well kept, short, and dark; his clothes wouldn't be out of place at a high society ball. A dramatic contrast to how Amy and I are dressed. Mud-stained and tattered, the comparison's a joke. Even Tarik, who juxtaposed with us looks like royalty, compares poorly to the well-dressed teen.

Not to be outdone by his attire, our stalker, bulged with well-defined muscles in every part muscle could possibly form on a human body, and yet his tall, lean frame implies to me, more agility than anyone with his musculature has any right to expect. breaking the persistent argument between my newfound friends, I direct their attention towards the youth.

'Who is that?'

Colour drains from Tarik's face.

'That's Wolf Yung,' He stutters. 'He's the younger brother of the Yung clan head. The renowned genius, Xan Yung.' trembling, Tarik describes the Yung clan. He details their propensity for violence and their reputation for unparalleled strength among the mid-tier Clans. Emphasising in no unclear terms, he lets us know they're not a group "normal people" can handle, all while pleading with Amy not to antagonise him.

'It doesn't seem like I have to do anything', Amy remarks. 'He already seems plenty antagonised.' It's true, not once did I see Wolf's eyes not fixed in my direction. If Wolf is someone we need to avoid in order to survive, Tarik's first evaluation may be right.

There's no getting around it, he's not going to just let us go.

I've seen those eyes before. They're the eyes of a hunter. The eyes of a beast that see all as prey. Lambs to the slaughter, no more than food. I've seen those eyes before.

They're Father's eyes...

They're my eyes as well.

'If you could please follow me.'

Breaking me free from my thoughts, I track a voice behind me and see a woman in her twenties. She would be beautiful, no. She is beautiful. Dishevelled, but beautiful.

Her indigo hair is scattered in every direction as if fleeing an electric shock. Her clothing, creased and ruffled. Her skin would be like porcelain, but for the grime she allows to reside there. To my eyes, the only thing betraying her appearance as a vagrant is her breath-taking beauty and the sapphire badge she carries above her left breast.

'Don't make me repeat myself,' the woman says with more than a hint of annoyance in her voice. The three of us follow the woman.

'Who are you?' Tarik asks.

'Nettle,' the woman replies. 'I'm the instructor for your first assessment'

'Is the first test now?' Tarik continues

'Yep', Nettle replies apathetically. The two of them continue in their exchange. Tarik asking banal questions, Nettle replying with as few syllables necessary to convey meaning. Each passing word shades the girl's face in red, until, finally she turns to face her harasser.

'Do you ever shut up?' Nettle explodes. Unclear if it's caused by Tarik or the foliage in her hair, she scratches her head in irritation. With a snort, she continues our journey, leading us before enormous double doors on the outside of what seems like an immense colosseum.

'We're here', She says, betraying the relief in her voice. 'Right through there.' she goes on, pointing at the hulking double door affixed between us and the inside of the amphitheatre. 'Good luck. You have twenty minutes.' The ambient Tension in the air congeals around the woman, without looking back she walks through the doors.

'That was mist walk', Tarik says in surprise.

'We can marvel at her Art later', Amy interjects. 'Right now, we have a test to pass.' She runs at the doors, placing a hand on each door, Amy pushes.

The door remains closed

'This might be easier if you two actually help out', Amy shouts. Moving myself forward, I push one of the doors while Tarik pushes the other.

Nothing.

We push and grunt and sweat and push and push and push and push and push, but the doors don't move.

'This can't be about physical strength', Amy remarks, 'If this were about strength the doors would have opened when I first pushed it.' Once again, I feel the Tension shift in the atmosphere, this time it's around Amy. She focuses the Tension into the door. Nothing.

'Hey', she says, 'hold my shoulders; match your tension output to mine.' I place my right arm on Amy's left shoulder, Tarik places his left on her right. I feel the Tension as it leaves Amy's body, I focus on that feeling. Drawing a deep breath, I match her output, Tarik must have done the same as the doors, the impassable, mammoth doors...

They swing open.