CHAPTER 18: Recruit

"After Aldren's fall, the Trinity of Empires locked themselves up. It seemed the best compromise considering the potential destruction a war between the Trinity could inflict upon the land."

-History Lecture Series 74, Lady Martina Trevovsky

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Obsidian Torrens Academy, Kingdom of Maceria, Obsidian Empire

Aramar 11 AE

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"Yvaine!" a familiar voice disturbed her reverie.

Yvaine snapped back to reality. Midday sunlight streamed through the windows and the Lowborn ladies' dormitory was empty, save for a fully-dressed Elia by her bedside. Yvaine, on the other hand, was still in her nightgown.

What was that all about? A dream? It seemed so real. Yvaine's mind grappled with the fact that she seemed to be a completely different person just a few seconds ago.

"You've never been absent in Aeris Class before! Are you sick?" Her friend's voice hinted at a mix of concern and fear.

"No." Yvaine rubbed her eyes as she sat up. "I just overslept." Up to midday. She will need a better alibi to tell her teachers.

"You need a better alibi, you know," Elia said, repeating her thoughts.

"I know. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in, what… Ignis Class? Hydris?"

"Liris," Elia replied.

"It's that late, already?!"

"Yes. But considering the incident yesterday, the Academy is giving us the rest of the afternoon to mourn for Keys. So Liris and Martial Classes are canceled today."

"Where are the others?"

Elia huffed in amusement. "On the Martial Class grounds. Fawning over the new Renegade recruit."

"Who?"

"He arrived just this morning. A slave from somewhere. Well, he is kind of gorgeous," Elia smiled, more to herself than to Yvaine.

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Nash felt like a naked baby under the scrutiny of mesmerized infirmary nurses.

"Must be Assyrene," one girl remarked boldly to her friend without taking her eyes off of Nash and not even bothering to hide her awestruck smile.

Nash just kept his eyes to his awkwardly hanging hands in front as he stood before the curious students of the Obsidian Torren Academy in Maceria. He has gotten used to the shackles this last four months, that it now felt awkward when they were gone. So he imagined them to be still there.

Eighty or so students gawked at him. He was told this was only one class, particularly the Martial Class, for recruits. The entire studentry supposedly numbers at around four hundred. Eckard was right. There are only a few Torrens in Obsidian. In Eiridan, recruits alone number about two thousand.

"I bet he has Aedar blood," he heard the other girl's reply.

"He can't be from that far south, can he?" came another girl's whisper.

Given that the Obsidian Empire was an isolationist country Nash did expect it to have a more or less uniform Eossaran population. However, he relied on Emperor Eiridan's statement that the slave trade here would somehow mask his distinct ethnicity.

The Eiridan Emperor was mistaken. The population diversity of this country is pretty low and he has been getting curious glances since he first stepped beyond Eiridan's borders. Eckard had his slave-trader turban and mask so he was spared the attention.

"What's your name, Boy?" asked the beefy Martial Class teacher loudly who stood beside him.

"Nash," he replied curtly, then after a short pause, "Ser."

In the Eiridan Empire, he was officially Lieutenant Jonas Synestra, Paladin First-Class. So he felt it was all right to remain as "Nash" here in Obsidian territory. It was how his urchin friends called him on the streets of Galiron. The only other people who knew him by this name are Eckard and Mira.

"You don't have a last name?"

Nash shook his head slowly. Sensing Nash's hesitation, the teacher relaxed his seemingly uptight demeanor.

"Speak, lad," he encouraged. "You are a Renegade. No longer a slave."

Nash inwardly smiled at this. The four months of uncomfortable 'slave training' paid off. They were able to enter the Obsidian Empire without incident. Eckard then sold him to a rich merchant bound for Maceria.

"Remember, it's a different country with a different culture and different people. Do not open your mouth unless you have to," Eckard reminded him before they parted.

As instructed, Nash only had to manifest his Torrenting ability when they reached the Macerian kingdom. He did this by pretending to have a nightmare in his sleep and 'accidentally' summoned a strong wind which desolated the merchants' entire caravan. After a few hours of enduring the merchant's beating, the Macerian Torrens conveniently arrived to conscript him, much to the merchant's dismay.

"No, Ser," Nash said meekly.

"Well," the teacher strongly clasped Nash's shoulder. "If you become an Axemplar, think about a cool last name, eh?" Nash did not know what that meant but he has time to learn.

The teacher then addressed the class. "Everyone," his voice echoed across the training grounds. "This is Nash. He's new here. I expect you to show him the same respect and support you showed Keys."

At this, the students' faces turned somber.

"And don't bother skulking," the teacher said. "You've always been the last to finish the races. But I did not expect you to be the last student to arrive in class. Why are you late, Yvaine?"

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Yvaine winced and stopped mid-stride. All heads turned in her direction at the door on the far wall. She had tried her best to prowl as quietly as she could. She felt stupid for even trying. Ser Marcus could obviously sense her approach.

The other students giggled silently and Yvaine inwardly berated herself for waking up late.

"I," Yvaine stammered. "I… I… I did not feel well, Ser."

"Yes, we know you're weak. But that's not an excuse here," Ser Marcus said indifferently.

Yvaine immediately changed her tactic. "I was the last student to see Keys alive… Ser. I…I wasn't able to sleep." Sometimes, brutal honesty is just the best policy.

The training grounds became silent again.

"Then let's take Keys off your mind," Ser Marcus finally said. "Come here."

Yvaine quickly covered the distance and joined the rest of the class.

"You've been here for three years now. Show Nash around."

Only then did she notice the dark-haired boy in tattered garments. His tousled hair was a mess and almost covered his eyes. He stood a good six feet, just mere inches from Ser Marcus's height, and had a strong, lean build which was a stark contrast to Ser Marcus' burly physique. She had never seen an Assyrene before. This must be how they look like. They look different from the common blonde and brown-haired Eossaran boys. Gorgeously different.

"He's new," Ser Marcus continued. "And as you can see, he's not from around here. Orient him to the Academy informally so he won't be as ignorant when he is formally introduced to the studentry tomorrow. You can have the next three hours. Is that sufficient?"

Yvaine just nodded in the positive. The other girls' stares were icy daggers.