The Emperor's Face

Marcus had entered his fifteenth year at the beginning of the year. So it was the third time he had attended the Awakening ceremony, a crucial moment that every inhabitant of the Empire had to go through. Every year, on the same date, all young people between the ages of twelve and seventeen were summoned to take an exam to determine if they could hope to one day become a magus.

The magi formed the elite of society. Most of them belonged to the nobility from birth, but sometimes magi awakened among the common people, the plebeians as they were often contemptuously called. The fortunate ones saw their lives suddenly improve. After all, magi made life easier for the inhabitants of the Empire and constituted the true military force of the state. This was true here as it was in any country.

Alexander III of Macedonia understood this well in his time when he was about to be swept away by the Persian troops. He would have said, "A magus rather than an army of ten thousand." Marcus had heard this quote before, but he didn't know its origin. Although he didn't know the name of this king, lacking a decent education, he suspected it must have been some king or emperor who had regretted not having more magi at his disposal to defeat his opponent.

At fifteen, he could still hope to be told that he had awakened, but he didn't count on it too much. Indeed, only one person out of a hundred awakened, and in the vast majority of cases, it was a son or daughter of magi. These did not exactly participate in the same ceremony as him, as it was not advisable to mix toads and swans. The Awakening ceremony for young nobles took place at the Imperial Palace.

Marcus stood in line with the others, waiting his turn. In front of him, a cute but dirty little girl fidgeted nervously and tried to conceal her trembling. Because she came from the same gang as him, they had come together. She was only twelve years old, which meant it was her first inspection. Behind Marcus was a seventeen-year-old boy, tall for his age, also from the same gang. He too was nervous, but much less so than the little girl. It was his last chance.

The young Marcus could hear him muttering prayers. He felt like mocking him for having the slightest hope of success, but perhaps he would be in the same state two years later. The reality was that a magus usually awakened between thirteen and sixteen years old. Very rarely, it happened that a magus awakened at seventeen, but never beyond. It was the same for the twelve-year-olds, but if it happened, they were treated as geniuses, prodigies. The greatest magi in history had awakened at around twelve or thirteen years old.

Annabelle, the girl who preceded him in the long line, was terrified to the point of making herself sick. She hadn't eaten anything that morning, nor the day before, although food was desperately lacking for them. She was like that. Marcus then felt a sudden urge to scratch his head. His fingers dug into his thick tuft of hair, and he scratched vigorously, dislodging a few lice in the process. He looked at his dirty nails and saw blood. For a few days now, there had been a lice epidemic in the Hideout. He suspected Basile, the boy behind him who slept near his bunk, of being the one who had given him his pests.

Slowly, the line moved forward. Each step brought them closer to the magi sitting at tables on which large opaque crystal balls had been placed. Leaning to the side, the ragged boy could see their faces and recognized them as the ones from last year. The first was an old man with a long white beard, the second was an elegant woman in her thirties, and the third was a man in his fifties. All three seemed profoundly bored, as it was highly unlikely that a magus would be detected. However, they hoped it would happen because the emperor would give them a handsome reward. So far, they hadn't been lucky. It was like a giant lottery, and it was the same in all the major cities of the Empire.

"Big brother Marcus..."

The young boy fixed his impassive gaze on little Annabelle.

"What?" he asked wearily.

"I-I want to go home," she replied, tears welling in her eyes.

"We can't. Turn around."

"I don't feel well," she insisted.

"It will be fine, don't worry. You don't have to do anything."

"But what if I fail?"

"Then you'll do like the others. You'll say goodbye to the magus and leave the line."

"But what if I don't know what to do?"

"I've already explained it to you a hundred times, you don't have to do anything. You just have to put your hand on the crystal ball and wait to be told what to do."

Annabelle looked like a little abandoned puppy in the street. Her clothes, of mediocre quality like Marcus's, showed signs of having been stitched up multiple times. Despite her pitiful look, Marcus didn't flinch. She considered him her big brother and came to see him every day to tell him about her day and her thoughts. Yet they were not bound by blood. Like him, she was an orphan.

"Negative. Next."

"Negative. Next."

"Negative. Next."

The monotonous voices of the three magi echoed in the temple, clearly indicating their desire to be elsewhere. Naturally, they would have preferred, by far, to be in Cartagena to preside over the ceremony at the Imperial Palace, but it was a great honor reserved for the best among them. The peaceful old man on the far left, Ernest Gal de Montargent, was a great scholar, yet his abilities were very limited. He could barely use his magic, primarily fire, for more than a minute. And even then, the flames he produced were not the most powerful. He could still play a minor role on a battlefield. Helen Capu de Brouges was the youngest of the three, but she was also the most powerful. Awakened at fourteen, she could build a solid wall in an instant thanks to her mastery of the earth element. She had served in the last war against the Maroc Empire and had buried many enemy soldiers alive under the walls of Algeciras. As for Charles-Henri Marcelo de Gariga, he did not have great power, but he was competent in the field of alchemy. It was a complex art, very demanding, requiring extraordinary precision to make a magus more powerful. He specialized in making rings. He wore one on each finger, which partially compensated for his weak magus talent.

"Little brother Marcus?"

"Hmm?"

"What will happen if I succeed? Will I go to the capital?"

"Don't worry about that," Marcus, after a short silence, replied with surprising gentleness. "You have almost no chance of awakening, like all of us."

"Negative. Next."