The coliseum was already half full.

Velion leaned back in his seat and looked at it. Rows climbing up on all sides, the open sky above the center floor, the kind of space that made everything happening in it feel like it was being judged. Which it was.

He adjusted the ring on his right hand and said nothing.

His bellus, white and small, was already asleep on his shoulder.

"Velion." The large tanned man two seats over leaned forward. "Didn’t expect you to show."

"Mareth." Velion glanced at him. "Has it started?"

"Not yet. Professors are in position though." Mareth settled back. "Council representative arrived twenty minutes ago."

"Which family."

"Draknil. The granddaughter."

Velion made a short sound. "She must have run out of titans to kill in the east."

Mareth laughed. "That’s the Almonth line actually. Draknil kills dragons."

"Does it matter."

"To the Draknil family? Probably yes."

Velion looked at the empty center floor below. Clean stone. Wide enough that two full combat exchanges could run simultaneously without interfering with each other. He had been to this coliseum six times since graduation and it looked exactly the same every time.

"You said promising mages." He turned his ring once. "Plural."

"One specifically." Mareth leaned forward with the energy of someone who had information and had been waiting to use it. "Three kingdoms are watching him. Doren, Seriglia, Creslan. All with standing interest."

"Second year."

"Second year."

Velion looked at the professor section forming below. "Name."

"Xavier Almonth."

A pause.

"The Almonth boy." Velion’s voice didn’t change. "I’ve heard the name."

"Everyone’s heard the name. That’s the point." Mareth gestured broadly at the filling seats around them. "Half these sponsors are here specifically for him. The other half are here because they don’t want to miss whatever the other half are watching."

"And the council sending Draknil’s granddaughter."

"First time in four years they’ve sent anyone above observer rank to a second year culmination." Mareth raised his eyebrows. "That tell you anything?"

Velion said nothing.

He looked at the seats across the coliseum. The Mageia council section was already occupied. A young woman in the center, dark uniform, straight posture. Not watching the floor yet. Watching the crowd.

Smart.

"There’s also the Class F situation," Mareth said.

"I heard."

"Vivienne pushed it through herself apparently. Made them eligible to compete." Mareth shook his head. "I genuinely don’t understand that woman. She had a real career ahead of her and she chose to manage rejects."

"She chose to teach," Velion said. "There’s a difference."

"Same result. And she’s a lunatic."

"Is it."

Mareth looked at him. "You’re not actually interested in Class F."

Velion didn’t answer that directly. "The lower classes produce different outcomes than the upper ones. Not better. Not worse. Different. A student who developed their ability without resources or instruction builds differently than one who had both handed to them."

"Builds worse usually."

"Usually." Velion looked at the floor. "Not always."

"What did you call me?"

Mareth went still.

Velion turned his head.

Vivienne was standing directly behind Mareth’s seat. Black hair. Both hands at her sides. The air around her had that specific quality it got when she wasn’t actively suppressing her field and had decided not to bother.

Mareth cleared his throat. "I said lunatic. As in. The kind of lunatic capable of killing a forgotten titan single-handedly. Which I personally cannot comprehend."

Vivienne looked at him for a moment.

Then at Velion.

"You’re here."

"I am."

She stepped around Mareth’s seat and stood at the end of the row. "What are you looking for this year."

"Same thing I look for every year."

"Someone worth the investment."

"Yes."

Vivienne was quiet for a second. "There’s a student you might find interesting."

Velion looked at her. "In Class F."

"Yes."

"Vivienne." He said her name the way you say something you’ve said many times before. "I’m not here to watch students who can’t hold a basic formation."

"No." She looked down at the floor below where the representatives were starting to filter in. "You’re here to watch students who do things nobody taught them to do."

Velion said nothing.

"This year might be a little different." She stepped back. "You might also see a familiar face."

"What does that mean."

She turned and walked toward the professor section without answering.

Velion watched her go.

Crazy woman.

"She’s something else," Mareth said.

"She always was." Velion turned back to the floor. "Point out the Almonth boy when he comes in."

"Already there." Mareth gestured. "White hair. Center left."

Velion found him immediately. White hair, clean posture, moving through the gathering representatives with the ease of someone who had done this before. Which was impossible. But that was how he moved.

Velion watched him for a moment.

Then his eyes drifted.

Past Xavier. Past the Class A representatives. Along the floor.

And stopped.

Golden hair.

Golden eyes.

The specific shade that only came from one bloodline in this entire kingdom and Velion had been looking at it across dinner tables and political functions for fifteen years and he knew it the way he knew his own name.

He sat forward slightly.

"Mareth."

"Hm?"

"That student." He didn’t point. Just looked. "Gold hair. Class F representative."

Mareth squinted. "What about him?"

Velion stared at the floor.

"Vaelis," he said quietly.

Not the student’s name.

The Patriarch’s.

Down on the floor Arthur’s spine did something unpleasant.

He couldn’t see who was looking at him. Couldn’t find the source. Just the feeling of it, specific and directed, the way a shadow anchor felt when something with weight moved through it.

Someone up there was looking at him.

Holy shit. This is a lot of people.

’There are so many of them,’ Vexis said. His voice had lost its usual volume. Just the words.

Yeah. And I’m sweating. Like actually sweating. I cannot calm down and I need to calm down right now.

A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.

He turned.

Theodore. Eyes moving across the crowd in quick short arcs. The specific panic of someone who preferred to be alone and was now standing in front of several thousand people.

Two rows over Kreasial was grinning. Looking at the crowd the way most people looked at food.

Arthur faced forward.

"THE ENTRANCE CEREMONY WILL NOW COMMENCE."

The voice hit the walls and came back from every direction at once.

Arthur breathed in.

Out.

Roz moved from one shoulder to the other. Settled. Then in the flat certain voice of someone who had watched six centuries of events exactly like this one and had an opinion about how they should go.

"Show them."

Arthur looked at Theodore. The darting eyes. The hands at his sides not quite steady.

He looked at Kreasial. The grin that hadn’t moved since they walked in.

He opened his eyes forward.

"Right."

’Right.’ Vexis said beside him.

Same word. Same moment.

The ceremony began.