Iris gave him a long, silent look, the deep red of her vampire-like eyes glinting under the hall lights. "Even if your body dies here," she explained, "the Orbit will manifest it if you return from the Singularity Realm."
Raven heaved a sigh of relief and said, "That's good to know."
Iris nodded, her focus already snapping away. She turned her head toward the murmuring crowd and the stage beyond.
Following her lead, Raven turned.
"This must be common knowledge to others," he thought. He had almost forgotten what Lyra had told him: that these kids had prepared for years and had highly experienced mentors teaching them. There was quite a large gap in information between them and him. Of course, this was one of the reasons he decided to enter the academy.
Elias, oblivious to the critical exchange that had just taken place, was wrapping up his remarks.
"That's everything for now. Please head straight to the cafeteria for breakfast. Afterwards, we'll begin your individual interviews—these will guide you through the course selection process. Be prepared; your first round of training begins this afternoon."
"Hmm, so what should I say in the interview?" Raven thought as he stood up. He knew from Ma'am Lyra's earlier advice that the interviewers would ask about his Prism and his appraisal details in the interview. If he revealed nothing, they might default to labeling him as the weakest.
Raven's mind immediately drew on his old experience working in a software company: the useless employees didn't get any privileges, the hidden projects, or the best resources. He quickly surmised that the same principle would apply here. Though it was just a guess, he needed a strategy that would place him somewhere in the middle of the students with potential—enough to gain access to those vital privileges, but not so much that he drew the kind of deep, unwanted scrutiny that came with being a top contender. He needed a mask of competent mediocrity.
He followed the small crowd of students out of the auditorium and into the cafeteria. Arriving at the food counter, he piled his tray high: a stack of pancakes, a hearty meat sandwich, and a bottle of fruit juice. Fuel was priority number one.
He then headed toward the silent corner of the cafeteria, the round table he had claimed before. He set down his tray and bottle, and sat.
To his surprise yet again, Iris approached. She was carrying a tray full of food—a less chaotic pile than his, but still substantial—and stopped directly opposite him.
She opened her mouth, a faint sound beginning to form. "Can I—"
Raven cut her off. He didn't want the performance of politeness, nor did he want to seem desperate for her company. "Sure."
Iris nodded once and slid into the seat. She placed her tray on the table, her movements economical and silent, and immediately began to eat the contents of a large, dense protein bowl.
Raven wasted no time either. He attacked his pancakes and sandwich. The two sat in focused silence in their quiet corner.
A thought struck Raven as he put a chunk of pancake in his mouth. "What if I reveal my title?"
He mentally reviewed the known facts. Titles were uncommon; to his knowledge, not many Stargazers possessed them at all. Revealing his own title—"Wandering Blasphemer"—wouldn't directly cost him anything, as the name itself offered no insight into his actual abilities or his unique Prism.
However, a title would instantly flag him as a Stargazer with genuine, if unknown, potential. It could solve his current predicament of not wanting to reveal his abilities. It was a perfect piece of camouflage: a potent label that offered prestige while preserving secrecy. He would be put on the list of students with potential, gaining him the desired privileges and resources, while the core of his power remained hidden. It was a risky but elegant solution.
Almost finished with his pancakes and sandwich, he noticed something in the periphery of his vision. Several students were now looking toward his table. They weren't just glancing; they were watching him and Iris with curious expressions while murmuring to each other.
The silence of their corner, usually a haven, had apparently drawn attention somehow. He finished the last bite of his meal, his internal focus shifting from his interview strategy to the scrutiny they were under. "Let me guess," he thought, glancing at his unnervingly composed tablemate. "She is famous, or her family is."
Raven picked up his bottle of fruit juice, completely ignoring the students. He took a long, refreshing sip, savoring the cool liquid. He tilted the bottle back, gulping the rest of the juice down in one go.
He set the empty bottle down and asked in a low voice, "Why are they staring?"
Iris didn't turn her head or change her expression. "No idea," she said, her tone utterly flat, though Raven suspected she knew exactly why.
He didn't press. Instead, he simply nodded, because he thought this might be too personal. He picked up his tray and the empty bottle, rising from the table. He walked the short distance to the disposal area, efficiently putting the tray in a rack of dirty dishes and dropping the bottle into a nearby trash bin.
The interview process was swift and impersonal. Raven was directed by an academy aid through a series of silent corridors and into a sterile white room. The single piece of furniture was a long, polished table. Raven found himself seated in a comfy white chair that felt incongruously luxurious against the room's stark efficiency.
Opposite him sat the interviewer, a severe woman dressed in a crisp black suit. Her expression was professionally neutral, and she held a large, sophisticated communicator—a tablet-like device—in her hand, clearly loaded with Raven's file. The device was glowing faintly, displaying his basic information.
"We see from your file that your First trial involved an unusually high level of stress exposure. You were offered psychological counseling immediately following your return." She paused, her eyes briefly meeting his. "That offer is still open."
"I appreciate the concern," Raven replied calmly, his voice even. "But I've processed the experience. I politely refuse."
She gave a fractional nod, confirming his refusal in her communicator before moving on. The test of his emotional stability was complete. Now came the hard part.
"Very well. Now, to the crux of your assignment," the interviewer continued, her gaze sharp. "Would you like to tell me about your Prism? For classification purposes, is it primarily related to sorcery, utility, combat, healing, or is it a more unconventional category?"
Raven adjusted slightly in the comfy chair, executing his planned vague answer. "I haven't had much time to try it out, but I think it falls under sorcery and the unconventional category." He chose sorcery—a vague, broad field—to hint at power without specific function. He then dropped the hook. "And also, I received a title."
The interviewer froze mid-keystroke. The professional neutrality that had masked her face for the entire interview cracked. Her eyes widened slightly, her attention immediately pulled from the screen to Raven. Titles were the unspoken gold standard of potential, rarely earned, and never ignored. Raven knew the gamble had paid off instantly.
She leaned forward, dropping the detached tone. "A title? What is it?" she pressed, her voice now quick with professional interest.
"It's Wandering Blasphemer," Raven answered; he had a suspicion that the interviewer had a lie detection ability.
She nodded once, a gesture that was now far more respectful than before, and rapidly input the title into the database.
After that, he was asked some questions confirming his course selection, then he was led out of the sterile white room by a uniformed worker. He followed the short route through the winding corridors, emerging back into the bustling corridor of the cafeteria.
Raven headed toward the elevator bay.
"I wonder how many stargazers here, have a title." he thought.