Chapter 6 CHAPTER SIX: The Bottom of the List
CHAPTER SIX: The Bottom of the List
The journey to Ironspire took three days.
My father hired a cart from a man at the forge who owed him a favor. We traveled east along the main road while the mountains grew in front of us. The black stone range got taller with every hour. By the second day the peaks were high enough to cut the sky in half.
Ironspire sat at the top of the largest one.
I had read about it. Reading about a thing and standing in front of it are two different experiences. The academy was not a single building. It was a city carved into the mountain itself. Towers of black rock jutted from the stone in every direction. Long bridges connected them over open air. The whole thing looked like something had punched through the mountain from inside and decided to stay.
My mother held my hand for part of the second day and did not speak.
My father cracked his knuckles every few minutes.
I watched the mountain grow and thought about walking into a place that had already decided what I was worth.
On the third morning we reached the lower gate. A wide archway of dark stone with the Ironspire crest above it: a spire wrapped in two crossed flames. Other families arrived at the same time. Most of the children had the look of children who had spent years being told they were exceptional. They stood straight and looked at everything like they planned to own it.
The guards checked our papers and gave me a metal tag on a cord. Room number. Examination slot. My identity reduced to two lines of text.
My mother straightened my collar. She had already done it twice.
"I am fine," I said.
"I know," she said. She did it a third time anyway.
My father put his hand on top of my head. Too heavy, not careful at all, and completely right. He said nothing. Neither did I.
I walked through the gate.
The entry hall was enormous. High stone walls, long rows of benches, staff in dark grey coats moving students through in organized lines. Hundreds of voices. Loud in the way things are loud when there is structure underneath.
I found a bench and sat.
"You are too calm," said a voice beside me.
I looked. A boy about my age. Red-brown skin, dark eyes, a gap between his front teeth, and a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He watched me the way you watch something that does not behave as expected.
"What?" I said.
"Everyone in this room is sweating and you are sitting there like you are waiting for a meal." He tilted his head. "Either you are very good or very stupid. Which one?"
"I have not decided yet," I said.
He grinned. "Ren Ashby. South Croft."
"Zane Ardell. North side."
"Neighbors," he said, as if this was excellent news.
"I tried to get in twice before. They sent me home both times. This year they finally let me through."
"What changed?" I said.
"I stopped trying to look impressive and let my core work." He shrugged. "What is yours like?"
"Complicated," I said.
He looked at me sideways. "That is not a color."
"No," I said.
He laughed. The kind that comes out when you decide something is funny without asking anyone first.
A long horn sounded.
Staff moved everyone into a round room with a platform at the center and a wide blank board on the back wall. Five hundred students filled the outer ring.
A tall man in formal robes stood at the platform.
"Entry ranking begins. Students will be individually assessed. Core frequency, stability, and output determine rank. Rank determines your placement, your access, and your future here."
I knew the system. Top fifty received full sponsorship. Everything worked down from there.
Names were called in order. Sixty students went before me. Some read strong. Most read average. One boy got a gold reading and the room went briefly quiet. He smiled like he had never doubted it.
I saw him before my name was called.
Sable Voss.
Silver hair cut close at the sides. Dark eyes moving through the crowd and landing on nothing. He stood apart from everyone, not because he needed space but because space had formed around him naturally.
He did not look nervous. He looked like all of this was already done.
His name was called. He walked to the platform and placed his hands on the sphere. The reading appeared immediately. White at the center, gold underneath. Clean and absolute.
Three full seconds of silence.
Rank one. No discussion.
Sable looked at his name at the top of the board for one second. Then he walked back with no expression.
His eyes moved across the room as he passed.
They went over me like I was part of the wall.
"Zane Ardell."
I walked to the platform and placed both hands on the sphere.
The sphere went dark. Not dim. Not uncertain. Dark and still, like a lamp with nothing left in it.
One person laughed. Then others. A sound moved through the room that was not quite mockery but was close enough to it.
The staff member looked at the sphere. Then at me. Then at his book.
"Ardell. Rank five hundred."
The number appeared at the very bottom of the board.
Last.
I had told myself I was ready. Standing in front of it felt different from thinking about standing in front of it.
I walked back.
Ren looked at the board. Then at me.
"Five hundred," he said.
"Yes," I said.
He was quiet a moment. "I am four hundred and six. I do not mind sitting here if you do not."
"I do not mind," I said.
He nodded and turned back to the board.
More names. More numbers. The bottom of the list filled slowly with everyone the academy had already decided was not worth watching.
I looked at my number one more time.
Then I felt eyes on me. Deliberate and specific.
I turned.
Sable Voss was looking at me. Not past me. At me. The way you look at something that does not belong where you found it.
Two seconds. Then he looked away.
I sat back.
But that look stayed in my head longer than it should have.
He was not someone who gave attention to things that did not matter to him.
I did not know yet whether that was good or dangerous.
Five hundred.
Good.
Let them start there.