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Dreadlord Academy - Roughly Seven Years Ago
Every muscle in her body burned and her legs felt like they were starting to wobble. They’d been doing drills for hours now but despite the pain and fatigue she hoped that the Proctors would keep them on drills until at least sunset. Maybe that’d be enough time for her classmates to sleep it off or for a few of them to just simply forget.
“Enough,” Proctor Lepidus raised a hand and Mae held her breath. “You’re all dismissed, I hope you learned a valuable lesson.”
No. Dear gods above no. This was too soon. They were letting them stop too early! Sure, they had been doing drills for hours but it wasn’t so long that the other initiates would forget why they’d been forced into it. Why they’d all been suffering through lunch and were now going to be sore for whatever training awaited them in the morning.
Proctor Lepidus stared directly at her, making eye contact as if he knew exactly what he was doing by ending the drills at when he did. They carried on long enough to ensure the entirety of her class was pissed off but not long enough for her classmates to be so exhausted they didn’t bother to…
“Heilig.”
A single word barked from the most muscular boy in her class. Julian stood before her, arms crossed and a face which poured with sweat from the ordeal they’d all just endured. “You cost me my lunch.” A heavy hand pressed into Mae’s shoulder as the larger initiate forced her to her knees. “I’m going to help myself to your dinner.”
”Of c-course Julian, you can h-have my dinner,” words were barely screeched out from her lips as her face was pressed closer and closer to the muddy soil, well-trodden from the hours of drills they’d all just performed.
“It ain’t enough Heilig,” now the voice of Sylvante broke in. A girl who’d been taken in from the frontier and who had an impressive talent for geomancy. “I’ve got a session with Magomo tomorrow and I can barely lift me arms over me head.”
No other words followed as a third initiate kicked her directly in her gut. Mae let out a grunt and her face fully plunged into the mud. She was clever enough to wriggle over towards her side so that her airway wasn’t obstructed but the barrage of kicks that came in made it clear to her that more than just three of her classmates took offense to her error earlier in the day.
Once the beating had ceased she sported a black eye, bloodied nose, countless bruises, and she was pretty certain at least two or three of her ribs had been fractured.
For months the reality of Mae’s situation had been dawning on her. She’d get to the graduation ceremony and everyone knew she was doomed to be a Level Four, assuming she passed. Her odds of survival were practically zero before today but now? Well, now her entire class despised her because a routine failure during one of their classes had caused Proctor Lepidus to make an example out of her. There was no question that once their final test came around her classmates would probably start a betting pool with the prize money awarded to whomever came out of the academy’s last test with Mae Heilig’s severed head.
That was just the way things were here. Proctors played their own little games on the side, pointing out when an initiate was too weak to the others or punishing all of them for a minor offense committed by a student they decided wasn’t worthy of the title.
So, as her fellow initiates moved on and filed into the dining hall she stayed there panting in the mud. There wasn’t much of a point in visiting the healers, they typically logged injuries like this and letting her classmates know they’d inflicted damage would’ve only made things worse.
Eventually she forced herself to stand, brushing off the dirt and assessing just how bad her injuries were. ”I’ll be alright,” she told herself, shambling along with one hand grabbing at her ribcage and wincing at the pain she felt as she took each step. ”I’m going to be alright.”
One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. A slow march towards death.
That was the thing that truly kept her up at night. The primal fear of death and the realization that it was far too close to visiting her. She had a precious few weeks to right the ship and convince her classmates she wasn’t going to be some easy prey on that fateful day.
But, against all odds, Mae had survived thus far. It had been a struggle, there was no doubt about it, and she’d been cursed with a magical ability that, while quite strong, required the aid of others. Thus, in individual assignments she was no different than a human undergoing the training of Dreadlords.
Proctors had told her that this would make her time at the academy a challenge but along the way a select few had encouraged her. Reassured her that her magic had enough practical uses to ensure Vel Anir’s interest and that she would merely need to prove herself. But for how much longer would she need to prove herself? How long would she go on feeling as if it were all hopeless?
They were nearing graduation. Nearing her early funeral and nothing seemed to change.
”I’ll be alright.” Before long they would all be killing one another and how could she hope to fight any of her fellow initiates?
Mae stumbled into the barracks and found the little cot she’d claimed long ago. It was near the window and the cold air outside caused her to shiver through most evenings until the exhaustion of the day caressed her into slumber. While the rest of her classmates were relaxing and filling up on whatever sustenance the academy provided them that evening she’d go to sleep hungry, tired, injured, and suppressing more than one panic attack.
”I’m going to be alright.”
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“Initiate Mae Heilig!”
A stern voice called out and Mae jerked awake. Almost instantly she felt the pain in her side but her gaze focused on the man in the doorway. Dressed well enough that it was obvious he was associated with one of the noble houses. From time-to-time they came to pluck an initiate for a specialized mission but rarely was it her name they called.
She arose, still in her filthy clothing from the day before and hair amess, initiate Mae Heilig shambled over towards the man who called her. ”Sir?”
The well dressed gentleman looked her up and down, a bewildered expression plastered upon his face. “Central chambers, follow me.” He turned and walked deliberately towards the primary meeting area for visitors and dignitaries alike.
Mae limped towards the primary meeting area unsure of what awaited her. Perhaps some noble had paid someone enough to meet the “wish granting girl” and she’d again have to explain that her magic couldn’t revive the nobleman’s fallen lover or undo the effects of aging.
The nobleman would scream and curse at her, one Proctor might roll their eyes whilst another glared at her for not being sensitive enough to convey the complications of magic to their ‘betters.’
When the doors burst open she instead found something entirely different. The Headmaster was flanked by a man who bore the insignia of an Archon. Next to him a full leveled Dreadlord. In addition there was a healer present and three other Proctors who’d worked with Mae since she was a child. It was a startling revelation compared to what she’d anticipated.
”You are Mae Heilig?” the Archon asked as she trudged forward, ”not what I expected.”
Before she had any chance to interrupt, the Headmaster of the Dreadlord Academy stepped forward. “Mae, this is Archon Gilram of House Weiroon,” he swallowed and stared at her with the appropriate level of seriousness such a declaration would require, “he’s requested your services after you’ve been properly… evaluated.”
Proctor Lepidus spoke up next, “I’ve ensured Archon Gilram that you were properly tested yesterday which is why we’ve summoned a healer to make sure you’re travel ready.”
Mae stared at Lepidus with the indignation he deserved. The drills and the beating yesterday had been orchestrated. Make it appear as if Mae was worthless to the Archon who was scheduled to arrive the next morning. Make it look like she was at the back of the class, which while true, wasn’t something any self respecting initiate would want broadcast to their actual betters.
But, once again, before she could say anything it was another who spoke up.
”What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” was all Gilram said as he gestured for the healer they’d summoned to move forward and assess the damage to Mae’s body. After several hums and haws the healer’s face glowed a pale pink and rays of energy washed over Mae’s figure. While healing magic wasn’t exactly rare, the exact method and variety of it was so varied that each individual power might’ve been considered its own school of magic.
Regardless, within a brief few moments she’d had much of her body repaired.
”My services?” she managed only after her ribs had fully reformed and she could stand up straight enough to be presentable.
A frown formed upon the Headmaster’s lips, juxtaposed by the wide grin that Girlram wore. It was the Archon who spoke up next, ”I just need you to come and grant me a single wish.”
