"There is no justice in hierarchy. There is only the memory of those who suffered in silence... and those who took advantage of it."
The sky was low. Gray. Heavy with rain, the clouds formed a suffocating vault above the Academy.
It was the day of the Ceremony of the Steps.
A centuries-old tradition. A hierarchy carved in stone.
All the students were gathered in the great amphitheater, a circular arena made of black marble, its columns covered in runes worn away by time. Eighty-eight steps formed a spiral around an empty center.
And on each step... a life.
The highest. The most powerful. The most feared.
And at the bottom, those who are crushed.
Ashen was there. In the crowd. Black cloak on his shoulders. Cold eyes. Heavy heart.
No one knew his name.
No one knew what he had been through.
But today... he would climb the first step.
Rector Aernias rose at the top of the amphitheater, surrounded by the members of the Mage Council.
— STUDENTS. TODAY YOU WILL BE NAMED. CLASSED. OBSERVED.
— YOUR PLACE IN THE HIERARCHY DOES NOT REFLECT YOUR NOBILITY. ONLY YOUR POWER. YOUR POTENTIAL.
A murmur ran through the crowd.
— EACH MONTH, THIS HIERARCHY MAY CHANGE. FOR BETTER... OR TO RUIN.
A hooded mage began reading names.
— Léontius Bravarn. Step 5.
— Elaris Varn. Step 6.
— Théon of Morholt. Step 8.
The nobles smiled. Puffed out their chests. They weren't at the top... but they weren't at the bottom either.
The names continued. One by one, the students climbed to the step they had been assigned.
Then, suddenly:
— Caelen Sareth.
A silence. Slight. But noticeable.
Ashen stepped forward.
Slowly.
Calm heart.
Still hands.
— Step... 44.
A chill ran down his spine.
The 44th.
He stopped. Eyes wide.
A coincidence?
No.
He descended the stairs.
To the exact middle of the amphitheater.
Step 44 was worn, cracked, as if forgotten by the centuries.
He placed his foot on it.
And looked up.
All eyes were on him.
Dozens of faces.
Mocking.
Curious.
Hostile.
But he did not look away.
Not this time.
Once the announcement was over, the Rector raised his arms.
— EACH STEP IS A TITLE. AN EXPECTATION. A THREAT.
— YOU ARE ALL BEING WATCHED.
— AND YOU WILL BE JUDGED ONLY BY WHAT YOU DO WITH YOUR PLACE.
A silence.
Then:
— THE CEREMONY IS CLOSED.
On the way back, some students deliberately moved away from him. As if he carried a curse.
Others, like Léontius, stared at him with cruel pride.
— Step 44... That's funny. It's the number of pariahs, you know? The unlucky. The sacrificed. The...
— Fools, Ashen finished without looking at him.
Léontius raised an eyebrow.
— Hm? What did you say?
— Nothing important.
And he kept walking.
That evening, in his room, he sat for a long time by the window.
He wasn't reading.
He wasn't sleeping.
He was thinking.
About that step. That number. That symbol.
The 44th.
The Fool's chair.
The Reflection.
They might not have known.
But the world... never truly forgets.
He whispered:
— I have returned.
He placed his hand on the stone wall.
— I won't hide forever. Not here. Not this time.
His gaze was empty. But his voice, full.
— This time... I will never suffer again.