The award ceremony was supposed to be small. A gathering consisting of the bastion commander and his group of elites, numbering only a small fraction of the apprentices. Due to the commander's personality, Zephyrion had expected him to stretch the definition a little, perhaps invite a few high-ranking generals and call it close enough.
He hadn't expected the entire damn bastion.
The more than two hundred apprentices currently stationed at Greywatch were all packed into the massive main mess hall, alongside generals, soldiers, non-combatants, and, for some inexplicable reason, even the cleaners, every last one of them staring directly at him.
'I really should have expected this…'
The hall was a bit rowdy from the sheer number of people gathered within it, but that wasn't the source of Zephyrion's current irritation. It was the probing eyes, the shocked stares, the looks of awe, suspicion, and even fear that followed his every movement.
