“S-So, you want us to make everyone look down on you?” Anne asked Azriel with an ashamed look. “I don’t get it.”

Azriel nodded, stating, “It’s the only way,” leaning back against the interior wall of the stagecoach. “You saw what I did against the martial expert during the trials, did you not. I’m the one who killed the Nuckelavee. I’m too important.”

The three children: Anne, Ben, and Josef, were wordless, frightened, but oddly enough, what they felt the most was admiration. They believed every word Azriel said. The way he said it with such confidence didn’t give them the impression that he was simply bragging. What he was doing was something more, something that anyone else could not do given the context, certainly not a kid his age out to prove themself by joining the academy. He was not bragging; he was making a matter-of-fact statement.

“I came here thinking I wouldn’t stand out much. I thought that the fighters of the world would be at my level or better. I didn’t understand my situation. I was wrong. I was a fool,” he said while looking at the busted door tied shut with a length of taut rope. “I caught the headmaster’s eye. Now I’m too important to let go.”

Azriel sat back down. “Only now do I understand the extent of this situation. If I cause trouble, the trouble will fall back on everyone else but me, even if those around me are completely innocent. The only way to avoid that outcome is to make a scene that can’t be covered up.”

“A-Alright, but… aren’t you worried about everyone hating you?” Anna probed.

Azriel tilted his head to the side, a little confused, before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No, don’t worry. I don’t know any of them except Klaus. I can just explain it to him afterward.”

His confusion spread to them, with Anna inquiring, “What do you mean?! Why would that matter?”

“Huh, why would what matter?”

“Why would it matter if you knew them or not?”

Azriel furrowed his brow, “That’s a bit of a silly question, isn’t it? Why would I care what somebody thinks if I don’t know them?”

Anna was stumped. “Because— well… I… I’m not sure, actually.”

Having not picked up on social cues, Azriel laughed, “Ha, that’s funny: the idea of caring about what others think if I don’t even know them.”

His eyes still locked to the wooden floor, Josef muttered under his breath, “Ben was right. You are weird. You’re insane.”

***

A cool breeze pressed against Azriel’s face underneath the burning orange sky. Stood at the back of the crowd, all the attention on Azriel was transferred solely to The Headmaster. Just as he had hoped.

With the knowledge of how Jean’s power worked, Azriel had, in his mind, prepared to explain the situation to him so that through his precognition, he would know Azriel’s status without having to utter a sound.

“Amazing,” muttered Azriel.

Jean’s power was indeed an amazing tool of intrigue.

“Welcome to Azurellione Knight’s Academy,” Jean opened his speech. “I would like to thank and honor the ten brave men who laid down their lives today. This event truly was a tragedy of the nth degree, and I’ve already arranged to build a memorial in their honor.”

Azriel looked over to the line of soldiers, standing at attention with their hands over their hearts, a sad look in their eyes.

The reincarnated soldier, Karl, was crying. Azriel recognized the look he had, the way tears flowed, the expression he made. It was the same look Henric had when witnessing the gruesome death of his son. Like Henric before him, Karl was mourning the death of a child, his own son.

The headmaster closed his eyes, speaking solemnly, “You served well in life; may the Lord grant you everlasting peace in death.”

Azriel’s ears perked up. He didn’t recognize this ‘Lord’ figure to which the headmaster referred. The commonly spoken phrase was, “May the gods grant you everlasting peace in death.” Nobody else seemed to notice his weird phrasing.

Jean sighed, then continued, “To you 315 youthful spirits, you have been given the honors of only a select few. Of every child in this nation, only 314 others have been gifted this opportunity.”

The crowd looked amongst itself.

“You will henceforth no longer be considered civilians. Instead, you will now be known as the 37th generation of Knights-in-training, an exclusive member of the Gen. 37 Knight Corps.”

Azriel felt many hearts pounding in the crowd, their hands curled up with excitement, their legs wobbling jittery.

“I am Jean of Castille, also known by many as the Icon of Virtue, but I dislike that name. I am not a god, so you may not refer to me so reverentially. I am just a man; I am your headmaster.”

Azriel yawned, disinterested from all the names and titles spiel. He was growing sick of it, but it was more that he didn’t quite grasp its significance. The people around him looked as though they were on the verge of tearing up. Seeing this, Azriel felt, somehow, deficient.

“Many of you have come here to see me, to learn from me.” Jean went quiet for a second, scanning the crowd, when his eyes stopped on Azriel, “But to those who came under such pretenses, I tell you that I did not revive this academy for you to see me or learn under me. I did it to see you, to watch you rise above and fill my shoes, and just maybe it will be I who learns from you.”

Azriel returned his gaze recognizing the comment was partly directed toward him.

“After all, I am just a man. When I was your age, I was filled with your same enthusiasm, your ambitions, and yes, even your doubts, fears, and anxieties. Yet I overcame them. I strived to be the best, but even when I succeeded, I never became blind to the knowledge of that which I was: still human.” He looked back to the crowd. “We’re all humans. Maybe not created equally at birth, maybe in life the gap between us grows wider and wider, but even to whom seemingly have no potential in the eyes of others, there may be a seed inside them, a beautiful sunflower yet to blossom. I am here to be the rain. I am here to make that seed burgeon from the soil and burst into a mighty sunflower twice the height of even the tallest men.”

“Sunflower?” Azriel quizzed himself. He couldn’t remember any such flower from his encyclopedia.

“This is why in pursuit of such an end, I must give you all reasons for growth,” he continues. “I can not make you do what you are unwilling to do for yourself. After all, I am but a mere guide. I can open the door, but you must be the ones to walk through it. So, to that end, you will be assigned a rank based on your performance during the trial. You will be assigned room and board according to that rank, not as a reward or punishment but a reason to compete and become the best.”

Azriel was befuddled. He hadn’t a single clue about what Jean was insinuating. Yet, the people around him were shaking with even greater intensity, their hearts pounding even harder. They knew something Azriel didn’t.

“When I read off the list, you will be assigned an armband befitting your rank. Approach the table and take one when you hear your name,” Jean explained, lifting a sheet of brown parchment, and looking down at it.

Jean stopped for a second, giving a pained, regretful look, before announcing, “In Platinum, Rank 1 Alexander von Habsburg.”

At hearing the name, A few gasps signaled the crowd, then came the whispering.

“Isn’t that—?”

“I-It’s the prince.”

“What? Where?”

“Why did nobody tell me he was here?”

“What does he look like?”

“Didn’t you know—?”

Azriel wouldn’t be able to see the prince from where he was standing, but he didn’t particularly care enough to move. The prince was just another person to Azriel, after all.

Sensing a person departing from the crowd, Azriel heard more whisperings.

“Is that the prince?”

“No way. I was standing right next to him.”

“Why is he wearing—?”

“Shush, you fool.”

Azriel sensed the person pick something up—presumably the metal armband—before navigating around the hoard of people and out into the field grass, sitting down on it.

Squinting to get a clearer view, Azriel noticed the prince was wearing some pattern-less face covering that reminded Azriel of the shemagh his father, Lazarus, purportedly wore during sandstorms in the Nubi desert.

“That’s odd,” Azriel thought. “Why would he need to cover his face out here?”

Taking a deep breath, Jean continued, “Rank 2, Alice von Habsburg.”

“Wait, isn’t that—”

“It’s The Prince’s sister.”

“The Princess?”

“No way. They’re twins.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Pfft- It’s true.”

Azriel felt the girl grab the platinum armband off the table before running out into the field. Sitting at The Prince’s side, she rubbed his back as if to console him.

Azriel looked to the crowd, a few laughing and smiling, some jeering at the two. Azriel recognized the look in their eyes. It was the same one the boisterous nobles gave each other during the dinner party at The Duke’s estate back in Hilton.

Azriel didn’t understand why they had such a look at the time. He was starting to understand.

Headmaster Jean cleared his throat and resumed speaking. “Rank 3, Monika of Leonna.”

Moving to get a side view, Azriel watched Monika stroll to the table, grabbing the armband off it and returning to the front of the crowd while people gave her repudiating looks.

“Rank 4, Klaus Leone.”

Azriel’s eyes lit up, seeing that Klaus was safe and unharmed. Azriel felt his mouth curl into an unintentional smile. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

Klaus grabbed an armband returning to stand beside Monika.

Azriel waved to Klaus, hoping to catch his attention. He looked at Azriel, a glib on his face, then quickly looked away.

Azriel felt like he had been stabbed in the gut. His rare smile vanished as quickly as it came. He sat down feeling something he couldn’t come to terms with. He didn’t understand why he felt this hurt.

He looked back to The Prince sitting out in the field, wondering how he must’ve been feeling, being consoled the way he had. He wondered if The Prince had a sentiment similar to his. Perhaps The Prince could grant insight into what Azriel felt, something he sorely lacked.

Looking to the prince’s side, he watched as the princess, his twin sister, comforted him, rubbing his back, hugging him. Azriel sulked, realizing he had no one to do the same. He had left his loving parents and those he considered family behind him back in Hildenfreide.

Azriel closed his eyes, listening to Jean read off the list.

“Rank 5, Dante da Casanova… Now, in Gold, Rank 6, Bernhard von Sasau.”