Tom waited impatiently outside the closed doors. He was walking nervously and making a game of not stepping on the gaps between the large marble pavers. From everything he had overheard over the last few days, this was to be a standard interview. Yes, it was twice as long as what the older kids got, because it was his first one with Dimitri. But this process was normal and had been taking place for decades. It was a routine meet-and-chat-with-the-headmaster kind of thing, but Tom was sure it would be more than that.
He couldn’t wait to get answers from him.
The assistant for the day watched him with a bored expression. She had fetched him ten minutes ago and hadn’t said a word. Tom didn’t mind - he didn’t want to associate with her anyway. She was a failed competitor, one who had progressed so little that after fifty years she had deep wrinkles on her face and looked over sixty. That meant that age had barely slowed down for her.
It was all speculation on Tom’s part, because she hadn’t volunteered anything. However, the lines etched on her face told their own story. She must have lost her nerves badly to have gained so little vitality over the years. Crafting gave experience, but less so than killing. However, even with that constraint she probably should have been able to delay aging more. She was literally the oldest looking person he had seen in Existentia.
He wondered what her history was. Had she just lost her nerve, or was the story darker? Had she put everything into magic, fate and agility to aid her crafting because she had never intended to survive to the end of the competition?
Her fate levels suggested that that guess might not be too far off, and, like with most adults, her pool was not empty. It was a raging ocean.
Click.
Tom looked up, and the door to the study opened. Bir came out, Dimitri next to her. His friend seemed to be happy. The old lady moved with surprising grace to grab Bir’s attention while waving him toward the office with her other hand.
For this component of the role, she was very competent. He did as instructed.
The room he entered was bare with the exception of two basic, but comfortable-looking chairs. There were sealed cupboards on all sides, while the floors and roof were made of large white tiles, all of which were inter-laid with dense glyphs and runes. The runes running down the walls and over the cupboard doors were not quite as dense, but were still filled with power. As he entered, he could feel the latent energy held in those rituals. They glowed in his vision, already active. He didn’t have the knowledge to understand what had been engraved, but it was pretty easy to guess. This was a secure vault if he had ever seen one.
Dimitri closed the first set of doors, following him. Magic flared, and the door seams vanished. Then he stepped into the room and closed the second set.
They, too, flashed in the same manner. Then Dimitri stood there with a hand on the door; magic flooded out of him and entered the runic structure. All around him, extra glyphs lit up as the magic spread and triggered them.
With a sigh, Dimitri lowered his hand:
“The room’s secure. Let’s get started, Tom. Please, sit.” He gestured at the chair that was facing away from the door. “Unfortunately, we only have thirty minutes. You might think that’s heaps, but you’d be mistaken. I wish we had full hour, but appearances need to be maintained, so there’s no time for pleasantries.” He sat on his own chair. “Getting straight to business, I’m sure you’re aware that your year’s naming ceremony is in a month. It’s a source of drama for most, but, luckily, not for you. You’re to select the name Tom Smith.”
Tom had been pondering what to call himself, and he had noted that Corrine had chosen the same one she had in her first life, but he had decided that was not something he could do. He felt he was too famous for that.
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“No. That’s not a good idea.”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow at that statement:
“Why? Is it because you want to keep your full name, or because you were a part of the heroes?”
“The latter, of course. I’m not stupid enough to tag myself with my original name. Doing so would cause issues.”
“I don’t care. You’re to take the name Tom Smith. The instructions came from priests.”
“So?”
Dimitri bit his lip:
“How do I explain this? You lack required background, so, basically, priest classes don’t do much. They represent massive investment and only give back minimal guidance. But small, perfect instructions beat hundreds of wishy-washy orders. We actively encourage people to take the priest path. Why, you might ask? Well, it’s because, when they speak, they speak with the DEUS’s voice. When they speak, we listen and obey. For reincarnators, instructions are clear. You are to take your previous first name, as doing so provides protection.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to, Tom.” Dimitri sighed. “These are GOD things.”
“Why Smith?”
“Because true orphans choosing a unique second name would give away reincarnators. True orphans take the name Smith, those with not parents choose their Dad’s or Mum’s. Your selecting Tom from the list of ten thousand names is perfectly natural. Listen, this is a point of contention with nearly every one of us who is reincarnated. Given that you were part of the heroes, it probably feels more problematic for you, but we honestly don’t have time to debate further. The priests have made a proclamation, so just deal with it.”
This was not something to argue about. He had seen the cost of the priest option. It was a lot, and it was paid because of the connection it gave to DEUS. If they said something was required, who was he to dispute it – he, who had been given this chance by DEUS – or to argue back?
“Understood. What’s next?”
Dimitri smiled. It was good to see, as it was something Tom noted that he rarely did.
“Now, I’ve already spoken to Kang and Corrine, so I know what you’ve covered with them, and there is no point discussing that stuff. I guess you’ve got questions, but let me finish getting the important things out of the way first. The second critical thing for us to cover is emergency measures.”
Tom stared blankly at Dimitri for a moment and was rewarded with another amused smile. Apparently, the other man enjoyed teasing the newly reincarnated one a little bit.
“It’s exactly what you’re thinking. You need a way to contact me safely just in case.”
“Why would I need that?”
Dimitri shrugged:
“It’s protocol, and it’s proven important in the past. A decade ago, when I first started in this role, someone thought they were being watched. She was right, and we amped security for her up until we cleared the watchers away. If we hadn’t acted, she almost certainly would have been killed. Another told a friend about being reincarnated and I had to step in to stop them from revealing that information accidentally.”
“What an idiot. I like Bir, but she is a kid. I’d never reveal the secret of my past life to her.”
“Not an idiot, just human,” Dimitri corrected. “The isolation and the weight of the secret get harder to keep in as you get older. The rule is not to never tell someone. It’s don’t tell them until your title tells you that you can.”
“What? Really? The title does that?”
Dimitri nodded:
“Yes. Once you build up sufficient trust with someone and the other person is mature enough, you can let them in on the secret. Now, what’s a suitable emergency signal for you?” the caretaker pondered the question for a moment. “For you, I think, a tug on my ear.”
Tom couldn’t imagine anything more bizarre than going up to the big man and trying to jump up to grab the ear. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly so,” Dimitri responded with a stern expression. “You’re going to have to change how you interact with me, but it’s the best option I have available. Every one of you has a different method to draw attention, and this one won’t be too difficult to set up. Lots of children are affectionate with me. You’ll need to do the same, and then you’ll have lots of opportunities to send the signal.”
“Despite this ridiculous body, I’m a grown man. Can’t I write a note or something?”
“Definitely not. Our enemies are not stupid. Most of the time we keep the orphanage clear of interlopers, but the wider town kills or chases away a spy once a month. And, before you ask, yes those spies are only here to kill the reincarnated ones. We’d have to be naïve to think that none of them get a look into here. Some even might get through the wards. That’s rare, but it happens. The real issue is that, if you need to contact me, it’ll probably be because our security is breached or you’re in personal trouble. The emergency signal has to be natural, and not alarm any operative that is paying extra attention to you or me. The strategy is to protect you.”
“But expecting me to hug you is weird. …”
Dimitri massaged the bridge of his nose:
“Tom, you’re a grown man. Deal with it. I’ve been here a decade. This will work.”
“Why?”
“It’ll work because I know how little kids are supposed to behave. You’re hard-wired to attach yourself to adults.”
“No, why are you fulfilling this role? Why are you in the orphanage?”