I want to be strong.

Ashes of his home were being carried off to the cloudless skies by spirals of wind. His mother and father were huddled in the middle of their burnt house, crying for the lost of all that had sheltered them from nights and storms.

The war was over. The mysterious creatures known now as unspawns had vanished. The monsters had resistance against physical attacks, and thus, during the battle, mages from across the land were called to arms. Though Nos had been just a child, he was still a mage. His fists balled as he looked back on his uselessness throughout the fight. Him and his useless magic circuits. The lowest of the low. Weakest of the weak. Least of less.

I want to be strong.

Like a beacon, the far off walls of the castle grounds looked barely touched. The unspawns had pushed into the city but were unable to get through the final defences of the castle walls. Those who were influential and those who had power were the ones spared most from the devastation.

His parents' cries turned into pained, gasping sobs. The ashes were whirling around them like black snow. He made a vow to become stronger. No. To be the strongest. Another gust of wind blew by, picking up another sliced layer of ash from the burnt landscape.

*****

Nos snapped out of his daydream. As he looked around his class to regain his bearings, he let out a long yawn. Physically, he was exhausted. He had not had proper sleep in the days since the date for career consultation was announced. He had prepared himself extensively since then. It was all he could think about ever since he came into the academy. He had practised for every possible outcome of questioning he could think of and had his rebuttals down to the notch of his tone.

For most teens, the event was straightforward. Whatever they wanted to be when they grew up they would write on a form paper and hand it to their teachers, after which they would be given advice on how to achieve their desired profession. But for him, he knew what he needed to be. There were never any doubts as to the profession he would eventually be in. There were four spaces left on the form paper for them to fill out their desired occupation. Nos only had one. He only needed one.

“What did you write for your choices?” Kingston Hox – numbered Thirteen – asked as he leaned over from across the aisle of their desks.

“Choice,” Nos correct. “Just one for me.”

Amongst his classmates, Nos found Kingston the most interesting individual, despite being visually overshadowed by Four. He was inquisitive and well respected by the class. However, unlike Lua, he was not known to be particularly talented in much save for a knack with gadgets and tinkering. Even his battle skills were average for a Spellblade, at best. The respect he held with the class boggled Nos's mind, as there seemed to be no rhyme of reason for it.

Kingston dressed restrictively in his native clothes of the Queendom of Lutvvin. A long brimmed hat hung from the neck of a dark coat. Worn over a set of long sleeved dark green shirt, dark tapered pants, and boots, he was the ideal poster of the dressing style of vampire hunters right out of books from the Age of Monsters. Despite the changing weather being far from the coolness of the north, Kingston rarely dressed light, seemingly never minding the heat.

Kingston held up his paper. “I'm applying to be an architect or a tinkerer.”

Nos scoffed. “Going through the Spellblade Academy just to get mundane jobs?”

“It asks us what we want to be, not what we will be,” Kingston replied, casually swinging both legs onto his desk as he tilted his chair back in comfort. “There's a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Of course. Here, let me demonstrate. Hm... ah! Shimona!” he called out to the girl in veil across the classroom. “What did you put down 'what do you want to be after graduating'?”

“Oh!” she waved her paper at him. “I'm going to be a Guardblade! That way, I can travel the world for free!”

“But what are you going to be?” he asked.

The girl nonchalantly shrugged. “No idea. Not there yet. Probably a dancer somewhere. That would be more suited for me, I think.”

“See,” Kingston turned back to Nos.

Nos turned away with a huff. “Well, I'm not like you guys. I know what I will be. A Guardblade.”

“Really?” Kingston cocked his head quizzically. “I don't think you're cut out for it as you are though.”

“What makes you say that?”

Before Kingston could reply, the door to the classroom opened. Joachim and Ishumi, who had been translating for the former, stepped through. Joachim scanned the room and crossed cold stares with Nos. He pointed at the latter and gestured outside. Even for a mute, the disdain was clear in the tone of Joachim's voice.

“Woah,” Kingston muttered. “What happened between you two? Ancient familial grudge or something?”

Nos ignored the snide remark and got to his feet. “My turn.”

He stepped around the desk and headed for the door, walking around Joachim and Ishumi without so much as a greeting or look of acknowledgement.

Outside in the hallway, Rehiy had set up a desk against the walls with two chairs facing each other. He flipped through a folder of notes and papers before looking up. Seeing Nos, he gestured for his student to take the seat opposite which Nos did without hesitation.

“So,” Rehiy began. “Career consultation day. What do you have for me, Mister Unn?”

He handed the paper over and the drakin read over the writings. The teacher raised an eye, which looked soul piercing, given the lack of eyebrows.

“Guardblade. All the other fields are blank.”

“A Guardblade's all I want to be, Sik.”

His teacher sat back on the chair and closed his clawed fingers together. Then, without breaking eye contact, said, “No. I don't think you're fit to be a Guardblade.”

Nos was taken aback, but not just by the statement. He was shocked at how shocked he was. He had not expected that answer. Snide from Kingston, sure, but not from his teacher. It was not something he had rehearsed. He knew that the career consultation was one of the more important steps into becoming a Guardblade. It was the information of Fountain Square. The talk in the air. The letters burnt into bread. The lyrics of songs. It was what carried weight.

Perhaps it was a test to see his conviction. “I can do it, Sik,” he replied with gusto, sitting straight and eyes dead centred. “I've been training all these years to be one. I got into this school without being scouted, despite my skills. I managed to pass all the tests on my first attempt!”

“Tell me,” Rehiy's cold voice froze whatever bravado he was mustering. “What's your reason for being a Guardblade?”

Nos locked back and rehearsed, “To protect the king and serve the nation.”

“What's your reason for being a Guardblade?” Rehiy asked again.

“To... to protect the king and serve–”

“What's your reason for being a Guardblade?”

“To...” If he was being tested, he felt he was increasingly failing at the task. “To protect the...” He went quiet.

Unable to further look Rehiy in the eye, he looked to the desk instead and traced the wood grain with his eyes. He wanted to be a Guardblade for the status. To be strong and stand beside those who were also strong. That way, no one would ever be able to look down on him again. His family would no longer have their house burnt. He could protect the people around him.

Rehiy sighed. “It's not your skills that makes me think unfit. You're one of the best Spellblade I've ever seen. Perhaps even the most talented that ever lived. You've managed to turn what are negligible magical capabilities into an impossibly feared power. But you're not mentally primed to be a Guardblade.”

“Why?” Nos snapped back. “I'm driven! I have the skills. I'm hard working and passionate. Why?”

Rehiy got to his feet and paced the width of the hallway. “Do you trust me, Mister Unn?”

“Of course, Sik.”

“To what extent?”

He paused, running through replies in his mind. He chose the next phrase carefully. “With my life, Sik.”

“If I were to come after you and attempt to kill you, will you allow yourself to be killed?”

“What?”

“If I tried to kill you, will you allow it?”

He felt tested again. The question sounded cold, and he felt it should have sent a shiver down his spine. However, his body did not react in fear, disgust, or anything of hostility. However, his mind was confused beyond any confusion he had ever experienced.

“I...” he tried to focus on a reply. “I don't think it will happen, Sik. I trust you.”

“But I will do it. In the back, if I must.” The drakin ploughed through, never wavering eye contact. Nos did not reply. He did not know how to. In the end, Rehiy simply sat back down. “The Guardblades were formed not as a subordination to the ruler. Those of the Guardblades do not serve the king. They are his checks. Should the king ever step out of line, it is the job of Guardblades to kill him. If the Guardblades falters, the Clovers come in to stop them. If the Clovers wavers on their conviction, the Alliance of Five, which includes Aleynonlia and its ruler, will challenge them. The same rule applies to the elite forces of the countries in the alliance. That is the trust that is shared between the trinity.”

“I'm sorry, Sik,” Nos attempted to follow the train of logic but stopped short. He could not see how the three great powers of the continent maintained stability on the tip of such a needle, creating institutions to challenge each other and themselves. “I do not understand. This seems to be more checks and balances rather than trust. Without power unchallenged, how can they rule with strength?”

Rehiy looked genuinely disappointed for a split second, a face which told Nos everything about how that session was doing for him.

The drakin finished, “And that is why, Mister Unn, you are not fit to be a Guardblade.”