Chương 36: Chapter 34: The Vazaag (2)

"Technique is good. Muscles are better. A stubborn heart beats them both." – Baloza Bokiri, Siurim of Korsivir For a moment, no one spoke. Then one of the teachers near the stage began clapping. Another joined. Then another. A few heartbeats later, the whole field followed. It was not the wild cheering from when Sir Ganisaar had arrived. This applause was slower at first, heavier, as if the graduates were still turning his words over in their minds.

Then it grew louder, spreading across the field until even the trees around the clearing seemed to hold the sound. Aloric clapped with the others, his eyes fixed on the stage.

He had imagined this day so many times. Graduation. Rank-markers. Squads. Missions. A future that finally belonged to him. Somehow, standing here now, it felt larger than he had imagined. And much heavier. Sir Ganisaar waited until the applause faded again. Then he inclined his head toward one of the older teachers standing near the stage. The teacher stepped forward, holding a scroll.

"Before we move on to the rest of today's announcements," the teacher said, his voice carrying with help from the same amplification technique, "a small number of graduates have been selected by the headteacher and senior instructors for personal congratulations from Sir Ganisaar. When your name is called, come forward and wait at the foot of the stage until you are directed up." A murmur passed through the students at once. Aloric straightened slightly. Personal congratulations?

His first thought was that Nemirie would be called for sure. She had gotten first rank in the entire academy. If anyone deserved to stand in front of the Vazaag, it was her. The teacher opened the scroll and announced the first name.

"Nemirie Qanza." Of course it would be Nemirie. No surprise there. She stepped forward with the same calm confidence she had carried through every exam result and every jealous stare afterward. A few other students from the green-haired Qanza clan clapped quietly as she walked onto the stage. Sir Ganisaar greeted her with a few words Aloric could not hear, then inclined his head. Nemirie bowed with perfect control before stepping away. The teacher read the next name.

"Yibleen Delacie." Yibleen froze. For a moment, she looked as if she had misheard. Then Arla nudged her lightly.

"Go." Yibleen moved forward, face red but posture straightening with every step. Aloric heard a few whispers around him. Mana-sensing. That had to be why. Even if Yibleen did not yet know how valuable her ability was, the instructors clearly did. Sir Ganisaar spoke to her for a little longer than he had with Nemirie. Yibleen bowed twice before hurrying away from the stage, looking overwhelmed but happy.

"Ralovit Vayot." Ralovit clicked his tongue, though Aloric could see the grin he was failing to hide. He strode forward, shoulders squared, as if being called before the Vazaag was exactly what he had expected.

"Try not to curse at him," Hovaru murmured. Arla elbowed him. Ralovit returned a short while later looking more pleased than he probably wanted anyone to notice.

"Arla Farritz." Arla stiffened. Then she lifted her chin and walked forward, her short red hair shining beneath the pale sun. For once, she did not glance toward Nemirie. She kept her eyes on the stage. Aloric smiled faintly. Second in the written test across the whole academy was not failure, no matter what her clan thought. When Arla returned, her expression was still controlled, but there was a small brightness in her eyes that had not been there before.

"Sulia Rumiosi." Sikkar's head snapped toward his sister.

"What?" Sulia's face lit with immediate delight. She did not even try to hide it.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly to her brother, stepping past him. Sikkar stared after her as if the entire city had betrayed him.

"Why only her?" he demanded. Hovaru chewed thoughtfully.

"Maybe he just picked the better twin." Sikkar glared at him. Sulia returned looking unbearably smug. Sikkar opened his mouth, probably to start an argument, but the next name cut through the field.

"Dorrak Hagnaar." A tall, broad-shouldered Hagnaar boy from Classroom Two stepped forward, his bright red hair making him easy to spot even among the crowd. Aloric recognized him from the coordination test waiting area. Dorrak walked toward the stage with the confidence most Hagnaar students seemed to have been born with. After him, the teacher called a name Aloric did not recognize. Then another. These were all from the lower-numbered classes. That meant no one else would be called from Classroom One now.

Aloric listened to the names being announced with a strange heaviness in his chest. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It was not jealousy exactly. Or maybe it was. He had passed. That should have been enough. Perilia had been proud. Teacher Daisor had congratulated him twice. Soon, he was going to receive a rank-marker and become an official manaweaver of Korsivir.

But a small part of him still wished he had done well enough to be called up to the stage too. Just once. Not because he wanted everyone looking at him. Not because he wanted to beat Nemirie or Velron or any of the clan kids. He just wanted to know what it felt like to have the Vazaag himself look at him and say he had done well. The teacher looked down at the scroll again.

"Aloric Sigast." For a heartbeat, Aloric did not move. Had he misheard? He must have. Hovaru turned toward him.

"That's you."

"What?" Aloric blurted. Then he pulled himself together.

"Yeah. I know." Arla was staring at him with raised eyebrows. Yibleen blinked, then smiled. Even Sikkar looked surprised, which somehow made the moment feel more real. Aloric's feet finally remembered what they were supposed to do. He walked forward. The distance to the stage felt far longer than it had looked. Students turned to watch him. Some whispered. He heard his name from somewhere behind him, followed by a question he could not catch. Why him? He was wondering the same thing.

He reached the foot of the stage, where Teacher Daisor stood with a few other instructors. From this close, the platform seemed taller than before. The SABLE operatives at the corners had not moved at all. Their black masks looked far more intimidating from here, the pale symbols revealing nothing about the people behind them. Surrounded by those silent masked figures, even the ruler of Korsivir seemed more approachable than any of them. Aloric swallowed and leaned slightly toward his teacher.

"Teacher... Why was I called?" Daisor looked at him. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he said quietly, "Because this is not only about rank." Aloric blinked. Daisor's voice softened, just a little.

"The headteacher knows what you had to overcome to get here. Go." Before Aloric could ask more, one of the teachers on the stage gestured for him to come up. He climbed the short stairs. Every step made his pulse beat harder. Then he was standing in front of Sir Ganisaar Hagnaar, the sixth Vazaag of Korsivir. From the field, Sir Ganisaar had looked old but distant, almost like a figure from a history book. From here, the age was clearer. The lines on his face were deeper.

His white hair was still thick but not untouched by time, and his carefully kept beard could not hide the creases at the corners of his mouth. But his eyes were not old in the same way. They held a hard steadiness that made Aloric understand, all at once, how this man had earned his reputation as a legendary S-rank manaweaver feared across battlefields. Maybe age had slowed him. Maybe time had taken something from him. But not everything. Not nearly everything. Sir Ganisaar looked down at him with a faint smile.

"Aloric Sigast." Aloric bowed quickly.

"Sir Ganisaar." When he straightened, the Vazaag lifted one hand. Aloric froze. Sir Ganisaar reached over and ruffled his hair. For one ridiculous second, Aloric's mind went completely blank. It was the exact same thing Perilia did. The same annoying, humiliating, hair-destroying attack he had suffered his whole life. Except this was not his sister. This was the Vazaag of Korsivir. Aloric looked up in surprise. The corner of Sir Ganisaar's mouth tilted faintly, as if he knew exactly what he had done.

Aloric could only beam helplessly.

"You have grown into a fine young man," Sir Ganisaar said as he removed his hand.

"Perilia raised you well." Aloric was still confused.

"How do you even know who she is? Who I am?" Sir Ganisaar's hand settled on his shoulder instead. His voice lowered, though not so much that Aloric had to strain to hear him.

"Do not look so surprised. I know the names of those who carry far more than their age should allow." Aloric did not know what to say. The Vazaag's eyes remained steady on his.

"You were not called here because your score was the highest," he said.

"You were called because your score does not show what it took for you to reach this point, and that deserves recognition." Aloric's throat tightened.

"I..." He swallowed.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do not undervalue yourself, Aloric. You passed without clan backing, without parents beside you, and without the kind of support many others take for granted. That is not a small thing." The words struck harder than Aloric expected. He had braced himself for pity, perhaps even charity. Instead, there was only respect in the Vazaag's voice. Sir Ganisaar's expression softened.

"Your parents would have been proud of you." Aloric's breath caught. For a second, the field, the students, the stage, even the SABLE guards at the corners all seemed to fall away.

"Sir..." he said, his voice unsteady.

"Did you know them?" Sir Ganisaar's eyes changed. Only for a moment. But Aloric saw it. Before he could say anything else, the teacher standing near the side of the stage stepped forward gently.

"Congratulations, Aloric Sigast," the teacher said, guiding him toward the stairs.

"Please return to your place." Aloric glanced back. Sir Ganisaar was already turning toward the next student being called, his expression calm again. Aloric descended the stairs slowly. But his thoughts would not settle. Your parents would have been proud of you. Did that mean the Vazaag had known them? Had he really met them? Or was it only something leaders said to orphans because it sounded kind? No. The way he had said it... There had been something there. Something real.

He reached the field again and started back toward the others, barely noticing the students looking at him now. Of course, Aloric realized that Sir Ganisaar was old and had ruled Korsivir for decades, so he probably knew thousands of names. Maybe he had heard something about his parents in passing. Maybe Perilia's work had put the Sigast surname somewhere in reports. Or maybe the headteacher had told him about Aloric before today's gathering. But then why ruffle his hair exactly the way his sister did?

Aloric touched his blue hair without thinking. Had Perilia told him about that? Or had someone else mentioned it? The thought was strange enough that he almost laughed. The Vazaag of Korsivir did not have time to learn exactly how one City Police officer annoyed her little brother. When Aloric reached the group, Arla was watching him closely.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much," Aloric said automatically. Hovaru tilted his head.

"Your face says that is a lie."

"It was..." Aloric searched for a safe word and failed.

"Unexpected." Yibleen smiled softly.

"He congratulated you?" Aloric smiled back.

"Yes. Yes, he did." That, at least, was true. Sulia, still looking pleased with herself, gave him a sharp glance.

"Don't start thinking you're important now. You're still clanless, and you always will be."

"Sulia!" Arla snapped. Aloric heard the insult, but today he refused to let an entitled Rumiosi kid ruin the moment. The next few names passed in a blur. He clapped and cheered along with everyone else, but his mind kept circling the same words. Your parents would have been proud of you. He had grown up knowing almost nothing about them. Perilia had told him what she could, but she had also been young when they died. Most of what Aloric knew came in small fragments.

A smile from an old memory that might not even be his. A story about his mother burning breakfast. A mention of his father laughing too loudly. And now the Vazaag had spoken of them like they were not just names from the past. The remaining names were called one after another. At last, the final student returned from the stage, still smiling. Sir Ganisaar stepped forward once more.

"I have taken more of your time than I intended," he said, his voice carrying easily over the field.

"And if I stay longer, your teachers may start blaming me for ruining whatever schedule they have prepared for today." A few students laughed at that.

"Stay alive long enough to become the manaweavers you hope to be. Listen to your instructors. And remember what your rank-marker means when it is inked on your wrist." He inclined his head to the graduates.

"Congratulations once again, manaweavers of Korsivir." The field broke into applause. Sir Ganisaar turned slightly. The two kneeling SABLE operatives rose while the others shifted into position. Another rush of air swept across the stage, scattering the pale autumn leaves across the wooden floor, and the Vazaag and his guards were gone. For a few seconds, the field stayed silent. Then the murmurs began at once, rising from every side as hundreds of graduates started talking over one another.

Aloric barely heard any of it. He was still standing with one hand near his hair, staring at the empty stage.