"Note, this is your first and last awakening ceremony," the woman's voice echoed through the hall as she addressed the nobles' children. "If you fail to awaken, be ready to live the rest of your life as an ordinary human, with no special title, role or ability attached to you."
The words made Darion's heart clench.
As much as he hated living in the palace, he knew it was a far safer place than the world outside. If he failed his awakening, he would be cast out of the palace to fend entirely for himself.
He remembered the Empress, the Emperor's wife, urging her husband on countless occasions to send him away. Sometimes the matter had even led to quarrels between them, but the Emperor had always refused, saying that Darion was still too young to be left to look after himself.
But it hadn't been long turned eighteen, which was the age a person was considered a man in this world, and he was very certain his father would not hesitate to send him away now.
"You know how this works," the woman continued. "When you hear your name, you come forward and place your hands on the glowing orb. If you awaken something, you're in luck. And if you don't?" She paused. "Well, that's just too bad for you."
The nobles' children murmured amongst themselves, everyone quietly anticipating what they would awaken. Many had come with the hope of becoming Dukes, others had quietly dreamed of rising as battle commanders. But in the end, it all came down to the class the orb decided to give them.
"Asher Fletcher!" the woman behind the stone podium called out.
A young man with brown hair who looked to be around nineteen stepped out of the crowd. He walked to the glowing orb and placed both hands firmly on it.
Two seconds passed, then suddenly a yellow light flared from within the orb.
"Flame Wielder!" the woman announced.
The crowd applauded warmly. Flame Wielder, while not the most impressive sounding class, was considered a strong awakening and guaranteed a good appointment to follow.
"You have been appointed as one of the Emperor's Battle Commanders!"
The applause grew louder and Asher beamed a smile as he walked back to where he had been seated, pulling both his parents into a hug.
"Margery Langley!"
A girl, chubby-cheeked and looking about seventeen, walked out of the crowd toward the podium. She placed her hands on the orb and, almost immediately, the woman called out:
"Beast Summoner!"
The crowd cheered and Margery's face lit up with visible relief and joy.
Beast Summoner, of course, was only a class. Despite what the name boldly implied, the possessor could not summon every creature that had ever walked this world. The ability instead bound itself to a specific type of beast, or perhaps a few, but never all. It was a limitation the name never bothered to mention.
"You have been given command of a Cavalry."
The crowd cheered again and Margery returned to her place, practically glowing.
The awakenings continued for quite some time, one name after another, and Darion stood silently in his corner watching it all and quietly praying that his name would never be called.
"Awakening failed!"
"Awakening failed!"
"Awakening successful!"
"Awakening successful!"
"Awakening successful!"
Those who failed wept bitterly, their parents pleading desperately for a second chance, but the decision was final and unchangeable. Those who succeeded were overjoyed, surrounded by proud relatives pulling them close.
Eventually, the Emperor's family was called.
"Now, to the Emperor's family!" the woman announced.
Darion glanced over at them from where he stood, his nerves plain on his face in a way he couldn't quite hide. Not that it mattered. He had become about as visible as the air in the room. No one was looking his way.
While dread had settled deep in his chest, his half-siblings stood with an ease that almost looked rehearsed. There was not a single morsel of fear in any of them.
Godric Wentworth was called first.
He stepped forward without hurry, the crowd already leaning in before his hands had even touched the orb. He placed both palms flat against its surface, and for a moment the hall seemed to hold it's breath. Everyone froze…
Then the orb glowed with a deep, resonant silver light, brighter and steadier than anything it had produced all morning, and the woman's voice rang out across the hall with something close to reverence in it.
"Weapon Master!"
The crowd did not simply applaud. They erupted. Weapon Master was not merely a class, it was the kind of awakening that only legends awakened.
Those who bore it could summon legendary weapons from across history and myth, blades and spears and shields that had no business being in the hands of any one person, yet answered to them completely.
The Emperor, who had sat through every preceding awakening with the same still, unmoved expression, allowed himself the smallest nod of satisfaction.
"You have been named Duke of the Eastern Reach," the woman declared, "And appointed Heir Apparent to the throne of Valvanos."
The applause that followed shook the hall. Godric turned and walked back to his place with that same unhurried confidence he'd walked in with, as though the title had simply confirmed what everyone already knew. Like he knew he would awaken something like this before coming.
Darion sank further into his corner.
Sylara Wentworth approached the orb next. She placed her hands on it with a calm, almost bored elegance, and the orb answered her with a fierce surge of deep orange light that flickered at its edges like actual flame.
"Pyromancer!"
The Emperor's composure cracked just slightly. Most people didn't notice, it was just a brief warmth behind the eyes and the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth.
"You have been declared General of the Imperial Southern Armies."
The crowd erupted once more, and Sylara returned to her place with her chin raised and the look of someone who had expected nothing less.
It was worth noting that no family in Valvanos, regardless of wealth, bloodline, or standing, had any say in the role their child received upon awakening. Not even the Emperor himself held that power. The orb decided, and the orb alone. Whatever class it gave and whatever appointment it declared were considered absolute, bound by something older than any throne or title, and no one had ever successfully argued otherwise.
Emmeline was third.
She placed her hands on the orb and the light that answered her was a deep, shifting blue, like sunlight bending through still water.
"Aquamancer!"
"You have been named Duchess of Seraveil."
Seraveil was a coastal region to the far southwest of Valvanos, known for its vast harbors and the powerful merchant fleets that passed through it. It was a prestigious appointment, and the crowd responded accordingly.
As Emmeline turned to walk back, her bright eyes swept briefly across the hall and landed, just for a moment, on Darion.
She looked at him with pity.
It was soft and genuine and lasted only a second before she turned away, but it settled over him like something cold.
Hatred he could bear, he had grown up surrounded by it and had learned to wear it without flinching. But pity was different. Pity meant she already knew how his name was going to end.
This made him more scared of what he would awaken.
Rowan was last among the four.
He stepped forward quietly, placed his hands on the orb, and the light that came was pale and sharp, white edged with blue sort of color.
"Cryomancer!"
A cryomancer is basically a magic user who controls ice and cold.
Freezing enemies, summoning blizzards, making ice weapons, or even stopping things in place with frost magic.
"You have been appointed Commander of the Northern Legions."
The northern legions were no ceremonial posting. The north of Valvanos was brutal territory, and the legions that held it were among the hardest, most battle-weathered soldiers in the empire. It was an appointment that said something about how the orb saw Rowan, and the crowd received it with deep, serious applause.
As he walked back to his place, Rowan's path took him past the far corner of the hall. He didn't slow down. He simply turned his head slightly as he passed and looked directly at Darion, holding the look for just long enough to make sure it landed, then let a slow, quiet smirk cross his face before turning away.
Darion said nothing. He just stared at the floor.
The applause faded gradually and the hall settled into a quiet that felt different from all the quiet that had come before it.
Every nobles' children in the hall were done with their awakening.
But yet, there was remaining one person, someone they all hated.
The woman at the podium glanced down at whatever remained on her list and then looked up.
"Darion," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the stillness. "Bastard son of Emperor Valdris. Approach."