Opening Ceremony

"Haaaaah!!"

I exhaled as I turned my head and looked around me.

We were standing in columns and rows, like pieces on a game board. First-years, the whole thousand of us.

The hall where we were at smelled of polished stone and silent tension. It had high ceilings arched above us like the ribcage of some ancient beast with banners hanging like the lungs of a nation desperate for breath.

Light filtered in, its glow reflecting faintly off the curved obsidian floor.

Every face turned forward, though you could still hear quick whispers passing between the lot who were still unsure of their place.

I was near the back, of course, due to my rank.

A lot of the people around me were commoners. Most of them had that look in their eyes, it was not fear exactly, but more like stunned disbelief that they'd made it through the gate.

I also could sense their power. They were also in the second Star rank.

'Maybe I really do belong here.'

Anyway, the hall itself was not just big but it also felt heavy. Like the weight of what we were about to commit to had been carved into the stone itself.

I could hear some kid behind me breathing hard and his best not to show it. He was nervous. This was after all the Opening Ceremony.

Then, all at once, the room stilled.

A man entered from the archway at the front of the hall. He wore a black coat with silver lining and a crest on his shoulder that most of the room probably didn't recognize.

But I did.

Threx Xander.

The man who had once led the Vanguard Reclamation Legion. He was also the Vice Principal of Forge. A high-ranking military official since Threx was a rank closer to the Royals than commoners.

He had a full head of greying hair and his face bore lines but not many. That was the strange part. He had grey hair, sure, but his skin, his body, his posture; he didn't look old.

If anything, he looked sharper than men half his age.

If I didn't know better, I would have thought we were somehow related because of the hair. But I did know better.

That man was no family of mine.

He stopped in front of the hall and turned, voice cutting clean through the room.

"Cadets," he said.

The murmuring ceased.

"You stand today at the gates of change," Xander continued. "You have earned your way into Forge. Many apply, few are chosen and even fewer survive. But you are here. And for that, I commend your courage."

'Commend our courage?'

I thought bitterly.

'Like we had a damn choice.'

When one's cursed mark awakens, their life immediately splits into three paths. They have to join the military, enter the academy if they are exceptional or disappear into obscurity, live like a ghost and pretend the world doesn't expect anything from them.

Most don't even get to pick. Their curses decide for them. Our marks aren't just reminders, they're chains.

Xander paced slowly before us, "Forge is not a school. It is a crucible. You will be unmade and reforged. Some of you will break while others will bend. But if you endure, you will emerge stronger than you ever imagined."

He paused, turning to face us again.

"Whatever privileges you knew before today," he said, his voice sharper now like the edge of a drawn sword, "leave them behind. Wealth. Status. Lineage. They mean nothing within these walls. Here, you earn everything; from your training schedules to the food you eat, to the very air you breathe."

That was it, then. My life of privilege had ended the moment I stepped back through that gate. The potential heir to the Fitzroy line? Irrelevant. Here, I was just Ronan, a cursed boy with a low rank.

Xander raised one hand and a rectangular wooden case was revealed. He opened it with care, revealing rows of burnished steel emblems inlaid with the Forge insignia; a sword wrapped in chains.

"Come forward when your name is called. You will receive your emblem and officially become a Cadet of Forge."

The room tensed.

"Rank One," Xander called, "Dorian."

Gasps rippled through the room like a wave hitting a broken wall, even the commoners beside me straightened.

Dorian.

No last name, just Dorian. That alone said everything. No family name to cling to, no noble crest to hide behind, just strength. Raw and undeniable strength.

I watched him step forward from the front row. Tall, lean, with black hair tied into a low knot.

Murmurs broke out again.

"He's really a commoner?"

"No way."

When Dorian aced the entrance test, you can imagine the upset it brought to the noble circle. Especially to Ronan who had gotten on his bad side.

"If someone like him can do it... maybe we can too."

I scoffed. It was plain wishful thinking.

"You won't," I muttered under my breath, my gaze still ar Dorian.

The boy beside me looked confused. "Huh?"

"Even if you worked your ass off from now until graduation, you wouldn't touch Dorian's current level. Not in combat, curse control or even ranking."

He stared.

"He's him."

The boy tilted his head in confusion, but I didn't mind. Because that's what Dorian was. The main Character of Ashes of the Accursed.

Dorian the bastard, but not like Varek.

No, Dorian was a literal bastard. A son born out of scandal, hidden away by a high-ranking noble who played a far bigger role later in the story.

Dorian reached the front and Xander held out the emblem. He took it without hesitation.

The moment the metal touched his NexBand, it shimmered and then dissolved into a stream of light. It was absorbed into the device on his right hand.

Xander turned back to the rest of us.

"This emblem will be your life at Forge," he said. "With it, your survival now begins. Once you receive your emblem, proceed directly to your assigned class."

My eyes followed Dorian as he stepped aside and disappeared through one of the designated exits without so much as a backward glance.

"Rank Two, Quetsiyah Pallavacini."

A wave of murmurs surged again.

Of course, it was Her.

She walked like she was born on marble floors. That alone made headlines, but what made bigger news was that she wasn't Rank One. The Princess of the Pallavacini line.

A commoner had outranked royalty.

The media spun it for days. Some called it a scandal, others a sign that the world was changing but to me, it just meant that Dorian was that damned good.

"Rank Three, Harry Montclair."

I raised a brow.

He was Dorian's original rival before Varek came by.

Wait if Varek took Harry's position, will I now take his position and become Dorian's rival?

Or will I just become Varek's rival?

I inwardly cringed. I just hated Varek.

"Rank Five, Isolde Fitzroy."

I felt my jaw clench.

She walked tall, just as she always had. Straight-backed, focused, never letting her gaze linger too long on anyone. Her emblem dissolved into her NexBand like it belonged there.

She didn't even flinch.

"Soon," I whispered.

"I'll catch up."

I had to.

"Rank Eight, Jeniffer Townsend."

The girl from the other day.

"Rank Nineteen, Ravina Wu."

My breath caught for half a second.

She was composed now, fully in control.

The murmurs that followed her were more hushed this time, but I still caught a few:

"She's so pretty," and "Isn't she from the Wu family?"

Then it continued for a couple of minutes before a familiar name was called.

"Rank Six Hundred and Sixty-Six. Varek Aligheri."

My eyes snapped up.

Oh, right.

'I remember that was his rank. 666 really suits him. He's the devil.'

He slouched forward with a half-smile on his lips as if he found the whole thing amusing. Even the instructors didn't seem thrilled to see him. His NexBand flickered slightly as the emblem dissolved like it wanted to reject him.

But it didn't. Of course, it didn't.

It wasn't done with him yet.

The rest of the names began rolling out faster. Rank after rank, each receiving their emblem and vanishing toward their assigned class.

Xander only called out the top ten. After that, instructors stepped in to hand out the rest.

Most of the room had emptied by then.

I stood in the vast hall, now hollow with echoes. Only one other student remained beside me.

A lanky boy with a crooked smile and bags under his eyes.

Rank 1000.

"Rank Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine. Ronan Fitzroy."

I stepped forward, this was it. The bottom of the barrel, but I took the emblem anyway.

Because even trash thrown into the forge comes out sharp.