The processional bearers entered the Plaza from the gate. Plazas were always open on all sides, but for such a ceremony, the arch of the entrance was the only path used. All other Professionals present came from the other sides, but only the pod bearers came through the gate. Banners were unfurled, the eagle rampant over the pillars.

Nineteen stasis pods were brought down to the centre of the Plaza. Many auspices were checked, goats sacrificed, but the best number was always elusive. More? Less? Who knew, thought the Light Strategist. What would the gods favour? What would the Labyrinth itself favour?

At last, all the pods were placed, in a large fan position. The aether shieldmakers moved in place. The officer also took his place. Then, without further wait, he brought his staff down and touched the closest pod. He then turned and ran.

Energies played as the pod’s stasis started to break down. As the officer crossed the agreed threshold, all shieldmakers raised the pale green walls that would block the centre of the Plaza. Not that it was dangerous for any of the present Professionals but…

The aether walls went red. Blood and gore splashing all over the walls. He allowed himself a breath. Sometimes, the walls were not tall enough, and some splash came over the top. But not this time.

It did not matter which stasis pod was hit first. Once the Will of the Labyrinth was brought upon a pod’s content, all pods nearby failed simultaneously. There were some who spoke against daring to trick the Will of the Labyrinth. Using stasis pods to suspend youngsters, making them as dead corpses and letting them go thru the Gate despite their weaknesses… that was cheating they said. There was a reason why they could not enter. Gods made them lesser, and making them bigger was a travesty. Old people, all of them.

The Indomitable Spellbringers were at work, using air spells in clever unintended purpose, clearing the gore. The walls flickered and died, and he finally moved forward, taking stock.

Two forms writhed on the ground, the intense agonies coursing thru their flesh, as the Labyrinth remade them into Lords. Two out of nineteen. A good number. Far more than usual. Sometimes, not a single one made it.

He, himself, had never undergone such a trial. His Potentials had been enough to open the Gates for him. But no matter how good he was, how hard he pushed, they would be his betters one day. For now, he was good enough to stand guard upon the newest Lords of the Labyrinth.

The closest to him retched, spewing blood puke. He raised his glazed eyes, with barely a hint of comprehension in his look. The Strategist brought forward his hand. The male stripling watched uncomprehendingly before managing to raise his own arm, and clasp, clumsily raking his tetanized talons over his wrist.

Some Professionals could read lots of information by simply watching, but for him, the clasping of the wrist was the only way to access the new twice-born’s descriptor.

A Defender. With the expected Adjustment I.

“Stand, Defender Murgathor.”

Despite training, the young Lord’s legs shook. Its yellow pallor was slowly fading, the skin returning to a more neutral grey tone.

“This agony is yours, and yours alone. It marks you as a blessed of the Labyrinth. It will remind you that your power comes at a great cost. But you will look forward to it, for each time your Power grows, your agony will show you by how much. And none will rival you in the end.”

The other, a young female was approaching, trying – and succeeding barely – to stand proud. She blinked twice, the pupiled eyes not quite managing to focus.

“Now, both of you, get that tusk ringed with the proper copper bangle. You are now tier-one, and you must show it with pride. Today, the entire zone will feast for you.”