"Now that you know the rules, it's time for your first lesson," Ian's voice dripped with cold reverence as the chalk carved out the emperor's likeness. The face that appeared on the board was a mockery of beauty—symmetrical to the point of inhumanity, every line sharp, every angle commanding. It was the kind of face that demanded you bow your head before you even realized you'd done it. Amertis Trismegustus. Even his name was enough to churn your stomach, drilled into us from the moment we were old enough to understand. And now, he stared down at us with lifeless eyes, a god-king in chalk—both beautiful and terrible.
Ian's speech, though reverent, felt rehearsed, almost mechanical—like it had been etched into his mind just as the emperor's image was etched onto the board. He referenced maps and histories, but always vaguely. The fractured lands, the Emperor's conquests—spoken of with hollow grandeur, never truly explained. A vast empire, built on suffering, yet reduced to vague allusions and half-truths. Each mention felt like an invitation to a mystery we weren't meant to solve.
"This," Ian's voice, initially calm, began to falter as he sketched the emperor's likeness, the lines sharpening with every stroke. By the time the final detail was drawn, his hand trembled slightly—whether from awe or fear, I couldn't tell. "is our beloved emperor, Amertis Trismegustus." Beloved. That word again. I wondered if Ian even believed his own drivel or if he'd simply mastered the art of speaking with a straight face. Either way, it was clear that this was no ordinary lesson. The room seemed to grow colder as the emperor's face loomed over us, larger than life, a stone idol commanding silent worship. I felt my throat tighten, my lungs struggling to pull in air that suddenly felt thick and heavy, as though the emperor himself had wrapped his fingers around my neck.
"Kneel," Ian commanded, and before I could even register the order, my knees were hitting the cold stone floor with a sharp thud. It wasn't a request; it was instinct, beaten into us by fear and the simple, primal need to survive. A hundred knees hit the ground, a chorus of dull impacts that reverberated through the silence, each one a small surrender to something far greater and far more monstrous than any of us could truly understand.
"Repeat after me," Ian's voice was softer now, like a serpent whispering promises of paradise even as its fangs were poised to strike. "I thank you, my great emperor, for this opportunity to make myself better. I thank my lord for—"
The words sat like acid on my tongue. I forced them out, each one a betrayal of everything I'd ever been. I thank you, my great emperor, for this opportunity to make myself better. I thank my lord... My voice was barely a whisper, hollow and dead, but it was enough. I felt the bile rise in my throat as the chant continued, a grotesque mantra to a man who had taken everything from me. For what? For ripping my mother away from me? For turning my home into rubble? For sending me here, to this prison of false promises and empty lessons?
"The wisdom to guide me, the strength to shape me, and the courage to obey," Ian continued, leading us through the litany of obedience with all the passion of a priest leading a prayer. But there was nothing sacred about this. This was a mockery, a dark parody of devotion where the only thing being worshiped was power itself. I glanced around; we all looked the same—eyes downcast, faces blank, lips moving in unison as if we were nothing more than puppets, mouths echoing the words that were chaining us to this place. The hall reverberated with the sound of our voices, thin and shaky, each repetition stripping away another layer of who we used to be.
The chalk continued its frantic dance, moving with a life of its own as it sketched arcane symbols around the emperor's image. Intricate, interwoven, and dripping with a menace I could almost feel. They pulsed faintly, as if alive, each stroke humming with a strange energy that made my skin crawl. Runes of power, wards of control—whatever they were, they felt ancient, predatory, like the marks of something that had been waiting in the dark for centuries, biding its time.
I tore my gaze away from the symbols, my eyes drawn back to the emperor's face. That cold, perfect face. I could almost hear him laughing, somewhere far above us, watching his empire of pawns shuffle through the motions of loyalty. I clenched my jaw, the quiet fury bubbling up again. I had knelt today because I had to. I had spoken the words because I had no choice. But one day, I swore, I would not kneel. I would not bow.
The emperor's image shifted, bleeding into color with unsettling fluidity—his crown shimmering like molten gold, bronze skin gleaming with an eerie, lifelike sheen. His white cloak glowed, too pure, too perfect, like a shroud for a corpse.
Then, with a sudden jerk, the emperor's hand broke free of the board like a thing alive, and for a moment, reality itself bent. He was there—fully formed, regal, terrifying. I blinked, expecting him to vanish. But he didn't. He stood, and we all trembled beneath him.
It was absurdly quick, almost comical—one moment, he was a chalk drawing, and the next, he was here. The emperor, in all his terrible glory, standing before us as if he had stepped straight out of legend and nightmare. My heart seized, and for a fraction of a second, the room held its breath. Then, just as quickly, he exploded, disintegrating into a cloud of dust that hung in the air like ash from a dying fire.
The dust swirled, a living storm of raw, unbridled power, slamming into us like a tidal wave—searing energy that ripped through my mind, tearing open every hidden wound. There were no screams, no cries—just the silent, collective horror of fifty minds cracking open at once. The dust clawed its way into my lungs, burning like hot coals, and I could feel it burrowing deep, sinking into my skin, carving its way into my very bones. My vision blurred, and the world fractured into a kaleidoscope of terror, each shard a jagged glimpse of every fear I had ever known.
The Emperor was everywhere—in my head, in my veins, seeping into the cracks of my mind and twisting everything he found there. GET OUT! I screamed silently, but the voice of my rebellion was drowned beneath the relentless tide of his influence.
The pain was indescribable, not just a physical agony but a soul-deep rending that left me gasping, desperate, clawing at the edges of sanity. It was as if a dark hand was reaching into my chest, squeezing my heart with merciless pressure. I felt my mother's voice, echoing in the shadows, not as a comfort but as an accusation. The soft lullabies of my childhood morphed into bitter reminders of her absence, the chasm of loss yawning wider with each passing second.
Visions swirled around me—my city burning, flames licking at the sky, consuming everything I had ever known. The air was thick with smoke, acrid and suffocating, choking the life from my lungs. I saw the ground littered with bodies, faces contorted in horror, eyes staring blankly into the void. Among them, I recognized familiar shapes—friends, neighbors, people I had loved—each one reduced to nothing more than a memory.
Then, I saw myself—small, powerless, kneeling in the shadow of a throne that would never be mine. The Emperor loomed above me, a towering figure draped in darkness, his smile a twisted mockery of triumph. I wanted to rise, to break free from the chains that bound me, but my limbs felt heavy, as though the weight of his expectations pressed down on me, stifling my very essence.
"The first cut is always the deepest" his voice echoed, smooth and cold, winding its way into the depths of my mind. "Endure it child."
No! I thought, though it felt like shouting into a void. I refuse to let you win. But as the Emperor's presence tightened its grip, the flicker of defiance waned, leaving behind a hollow ache where my spirit once burned brightly.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm receded. The dust settled, the air cleared, and I found myself on the cold stone floor, gasping for breath, my body shaking from the aftershocks of that unholy communion. Around me, the others lay sprawled, eyes wide and unfocused, like puppets with their strings cut. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the shared weight of what had just happened.
Professor Ian stood before us, looking down with a faint, satisfied smile, like a craftsman admiring his work. "You have now been marked as the emperor's pawns," he announced, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "His will flows through you, his power binds you."
Marked. Binds. Pawns. The words felt like chains, heavy and cold, wrapping around my neck. My hands clenched into fists, the last vestiges of pain still thrumming through my veins like poison. The Emperor had left his mark on us, spreading like a virus—small at first, but insidious. I noticed a shift, subtle yet undeniable, deep within the recesses of my mind. It was like something foreign had taken root, whispering in the back of my thoughts, twisting my emotions ever so slightly.
The air crackled with the aftermath of the emperor's fleeting presence, and I couldn't help but imagine the swirling dust as a bitter irony—here we were,fifty lost souls, all caught in the grip of a cruel god-king's whims. What a lovely welcome party, I mused, a bit of dust, a touch of terror—perfect for a first day at this charming little hellhole!
As I struggled to pull myself off the floor, my limbs feel heavy and unresponsive, as if I were trying to climb out of quicksand. How poetic, I thought, a mere picture sent me to my knees, and yet here I am, still clinging to the idea of resistance.
What a tragedy—one might almost shed a tear, if one had the capacity for sentimentality left in this wretched place.
I glanced around, taking stock of my fellow students, their faces pale and wide-eyed. A part of me felt a twinge of sympathy, but then again, sympathy had never been my strong suit. Instead, I was more inclined to admire the artistry of their surrender. Look at them, I thought, the perfect tableau of despair, a modern art piece titled 'Obedience in a Totalitarian State.' I bet it would fetch quite a sum at auction—if anyone dared to sell it, that is.
"Get up!" Ian barked, his voice cutting through the haze. Ah, the tyrant speaks, I thought with an internal smirk. What's next? A delightful lecture on the merits of our subservience? Perhaps a musical number? I hear 'Kneeling in the Name of the Empire' is a real crowd-pleaser.
But there was no time for musings. As we staggered to our feet, I felt the weight of the emperor's lingering power coursing through us, like a parasite feeding on our will to resist. It was both terrifying and absurdly comical, a twisted play in which we were all unwilling actors.
"Let me remind you," Ian continued, his tone dripping with condescension, "that this is only the beginning. You have been chosen, marked as the emperor's chosen instruments."
Instruments, I scoffed internally. More like toys—playthings for a yman who has long since forgotten what it means to be human. I can see it now: 'And now, for my next trick, I will make a hundred children dance like marionettes!' Bravo! What a show!
"Remember this moment," Ian pressed on, his eyes narrowing. "You will carry the weight of this lesson into every future trial. You are bound to the emperor, and you will serve him with unwavering loyalty."
Unwavering loyalty? What a deliciously ironic concept, I thought, stifling a laugh that threatened to escape. Why don't we all just tattoo 'Property of Amertis' across our foreheads? That would certainly clear up any confusion, don't you think?
But beneath my humor lurked a cold fury. I could feel the chains tightening, and while I may have knelt in submission today, I refused to be broken by the weight of my anger.
I caught the eye of one of my fellow students, a girl with hollow cheeks and haunted eyes, and I wondered if she felt it too—the quiet surge of rebellion brewing beneath the surface, a current waiting for the right moment to break free. There's the trick, I thought, to find allies among the beaten.
Her gaze lingered just a second longer than anyone else's, a flicker of something—defiance, maybe? Or was it the same empty fear that gnawed at all of us? Still, she hadn't looked away, and that was enough for now. Enough to spark the smallest glimmer of possibility.
With that thought igniting the embers of rebellion in my chest, I stood tall among my fellow prisoners, the first flickers of defiance mingling with the ashes of despair.
Allies, I mused, if not friends, at least fellow conspirators. It was a comforting thought.One doesn't survive long in a place like this by standing alone. A lesson I had learned from my mother many teaching.
I gave her a small, imperceptible nod, the kind that doesn't mean much to anyone watching, but to her, it might mean everything. She didn't return it, not outright, but I caught the faintest tension in her posture, a tightening of her jaw, the briefest flicker of acknowledgment. Good. That was a start.
"You may sit," Ian commanded, and we sat. The lecture that followed felt like it droned on for hours, though I suspect it was far shorter. Time had a way of twisting in here, stretching and distorting, especially when every minute felt like it carried the weight of chains.
We touched on topics like the "Foundations of Imperial Rule"—a convenient rewrite of history where every conquest was a benevolent act of salvation, every rebellion a stain on the glorious tapestry of the Empire's inevitable destiny. Ian spoke with the kind of certainty that only comes from someone who's either truly drunk the Kool-Aid or is dead inside. I wasn't sure which was worse.
Then there was "The Hierarchy of Power," another charming reminder of how utterly replaceable we were. A pyramid scheme of suffering, where the bottom rung existed only to be crushed, and the top reveled in the blood of their subjects. It was dressed up in fancy terms—"duty," "sacrifice," "honor"—but at the end of the day, the message was clear: Know your place, and stay in it.
He moved on to "The Emperor's Divine Right," and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. This was where they really laid it on thick, the idea that Amertis Trismegustus wasn't just a man but a god walking among us, his rule preordained by forces beyond mortal comprehension. Because, of course, nothing keeps an empire running smoother than the belief that your oppression is a divine gift.
And then came the lesson on "Loyalty." Ah yes, the golden word. They loved this one. Loyalty to the Empire, loyalty to the Emperor, loyalty to the chain of command.
The room felt smaller with every word Ian spoke, the walls closing in as if the very stones were leaning in to listen. Every topic was just another brick in the prison they were building around our minds, laying the foundation for something far worse than any physical cage.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture, and Ian paused mid-sentence. "I suppose this is a good place to stop." Spinning on his heels, he swept out of the lecture hall with his coat billowing behind him like some villain in a bad play. The room exhaled collectively as the door slammed shut behind him, the oppressive atmosphere lifting slightly.
A moment later, Isgar sauntered in, flanked by a few older kids—older but not by much. His easy grin and the way he moved through the room like he owned it set him apart from the rest of us. His eyes found mine, and with a lazy wave, he signaled for me to follow him. What now? I caught the fleeting look of amusement on his face, as if he enjoyed the silent power he wielded.
Thalen was the first to stand. The poor boy had been quiet since the start of the day, and now his legs wobbled like a newborn calf's as he tried to steady himself. His wide, darting eyes searched the room frantically, as though he was looking for something—or someone—who might save him from whatever was coming next.
The twins, Rylin and Sael, moved as one, their identical expressions set with grim resolve. It was unnerving, how they seemed to share a single mind, as if they'd already resigned themselves to whatever lay ahead. Then there was Kel, still rubbing his eye. Why? It looked healed now, just like all the other injuries we'd suffered on the journey here. Yet there he was, nursing it like an old wound. He gave Isgar a defiant glare but didn't say a word. Not after today. Another conspirator? Maybe.
Meris followed without question, her quiet, hollow-eyed presence like a ghost among us. She seemed to be in her own world again, her gaze always distant, as if she could see something we couldn't. Perhaps she had already seen too much.
Daris was the last to come over. His broad shoulders were tense, each step deliberate, his jaw clenched tight like he was holding back a flood of words. I wondered how long he'd last before that dam finally broke.
Together, we made a sorry-looking lot, but we moved toward Isgar like moths to a flame. The other kids seems to be doing the same going to an older kid that called them over.
Isgar led us down a series of twisting corridors, his step brisk but unhurried like he'd walked this path a thousand times before.
"Rough first lesson huh?" His tone was light, casual, like we'd just come from a history lecture and not some nightmarish initiation. I almost laughed—almost.
Behind me, I could hear Kel's uneven breathing, a quiet reminder of the defiance still smoldering in him. The twins, Rylin and Sael, moved silently beside each other, their steps perfectly in sync, their eyes straight ahead. Meris, blank-faced, her gaze distant, like she wasn't really with us at all, just floating along in some other world. And Daris—well, Daris looked like he might snap any moment. I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat, his clenched fists a ticking time bomb.
"Yeah," I muttered, barely loud enough for Isgar to hear. "Rough."
But of course, that was the point, wasn't it? To break us, mold us, strip away whatever we thought we were before we arrived here. And the worst part? Some of us were already bending to it.
Isgar glanced over his shoulder, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You'll get used to it. Everyone does eventually."
I wanted to ask him how long it took. How long before you stop feeling that knot of fear in your gut, before your mind stops screaming at you to run? But what came out of my mouth was,"Where are you taking us?". No point in showing weakness, not here. Not now.
Isgar didn't bother looking back, his steps steady and purposeful "To the Pit," he said simply, the words hanging in the air like a dark omen.
"The Pit?" Daris spoke up from behind, his voice strained, barely controlled.
Isgar's grin widened, but there was no humor in it. "Don't worry, farm boy, it's not as bad as it sounds." He glanced over his shoulder then, just enough to catch the wary glances being exchanged. "Well, not at first, anyway."
A low murmur ran through our group. The Pit. Just hearing the name sent a shiver down my spine. Another trial, no doubt. Another way to remind us how small, how insignificant we were in this grand machine we'd been fed into.
"You'll see soon enough," Isgar continued, his tone almost cheerful now, like a man leading us to a carnival. "It's where we all start. Your first real lesson."