As we left the class, a small, gray alien no taller than my waist came running up with a file in its hand. “Adam Henshaw of House Garazal?”

  I nodded.

  “Here is your class timetable.” He handed over a timetable, then turned and ran before I could pull up his Identifier.

  I also learned a valuable lesson. You can’t identify people if they have their backs turned to you. There may have been more nuance to it, but it was good to know. I needed to be quicker identifying people.

  “Everything as it should be?” Ressa asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “Yep. Siege Craft next.”

  “Torma is in with you. He seems to enjoy it well enough. I’d rather watch a stone wall.”

  “Hmm. Well, we have Unarmed Combat, so I should see you there.”

  She shook her head and pointed at a symbol on my time table. You’re not in my class. It’s split into two because of the numbers. You’re in Torma’s again.”

  I was surprisingly disappointed at that. Though I didn’t have a problem with Torma, he wasn’t anywhere near as nice to look at. On the plus side, If I had to spar one of them, I’d rather it not be Ressa.

  She clapped me on the shoulder. “See you back in the dorm later.” Then she was off to join Yoru and Ellaazi while Torma trundled over to me.

  “You ready for three hours of hell?”

  “Siege Craft? Ressa just said you enjoyed it.”

  “That’s because I lied once when she asked. Best thing about it is I get a little shuteye before Unarmed. If you hear my sleeping song, you don’t be interrupting me. And don’t worry about the Master, he’s as deaf as an anvil and he rarely looks round.”

  “Not exactly selling it,” I grumbled as we set off back to the main buildings.

  Siege Craft was everything Torma promised and more. Master Morash was a frail and glassy eyed man, and without doubt, the oldest Archon I’d seen yet. I checked his identifier:

  Name: Erkal Morash

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Title: Master of Union Combat

  Level: 18

  Class: Tradesman

  I nudged Torma. “I don’t get it. He’s clearly ancient. Why is his level so low?”

  He’d chosen seats at the back of the horseshoe lecture theater and was already settling into the wide comfortable seat like he’d been poured into it.

  “Use it or lose it,” he said distractedly as he shuffled to find the exact position he needed to be comfortable.

  “You can lose levels?”

  That brought a laugh. “Of course you can. That old fella was in the first wars against the Xeo. Word has it he was high forties once upon a time, so he must have had a high Warrior class as well.”

  “Damn. I had no idea.”

  “Yeah well, it doesn’t make him any more interesting.”

  A huge Archon student a few rows ahead of us turned and glared at Torma. “Show some respect, Grunir. Or I’ll teach you some next lesson.”

  Torma’s head rolled back in reply, as if he’d fallen asleep. The Archon glared at me instead, so for some reason, I decided to smile and wave.

  His irritation turned to disgust as he turned away as if he’d just fallen in dog shit. Silence fell over the class for a few long moments before the Master began speaking in a slow, monotone voice.

  “Today we will cover the siege of Osiris on Ebardel. The world of Ebardel had been in Archon possession for over one hundred years at the time of the conflict. The year was 3219 Pre-Union calendar, and the main combatants were the Archon house of Aronel and the hateful Siroth terrorists.”

  Such a small introductory statement to a class, yet I was already painfully bored just by the droning deliver. I sat up straighter, and tried to hone my focus to listen.

  “Now, it is essential to understand the broader context of the siege of Osiris. The Archon House of Aronel had long been the stalwart protectors of Ebardel, a shining beacon of civilization and order. Under their rule, the world prospered with a structured governance that allowed its people to live in peace and safety. The Siroth terrorists, led by the Baranax rebels, cried liberation, but they sought nothing other than to cause chaos and tear down the civilization our ancestors had built.”

  I could see why Torma chose sleep. So far, all the Master had provided was a propaganda piece that was so transparently obvious even to someone who had no knowledge of the situation here. I found it hard to believe that the rest of the class was enraptured by his words. Yet as I looked across the room, that’s exactly what was happening. Young Archon eyes and ears lapped up the old man’s words.

  Filled with a sense of dread, I still attempted to find something positive to learn from the lesson.

  “…it is here that we must acknowledge the inherent weakness in the hearts of the natives of Ebardel as a whole and recognize that the brave Archon forces still did not abandon the people to their fate…”

  I was out. It was hurting my brain to listen to the mad ramblings. I glanced over to the snoring Torma who’s head hadn’t moved since the last time I looked. I was insanely jealous. I tried to follow suit and catch up on some much needed rest.

  Three hours later, I was still conscious, though a small part of my soul had been ripped from me. I’d take a day in the Ennochamber over this.

  Somehow, the drooling Torma came awake just as the lesson ended. “That it?” he said, rubbing at his eyes and mouth.

  “It is. And you should have warned me.”

  He laughed. “Nah, I shouldn’t have to suffer alone, and one off these days, I might not wake up in time and I’ll need a friendly nudge.”

  “You monster.”

  That had him laughing all the more as we made our way from the room.

  “Please tell me Unarmed Combat is less… Archon Narrative.”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, it is, but Yoshun is an utter bastard.”

  “Oh joy.”