"Hurry!" The receptionist was already moving toward the door. "Come on!"
Cel matched her quick stride as they moved through the corridor. She didn't look back to see if he kept pace - just assumed he would.
They reached his door. She stopped, gesturing sharply.
"Uniform. Now. I'll wait."
Cel pushed inside and crossed to the wardrobe. The dark fabric still sat folded where he'd left it, the silver threading along the collar catching morning light from the window.
He stripped off his clothes and pulled on the uniform. The fabric was stiffer than the commoner clothes he'd worn the past ten days, the collar higher. Over his heart, the silver mark of the Moon Goddess stood out against the dark cloth.
When he emerged, the receptionist gave him a quick once-over and nodded.
"Good enough. Let's go."
She set off at a pace just short of running. Cel matched her stride easily, his divine body making the speed feel natural even as she began breathing harder.
"Everyone's already gathered," she said between breaths. "You were supposed to be there twenty minutes ago. I checked your room three times this morning - where were you?"
"Walking."
She shot him a look but didn't press. They turned a corner and the main hall loomed ahead - massive oak doors standing open, voices spilling out in a dull roar.
The receptionist slowed as they approached. "Get in line with the others. Don't make a scene."
Cel slipped through the doors.
The hall stretched vast and high-ceilinged. Rows of students stood in formation before a raised stage at the far end. Perhaps forty of them, all wearing the same dark uniform with silver threading. All commoners.
Cel moved along the back of the formation, looking for a gap. The students were packed tight, shoulders nearly touching. He found space near the end of the fourth row and stepped into it.
No one turned. No one acknowledged his late arrival. Every face pointed forward, attention fixed on the empty stage.
The boy to his left shifted his weight from foot to foot. His fingers drummed against his thigh in nervous rhythm.
"—heard she's really coming," a girl whispered two rows ahead. "The princess herself."
"No way," a boy to her right hissed back. "That's just a rumor. Why would she—"
"My cousin works in the palace kitchens. She said—"
"Quiet!" someone snapped from the front row.
The whispers died, but the energy remained - crackling tension that made the air feel charged. Bodies leaned forward slightly, as if the extra inch might let them see better when something finally happened.
A door opened at the stage's side and a man emerged - tall, gray-haired, wearing formal robes with the royal crest prominent across his chest. The headmaster. His boots clicked against the wooden platform as he crossed to the podium.
The silence deepened, every fidget ceasing.
He surveyed the assembled students. His gaze swept the rows without hurry, taking in every face. When he finally spoke, his voice carried easily across the hall.
"Welcome to the Chosen Academy. Before we begin, it is my honor to announce our distinguished guest for this year's opening ceremony."
He paused. The silence somehow deepened.
"Her Imperial Highness, Cassandra Stellarion, Princess of the Empire."
The whispers had been right.
Excited murmurs rippled through the formation - quickly suppressed but unmistakable. Bodies straightened. The nervous energy transformed into something sharper, more focused.
The side door opened again.
She entered with practiced grace - each step measured, her posture perfect. The princess wore deep purple robes edged in gold, the royal crest embroidered across her chest in intricate detail. Deep purple hair - the same rich shade as her clothes - fell in an elegant arrangement that must have taken hours to achieve. Her features were refined, beautiful in the way that came from centuries of careful bloodline cultivation.
Cel had seen her once before. At the ceremony where the Emperor granted Esrin the title of Hallowed - the highest honor a Chosen could receive. The princess had stood among the other royals behind the throne, present but not prominent.
She looked older now. More composed. Every movement deliberate and controlled.
The whispers started immediately, rippling through the rows in broken fragments.
"—actually her—"
"—so beautiful—"
"—can't believe—"
The princess reached the podium. She let the moment breathe, her deep purple eyes sweeping across the assembled students with the same measured assessment the headmaster had used.
Then she smiled.
Warm. Genuine. The kind of expression that made people feel seen, valued.
"Thank you, Headmaster." Her voice carried the same effortless projection, clear without being loud. "And welcome to all of you. This is a significant day - not just for the Academy, but for our Empire."
She paused, letting the weight settle.
"Each of you has been blessed by the gods. Chosen to stand against the darkness that threatens our world. The rifts that tear reality apart. The creatures that crawl through to destroy everything humanity has built."
Her expression shifted - still warm, but underlaid with steel.
"You are humanity's defense. Its hope. And the Academy exists to ensure you become worthy of that sacred duty."
The students around Cel leaned forward, drinking in every word. The girl two rows ahead had tears in her eyes. The boy beside Cel had stopped fidgeting entirely, standing rigid with attention.
Cel watched the princess's face. The fleeting expressions that flickered beneath the controlled exterior. The calculated pauses that gave her words time to land.
This wasn't normal.
Royalty didn't attend academy openings. The Emperor had never spoken at one. The Empress hadn't either. It was beneath their station - a task delegated to the headmaster and instructors.
So why was she here?
The answer crystallized as she continued speaking.
"The Empire stands at a crossroads. Threats gather both within and beyond our walls. We need strength. Unity. Chosen who understand that their power serves something greater than personal ambition."
There it was. Buried in platitudes about duty and service.
Recruitment.
She was here to secure promising students early. To establish relationships before the nobles arrived and complicated the social dynamics. To position herself - and by extension, whichever faction she supported - as the benefactor who cared about commoner Chosen.
The question was which faction she supported.
Her father, the Emperor, backed the First Prince. Her mother, the Empress, backed the Second. The princess herself couldn't inherit - only men could ascend to the Stellarion throne, following the precedent set by the First Chosen.
"—know that I will be watching your progress with great interest," the princess was saying. "The Empire's future depends on Chosen like you. Never forget the responsibility you carry."
She stepped back from the podium. The smile returned, softer now.
"May the gods guide your path."
Applause erupted - immediate, thunderous. The students clapped with desperate enthusiasm, as if the force of their approval might somehow keep her attention.
The princess inclined her head graciously, then turned and walked toward the side door with the same measured grace she'd entered with.
The headmaster returned to the podium as she disappeared.
"Thank you, Your Highness, for those inspiring words." He waited for the applause to fade before continuing. "Now, to practical matters. You will proceed to the dining hall for your first meal as academy students. Afterward, assemble in the main classroom where your instructor will explain the curriculum and answer questions."
He gestured toward the hall's main exit. "Dismissed."
The formation dissolved immediately. Students streamed toward the doors in clusters, voices rising as the enforced silence broke.
"My parents won't believe—"
"—incredible speech, I got chills when she said—"
"—maybe she'll visit again, do you think—"
Cel followed the flow through corridors that opened into a large dining hall. Long wooden tables filled the space, already set with plates and cups. The smell of fresh bread and cooked meat filled the air.
Students claimed seats in groups, gravitating toward familiar faces from their home territories or shared deity affiliations. Conversations continued unabated, everyone still buzzing with excitement over the princess's appearance.
Cel found an empty table near the back and sat.
No one joined him. The surrounding tables filled quickly, but his remained isolated - an island of empty space in a crowded hall.
He didn't mind.
Food arrived - brought by kitchen staff who moved efficiently between tables. Bread, still warm. Roasted chicken. Vegetables in some kind of sauce.
Cel ate mechanically, tasting nothing. His mind was elsewhere, still processing the princess's speech and what it meant for the shifting political landscape.
Footsteps approached. Hesitant. Uncertain.
Cel looked up.
A boy stood at the table's edge, perhaps his age or slightly younger. Wheat blond hair fell across his forehead. Soft blue eyes that rarely made direct contact, currently fixed on a point somewhere past Cel's shoulder. His posture curved inward, shoulders hunched as if trying to occupy as little space as possible.
The silver crescent moon over his heart caught the light.
Another Moon Chosen.
The boy's hands twisted together. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Finally, words emerged - quiet, apologetic.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but... you're a Moon Chosen too, aren't you? I saw your mark during the ceremony and I thought maybe..."
He trailed off, uncertainty written across every feature.
"Would it be alright if I sat with you?"