Five pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon me, and I froze. This was my greatest fear, my nightmare scenario. I tried hard not to let the anxiety show on my face, doing my best to school my expression, for what felt like the hundredth time, into what I hoped was a blank mask. Exposing myself here would…

Wait a minute, would it matter?

Initially, my worry had stemmed from the fact that Aristocrats treated recent triggers like outsiders, second-class citizens. They still might, but clearly the population of those Blessed undergoing the Agoge was mixed, to say the least. Quarrel seemed to outright despise the nobility. Rover did, too. Vox, despite his garb, had presented no claims of any kind. No one here had spoken of pedigree or parentage save for Thaum.

In that case, the only thing I truly had to fear was the possibility that they might divine the true nature of my Blessing, a feat that I now had good reason to believe, thanks to Gerbold, was completely impossible.

So why was Vox testing me?

Turning to regard the dapper Blessed, now considerably calmer, I focused my hearing upon him once more. Once more, I received nothing in return, other than my own echo. Once more, his power seemed to confuse my own, either due to its nature or my lack of control and experience.

From the depths of my soul, I noticed ADMINISTRATION offer its personal services, but I declined. For all its virtues, the one thing my primary Blessing lacked above all else was subtlety, and I wasn’t eager to cause a scene.

Shifting back to face the group as a whole, I frowned. In a situation like this, Aldwyn probably would have encouraged me to lead the party myself. He’d have maintained that I wouldn’t be able to trust any other to do so, and that our strength would be greatest in numbers.

Master Ewan would have berated me for even considering such a thing. He’d have reminded me that these people were strangers, and that it didn’t matter how many of our team actually survived the Agoge, so long as I did. He’d have advised me to do whatever it took to succeed, even if that meant sabotaging my comrades.

Hadrid would have told me to say nothing at all, or as little as possible. He’d have warned me that the more I spoke, the more I revealed my naivete, and the more I risked being taken advantage of.

But what did I want to do?

Well, that was easy. As foolish as it sounded, I wanted to be a Hero. Despite Quarrel’s prior mockery, what she’d said was true. A Hero was someone who saved people, or at least who tried. And right now, for the time being, that included all five of my teammates.

Unfortunately, right now, we were right on track to devolve into violence the moment we set foot into the Dungeon. Rover seemed anxious, Quarrel seemed murderous, Glare seemed concerned, Thaum seemed dead set on leadership, and Vox seemed entirely uncaring that we were effectively at each other’s throats.

So, how could I save the situation?

Closing my eyes for a moment, I dove back into the song. Vox’s was just as blank as ever, and Glare’s was open and considering. But I noticed that beyond such surface-level emotions, the blond mage shared Vox’s resistance to the song. Like the latter, he was oily, slippery, difficult to grasp.

The others, however, were far from composed. I’d never tried anything like this before, I’d never been so close to other Blessed before, but I gritted my teeth and attempted to re-tune my song to theirs, listening closely to what their melodies were telling me.

From the outside, Thaum projected authority and control.

She did it so proficiently that I’d barely questioned her right to lead, but inside her song was naught but discord. She wasn’t in control. Not in the slightest. Her mind flitted anxiously about in one thousand different directions. She was barely sure of herself at all.

She’d been honest, though. She did have an excellent education, and she was purely a summoning Master. But she wasn’t confident at all in her abilities. She’d never even delved before. She’d been taught how to lead, how to manipulate people, but she didn’t want to. She felt like she had to.

She might make a good leader, but she’d need my support in front of the others.

Rover and Quarrel, despite their prior argument, were singing in a unified chorus, and their tune was fear. Quarrel acted angry, but she wasn’t; she was afraid. Likely she’d had some manner of run-in with a Master in the past. No matter what, she refused to be enslaved, and if her worries weren’t addressed then Thaum would never lead us.

Quarrel might even kill her the moment that the delve began.

Rover’s fear wasn’t directed at Masters, exactly, and wasn’t as all-consuming as the archer’s. It was more a desire for freedom, a trained enmity towards domination. He wouldn’t attack the sorceress, but he wouldn’t follow her either.

If I wanted to be a Hero, the first step on that path would be keeping this party together. And in order to do that, I’d have to satisfy each of my teammates’ concerns.

So, when I at last responded, I did so honestly.

“I don’t know you,” I said, bluntly. “Any of you.”

Quarrel snorted again, about to interrupt, but before she could do so, I continued. “Nor any of you, me. We don’t know each other.”

I shook my head.

“It’s foolish to choose someone to lead us when this is our first time fighting side by side. Arguing about such a thing before we’ve even begun delving, too, is foolish.” I drummed my fingers upon the steel table as I spoke, pausing a moment to think.

“This debate is…unnecessary.” I said, eventually.

I spread my arms wide. “The first floor will pose us little issue, in all likelihood. Ample time to test the heir’s leadership without danger.” I said, nodding towards the Nycta girl.

“So let her lead, for now. If she does well, fine. If not, or if any of us are unsatisfied, we can simply choose a new leader.”

Looking towards the still-confrontational archer, I continued. “None of us need fear enslavement. Even if the girl lies, I’ve heard tell the High Inquisitor over there,” I pointed to Glare, “is immune to Mastery.”

I hadn’t, actually. But I was almost certain that Vox’s resistance to the song indicated an immunity to being Mastered, and Glare’s own was equally opaque. It was just a guess, but an educated one.

“You speak truly,” the blond confirmed, slowly, tilting his head at me, almost seeming confused. “As are many among the Inquisition, to an extent. It is necessary. Plenty of the Spawn display primary or secondary Master effects.”

“See?” I asked them all, though my point was primarily directed at Quarrel. “If the girl tries anything untoward, then the Immolator gets the opportunity to give us a firsthand demonstration of his namesake. Personally, I doubt she will.” I took a deep breath, and said my final words.

“Like it or not, we’re all in this together. We might as well at least give each other a chance.”

There was a moment of silence.

Quarrel blinked at me, considerately. Rover tilted back in his chair, mollified, returning to sneaking glances at Glare. The Immolator himself was still staring at me, intensely, as if attempting to decipher a particularly troublesome puzzle. Thaum almost appeared grateful.

But Vox’s features were contorted in nothing less than pure hatred.

It was a momentary thing, an ephemeral rage that swiftly disappeared behind his ever-impassive mask, racing across his face so quickly and vanishing so completely that it almost drove me to question whether the furor had ever truly existed. After all, I’d just barely managed to defuse the situation. Why would he be angry with me?

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Unless, he’d never wanted us united to begin with.

“Outstanding. That’s settled, then,” Thaum stated, confidently. “Now, I suggest we all go around and share our ratings and capabilities. Then we can decide upon a strategy.”

“I’ll go first,” she said, placing a hand upon her chest. “I am a Master 13, exclusively. I summon servants with which I can scout, communicate, and attack at range. My summons can travel through most surfaces, obstacles, and barriers.” Saying so, Thaum raised a palm, and from it a small ball of condensed shadow, not much larger than a clenched fist, coalesced into being. It rippled and shivered like a drop of black water.

Quarrel’s face paled slightly upon seeing the thing, and Rover’s ears flattened against the top of his head, but neither of the two said a word. With a gesture, it swirled about her in rapid circles, before disappearing back into the folds of her robe.

An impressive display, to be sure, but she’d lied.

Thaum was a Master 10, not 13. She’d exaggerated her power. Unsurprising, given what I’d learned of her emotional state, yet disappointing all the same, and not doing much to inspire my confidence in her leadership. I could only hope that my other teammates would demonstrate more honesty.

“I’ll go next,” Glare said, cheerfully as ever. “My primary is Blaster 14. I can generate, store and emit beams of light from any part of my body, even using it to fly. I can see through nearly all materials, and in complete darkness. Finally, I can create armor from condensed light to shield me from harm. As such, I possess secondary ratings as a Mover, Shaker, Breaker, Thinker, Striker, and Brute.”

“Gods above and below,” Quarrel exclaimed, goggling at the stunning Blessed. “Save some for the rest of us, why don’t you?”

I was equally surprised, though not just by his ratings. Glare had been completely, entirely honest. He could have easily hidden any of his secondary capabilities, but he’d chosen not to. He hadn’t under or over-exaggerated his Attunement, either. Then again, strong as he was, perhaps there wasn’t any reason for him to.

“Well then, guess it’s my turn,” the archer continued.

“I’m a Blaster 11,” she said, winking at Rover as she lied about both her Blessing’s primary classification and Attunement. “I create and shoot these,” she explained, twirling one of her arrows in her palms, “little beauties. I’m a very good shot.”

“Folks also say I’m quite agile,” she added, this time winking at Glare. “Secondary Mover. That’s it.”

“Brute 9,” Rover rumbled, in a refreshing display of honesty. “Regeneration. Physical enhancement package, heightened hearing and sense of smell. Secondary Mover, Striker, and Thinker,” he finished, crossing his arms once more.

He hadn’t mentioned his Grain, Chameleon, which I suspected to be a Stranger Gift, but oh, well. His account was a vast improvement on Quarrel’s blatant deception. I turned to the man to my right, interested in what he would reveal.

Vox smiled softly at us each in succession, eyes landing on me last of all.

“Similarly to our accomplished Inquisitor, I, too, command a primary rating of 14. Just on the cusp of Godhood, hmmm,” he said, licking his lips, before continuing.

“I, however, am a Shaker.” Vox’s eyes bored into me for a moment as he said so, almost as if he was daring me to call him on his lie. I kept my mouth shut, though, and his gaze moved on.

“My Blessing is Sonic Manipulation.”

My eyes widened, back straightening involuntarily. I couldn’t help it. In the same instant, Vox’s attention flicked over to me again. I composed myself in a heartbeat, but I knew he’d caught my surprise.

“I boast the capacity to project my own articulation in destructives waves about my person up to a range of, oh, fifty feet. Within this radius, I additionally enjoy enhanced hearing, vibration sense, and the ability to manipulate soundwaves in the frequency spectrum of approximately twenty to twenty thousand hertz. As a result, an appropriate description of my secondary ratings would likely include Blaster and Thinker.”

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one amazed. Every member of our party gaped at the well-dressed man. Revealing the precise name and nature of one’s Blessing was unimaginable to me. According to Gerbold, it simply wasn’t done, except in the case of those you trusted absolutely.

As if he could hear my very thoughts, Vox shrugged as he explained. “Lord Hero advocated for our trust in one another, did he not?”

“Who am I,” Vox went on, “to consider myself above the tenets of one named for the very best of our kind? And what better way to demonstrate trust,” he drawled in his subtle, syrupy voice, “than complete…honesty.”

Quarrel and Rover were still staring at him, shocked. Even Thaum seemed surprised. Glare looked at Vox like seeing a new man, his gaze conveying significant respect. I had to hand it to him. It was a brilliant play.

Similarly to my earlier speech, he’d subverted the entire party in one move.

He’d used my own words to deepen my teammates’ trust in him alone, knowing full well they’d never extend him the same grace, never be willing to share their Blessings with him, and thus placing them partially in his debt. At the same time, he’d managed to gather information about me, probing what he thought I might know, and gauging my reactions to his words.

Vox’s actions were those of a master manipulator, and he’d done it all whilst lying. Sonic Manipulation was neither his primary Blessing, nor any of his Gifts. But now, there was no more doubt in my mind.

Vox possessed a Master power that could control other Blessed. He had to. Perhaps it was Broadcast, or perhaps it was one of his Gifts. And the way he’d acted so smoothly, so easily, made me think that he, like I, could hear the songs of other Blessed, could listen to their emotions.

So why couldn’t he hear mine? I knew he couldn’t see my own Blessings, or there’d have been no reason for all this indirect maneuvering. He’d have known about me from the beginning. Could he see the powers of other Blessed at all?

I still didn’t understand the differences between his version of the Shard, and mine. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

Vox lied because he wasn’t willing to reveal that he was a Master. I knew that, and he knew I knew that, or at least he suspected I did. He was playing me, testing me, perhaps attempting to determine my own capabilities to read him.

Or, perhaps, daring me to reveal the information he’d guessed that I knew.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Firstly, I’d have no way to substantiate my claims. Secondly, even if they did believe me, Vox hadn’t done anything nefarious yet. He certainly hadn’t used his Master Blessing. For all I knew, he never would.

Perhaps, he simply didn’t want people knowing his business.

But most of all, I couldn’t tell them because to do so, would be to invite questions. Questions quite possibly more dangerous than the Dungeon itself. For the time being, I’d simply have to hide what I knew, resolve to never let the Blessed Master out of my sight, and trust that at least Glare, too, would be immune to his control.

“Your turn, isn’t it, my lord Hero?” Vox intoned, still smiling at me innocently.

“Indeed,” I replied.

I stared right back at him as I spoke. I wouldn’t be cowed. Still, I felt more than a little hypocritical as I, too, lied to the teammates upon whom I’d just stressed the merits of trust in one another.

“Brute 9,” I said. “Like Rover, I regenerate quickly and my Blessing gives me a basic physical enhancement package, making me a secondary Mover and Striker.

“Unlike him, I have this,” I said, calling forth Fang from my soul. He howled raucously, forming before me in a swirl of white and silver particles, dropping elegantly into my palm. It wouldn’t be the same coup as Vox’s, but it was something, at least.

“Entropic weapon. It’s a family heirloom. I’ve yet to find something its edge won’t cut, and I can manipulate it mentally,” I explained, demonstrating by flexing my fingers and causing the eager blade to twirl and twist in the air.

My party looked impressed. Quarrel whistled. Rover’s eyes narrowed at me, but he didn’t say anything.

“Well, it seems as if we’re well-rounded, then,” Thaum declared, nodding twice.

“Two frontline,” she said, pointing to me and Rover. “Two backline,” she continued, pointing at Vox and Quarrel. “One flex and one leader,” she finished, indicating first Glare and then herself.

She was just in time, too, as the lights of the auditorium began to dim. A single spotlight highlighted a small circle upon its center stage, and a gunmetal-grey figure aparrated within it.

Pylon had arrived.

The Hand of the Coterie was hardly the largest, or most exotic figure in the room. His clothing was unassuming, and for those who couldn’t hear the song, he likely appeared no different than even a mundane man.

And yet…

There was something to him, some manner of presence about him. This was a Blessed who’d existed for centuries, who ran one of the most powerful organizations in the world. Who, despite appearing amongst a group of the earth’s best and brightest talents, and no doubt possessing no end of enemies, demonstrated not even an inkling of fear.

No, the denizens of the room feared him.

Pylon spread his arms wide, broadly, in a grand gesture. When he spoke, his voice echoed and reverberated mightily about the spacious room.

“LORDS…AND…LAAAAAAAAAADIEEEEEEEEES!,” the Immortal thundered.

“BLESSED AND THIRDS! MERCENARIES AND KNIGHTS ERRANT AND ARISTOCRATS!”

Pylon brought his hands together in a sudden clap, so loud that it sounded like lightning had struck the building’s interior.

“WEEEEEEELCOOOOOME!”

He then paused for a moment, drawing breath theatrically. Every pair of eyes in the auditorium was fixed on him.

“Welcome.”

The Godkin spoke once more, but calmly this time, softly, his voice reaching every Blessed present in the room equally.

“Welcome one…welcome all.”

He paused for another moment, adjusting his tie, before continuing.

“By the power vested in my by the All-Seeing Sibyl,”

“As Hand of the Coterie,”

“As Commander-in-Chief of the Runemakers, and the Chroniclers, and the Magnates, and the Delvers, and the Sons of Dainsleif, as Headmaster of the Bern Institute of Entropic Arts and Sciences, and many other titles besides,”

He took a deep breath once more, and placed a grey, gloved hand consummately upon his similarly clothed chest.

“I, Pylon, do declare this one hundred and thirty first round of the Agoge officially…”

“BEGUN.”