Even now, generations later, his words remain a lesson unheeded by many. Aether was not mercy; it did not forgive recklessness or weakness. It was a force that demanded dominion, and those who faltered, those who hesitated, were consumed by it.
And those very words had given them their name—Forsaken.
They were the ones who had failed their awakening, who had reached into the currents of aether only to be pulled under, twisted into something beyond salvation. Neither dead nor truly alive, they existed in defiance of order, embodying the chaos they could not control. Where we ascended, they descended. Where we sought harmony, they craved destruction. Their existence was a testament to the price of failure, a stark reminder that Aether did not offer second chances.
"Out there, youths younger than you have endured far worse—have faced the harshest realities this universe has to offer. They were not born into worlds of order and structure nor raised within the safety of the Dominion's borders. No, they were born into chaos, into planets infested with the Forsaken, where the balance between order and disorder shifts like the changing winds.
"To them, survival is not a lesson taught in academies—it is instinct. A necessity. Every breath is a battle, every moment a gamble. While you trained within the walls of your noble houses, honing your skills under careful instruction, they learned theirs through blood and loss. They did not have the luxury of choosing honour over victory; they fought because the alternative was death.
"You think yourself strong?" Ms. Athena's gaze swept across the class, sharp as a blade. "Then tell me—when the time comes, when chaos claws at the edges of your world, will you be the one left standing? Or will you fall like so many before you, unable to cast aside the comforts of your upbringing? This is what this institute is for—to temper raw ore into unbreakable steel, to forge warriors who will not falter when faced with the abyss. To mold leaders, to cultivate figures of prominence within the Great Houses and beyond, ensuring that those who rise from these halls are not only powerful but worthy of the legacies they will uphold."
She swept her gaze over all of us, lingering just long enough to make each student feel the weight of her scrutiny. Then, her lips curled into that all-too-familiar, devilish grin—one that sent a shiver down my spine. Her dark and imposing horns caught the light, casting jagged shadows across her face.
"Now," she said, her voice brimming with wicked amusement, "let's have some fun."
All the students were paired off to spar—except for me.
Since we had an odd number, Ms. Athena, in her infinite cruelty, decided that I would face both Apothus and Tacitus at once.
Apothus, a towering Shivari, stood with his four muscular arms crossed over his chest. His sharp-toothed grin, gleaming under the midday sun, seemed more amused than menacing. His bald head gleamed, and his three eyes—two shut and the center one glowing a faint yellow—gave him a predatory look. Tacitus, ever unreadable, exhaled through his nose. His lean frame and angular features were stark against the harsh light. His light blue eyes, cold and distant, flicked briefly to Apothus before returning to me, resigned but clearly frustrated with the arrangement.
Ms. Athena clapped her hands together, a signal that cut through the noise. "Begin"
I stared at them as they approached, like lions waiting for their prey, their movements measured and assessing.
"I don't understand this at all. Why must we fight two against one? It's a disgrace. Does she think so little of our skill?" Tacitus muttered, irritation clear in his voice. He circled me like a vulture, each step slow, deliberate. Around us, the clash of steel, the hum of aetheric, and the occasional grunt of exertion filled the air. Yet, all of it faded into the background as my focus narrowed on the two before me.
Apothus exhaled sharply, rolling his massive shoulders before uncrossing his four powerful arms. "It should have been me alone," he said, his voice carrying a low, almost amused growl. "Then we would have had a real fight." His sharp-toothed grin widened as he studied me, his third eye glowing faintly.
I spun the short sword along the palm of my hand, feeling the cold leather handle glide against my skin. It wasn't my Dream Blade, but it would have to do. Ms. Athena had made it clear—I shouldn't use it during spars—so I followed her words.
This, however, was the slight advantage she allowed me—a luxury my opponents didn't have.
"If it's two against one," she had said with that ever-present smirk, "I should at least make it somewhat fair."
Fair. I wasn't sure if that word even existed in her vocabulary.
Tacitus and Apothus continued their slow approach, their expressions unreadable, but I could feel their intent. I adjusted my grip on the sword, knowing that the moment one of us moved, the fight would begin in earnest.
"She even gives him a weapon," Tacitus gritted out, his frustration barely contained. "It's so obvious she favours him. If we beat him, it's two against one. But if he beats us with a weapon—" he scoffed, putting heavy emphasis on the word weapon—"then it'll just look like he's superior."
"You are right," I whispered, my voice barely carrying over the tension between us. "Where is the honour of using a sword against foes with no such weapon?"
Without hesitation, I let the short sword fall from my grasp, the dull clink of metal against stone echoing through the sparring grounds.
Tacitus and Apothus glanced at it briefly, but I knew they wouldn't pick it up. They wouldn't disgrace their honour like that. I was sure of it.
Instead, I met their gazes head-on and raised my hands into a ready stance. Let them come.
"I had always known House Solis was arrogant," Apothus rumbled, his deep voice carrying a weight that matched his towering frame. "Your cousin wears his on his sleeve, but you… It burns deep within you. I can see it." His middle eye locked onto mine, unblinking, as if peering into something beyond the surface. "You—"