Ashes of the Elite

Chapter 67 - Sorting Part One

A dull knocking jolts me out of a half-dream, the last scraps of a nightmare dissolving into the empty, dim-lit room. For a second I just lie there, blinking at the cracked ceiling, trying to remember where I am. The sheets are stiff, my mouth tastes like old copper, and my stomach aches with a hunger that feels days old. The knocking comes again, more insistent this time, and I force myself up.

I open the door and find Elijah standing in the hallway. His hair freshly combed and scrubbed clean, uniform crisp. If not for the shadows under his eyes, he could have stepped straight out of a recruiting poster for the Empire.

He grins, bright as ever. "Thought I'd stop by and see if you'd left yet. Seems good I did." He glances at my rumpled hair and crumbled robe, barely hiding a smirk. "They've summoned all the first years for sorting finaly."

I sigh not really caring about that. Of course I slept through the food. My stomach chooses that moment to grumble, loud and insistent, and I resist the urge to curse out loud. I can practically taste the breakfast I had at the castle this morning warm bread, honey, strong tea. Feels like another life.

Elijah laughs, soft and easy. "Don't worry. I've got leftovers in my room. I'll bring you something after we're done." He says it like it's nothing, like there's no reason in the world he shouldn't want to help me out.

I thank him, a little wary and a lot confused. Why is Elijah friendly? After everything the duel with Alaster, the way I ordered Kaizen to burn Artemis and Weed both I'd figured none of my so-called team would want anything to do with me. Maybe he's like me.

He starts walking down the corridor, waving for me to follow. "Most of the others have gone already. I was hanging around to get you.

He shrugs, voice casual, like he's explaining the weather. "Didn't want you to be late to their summoning's ."

I nod, not sure what else to say. He's already said as much, but I let it pass. Elijah seems to like filling the silence, and I'm happy enough to let him do it if it means I don't have to fill it myself.

We walk in a comfortable kind of quiet, footsteps echoing on the floor. Elijah leads the way with the confidence of someone who always knows which turn to take. The path is familiar now and soon enough the doors to the main assembly hall are already open, and the hum of voices hits us before we're even inside. The place is still packed with rows of benches filled with the best and brightest the Empire could scrape together this year. I scan the crowd as we slide in at the back. Damn near four hundred, Cain had said, and he wasn't lying. Four hundred first year Elites fill into the room some eager, some bored, some already looking for rivals or allies or prey.

No one looks our way. We're just two more shadows at the edge of the herd, and that suits me fine. Up front, on a broad raised platform, the proctors are arrayed in a neat, intimidating line. Twelve of them, robes immaculate, faces carved from stone. Evanora is front and center, short silver hair twisted into a braid, eyes sweeping the crowd with predatory patience. Juliet Deng stands a little apart, her white hair covering her face.

I can feel the tension in the room expectation, fear, the raw static of so many powers coiled in one place. I spot Artemis across the room, arms folded, jaw set, pretending not to notice Kaizen sitting three seats away, hunched in on himself. I let my gaze wander, cataloguing faces there's a girl with blood red eyes and a raven branded on her neck, a boy with silver rings on every finger. Some are whispering, others silent, all of them waiting for the next thing to happen.

Elijah nudges me, nodding toward the dais. "Looks like they're ready to start."

I nod, folding my arms, willing my stomach to shut up. The voices in my head are still quiet , as if even they want to see what comes next or they are madling about not recognizing Proctor Dengs dream realm.

Evanora steps forward, the crowd quieting in an instant. She lets the silence stretch, a master of suspense, before she finally speaks.

"First years," she says, voice rolling over us like thunder, "Once again welcome. You have already demonstrated courage, cunning, and, in some cases, a remarkable will to survive. Now you will be sorted into your Houses. Each House will become your family, your allies, and your greatest competition." "After we have sorted you all we will depart immediately to the Academies main grounds!"

She lets that hang, her smile a promise and a warning. "The House you are assigned will shape your education and your future. Prove yourselves worthy, and the Empire's doors will open to you. Fail, and you may find yourselves...less welcome."

Evanora continues, "In a moment, you will be called forward. Your strengths and weaknesses have already been observed.

A fresh wave of tension ripples through the room. I can feel it crackle beneath my skin. Some students are whispering, others staring straight ahead, faces blank or pale. Artemis sits across the hall, arms still crossed, her face set in stone. Kaizen is hunched forward, his gaze fixed on his shoes, refusing to look up. Elijah stands beside me, arms folded, his lips pressed thin but his eyes steady.

For a long moment, nothing happens. The proctors whisper among themselves, some students fidget, others hold themselves rigid, trying to project confidence or at least indifference.

I can feel my heart pounding, a dull, steady drum in my chest. I wonder which version of me they'll see when my name is called. I wonder if the test ever really ended, or if this is just another layer, another trick.

The room is thick with the tension of waiting. The proctors are in no hurry. They want us sweating, uncertain, off-balance. I roll my eyes at the theatrics.

And then, just as the silence is about to tip into panic, Evanora lifts her hand, a small, satisfied smile curling her lips. The sorting is about to begin.