Scorio watched as she climbed the stage. She moved woodenly, as if in a dream, and accepted Praximar’s compliments and the shoulder pats from everyone else without looking anyone in the eye.
“She looks… stunned,” said Lianshi softly. “I feel so bad for her.”
“I doubt anyone’s ever felt bad for Jova Spike before,” said Naomi.
“I do, too,” said Scorio, and realized that he meant it.
When Praximar and the others finally subsided, she stepped next to Chen She, whose congratulations she ignored.
“And now, the moment that our entire year has been building up to. The Great Soul who progressed the deepest into the Gauntlet, earning himself incredible accolades, wealth beyond measure, access to the riches of the Academy’s vaults and patronage from any House they should choose.”
Praximar paused, and again the silence seemed to throb.
“Will Scorio please approach the stage?”
The silence seemed to implode, collapse under its own weight, then explode in incredulity and outrage.
Leonis let out a reverberating roar as he leaped up to stand upon his bier, and Lianshi bowed low to him as he passed her by. He walked as if a foot off the ground, the moment surreal, his blood rushing through his ears, a second roar that made everything people said or shouted to him unintelligible.
Naomi stepped forward as he passed her and placed a hand on his shoulder. They locked eyes, and for a second, they were back in the ruins, back in his ruined chamber, alone and cut off from all society, just one Great Soul reaching out to connect with another. Scorio’s eyes prickled with tears as he smiled brokenly at her, and saw her own eyes brim with water, too.
“I was wrong about you,” she whispered, and somehow, he heard her over the cacophony. “But deep down, I think I always knew.”
Unable to restrain himself, he stepped in and hugged her tightly, not giving a damn that every dignitary and House luminary was waiting, staring. He squeezed her as hard as he could, and she buried her face in his neck for but a moment, hugging him just as hard right back.
Then they separated, she wiped the tears away as she gave him a tremulous smile, and he continued to the stage.
People reached out to clap his shoulders, but most just stared at him in amazement. He could almost read their thoughts: Scorio? But he’s nothing, a Cinder, a Red Lister, a nobody. How?
The very words Praximar must have spoken.
Slowly, carefully, he climbed the wooden steps for the second time in his life. The first had resulted in his being tossed through the Final Door. And from the look on Praximar’s face, the emotion deep in his eyes, the truth behind his wide smile, Scorio knew that the chancellor yearned for nothing so much as a repeat of that first performance.
“Scorio, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how the Academy can serve anybody and everybody, how we can exalt even the least promising of our number to the greatest heights.” Praximar turned to address the crowd once more, which quieted reluctantly. “You are all aware, no doubt, that he is a Red Lister; yes, yes, I know, and for that, he was cast through the Final Door as is only fitting and proper. But! Scorio’s destiny was not to die in ignominy and darkness! His fate has led him from success to ever greater success, for he not only escaped his doom, but managed to help Imperator Sol repulse Imogen the Woe’s attacks! And that was but the first sign of his genius, and an act which opened the doors of the Academy to him once more.”
Murmurs came, the sound ugly, but also laced with wonder. Scorio stood beside Praximar, eyes glazed, not quite believing what was happening.
“From there, he studied in an exemplary manner. His instructors have reported nothing but dedication and talent from this young man, who let nothing stand in his way. Oh, the example he sets for us all! He performed respectably in the tournament, but did not let his loss there deter him; right up to the last moment he strove, pushed himself, and with our teaching, with the resources of this grand institution at his disposal—including my personal guidance and blessings—he’s reached the very apex of success. Yes! The Archspire has revealed that not only did he, too, reach the eighteenth chamber, and earn himself a hundred and twenty-five points, but that en route he achieved the rank of Tomb Spark!”
Again, the crowd seemed to convulse in outrage, and more than one dignitary behind him cried out in shock.
Praximar nodded enthusiastically, as if taking credit for this success, eyes gleaming, hands raised once more as he allowed the crowd its reaction.
Despite the attention showered on him, Scorio cared only for one set of eyes, which were staring at his back at that very moment.
“Now, Scorio is unaffiliated with any House, which means he can virtually choose his new home, and on his own terms. Everything that I said before about the importance of this moment stands as true as ever. What an enviable position to be in!” Praximar grinned as if he’d made a very witty comment. “Scorio is guaranteed further training, and will become the emblem of our Academy’s success! His future is guaranteed, as he’ll have no want for treasures, training, support, and personalized care. Most importantly, Scorio is a symbol to us alclass="underline" that anyone can achieve greatness if they are willing to do the work. Let him take on this mantle of greatness, and help us begin the crucial act of healing the rifts that have opened between us and the people of Bastion!”
The applause broke out slowly but grew in volume; more and more people began to clap, till by the very end the sound was thunderous. It may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but the witnesses and students could not deny his success, no more than Praximar did.
And if there was one thing that a Great Soul respected, it was victory.
“Now, Scorio.” Praximar turned to him, smile affable, to all appearances enjoying the moment tremendously. “Which House do you wish to choose? If you care to, you may address the audience as is customary of the Gauntlet’s winner.” And then, in a quieter voice meant for him alone, Praximar whispered, “Choose your words with caution, my boy. Your success is not inviolable.”
And then he stepped back, leaving Scorio to face the assembled multitude alone.
Scorio had completely forgotten that the winner was expected to address the crowd. He gazed out over his cohort, some five hundred strong, all of them sitting or standing beside their jeweled blue biers. Then let his gaze rise to the balconies, ivy-covered and neglected as they were. Up and up, over the expectant faces, till at last, he thought he could make out his own, personal locker.
“I’m honored to have come first,” he heard himself call out. “Because I greatly respect my peers. I hoped to achieve this success, told myself that I could, but to have actually done so…” He trailed off, bemused. “It’s hard to believe. It wouldn’t have been possible without my friends, however. Lianshi, Leonis, and Naomi.” He stared down at where they were gathered and felt a rush of emotion come over him. “They believed in me when nobody else did. They never broke faith. Without them, I’d be dead.” He said that last word with utter finality. He knew it to be true. “My friends. You have my undying loyalty and love. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.”
Lianshi’s eyes glimmered, Leonis grinned, and Naomi blushed and ducked her head, allowing her curtain of black hair to sweep down before her face.
The crowd, however, seemed almost embarrassed by his display of emotion. No matter. Scorio looked back up and smiled. “I set myself the goal of coming first in the Gauntlet for reasons of my own. In the process of accomplishing this, I believe I’ve come to understand the true nature of Bastion and the Academy. I’ve seen sides to this city, to this institution, that I’d never have guessed at when I first incarnated. And it wasn’t pretty.”