Chapter 1

  Nikolai had a vision once- as everyone does by the age of around ten to eleven, and in that starry expanse he saw the Virgo standing before him, looming over him, she with her graceful features, and her shining radiance, and the ever so faint expression of disappointment before he heard- and understood what no one had before, as if it were his own tongue.

*"Identity pattern recieved. Transferring to an appropriate host, please stand by."*

He remembered so vividly, reaching out with his own two hands to find that there was nothing there, and that there was still this sensation as if they were. He remembered that fleeting expression of surprise on her face and the beginnings of a conversation before he opened his eyes.

That year he'd curiously awakened as a Leo, not a Virgo, which had been the sign of his birth month, and the mandate for all descendants of the Kalator lineage. Had it not been for the witnesses to attest to the apparently legitimate circumstances of his birth, they'd have long since thrown out he and his family- whoever they were. It was still a question as to what they should do with him now, simply gifting him away to any of noble blood would be a grave insult.

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Today was The Selection, an opportunity for the highest noble families to take their pick of the best, most impressive stock. Nikolai had been extremely, meticulously diligent in his preparations for the last seven years, because he didn't know what came after should he fail. Typically a Kalator would be gifted away should they be passed over in The Selection, but he didn't know if that would be the case for him, or what the circumstances around it would be.

  The night at the auction house had been a blur, but Nikolai remembered two things above all. Firstly that looming sense of dread, and the stirrings of some outrage deep within that was unbecoming of the Kalator. Even as he readied gourmet meals and  assembled elegant flower bouquets the previous day, he remembered the fury which compelled him to move- stalk, down the halls, and the near imperceptible, but pervasive trembling in his hands. Secondly, he remembered that fight.

  The ever so thin layer of course dust that slipped beneath the soles of his dress shoes in the ampitheater. The way stones had been quickly flipped and replaced by servant boys- with the turn of a hand, to hide the unsightly blood and damage that once stained the theater grounds. Even now, as they were preparing for a fight Nikolai found himself bound by a tight, form fitting black suit.

  As the announcer began the fight Nikolai's fears, his outrage, became what compelled him. The want, the desire, the need to hurt someone in that moment.