Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 70: Sorting Part Four

Evanora claps heartily, the sound loud and jarring, her scarred face twisted in a smile so wide it looks like it hurts. There's nothing genuine in it just another layer of performance, another mask for the benefit of the crowd. She waves her hand and the flags flutter back to their original forms, the lights flickering to normal. The students chosen for House Melruth sit back into their seats, the faint white glow fading from their skin.

Most of them look a little frightened, and who can blame them? You don't get picked for a house like that because life has been easy. But as I scan the group, three faces catch my attention a few who don't seem scared at all, but instead pleased.

The first is a boy with skin like old parchment, sharp jawline, black hair cropped close to his skull. His eyes are a cold, clouded gray, like river stones in winter, but there's a glint there something sly and calculating. He looks like the sort who never acts unless he's sure he'll draw blood.

Further down is another boy, taller and lean, with a mop of inky brown hair falling over one eye. His features are thin, almost delicate, but there's nothing soft about the way he watches the room. His eyes are a startling, unnatural yellow similar to Artemis's wide and unblinking, the kind of stare that makes your skin crawl if you look too long. He smiles, but I can tell it doesn't reach his eyes.

And then there's a girl, sitting on the edge of the group, back perfectly straight, face impassive. Her skin is dark, her jaw strong, and her lips pressed tight in a line of defiance. Her eyes are a vivid green, sharp as shattered jade, and she meets my gaze as if she could feel me looking at her unflinching, cold. She's not afraid, not even a little. If anything, she looks like she's waiting for a challenge.

I file those faces away for later, making a mental note to avoid them if possible or at least not turn my back on them. There's something about the way they hold themselves that makes me think they're dangerous. Internally, I groan. This endless ceremony is starting to wear on me. I'm hungry and dying of thirst, I keep thinking about the dinner I missed, stomach twisting in protest. If I'd known how long these house announcements would drag, I would have stormed the kitchens myself. The show is getting boring, and the only thing I want now is to be done with it.

I'm lost in the pleasant daydream of a massive meal some delicious meat, fresh bread, honeyed fruit especially an apple when a voice like a thunderclap booms across the hall, making me jump in my seat. Elijah snickers beside me, and I scowl, shoving my elbow into his side. He grunts and winks at me.

All attention snaps to the new proctor stepping onto the dais. She's impossible to miss: a giant of a woman, easily seven feet tall, with skin the color of burnished copper and hair the same wild orange as a bonfire. Her eyes blaze bright orange, almost glowing in the half-light, and her white robes only make her seem bigger, more impossible. She looks so utterly eccentric, so out-of-place among the careful, dour proctors that I have to wonder how anyone can have a conversation with her without bursting into laughter.

She plants her feet wide, hands on her hips, and when she speaks again her voice fills every inch of the hall. "My name is Proctor Anastasia Solovyov. I am the head of House Vespera." She grins, showing a mouthful of strong teeth, and raises her fist high. "The house of the evening star. We shines first, we shines brightest, and we shines the longest!"

The energy in the room shifts some students snicker myself among them, but others straighten, drawn in by her sheer presence. There's nothing subtle about Anastasia, nothing hidden or careful. She's all force, all pride, all unapologetic confidence.

With her declaration, Evanora goes through the motions once more, and the flags around the hall ripple, colors bleeding away. In their place is a new banner: steel gray, rust red, and charcoal black, streaked together like veins in raw ore. In the center, a broken iron shackle is set against the flank of a rising mountain. Sparks scatter from the snapped chain links, stylized so cleverly they almost look alive tiny, distant stars in a sky of iron.

Anastasia's booming voice rolls over the hall like thunder, shaking the stone and rattling my bones. "Those chosen for my house have shown the traits I like to see the most; endurance, rebellion against the odds, and the will to rise no matter how deep you've fallen. Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. We never back down from our duty of protecting the Emperor and our land. We are Elites of Elarion, and we know not defeat. Vive sicut serpens!" She belts out the motto with such force I swear the banners themselves tremble. I wince, resisting the urge to cover my ears.

Internally, I can't help but roll my eyes. All that volume, all that bluster I'm surprised the ceiling didn't cave in. Does she think if she yells loud enough, it'll make the rest of us believe it too? If she was any more obsessed with triumph and duty, I'd expect her to start flexing and challenge the pillars to an arm-wrestling contest.

With a nod from her, Evanora snaps her fingers, and the next wave of selection ripples through the room. This time, about a hundred students shimmer with a faint orange glow, claimed by House Vespera. The second largest group so far. I watch the glow flicker across the benches most students look relieved as if this was the best choice.

Honestly, I'm glad I wasn't picked for this one. A house full of honor-driven fools obsessed with beating adversity is the fastest shortcut to a grave I can imagine. All that talk of duty and never knowing defeat sure, until the first real defeat comes, and then what? You get up and keeping marching as cannon fodder for the Empire's great cause? No thanks ha!

Elijah isn't glowing either, and I find myself oddly relieved. He's easy enough to get along with. At least I know he won't try to rally me into some grand, suicidal charge for "honor's sake." I nudge him and he grins, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Guess we're still unclaimed," he whispers. "Think they're saving the best for last?"

"Or the worst," I mutter back. "I'm starting to think this whole selection process is rigged" How exactly to they determine all of these traits?"

Elijah snickers and strugs, and I return my attention to the crowd. My eyes land on Kaizen he's standing now, chin up, shoulders back, an orange glow shimmering around him. He actually looks...proud. Confident, even. For a moment, I'm surprised, but then it makes perfect sense. If anyone needs a house that will pound self-doubt out of you with sheer force of will, it's Kaizen. Maybe Anastasia's army of overgrown optimists will do him some good the poor boy is still beating himself up over following my order

Anastasia's voice booms out again, echoing off the flagstones. "Always seek out the seed of triumph in every adversity, my dear students!" She throws her head back and laughs, a deep, rolling sound that's half joy, half challenge. The bear of a woman ends her selection as quickly as she started it, planting herself back down on her massive seat with the finality of a mountain settling after an earthquake.

The banners ripple, the orange glow fades, and the Vespera recruits sit down, some of them already forming little knots of conversation. I watch them, curious despite myself. Some I can tell are block heads like Anastasia, but others throw me for a loop as to why chosen, tiny girl here, quiet looking boy there. Its all so baffling.

Evanora is conferring with the remaining proctors i guess deciding which head wants to go next, while the rest of us sit and wait with a faint hum of low conversation between the newly selected house mates. My mind wanders as I tally up the numbers about 270 students have been claimed by the houses so far out of our total class size of 365. That leaves less than a hundred of us still sitting here, scattered across the benches, waiting for judgment. The first year class is large nearly on the money of Cain's 400 prediction. A little under four hundred new elites across the seven countries that make up this year. It's no wonder the Empire has been able to wage war so effectively on the rest of the continent. Even allied against us they don't have the numbers to win out right.

Anyways, only two houses remain. Two banners hang with all the subtlety of a knife at your throat.

First, the flag with the stylized silver sword, gripped by a figure with wings of fire erupting behind its back. The blade points downward, braced against the earth, and behind it, a rising sun blazes in a perfect gold halo. The flag's colors are savage, regal crimson and winter white, trimmed in gold so bright it almost hurts to look at. I can feel the phantom heat of it from here glory, sacrifice, the kind of virtue that gets people killed by the dozens for a cause they barely understand.

Then, the last flag. Deep indigo and onyx black, bordered in pale silver. At its heart, a downward-pointing triangle, a silver eye set into its center, unblinking, watchful, cold. Four curved lines arc from the triangle's point, forming a hood or a veil like the eye is peering out from behind a mask, or maybe behind the world itself. It doesn't scream for attention like the sword and sun, but there's something magnetic about it all the same.

I lean back, letting my eyes drift from one banner to the other, trying to imagine what kind of students they're looking for. How do the proctors decide? What equation are they solving by placing into one house over another? Is it really about merit and personality?

My mind circles back to the test in the dream world. What did they see in me? What did I show them while I gave the order to burn weed and Artemis? When I used the full prowess of my sword art honed by Cain and my Royal teachers? When I unleashed my illusions? Did I show ruthlessness that they expect out of an Elite? Did I look like a leader capable of winning victories and claiming land in the name of our divine God King? I try to recall every choice, every hesitation.

I glance at Elijah, who sits beside me, his brow furrowed and his gaze distant. He's chewing the inside of his cheek, lost in thought. I wonder which house he's hoping for. My gut says he wants the one with the silver eye. There's something about the way he moves, the way he observes; quiet but present, careful but not afraid. The sword and sun house feels too theatrical for him, too loud.

Me? I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the eye house too. There's something comforting in the idea of watching from the shadows, of wielding secrets instead of banners. The other flag the winged figure with the burning sword makes my skin crawl. The voices at the edge of my mind stir, whispering things I'd rather not hear. They hiss that the figure is divine, that it looks like me, that I belong there. The thought makes me want to laugh and gag at the same time.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to shut them out. I'm special for things I never asked for. Three marks of power is enough. I don't need a golden sun and a burning sword to remind me I'm different. I already know.

I see Artemis sitting across the aisle, still and unreadable. She's already been claimed, but her eyes flick to the banners with a kind of wary curiosity, like she's trying to decide if she would have fit better elsewhere. Kaizen is nowhere in sight, probably moved to sit next to someone in his new house, I bet he's getting a pep talk about courage and never giving up right now.

Elijah leans over, voice low. "Which one do you think you'll get?"

I shrug, keeping my tone neutral. "If I had to guess, the one with the eye. The sword and sun feels...cringe."

He nods, glancing at the crimson and gold banner. "I tend to agree, does not seem to fit either of us."

I snicker "Yea Mr. Invisible and Illusion boy, we don't really give off heroic and divine fighters now do we?"

He snorts, but there's tension in his shoulders. We both know we don't get to choose. We're at the mercy of whatever logic the proctors pretend to follow.

The voices in my head are getting louder now, hissing about destiny, about the fire in my blood, about how I should embrace the divine. How I need to make everyone see me.

Evanora finally steps forward again, her expression amused. The remaining proctors shift in their seats, preparing for the last selections. The tension in the room is electric, every unclaimed student sitting a little straighter, breath held tight in their chests.