The First Exam

He crossed the short stretch beneath the gate arches, and the moment he stepped beyond the threshold, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The gates, he realized, had been but an introduction to the grandeur that lay beyond. The academy stood upon the High Grounds of Aldaene, high above the vast Azurae Ocean, its grounds extended into the sheer cliff face of the last mountain in the Eastern Savale Range.

The bridge stretched ahead in a long succession of towering arches; its pale stone rose above the slope like a wall built to hold the mountains apart, while slender towers climbed above them, cutting into the blue of the sky. To his right, beyond the length of the bridge, the land opened into a vast green valley. Sunlight lay across fields and scattered groves, and a river wound through the lowlands, passing small clusters of houses and farmsteads before disappearing beneath the distant heights.

Bram drifted towards the left bridge railing to see what was there, there were roofs beyond roofs, so many that he could scarcely take them all in, far more than he had ever imagined a city could hold. His gaze wandered between the vast expanse of the city, the towering arches beneath him, and the immense walls of Aethoria ahead. The closer he came, the more the university seemed to dwarf everything around it. Its gates stood open, framed by pillars adorned with intricate carvings.

Beyond them lay the First Grounds of the academia, wide, open and already crowded. Inside, the sheer variety of the myris caught Bram's attention. Manushte, Elves, Orcs and Humans made up the greatest part of the gathering. Verdanis and Ashfolk were fewer, though there were enough of them to be noticed, and here and there he caught sight of a Halfling weaving between taller figures. They were healers, Bram supposed; military life was not for them, or so he had always believed. Pavitre, however, were nowhere to be seen, and neither were Draconians.

His thoughts turned to the war between Draconians and Humans, which had ended only two months ago. The absence of Draconians was hardly surprising, given how recently it was, yet the thought of an entire people remaining beyond these gates struck him as strange, particularly in a place that welcomed all Nine Peoples from every corner of the Six Lands.

"Come along," someone called to a companion nearby.

Bram took the words for himself and searched for the registration grounds. Guru Panje had told him that they registered near the gates of Vaerhold. He glanced towards another gate, set some distance ahead, across from the entrance to the First Grounds. "Where do I go?"

"There, boy," a man who was passing by stopped to say and Bram turned to him, the man added. "Those crimson gates are Vaerhold's."

There were two men, both Human, with green eyes and green hair. He opened his mouth to thank them, but they had already resumed walking, disappearing into the gathering crowd before he could utter a word.

Bram, then, drew his attention back to the registration tables and began making his way towards them. He chose a line of Vaerhold and took his place, holding his invitation in one hand. As he waited, his eyes moved over the officials seated behind the tables. They appeared occupied with their work, checking names against lists and writing details onto cards.

I do not care for other people, he told himself, his heart raced all the same, more when the disciple before him received his card and stepped away. Bram drew a slow, deep breath and extended his invitation letter.

"Bram Laebaedore, Maruna, Joharra."

He braced himself for a raised brow, perhaps, or a smile passed between the officials, but none came. The registrar merely checked his letter, wrote down details and slid a card towards him. "Bram Laebaedore," the registrar read once, then, without another glance, he called. "Next."

That's it? Bram stepped away, bewildered and heard someone nearby crying out for someone to hurry, complaining that they were hungry, Bram barely paid heed for his gaze had settled upon the card in his hand.

Infantry Disciple, 312

Bram Laebaedore, Maruna, Joharra

He stepped away from the line and looked across the twelve hundred people gathered around him, every one of them appearing far more certain than he felt. He decided they were all pretending, and the thought improved his spirits considerably while he found an empty place near the eastern bridge and waited alone until the examination bell tolled.

Conversation broke at once, stewards stepped forward and led the cohort through the North Wing of Vaerhold Academy, where Aethoria's administration offices occupied halls older than memory. They passed through corridors lined with sealed doors before emerging beside Ashwing Courtyard, at the staircase overlooking the courtyard, the stewards halted the lines and began guiding the candidates up.

Two staircases, broad enough for entire crowds to climb shoulder to shoulder without slowing, curved upward towards Ashwing Hall, set high above as though it had been built to watch over everything beneath it.

Above, the hall opened vast, morning light poured through long banks of windows that stretched the full length of both walls. Benches stood apart in careful rows, spaced wide enough that no candidate could glance upon another's paper, even leaning sideways. Twelve hundred seats, marked with candidate numbers upon each one, had been arranged in repeating sets of four, infantry, cavalry, archers, medics, stretching the length of the hall row after row, yet the order never repeated. No two students of the same discipline sat beside one another anywhere within the hall, for the arrangement sought less to prevent cheating than to remove the comfort of familiarity built on common ground of their path.

Bram found his seat in the first place of the fourth row and lowered himself onto the bench. The stewards stood facing the students just ahead of him, close enough that he could see their faces and remember it. He tried to sit still, but his knee had begun to bounce beneath the table.

"You are going to break that bench before the bell even rings."

Came the woman's voice from behind him and Bram stopped at once. "Sorry," turning in his seat, he caught the sight of the Verdani girl sitting behind him. "I... I've never sat this examination before."

Nobody here has, she wanted to say. "Did you apply yourself?" she asked instead.

"Guru Panje registered me," Bram glanced beyond her shoulder, taking in the rows of waiting disciples. "I never thought I'd actually be called."

"Clearly," she raised an eyebrow. "You weren't registered for nothing."

"That is a way to see it, aye." A smile found its way onto his face, easing his shoulders down by a degree, he leaned a little closer and offered, in a softer voice, "I am Bram."

"Erynae," she returned, then, a hush swept through the hall.

It began from the tables near the entrance and travelled swiftly between the rows, drawing conversations to a close and turning faces towards the doors. Attendants entered from both sides, carrying bundles in their arms, and behind them came Bowkeeper Amaeren Cylapatrae.

The Elf woman, of Seventy at one, crossed the length of the hall, made her way to the front and turned to face the assembled disciples. She wore a sky-blue bandeau beneath a long white coat that fell to her ankles, its sleeves ending just above her elbows. Her trousers were richly pleated, their folds settled in graceful layers and along the hem of her coat, vines bearing bailey leaves formed an intricate border, her midriff bare.

The garment sat strangely well against her complexion, which held the soft quality of cloudy water. Violet eyes watched the gathering beneath a fall of violet hair. She swept her gaze across the rows as though she were looking beyond faces and appearances, searching the souls beneath.

“You have four hours and twelve questions,” Amaeren's voice carried the whole length of the hall. “Sensory mages stand watch over this hall; they will feel the smallest reach towards deceit before your hand has even finished the act, and your paper will be bound until this hall stands empty once again. Aethoria welcomes you all, but these grounds are earned," she folded her hands before her, allowing the weight of her words to settle over the gathering. “Earn the ground upon which you have come to stand.”