“I’m Eri,” the boy said with a confused little frown. “Don’t want a new name!”
Castien sighed. It seemed the child was a stubborn one, and a quite smart one for his age.
“Fine,” he conceded. “You will be Eridan, then.” It fit the nickname, but it was different enough from the boy’s real name not to raise people’s eyebrows. If there were no other children with that name in the Order, the child would be able to keep the name when he was Named.
A voice at the back of his mind, a voice that sounded a lot like his old Master, whispered, One day your ambition will be your downfall, Castien.
He ignored it, resolved to meditate once he got back to Hronthar. If he was imagining voices of dead men, clearly meditation was in order.
“What’s your name?” the boy—Eridan—said, looking at him with his curious violet eyes.
Castien studied him. The boy was behaving suspiciously well for a three-year-old who had been left with a stranger. Too well. Perhaps…
He brought down his shields and tentatively touched the boy’s mind. A bright, curious presence reached back. It was strong for such a small boy, Eridan’s mind untrained but promisingly powerful—and very compatible with his.
Castien contemplated it for a moment, frowning, because mental compatibility had its drawbacks. But he was confident in his self-control. He was confident he wouldn’t allow some royal brat to emotionally compromise him. Besides, he had no patience for children. It would be decades before the little prince would be of use to him. A lot could change in that time.
For now, he would deliver the child to the Initiates’ Hall and let the Overseer handle his education until he was old enough.
Decision made, Castien looked at the child and said, “You can call me Master.”
Chapter One: First Impressions
Eridan’s earliest memory of his life at the Initiates’ Hall was that of an unusually cold night.
He was shivering, his small body curled into a tight ball to preserve warmth. He was so very cold. And so scared.
He could hear other children in the bedroom. Some were snoring softly, some were crying. But they didn’t make him feel less lonely. They didn’t make him less scared. Eri wanted to go home. He wanted his soft, warm bed. He wanted his… someone. He couldn’t remember who he wanted to see, but he knew something was wrong.
This was all wrong.
He didn’t belong here.
He’d tried to tell that to the tall, stern-faced woman who looked after the children in this strange, miserable place, but she ignored him.
It took Eri a while to realize that the Overseer ignored him because his words weren’t any different from other children’s: most of them used to have homes and families before they ended up in this place for one reason or another. Of course the Overseer wouldn’t pay Eri any mind. He was no different from hundreds of other children under her care.
For some reason, the thought was… strange, as if he was supposed to be something else.
Someone important.
***
It would take Eridan several years before he would realize that he was treated differently from the other children after all.
The Overseer seemed to pay extra attention to Eri’s studies, watching him with her sharp, observant gaze and taking notes on his performance in class. Senior initiates, who served as teachers to the children, seemed to pay him extra attention, too, studying him strangely.
Eridan was seven when he finally found out why.
“You are all seven years of age,” Initiate Berunn said, looking at his class with a haughty, bored expression. “You are now officially junior initiates. That means Masters can speak to you now. However, you shouldn’t expect it. Even if it happens, you shouldn’t think that it necessarily means anything. Generally, at your age, Masters just take note of promising initiates and track their progress if they find someone of interest. It will likely be many years, likely more than a decade, before you are chosen by a Master.” Berunn paused. “If you are chosen at all.”
A feeling of unease swept through the group.
Eridan squirmed, trying to tighten his rudimentary mental shields against his age-mates’ emotions. He’d always been very sensitive to other people’s emotions, and unpleasant ones affected him particularly badly.
In the meantime, Initiate Berunn continued. “I know right now you all think that it can’t happen to you, but the truth is, initiates outnumber Masters ninety to one.” He leaned forward, his lips curled into something cruel. “The truth is, most of you will not be chosen by a Master. You will never be a Master’s apprentice, which means you will never be a Master. Most of you will end up in the servicing department of the Order, serving Masters and their apprentices, so unless you want to be help, you should start applying yourselves now. You’re not children anymore. You’re junior initiates of the Order. You are all competing against each other for the honor of being chosen by a Master.”