I was ten when the Crown first bloomed.
They say it's a blessing. "A chance at greatness for people like you." Proof that your will is strong enough to shape the world. But it's more responsibility and work. The last thing I wanted; I longed for an escape and distance from the world, and the world listened. Crowning me in alignment with the stars.
Now, twenty, and today I wear a uniform for the last term. The kind that fits too tight and smells like a thousand other bodies who wore it before they bled or broke.
Centralis Institute isn't a place of learning. It's a hunting ground, well, that I know of. I am a student of special circumstances, so this is my first and last year at the place.
The city it sits in has no king, no clan, and no crown of its own. Just walls and watchers and wards — the perfect place to forge tools without attachments.
Some of the others come from fire blood dynasties or sword temples with names that bite. I come from nowhere of importance. All the more reason to express my will, my vetra.
That makes me dangerous. Or maybe just delusional.
Kael is a well-built man with rugged, chalky hair and sharp, iridescent silver eyes donning a contrasting uniform. The new stuff is combat-minded, with arc-conductive boots and comfortable cargo pants and a tight-fitting, compressed shirt with the crest of Centralis. He walked in, pausing momentarily at the entrance, gazed over by the next generation sentries.
Kael stood still as the procession of students filtered inside, their eyes wide, their shoulders tense. The building before them was immense, a black-marble behemoth of angled and crowned spires, its silhouette etched into the skyline like a blade pressed to the throat of the world.
Above the gates, in silver script, was the only rule Centralis had ever written down:
"The worthy are forged, not born."
Ironic.
Inside, light ran through the walls – like veins in the walls – like roots of some vast, breathing machine – casting the entrance hall in a low, celestial pulse. Magic and tech fused into one seamless truth here. Holograms flickered. Statues moved when no one watched. You could feel the pressure of kings before walking in.
This was the final year. His last chance.
The assembly was already crowded with rows of students his age, heirs, monsters in human skin. Some wore clan colours and crests alternate to the basic Centralis for non-clan students: crimson from the Pyreborn, black and gold from the Thousand Edged Sovereigns, and emerald green for the Verdant reign. Others wore nothing but their own confidence.
Kael sat among them, nameless, for now.
Then the lights dimmed.
A figure stepped onto the grand plinth at the heart of the chamber. Sporting robes of ivory and iron, a crown-shaped emblem beating red on his chest. When he spoke, his voice was layered, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
"Welcome, final years. You are not children anymore; you are candidates. For the thrones and palaces of this world.
The murmurs stopped.
"As of today, you begin your Ascendant Semester. There will be no forgiveness, no remorse and no looking back. You will be tested in your sovereignty. Your crowns will be scanned. Your throning potential is recorded".
His eyes swept the room. Kael felt them pass over him like a scalpel. "You will form squads. Enter a certified Death Zone, one untouched by crowned hands for nearly twenty years. Return alive...
"...and you will qualify for the Solis regalia — the greatest stage for new born monarchs"
The students whispered now. Even the clan heirs sat straighter.
"To stand on that stage, before the world, is to have your crown seen, tested, and feared. Tested. Feared"
He raised a hand. A hologram bloomed behind him: a star map. A throne. A hologram bloomed behind him: a star map, a throne, a human silhouette surrounded by flickering glyphs and arcane veins — the diagram of the Crown system itself.
"The world is ruled by intent. By what we call the Vetra — the will made manifest. Each of you has one crown. Some may earn more. Few will live long enough to understand them."
The hall was silent now. The weight of legacy and ambition had settled over them like fog.
Kael said nothing.
"Failure at this stage is death. The world is progressing fast. The expeditions on the east to reclaim Europa are finalising their preparations. This death zone and the Solis Regalia may very well be stepping stones into preserving and growing the Crowned.
Kael frowned.
"Crowned, not humanity. Huh, do they not consider the crownless human too?"
"Our world was taken; our freedom, light, and hope all burnt beneath the void. Ninety-nine years we've fought in the dark. We do not rest; we crowned; we rise. Carve your legacy in ash and blood. Be proud and relentless. Make the stars kneel."
With that, the Dean's final term speech ended, but for Kael, there was a pressing problem.
"How will I form a squad!?"