In the light of the noonday sun, Photep shone like a brilliant jewel. It straddled the dark blue oceans of the western shore and the endless expanse of white desert to the east. The crystalline pyramids reflected the sun's light like glittering diamonds, casting dazzling reflections across the entire city. None were more brilliant than the five pyramids of the Heka, in the heart of Photep. Just beyond them stood the Silver Tower, the breathtaking edifice that served as the palace of the Crimson King. In the expansive court betwixt the pyramids, a plaza called the Dijat of Heka, a huge crowd gathered. Nobility and common folk alike stood shoulder to shoulder all facing the eastern-most pyramid, with the Silver Tower rising behind it imperiously. Some shaded their eyes from the stark light of the sun, while most merely stood sweating from the lack of respite in the shadeless plaza. Regardless, the gaze of every person present was turned toward the pyramid of the Cult of the Crow, as the commencement of the Heka was about to begin.

A far smaller cluster stood apart from the crowd, much closer to the pyramid. Rather than massing together in an undulating throng, they stood in ranks, arrayed so that each had a clear view of the dais directly in front of them. Each was a child of 16, the age of commencement in Photepi law, and thus on the cusp of adulthood. While they were as diverse in form and appearance as much of Photep was, they were alike in the cloak of pure white each one wore, clasped at the shoulder with a golden brooch. These were the Sorcerer-Novitiates, graduates of Photep's academies of magical study for aspiring sorcerers. Each had been hand-selected by one a Sorcerer-Magus to be inducted into the Heka as the next generation of Photepi Sorcerers. If they possessed Tutelaries, their diminutive familiars either sat diligently on their master's shoulder or at their heel like obedient hounds.

Training to become a sorcerer was a gamble, for lack of a better word. Even after dedicating years of study and discipline to achieving basic magical competence, there was no promise that one would be chosen by a Magus to join the Heka. Those that were not chosen, as by far most were not, would have to move onto vocational education without the benefit of rudimentary training. Graduating from a magical competency program was no mean feat, and most would go on to be esteemed civil servants, and the Red Orders frequently recruited from these students, but they carried the lifelong disappointment that one would never become a true Sorcerer. These young Novitiates had avoided that bitter fate, receiving the news of their selection, along with their Novitiate's cloak, by courier the week prior. Now was their moment of commencement, when they would discover which Cult had accepted them into their halls, and which Magus would become their mentor in Sorcery.

The sun reached its absolute zenith in the sky, and the ceremony began. From the halls of the pyramid of the Cult of Crows, a procession of Sorcerers marched forward, silent and sombre, until all were standing on the dais side by side. There were not many, perhaps only twenty compared to the dozens of Novitiates, and each was a fabulously eccentric figure. Same as the Novitiates, their unifying feature was the silken cloak they wore, dyed pure black to denote their rank of Sorcerer-Magus. Their golden brooches were not plain and smooth as the Novitiates' were, but engraved and adorned with colorful gemstones to denote the Cult to which they claimed membership. Their short march from the pyramid was a heavily symbolic act, as the Magi were forbidden from teleporting or using magical means to arrive at the ceremony. They were even bereft of their Tutelaries, which likely waited for them just within the pyramid. This emphasized their humanity as part of the commencement, as this moment- when mere students would become Sorcerers- embodied the tenuous link between their ranks and the rest of Photep.

One Sorcerer stood out among them, however, denoted by the red trim on his ebon cloak. This was Sorcerer-Magus Makhai Amon, Magistrate of the Cult of Crows, Vizier to the Crimson King, and Representative of the Heka in the Rehati. An older man, with skin the color of aged velum, a dark grey beard, and tattoos covering his bald head. Aside from his black and crimson cloak, he wore robes of shimmering scarlet, which reflected the sun's light like a flowing stream of red water. Amon was ostensibly the most skilled and powerful Sorcerer in all of Photep (apart from the Crimson King), if one believed that his elevated station correlated to his magical ability. Others took a less charitable view of him, seeing the man as a politician first and a Sorcerer second. Regardless, the he was without a doubt the most influential Sorcerer currently alive, and was widely known to serve as the right hand of the Crimson King.

Amon stepped forward, causing the audience to fall silent, and began to speak, "In the beginning, there was no light. The sun by day, the moon and stars by night. The flash of lightning in a storm." A ripple of discontent flowed through the crowd of spectators. This was the Invocation of Commencement, the traditional speech that began the commencement ceremony. In every ceremony prior, the Crimson King had been the one to deliver this speech. The fact that he was not present meant that he did not intend to attend the ceremony; it would not start without him if he was merely late. Either the master of Photep was busy with some other matter, or had decided that this event was beneath him. "Then arose man," Amon continued, unperturbed the the crowd's reaction, "Who took up fire to warm his home and cast out the darkness. Man, unsatisfied with the world given to him, took his destiny into his own hands and changed it. The willingness to change one's reality for the betterment of himself and others is the mark of the Sorcerer. In this way, Photep is truly a kingdom of Sorcerers, as we all strive together to become better, to evolve, not merely our individual selves, but the whole of mankind.

"The Novitiates that stand before me are the fruit of this effort. They are not only the legacy of all we have achieved, but they will be the architects of our future achievements. It is they who cleave closest to the founding ideals of Photep: the triumph of discipline over chaos, of willpower over adversity, and of innovation over stagnation. Their spirit is the spirit of all of Photep, and their hope is all of our hope. It is with immense pride that I name them as Sorcerer-Novitiates, and it is my distinct honor to accept them as my cohorts and fellow Sorcerers."

The Magistrate unrolled a papyrus scroll that he had held at his side thus far, and held it out in front of him, low enough to not obscure his face or muffle his voice. "Novitiates, I will now declare the names and allegiances of the Sorcerer-Magi that have sponsored your commencement into the Cults of Heka. Upon hearing your name, step forward to stand beneath your mentor on the dais. Take your place of pride before all of Photep, and know that in some distant year, it shall be you who stands upon the dais and holds the honor of molding a new generation."

He then began to read off the names and Cult memberships of the Sorcerers that stood to either side of him on the dais, followed by the names of the Novitiates they had sponsored. He proceeded swiftly, from the audience's left to right, reading off the next name just as soon as the Novitiates assigned to the Magi had reached the dais. Each Magus stepped forward when their name was called, ensuring no Novitiates embarrassed themselves by meeting the wrong Sorcerer.

"Sorcerer-Magus Callis Dagon of the Cult of the Crow accepts under his auspice Sorcerer-Novitiate Ishara Thumotep, Sorcerer-Novitiate Radaam Esi, and Sorcerer-Novitiate Khaemtir Maryatum."

Magus Dagon was a tall and particularly severe looking man, whose features were drawn into a taut scowl. While Sorcerers had a tendency towards pallor, owing to long hours spent in the depths of their pyramids in study, he was particularly pale, the blue of his veins showing through his skin. His hair was long, the color of spoiled milk, and his eyes were a piercing cerulean that was visible even from where the Novitiates stood in ranks. There was none of Dagon's skin exposed below his neck, as he wore heavy robes dyed orange-red filigreed with patterns the color of bleached bone, long enough that even his shoes were obscured, and thick gloves of dark leather covered his hands.

"Sorcerer-Magus Althea Nevrakis of the Cult of the Serpent accepts under her auspice Sorcerer-Novitiate Sirvan Nouzari, Sorcerer-Novitiate, Berenice Eldri, and Sorcerer-Novitiate Sarahi Parvaneh."

Magus Nevrakis was a slight woman with an aloof presence, almost seeming uninterested in the ceremony, as though her mind was elsewhere. Umber tattoos the same color as her eyes marked her cheeks and forehead, standing out against her honey-toned skin, and her dark hair was drawn up into a bun behind her head, though some stray locks of grey hung loose. Under her cloak was a flowing violet gown that would be inappropriately revealing were it not for the red tunic she wore beneath it, and she stood barefoot on the dais. Tasteful golden jewelry adorned her wrists and ankles, with polished gemstones of black and white hanging from each ring.

"Sorcerer-Magus Bra'et Xavier of the Cult of the Phoenix accepts under his auspice Sorcerer-Novitiate Anatu Taauth, and Sorcerer-Novitiate Khotanebre Bekenamun."

Magus Xavier was a formidable man, perhaps the largest standing on the dais, obviously muscular in his youth, but somewhat fattened by age. His skin was dark, and his face was as rough and craggy as a mountainside. Xavier's eyes literally glowed hot orange, as though he had two burning coals in his skull instead of eyes. He had no eyebrows, his silver hair was shaved so that only a thin strip at the peak of his skull remained, and his bare chest was also hairless. While he wore no shirt under his cloak, the robe cinched about his paunchy waist was a gaudy marigold yellow, and he wore armbands of pure gold about his biceps, which had the vibrant feathers of birds of paradise tucked into them.

Magistrate Amon finished reading off the remaining names, and proceeded into the conclusion of the commencement ceremony. "I once again congratulate and welcome our newest Sorcerer-Novitiates into the distinguished ranks of their new Cults. You have worked hard and sacrificed much to come this far, but I warn you now that your trials are not over. You have proved yourselves before all of Photep, but you must now surpass the expectations set before you. To wield the power of magic and uncover its secrets is an awesome responsibility, and while you have earned the title of Sorcerer, you must yet prove that you are worthy of the burden that title carries. In the name of the Crimson King, the first and last lord of all Photep, I proclaim this commencement adjourned."

Thunderous applause rang out from the crowd of spectators, many of whom were the family and friends of the Novitiates that now stood facing them at the foot of the dais. From the flanks of the plaza, emerging from the other pyramids, came a host of other Sorcerers of various ranks, many carrying tables, chairs, great platters and baskets of food, and casks of wine and beer. Their use of magic no longer constrained by the formalities of the ceremony, they used telekinetic power to set up a massive banquet spread across the entire Dijat, free and welcoming to all who wished to celebrate the commencement. Pyromancers lit great torches and braziers, and many Sorcerers that had unloaded their burdens took up instruments and began to stroll between the tables and play lighthearted music.

Amon stepped down from the dais and strode to its end to greet each of the new Novitiates in turn. He looked each one in the eye, doing his best to appear genial, and gave them a quick word of congratulations and an invitation to join their families and friends at the banquet. A warm handshake was offered to each one, with the boys often receiving an additional fraternal squeeze of the shoulder, and the girls having their fingers gently kissed. "Be sure to convene with your master before you leave for the evening," he advised each Novitiate, "You have very busy days ahead of you, my young friend."

Anatu shivered at the Vizier's words, despite the heat, and despite her new cloak. It didn't matter much to her that it was the "wrong" person saying them, she recognized them as her new truth, and that was almost overwhelming.

She had complimented the cloak with a pale blue dress, which came all the way to her ankles, neck and wrists. Her hair was braided up but uncharacteristically uncovered. She did, however, have a copper tiara atop her head, with a veil of copper chain links covering her face attached to it.

The Commencement completed, Anatu looked briefly at the intimidating man who was her new mentor. She must greet him before the end of the night, but right now a young woman in the crowd was jumping up and down to get her attention. With a hidden smile, Anatu approached her eldest sister. She was dressed in an almost identical dress, though without the cloak, and her head was covered in a hijab instead of a crown. On a normal day, Anatu would be dressed the same, but today of course was special. She made her polite way through the crowd and embraced her sister, Anakh. She and all her sisters had the misfortune of having the same shortening of their name.

"Congratulations, Ana. Mother will be upset that you did not join her cult."

"Well it wasn't my choice," she laughed.

"Serpent or Phoenix," she said, conspiratorially, standing close, "You must share with me all the secrets of the physical world that you learn."

"I don't think I can help you move the stars, Anakh," she said in mock severity. "Even if I had the power, I am bound by my duty as a Sorcerer-Novitiate."

"Speaking of whom," Anakh pointed to a rather handsome member of Anatu's class. "Do you think you can introduce me to that lovely man? Or would that be against your duty as well?"

"Apart from my duty, I think he's young for you. But come, let's see who we can meet."

She made her way into the crowd, exchanging congratulations with her fellow students. She wasn't sure yet who her fellows under Magus Xavier were, but hoped to meet them.

Standing in the Dijat of Heka in the noonday sun was not Khaemtir’s idea of a good time. He preferred to be out in the evening when the heat was fading off the streets and the air held a hint of the night’s chill to come. He fidgeted more than he should have, Udjebten clicking her tongue at him every time he did just like his mother would, but he couldn’t help it. White silk or not, his parent’s choice of outfit was stifling in this heat. They hadn’t spared any expense on it though and he was begrudgingly in love with the design despite knowing it wasn’t his first choice of outfit. Ivory silk was covered in delicate grey threads, creating a spider web of elegant designs, that faded into gold at the flared bottom and the stiff high collar of the robe. Thankfully, it offered some respite from the material, gold arms rings and vambraces taking the place of the usual sleeves. He thought the vambraces were too much but he was informed they were “ceremonial” and wearing them wasn’t an option. The cloak was clasped over it and he couldn’t help but worry at the material as he stood at attention, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he waited.

The day the cloak came was simultaneously incredibly exciting and terrifying. It was an admission that his life was changing in a way he could never have imagined when he was younger but if anything, it just fueled the excitement all the more. He’d barely suffered through the congratulations from his family―Udjebten actually bit his pants to keep him from making an escape before everyone finished everything they had to say. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d torn his pants in an effort to make him stay still and he really liked those ones damn it!―before he bolted to his room and tore through every article of clothing he owned in an attempt to find something for the commencement ceremony. He was tempted to wear red but he hadn’t wanted to seem presumptuous and then grey was the next thought but he wanted color. He even considered getting some new earrings, something with more than just gold, but he couldn’t make up his mind. His sister Menwei, who had been out working on some project for the Red Order, caught him just as he started crying as the uncertainty and bubbling emotions spilled over and helped him find something he was satisfied with. Not that he got to wear it in the end but it was his first time really doing anything with her.

Guess she wasn’t as awful as he thought.

Khaemtir watched anxiously as the ceremony finally began. He was unsure how to feel about the change in procedure; his family held tradition in high esteem and the Crimson King missing the ceremony made his gut churn with uncertainty. Ruling Photep was no easy job, Khaemtir imagined, but such a significant deviance made him wonder how that bode for this incoming group. He sighed quietly, earning another click from Udjebten with an added pat on the foot, and put it out of his mind. The Vizier to the Crimson King, Sorcerer-Magus Amon, was still leading the ceremony and he was practically an extension of the Crimson King himself so his presence was still there. Stil, Khaemtir couldn’t shake the feeling it was an omen for the future.

However, he had far more pressing matters to concern himself with: his Cult. When the courier delivered his cloak, he’d scoured the notice of his acceptance over and over and over in hopes it’d give him some clue into his future selection. Honestly, he didn’t mind which one selected him. He wanted to study magic and every Cult did that but he was nervous. His dislike of Biomancy, and his inability to keep his lunch down around some of the concepts, instinctively drove him away from the Cult of the Serpent. Logically, he understood that that wasn’t the only thing they taught but joining a Cult with a heavy focus on the one specialty that made him ill would cast a shadow over his excitement. He did lean in favor of the Cult of the Phoenix but in reality, he didn’t care. He just wanted to study the greatest treasure of the greatest city in the entire world!

So when Vizier Amon called his name under Sorcerer-Magus Dagon of the Cult of Crows, Khaemtir was floored. He knew he hesitated but he needed a moment to process. He’d never imagined that the Cult of Crows, the Cult well known for holding onto the Crimson King’s favor and producing the greatest Sorcerers of all time, accepted him into their ranks. He;d finally have an achievement worth his scroll! Khaemtir may have forgotten his manners and gaped until Udjebten head butted his leg. “Get moving, Little Khae. We must not keep people waiting.” She said even as she shone with pride.

“Thank you, Vizier.” Khaemtir said respectfully when Amon made his rounds at the end of the ceremony, bowing his head at the words and then beaming once he stepped away. It felt like hundreds of bubbles were boiling up inside of him and he knew he’d have a spring in his step. He spied his family out of the corner of his eye and while he knew they were waiting for him to join them, he had something to do first. They would understand. They were the ones who taught him the importance of networking after all.

So he focused his attention on the others inducted into the Cult with him. Ishara he knew, between their families mingling at charity events and attending Pesedjet together, he knew she was a hard worker and a promising Sorcerer. He grimaced internally though. They had very different working styles and it had led to some friction between the two. She was great at what she did but she was… aggressive about it and Khaemtir didn’t know how to step back from it without getting wrapped up in the conflict. Hopefully, they could… avoid working together too much.

But the other one, Rada or Radia or something, was an entirely new face. Which made sense considering his simple clothing beneath the high quality Sorcerer’s cloak. He was definitely from the commoner’s part of the city. This cloak was probably the nicest thing he owned, if the fact that he was wearing reed sandals was anything to go by. He seemed the serious type and Khaemtir was a little jealous of his composure. It's always been a failing of his but who could blame him; he didn’t have any serious responsibilities until now! He was probably another one of Ishara style workers; dedicated to the point of obsession and Khaemtir felt the exhaustion inside him already. But if they were going to be working together, he’d rather be friends than awkward acquaintances!

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while still, Ishara!” Khaemtir laughed. “Couldn’t get rid of me at the galas, couldn’t get rid of me at Pesedjet, and now we’re Sorcerers together. I’m not surprised the Crows picked our little Prodigy. But you sir,” He whirled on the new guy, “Are something entirely new. You couldn’t have gone to Pesedjet. I don’t think I could forget a giant like you! I’m Khaemtir Maryatum, the third youngest of the Maryatum family, and this is Ishara Thumotep, only daughter of Aramia Thumotep.” He introduced them with a bow.

“So I was thinking that since we are all joining together and Ishara and I have…” Khaemtir had sudden flashbacks of more than a few research projects they shared. “History already, why don’t we meet up at my place and we can relax and get to know each other?”

“With a chaperone of course, little Khae.” Udjebten chimed in, pointedly looking at Ishara. Khaemtir groaned.

“Of course with a chaperone, Udjebten. It’ll just be Amenemhatanhk.” Khaemtir waved off the concern, turning to explain to others. “He’s in charge of maintaining the estate. We can just ignore him; he’s old enough to be part of the building anyway.”

---

Berenice watched as the Magi walked onto the stage one after the other. She especially paid attention to their faces, their expressions ranging from boredom to apathy, excitement or thoughtfulness among others. Some were men, some were women, but regardless of their differences they all had one thing in common: the title of a Magus.

Standing further behind was her father, Anak, dressed up in the traditional, out-of-combat attire of the Order Sekhmet. Even one person among many, she would never fail to notice his presence. He never relaxed that one, forever a bastion of discipline and the way of the sword. It showed on his gait, how he dressed, and even how he stood. Straight as an arrow and with one hand resting on the butt of his sheathed sword, Anak had his sights trained on the Magi from the moment they entered the stage. Berenice knew quite well what was going through his brain; “Who is it going to be? Are they going to be of use? How can I have her influence them to my advantage?”

Yes, unfortunately such was the relationship she and her father shared, something more akin to a soldier following her commander’s orders than a familial bond of love and affection. Fortunately, she had close ties with her mother and had experienced the so-called “parental love”, to some degree at least, that everyone else her age has.

Thinking about her family situation put her off quite a bit, especially at times like these when she was faced with incredible changes. If it wasn’t for the slight shifting underneath her Novitiate coat to break her out of her self-induced trance, she would have missed the start of the opening speech. She peeked under her coat and saw two beady, emerald eyes staring back at her all the while a comforting warmth suffused her body and mind, alleviating tension she hadn’t noticed building up.

“You think I’m nervous, huh? Well don’t blame me, blame the gods for giving me an aptitude for magic…” She joked inwardly before turning her gaze back to Grand Magus Amon. It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t looked forward to seeing the Crimson King during her commencement, everyone her age harbored feelings of reverence towards the mystical king residing in the Silver Tower, away from the view of the public. However, the Grand Magus was quite the figure himself, ranking second among all magi in power and experience. And when he started calling forth the names of the accepted Novitiates along with their future mentors, his voice was heard far and beyond, and clear as day. “He must have used some kind of spell to enhance his voice just for this…”

She threw a glance at each of the Novitiates called up before her, sizing them up, but knew that there would be time for introductions later. Hearing her name and the fact that she’d been accepted into the Cult of the Serpent felt like a literal boulder had been lifted off her, and her face immediately donned a smile. Getting into that Cult had been something of a goal for her apart from the fact that it was also the most suitable for her magical aptitude. She detested to admit, but if she had to pick one thing from her father’s teachings that she liked, it would be growing and developing a healthy body and mind. With Biomancy studying the inner workings of the flesh, Berenice felt that joining the Serpents was of utmost importance if she was going to maintain and built upon what she had already achieved. Plus, it was a silent jab at her father and his goals of her joining the Order Sekhmet.

Her impression of her soon-to-be mentor, Magus Nevrakis was nothing exceptional. It was the first time Berenice heard her name, and honestly, she couldn’t care much about who tutored her. As long as she got to learn magic, that was enough for her.

After finishing the formalities and paying her respects to the Vizier, Berenice approached one of the two that had been accepted into the Serpents with her, her fellow “classmates”.

“Hello, I don’t think I have seen you before. I am Berenice,” she said and greeted the girl with the usual fist over heart salute her father had drilled into her. “What did you think of the selections? I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had been accepted into anything other than the Serpents to be honest…”

The Dijat of Heka was the farthest into the centre of the city that Radaam had ever been. He’d never been to a Commencement; goodness, he’d hardly ever even had a reason to leave his own neighbourhood until he started attending Udebtekhat, and by then he was so busy with his studies and whatever odd jobs he could find to pay for them that he usually just made a beeline there and back. As such, Radaam expected to have a little trouble finding the place—if the city proper was anything like the outskirts, it would be a maze of twists and turns, a deceptively winding path through ever more lavish buildings even with the landmark of the Silver Tower jutting clear as day out of the skyline.

Still, despite the hassle, the trip was strangely pleasant. Radaam and his family had to ask multiple times for directions, and each time they’d been warmly received, strangers offering words of congratulations before they sent them on their way. Radaam hadn’t expected animosity, mind—even in the wealthier areas of the city, Photepi people were known for their accommodating nature—but it was like the moment each stranger laid eyes on his shining white cloak, they stepped aside more readily, and offered their advice with all the more enthusiasm. Radaam’s mother said it was all to be expected. Sorcerers were simply treated differently. Seen differently.

She’d meant it kindly, but the very thought chilled Radaam as he stood with the other Novitiates in the Dijat, flesh prickling with goosebumps despite the unrelenting heat. Above every other thought and feeling circling in his head, and for more than one reason, he felt thoroughly out of place. Like an imposter. What was he doing here? He didn’t belong here, standing among others his age dressed in finery that probably cost more than his home, there with his roughspun tunic and his father’s sandals peeking out from under a cloak finer and purer than anything he’d ever seen, fastened over his shoulder with a brooch that could probably have paid his entire Udebtekhat tuition. Yet there he was, towering over a throng of students who’d most likely graduated from the most prestigious academy in the world, sticking out like a mud brick in a wall of limestone. Which was precisely how he felt; frugal and plain, and not properly suited for the task before him.

Toruk must have sensed his unease, for he slithered out of his place comfortably curled up in Radaam’s pocket to wind around his arm, giving his master a comforting squeeze. Radaam glanced at him fondly—which was to say, ever-so-slightly less stone-faced—and the snake gestured with his head behind them. Turning to see, Radaam caught sight of his parents a few rows back in the crowd, beaming with pride. More notable, however, was his little sister Zahra, bouncing up and down in her clay-coloured dress at the edge of the crowd and waving frantically the moment their eyes met. Her black braids bounced on her shoulders as she did, and her smile was wide enough it threatened to split her face in two, careless of the scars on her face and arms that pulled and stretched like melted wax.

Radaam offered her a tight-lipped smile and a covert little wave of acknowledgement before snapping back to attention as the Vizier-Magistrate began his speech. No, no this wasn’t all bad. It certainly wasn’t what he’d planned for, but he couldn’t turn back now, and not all had to be lost. There was still a chance the Khenetai would choose him; surely even considering their suspicion of Sorcerers, learning the mysteries of the Cult of the Serpent would make up for it. Surely this was a blessing in disguise; not only were his dreams still well in motion, but what he learned from the Serpents may well bring him that much closer to restoring his Zahra to the perfect, pain-free little girl she used to be. Everything was as it was meant to be; he just had to have faith.

“Sorcerer-Magus Callis Dagon of the Cult of the Crow accepts under his auspice… Sorcerer-Novitiate Radaam Esi.”

...What?

When his name was called, Radaam felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. For a moment he could only stand and stare, certain he must have heard wrong, until Toruk’s anxious fidgeting around his ankle reminded him to move again. Still, even as he shuffled blank-faced to the dais, he couldn’t quite believe it. This must have been some strange, horrible dream brought on by the anticipation, and any moment he would wake up on the morning of Commencement to do it all again the proper way.

But, as moments passed and names were called, Radaam was forced to accept that this was not, in fact, a nightmare. Realizing that, his mind exploded with questions, though one rose in volume above the rest: Why him? Not only was it massively unlikely for a graduate of a lowly school like Udebtekhat to be chosen for the Cults at all, but for the one widely regarded as the first among them? Impossible! What under the sun could they possibly have seen in him? Surely he was a novice compared to his fellow Novitiates, he had no special aptitude in Divination, no social or political connections to speak of—so why him?

The rest of the short ceremony passed as a blur, and by the time Radaam came back to his senses, the Dijat had exploded with colour and food and music, members of the crowd either dispersing or milling about the courtyard and the white-cloaked Novitiates dissociating among them. Once more Radaam found himself surrounded in utterly foreign finery; most of the foods adorning the tables he couldn’t even name, the instruments plucked by Sorcerers between them unfamiliar to him. He vaguely registered his mother waving chastely from the crowd, only for Zahra to tug her toward one of the tables, his parents following dutifully behind and probably deciding to give their son some time to rub elbows with his new colleagues before they set upon him themselves.

He dipped his head at the Vizier’s well-wishes without really hearing what they were, turning once he left to glance jealously at the Serpents’ Magus before his eyes landed on his own. The Magus—Callis Dagon, if he heard correctly—was another foreign and frightening sight; if Radaam didn’t know better, he’d have thought it was a phantom standing above them rather than a man. Radaam felt like his stark blue eyes pierced right through him, passing by his skin to observe whatever was underneath, and the feeling was so uncomfortable that he could only manage a reverent nod before tearing his gaze away. Apparently just in time, too, for no sooner had Radaam turned around than a cheerful-looking boy his age dressed from head to heel in white and gold all but accosted him with a greeting.

As soon as the boy—Khaemtir—opened his mouth, Radaam’s sense of un-belonging only grew more potent. Everything about him, from his fine clothes and jewelry down to the inflection of his words and the lilt of his voice, was foreign; maybe it was Radaam’s own fault for so rarely venturing out of his own community, but he could never have imagined that a simple difference in wealth could make a person seem so… different. Or, perhaps he was the different one—in this company, surrounded by wealth and luxury, it certainly seemed that way.

Radaam was silent for a moment, overwhelmed by the boy’s sheer energy and the speed at which he spoke, before he realized he’d look like a fool if he didn’t say something back. “Yes, hello, I am… Radaam Esi, son of Radames,” he managed to strangle out, as if the name of a Chenziri brickmaker could possibly be familiar to people who wore gold on their arms like linen.

He moved to press Khaemtir and Ishara’s hands to his forehead, a customary Chenziri greeting, but stopped himself when he remembered it might not be taken kindly by people of such standing to be touched by a total stranger. Of course, that left him with nothing to do with his hands, so he ended up awkwardly clasping them behind his back, unsure of what to do next. Could he tell Khaemtir from which school he hailed? Respond to his admittedly intimidating invitation? He’d moved on so fast it was hard to tell if he even wanted an answer, but Radaam couldn’t just say nothing, right?

A ticklish sensation down his shin brought him out of his deliberating for the time being, and Radaam glanced downward to see Toruk slithering off his leg and onto what must have been someone’s tutelary, a baby hippopotamus with glittering gemstones for eyes. Predictably, Toruk had climbed onto its back, curling gently around its neck to get a look at its eyes. A much closer look than was polite, to be exact. “Toruk! Stop that!”

With unexpected speed, Radaam stooped and grabbed hold of the viper, pulling him off the hippo before he got too close. “Forgive me, Toruk doesn’t seem to know his manners,” he apologized quickly, though his stern tone—and a look that could curdle milk—was directed more at the snake than his new acquaintances.

Toruk shrank away from his scolding, but Radaam knew better than to think he’d done much more than inconvenience the mischievous little thing. To make up for his rudeness, he offered the pair a small, sheepish smile. “Yes, forgive me,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck.

“This is all very overwhelming, isn't it?” he tried shyly, feeling as if everything that came out of his mouth was somehow wrong or uncouth or otherwise unwelcome. “Or, I mean—I'm happy to meet you, Ishara, Khaemtir. Your offer is very generous, although… don’t you think we should wait to speak to our master before we leave?”

---

He felt so pretentious.

Khotanebre wasn't normally one for excessive jewelry, but his mother insisted he flaunt the wealth of their family at such an event, and the stark-white cloak that completely draped his body was as plain was it was prestigious. Still, as much as he enjoyed the splash of color they provided, he didn't see a reason to be toting his family's entire panoply of gemstones on his person. A string of cylindrical beads - the only piece of the collection he personally owned - adorned his neck, alternating bronze and precious turquoise. Hidden partially beneath his hair, a circlet inlaid with malachite made itself visible in flashes of green between sweaty locks of carmine as the movement of his head and rare breeze displaced his bangs. One of his father's armlets wrapped around his right bicep, a band of gold ornamented with a magnificent lapis of almost violet hue and flecked with golden streaks of pyrite. His mother was especially adamant about showing that one off, but Kho had no idea how he was supposed to accomplish such a feat when his arm was almost constantly veiled by his cloak. Simple gilded loops decorated his wrists and ankles - were it not for his brother's objection and the simple fact that he was running out of room on his person, Kho was certain he'd have been more gold than man by the time his mother was finished with him.

The boy stood attentively among the other novitiates, the folds of his cloak belying the excited fidgeting underneath. A falcon sat perched upon his shoulder, a tiny white scarf wrapped around its neck to match with its master. As was common for the tutelary, Tekenkhasut prodded at the new brooch Kho had been given with one of his talons. Khotanebre wore similar adornments often enough - he was never seen without a cloak, after all - and the bird often liked to critique them on flashiness and hauteur. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased with this new development.

"How long until this thing gets decorated?" Teken inquired in a low voice, despite the ceremony not having officially begun yet.

"Stop it," Kho hissed as he brushed the falcon's claw away, flashing that ever-important armband as he did so, "We don't even know what cults we're in yet. I'm sure it'll be stylized soon enough."

"What're you thinking? Something feathered, I hope."

"Maybe a less obnoxious animal with some nobility, like a scarab or a ram."

"Oh, Khota, that's cold," Tekenkhasut whined as it turned its head away.

Khotanebre silenced the bird with a stern guttural noise as the mages took to the dais. The Vizier's leading of the ceremony elicited a frown from the boy. As far as he knew, His Majesty not being in attendance was highly unusual, if not unprecedented. He hoped nothing bad had happened that drew the Crimson King's attention away so urgently.

Putting his concerns aside for the time being, Kho drew in a sharp breath of anticipation as Amon unrolled the papyrus. He knew he had no reason to worry; the fact that he was even standing here was proof enough that he had been accepted. The only unknown was which cult had sponsored him, and it wasn't as though he had a particularly strong preference to any one cult over the others; he was just happy to be a sorcerer. Still, the pressure of Teken's talons against his shoulder was the only thing keeping him grounded against the unease in his stomach. The tension drained out of him as his sponsor was named, despite the man's terrifying appearance. The Cult of the Phoenix made sense, given his aptitude, and Teken would certainly be happy about it. He gave the bird a quick glance of warning before stepping forward, lest it disrupt the ceremony with cackling as he approached Magus Xavier.

When Vizier Amon approached him after, he bowed his head respectfully in the man's presence. No words he could possibly string together could appropriately express Kho's pride and elation in this honor bestowed upon him, so he simply remained silent. The silence didn't last long, as Tekenkhasut resumed his fidgeting with Kho's brooch as soon as the vizier had dismissed them.

"Look at that, feathers after all," The bird chirped smugly, as if it had personally accomplished something.

Kho ignored the creature in favor of looking around. Energy was buzzing within him now, and he had no idea what to unleash it on. His fellow novitiate under Magus Xavier disappeared into the crowd, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to be alone with the man himself yet. Plus, Amon had encouraged him to mingle.

"What's the plan? Gonna go beg mommy dearest to let you take your little baubles off?"

"No, she'd never let me do that while we were still in public." In fact, he was rather certain approaching his family would result in an embarrassing assault of his mother trying to 'fix' his outfit while his father offered pointers. Khotanebre perked up on his tiptoes in a quick survey of the crowd. In all the fanfare of the festivities being prepared, he couldn't locate them, though he doubted his family would have any trouble locating him.

Rather than fidget in place until the inevitable, Kho delved into the midst of the celebrants after his fellow Phoenix novitiate. What was her name? An-something... Anat? Damn it, he only remembered her family name. He knew what she looked like, at least; he'd seen her at the Pesedjet before, and thankfully she had foregone the usual modesty with which she dressed. Picking one headscarf out of every woman in attendance would've been a challenge, even with the obvious white cloaks.

"Behave," he chided Teken in a soft voice as he approached Anatu from the rear. He didn't think she was aristocracy, but he erred on the side of caution when addressing her regardless. "Novitiate Taauth?" Kho tilted his head briefly at the similar-looking woman nearby, "Apologies, am I interrupting?"

---

@Gisk

Anatu smiled at her fellow Novitiate, which was barely visible between the links in her veil. It was strange that her Magus only had the two students, but she found herself hoping that it would equate to more personal training.

"Not at all!" she said, gesturing toward Anakh. "This is my sister, Anakh. I was just looking to meet some of my fellow students, so I'm glad you approached. And you may call mr Anatu if you like. Or Ana, if you promise not to mix my sister and I up."

---

"Sorcerer-Magus Callis Dagon of the Cult of the Crow accepts under his auspice Sorcerer-Novitiate Ishara Thumotep, Sorcerer-Novitiate Radaam Esi, and Sorcerer-Novitiate Khaemtir Maryatum."

As she stood there, donned in her pure white cloak clasped with smooth golden brooch, the green-haired girl almost felt her breath stop as she heard her name called aloud.

For so long she had wondered, prayed to the goddess, and pondered as she lied in her bed to sleep what of the Cults might take a fancy to her. To some the Cult that had chosen her in the end was likely not a surprise, given her individual talents, but at the same time she hadn't come into this with any more than a desire to learn in whatever Cult chose to take her on. Magus Dagon was a rather somber looking kind of individual indeed, though his hair color and ilk almost seemed to suggest-...ah, never mind. Behind that scowl on the man's face she put the hope that his wisdom and knowledge would be fruitful for her and her peers' studies indeed. After all, she was one of just three students to be taken in by the Cult of the Crow this year! And to boot, one of her peers was a former classmate from Pesedjet whom her adoptive mother knew the family of personally!

Though the lack of the Crimson King's own presence this year was...hmm, she could not put a finger on it. A gut feeling told her 'something' was up, though in all truth he was perhaps just kept busy with all the political goings-on in the city. There was no need to overthink such things, though the more superstitious might see this as an inauspicious sign indeed. In that sense it was a slightly off note to the overall rather successful and otherwise almost perfect ceremony.

At the very least, however, as she listened the Vizier's advice it was something she took at its face value. A very hand of the city's ruler himself, his words might be rather valuable indeed. It was enough to allow her to breath out a relieved sigh as quietly as she could after nodding in response to the man's words. Perhaps with the following festivities, she would be able to let more of the tension roll off of her shoulders whilst food and drink abounded.

----------------

...As music began to waft through the air like a welcome summer breeze, and the glow of the lit braziers further illuminated the area like a setting sun, the teen allowed herself to relax a bit more as she looked through the throng of people about her. Her adoptive mother would surely be here without a doubt, she had promised such! It was a day that the two had long worked towards, and perhaps some part of her sought comfort in the presence of a familiar face after all of this. Though to the girl's shock, she eventually noticed not one but two figures who were now bee-lining it towards her.

The most surprising of the two was a woman who wore a thin and similarly pure white colored attire, rather revealing but just enough so to catch the gaze of passerby and others. Her clothing seemed to caress her very figure from top to bottom in a smooth yet eye-catching manner, from her leaner and curvy shape to her sizable chest to even her swaying hips that seemed to move in a soothing rhythm. Her lower face was barely covered in a nearly transparent gossamer veil as well, showing only some of her smooth, soft, and milky skin, all allowing for the contrast of the woman's piercing green eyes to stand out all the more. Her arms sat daintily to her sides in turn as well as she moved, though it was hard to ignore the tinkling gold and silver ornaments and bangles and ilk that adorned the woman's wrists and ankles as she moved along. Then in final, a long braided length of a familiar green hair seemed to hang down her back, bound with golden bands adorned with jewels and religious symbols that most did not see this far from those working near the Temple of Ishari at all. It was a breathtaking sight of beauty that some might easily attribute to Biomancy treatments in life, or at least past generations, the truth of which Ishara herself did not know for certain to boot.

The young student's face lit up in a heartbeat at seeing this woman, however, and without pausing she ran over to the duo without a second thought.

"Mother!" she said, a certain youthful joy in her voice as she flung her arms around her birth mother's neck with a beaming smile.

"Hahaha! My sweet child, how much joy it brings me to see you. I could naught else but be here on this momentous ascension in your life. The Matron of the Temple was given vision, guidance to send me here this evening to be with you even if for at least this moment," the woman said after giving out a peal of warm and joyful laughter, before running a gentle hand through her daughter's hair and looking down at her warmly in turn, "By Ishari's grace, you have grown so beautifully...you remind me of your grandmother so. Never feel shame in your body, for it is blessed upon you by the goddess."

Ishara took the woman's gentle hand in her own, clutching onto its calming warmth before letting go and stepping back to look her birth mother in the eyes.

"Haha...you have said these things many a time, mother, though I wish I could have met grandmother myself from the stories you tell of her! Even so, even your brief presence is something of a comfort for me today. Though before I leave tonight, I must confer with my new teacher as the Vizier advised us and seek out my peers!"

"Ahem."

The duo looked next to them as another voice cut into their conversation, seeing the other familiar person of the night who stood right there with a small but humble smile on her slender yet experienced face. Semi-dark skin akin to a more paled chocolate adorned the woman's body, and her silky black hair seemed to hang over her right shoulder with a single silver band clasped upon it with a family engraved into it: "Thumotep". Whilst her beauty was more towards that Aemeni sort, and as enduring even as the city itself, it was only accentuated with the comfortable blue and purple robe that she wore to rest from the heat as well as look proper for the occasion. An air of grace hung about her, almost like how an aura of shining light hung about the midday sun, though a certain soberness lie underneath that seemed to bring down the jovial atmosphere to a more respectful one for Ishara. Likewise the woman's arms were folded, though unfolded calmly as she was finally noticed by the other two.

"Ah, apologies Mother. It was rude to-"

"Do not worry, Ishara, this is a moment to celebrate and you have every right to celebrate with family," her adoptive mother said, moving over to give her a brief hug and even a small squeeze of her shoulders in turn, "Though do heed the Vizier's advice if he gave you any, and otherwise. Now shoo, you have things to attend to! I will escort your birth mother back as well, at least once we have lingered to chat some with some familiar faces and old friends."

The green haired girl seemed to perk back up, before giving a vigorous nod and taking off in the other direction at top speed back towards her peers.

"Heh, that girl has a bright future ahead of her. I take pride in assisting her to this point, but after this it is a path that she will have to work harder for now that she's here. Not that she needs to work herself to death, Photep forbid."

"Indeed....May the goddess watch over her always."

----------------

When the girl made it back over to the others, however, Khaemtir seemed to pick up on the introductions before she could so much as open her mouth. The corners of her lips seemed to pull up at the boy's first comments, however, as memories of galas and classes at Pesedjet came back into her mind. Khaemtir was not a bad talker or socialite, at least from her perspective, but when it came to group work he seemed to be more...lax? She'd had to get on him and prod him just to get his part of the work done in time, and on more than one occasion! Their styles differed indeed in this manner, but even so she'd tried her best to not chase him off at least. Albeit his Tutelary was something of a more sober mind, it seemed, which was something she'd appreciated after the small hippo had appeared.

Likewise, their other peer to work under the same master was visibly not among the nobility. Yet from him Ishara felt a sort of more sober manner, a certain nerves she could rather empathize with, and perhaps a more hard-working aspect. Then again, assumptions were one thing. But how the boy reacted to his own Tutelary being curious in this instance elicited a small chuckle from the green-haired girl in turn.

"I must agree with Radaam, before we leave to enjoy the night we must confer with our new master. Though do you know how Amenemhatanhk is doing? When I last spoke with him, he seemed to be recovering from the end of a small cold," Ishara said, directing her words and smile towards Khaemtir and her question towards the boy's familiar before she looked over at Radaam in turn, "But it is all really is very overwhelming, and I could barely hold back my own nerves to be honest.

It is pleasure to meet you as well, though, Radaam! I hope we will be able to work well together in the future! Though I hope I can get my own Tutelary summoned sooner than later..."

It was...awkward to be the only one among her new peers to be without a Tutelary thus far. Oddly so, despite how much her teachers and mothers had praised her talents. But maybe patience was also the correct route to take as well. Maybe something unique was out there for her, or the right one had been awaiting her beckoning to this world! Yes, that had to be it.

@Obscene Symphony@Achronum

“It is okay, little one. You may look if you ask properly.” Udjebten spoke to the other tutelary. “Just remember, you see with your eyes and not your nose.” Khaemtir watched the little snake cower under Radaam’s reprimand. How nice would it be if his own tutelary would listen to him like that? It wasn’t that she would ignore something he asked of her but any request came with commentary that Khaemtir would gladly do without. It was like having two mothers and he spent half his time ducking out of the way of the first; why did he get one that he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to?

“Overwhelming? I don’t think so. This is a reasonably sized event. I was expecting it to be a little bigger honestly but I guess the guest list does limit it somewhat.” Khaemtir considered the crowd around them. It was like being at the market, with all the bustling and noise as people started filling the tables and emptying the food off them just as quickly. Standing in the heat did work up a bit of an appetite and a vicious thirst. Sure, he;d been a little nervous before his Cult had been called but he’d grown up at these events; there was nothing new about it. If anything, all the people calmed him down. “Amenemhatanhk is fine. Honestly, I think the building will collapse before he does. Though once I get permission I should probably send a notice to him. He’ll get fussy if I don’t.” Khaemtir thought about it, shrugged, and moved on from it.

“Of course we aren’t leaving before we greet Master Dagon. I’m not interested in disrespecting the man gracious enough to bring us into the Cult. I just wanted to greet you two first.” Khaemtir replied seriously, though the pout crept into his voice nonetheless. He wouldn’t dream of shrugging off their master. He was their key to all of the knowledge locked away inside those pyramids. He wasn’t about to do anything that would jeopardize his place here. He wasn’t about to become a disgrace to the family. “And we still have to make the rounds. With the families I’ve spotted so far, I’m guessing at least an hour and a half to two hours before we can make our escape. So many social responsibilities. The curse of the aristocracy.” He laughed with a shrug.

Khaemtir ignored Ishara's tutelary comment completely and the residual tinge of frustration at it. The Presedjet instructors had praised her work as exemplary and amazing but a tutelary wouldn’t even respond to her call. Other people had worked just as hard and actually managed to conjure one and they weren’t praised the same way. But that was in the past and they were here now. Both of them had been accepted into the most prestigious Cult of the five and now they stood side by side as Sorcerer-Novitiates. So he ignored that, ignored Udjebten’s concerned look, and turned to stare up at their new master.

Khaemtir would admit that Master Dagon inspired some fear in him. He seriously doubted his usual shenanigans would slide; between the scowl and his intense stare, Khaemtir instinctively understood this was a man he shouldn’t cross unless it was on the threat of death. Honestly, he was surprised someone with such intensity wanted him. He was a passionate student but he wouldn’t say that necessarily amounted to a good student. Sorcerers were serious, somber people utterly dedicated to their craft right? Khaemtir was a little flashy for the man with an intimidating look and a scowl longer than his robes. But whatever the case may be, Khaemtir knew he’d have to be careful around this man for a little while.

“Master Dagon, thank you for the opportunity to learn under you.” Khaemtir spoke solemnly as he bowed. Next to him, Udjebten did the same, her snout brushing the ground. “I will not disappoint you nor squander your good faith.”

@Crusader Lord @Obscene Symphony @Dead Cruiser

So it has finally come to this. Sirvan looked forward to the ceremony and though he did not show it. He was excited for the chance to further his path of becoming a sorcerer. Obviously the power and prestige of being a sorcerer was a good motivator for some aspiring Novitiates. But, Sirvan was more focused on learning more about magic and reaching his true potential as a sorcerer. That was enough for him, even if some of his clan disagreed about his chosen path.

Sirvan turned his head to face the crowd, picking out his parents and siblings among the crowd. Smiling at him, and he knew that they were proud of him. He could not say that about the rest of the clan. Old grudges against magic made him somewhat of an outcast in his clan. It still feels horrible that some of his clan shun him for learning the ways of magic and become a sorcerer. Mainly it bad enough that his uncle and grandfather to stop wanting to see him after it became known he was chosen to be a sorcerer. Sirvan was taught that the clan would always look out for each and be there for each other. Turns out that is partly a lie in his case.

He listened intently to what the Vizier's speech and waited to hear who he would be assigned to. What...Cult of the Serpent? Did he hear wrong or did he hear right? Why would Cult of the Serpent choose him? Sirvan wondered, yes he did dabble in biomancy but, his strength is mainly pyromancy. So the Cult of the Phoenix or even the Cult of the Scarab would make sense. Why the Cult of the Serpent and who is his new teacher?

Turning his eyes on the Sorcerer-Magus, a woman that seemed disinterested of the ceremony. Wondered what learning under her is going to be like, he thought nervously. He is going to have to met her before the night is over and Sirvan hoped that she at least shows some interest in him. She did pick him after all.

Once it became time to mingle Sirvan was about to walk into the crowd,a gentle feminine voice spoke. "So what the plan for tonight? It was Amata, his falcon tutelary on his right shoulder.

"Well, I have to meet my new Sorcerer-Magus tonight but, I want to try and meet with my new classmates first".

"Hmmm, good luck with that in this crowd and if you need me I am right here".

'Yeah I know Amata", her presence always reassured him. With that concluded, Sirvan walked into the crowd, hoping to find his new classmates before the night is over.

It was good to see that Khaemtir’s tutelary took the invasion of privacy in stride, but in Radaam’s opinion, she was too accommodating. It would be a cold noon in Photep before Toruk learned to ask before he acted, and while his little forays were usually harmless, he needed to learn he couldn’t carry on however he pleased in the Pyramids of Heka like he could at Udebtekhat.

Snakes couldn’t quite emote, but Radaam couldn’t miss the smug twinkle in Toruk’s eye at the hippo’s comparatively gentle chastising. “Zahra has you spoiled,” Radaam muttered, releasing the viper to slither back up his arm and under his cloak.

He looked back up as Ishara spoke to Khaemtir like an old friend, nodding in acknowledgement to her greeting. Radaam could feel Toruk’s pleased squirming at the mention of her tutelary - or lack thereof - and while he didn’t share the viper’s vanity, he was just as surprised. He was pretty sure Khaemtir referred to Ishara as a ‘prodigy’ of Pesedjet, hadn’t he? Radaam had imagined the vaunted students of Pesedjet to excel in every way, and now to learn a ‘prodigy’ among them had been outdone by… well, him, left him even more confused than before. Sure, he was a bit ahead of his class at Udebtekhat, but he’d been led to believe Pesedjet was on a completely different plane.

Khaemtir spoke before Radaam could inquire further, and he realized the boy must have misunderstood him. That he’d call one of the most anticipated events of the year ‘reasonably sized’ sounded strange enough, but was he really not even a little awed at his acceptance itself? Actually, maybe not; it only later occurred to Radaam that a boy of his status might really not be surprised. As a graduate of Pesedjet with a family in high standing, he may very well have expected to be summoned by the best of the best.

That wasn’t much comfort as Khaemtir continued on about a world he didn’t recognize, though he had to admit some amusement at the ‘curse of aristocracy’. Radaam wasn’t ignorant enough to think that wealth did away with all problems, but he couldn’t help but inwardly smirk at the idea of aristocrats trudging through a hard day of talking and eating only to go home to talk and eat some more.

Khaemtir left to meet their new master, and Radaam was ready to follow when a tug on his cloak stole his attention. He turned to see Zahra, apparently having slipped their parents and looking uncharacteristically shyly up at him, though by the look of it the meek facade was just about ready to crack.

Crossing his arms, Radaam raised an eyebrow at her. “And just what do you want?”

Zahra’s expression contorted as she tried valiantly to hold her look, but in seconds her little battle was lost and her face split back into a smile. “Can I take Toruk to see the banquet? Please?” she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with her hands twined in front of her.

Radaam shook his head in mock disappointment. “You’re not even going to congratulate me first?”

“I congratulated you at home!” Zahra protested, though a laugh came soon after. “Da said if we repeat ourselves too much it’ll all go to your head.”

Raising an eyebrow, Radaam had to concede to a grin. “You should keep that in mind when you’re pampering Toruk,” he gently chastised, though he did oblige, outstretching his arm and allowing Toruk to slither readily onto Zahra’s. He’d admit he wasn’t sure about setting the viper loose on the banquet, but he was pretty attached to Zahra (as creatures were to those who fed them treats) and given how quickly he’d started causing trouble, maybe it was wise to have him a bit farther away from the Magi when they met. At any rate, he could summon him back if he needed him.

Zahra lit up, holding her arm out excitedly and giving a very pleased Toruk a kiss on the head. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Radaam’s waist before taking off back into the crowd. “I promise I won’t let him steal anything!”

Radaam’s smile turned pained at the sound of that, but he chose to believe she was exaggerating and instead turned to face the dais, eager to see how Magus Dagon handled Khaemtir before he approached himself.

---

The sarcasm in the girl’s voice was evident to Berenice. “Ah, it seems that the Serpents were not your ideal destination,” she said, understanding instantly dawning on her. “It should be fine though. From what I gather, you can still study other magic practices even if you ended up chosen by a Cult unsuitable to your aptitude. Maybe inform our mentor of the situation?” Berenice offered some advice to Sarahi, who seemed much more interested in playing with what seemed to be her tutelary. “I’d heard tutelaries can take any form, but iridescent butterflies? Fascinating!”

As she ended her comment, a hand landed on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly. All of her previous excitement vanished as Berenice visibly deflated. She straightened her back as a heavy voice was heard from behind her.

“Sorry for intruding. I’m sure you two had a pleasant conversation, but I need to borrow my daughter for a few moments,” Anak said, the smile on his face as fake as ever.

“Ah, sorry, but I have to go. I’m sure we will meet later, once our mentor summons us. Goodbye!” Berenice said with an apologetic look on her face before turning around and walking away with her father.

--

“Quite presumptuous of you to not come straight back to me after the ceremony. I’ll personally oversee your training upon our return.” A veiled threat was the first thing that came out of Anak’s mouth after some time of walking in silence. His daughter had just been formally accepted into one of the most prestigious institutions in Photep, and the first thing he did was berate her for wanting to meet her fellow Novitiates.

“Yes father,” Berenice mouthed out dryly. She had gotten used to this level of abuse by now, causing her to not even flinch at the thought of the grueling workload that was in front of her. Inwardly, she also scolded herself, however. She could have been smarter; first return to Anak for debriefing and then go meet the others. At least that way she could’ve met the other Novitiate, Sirvan.

They soon arrived at a table clearly occupied by the Edri family and friends. Berenice could see a lot of familiar faces sitting and chatting, partaking in the delicacies brought over by the Cults in order to entertain their guests. A commencement into the Cults was always a momentous occasion for Photep as new blood and ideas were being injected into the city’s arguably most important foundational block.

“Ah! Berenice, my child!” A middle-aged woman immediately shot up from her seat and literally bolted into a hug, crushing the 16-year old girl into her embrace. “M-mom, mom, MOM! Relax!” Berenice posed a token resistance at first before surrendering and hugging back. Her mother’s infectious happiness rubbed off to her, alleviating her spirits somewhat after the more-than cold reception she had received from her Anak.

“Sit, sit! Tell us what happened! What did the Vizier tell you? Oh, actually don’t tell us, I bet it’s something important that only Sorcerers should know!” Anak visibly cringed at the sound of his wife’s words, but he remained silent instead of commenting on it and proceeded to sit down beside her. “Yes, my daughter, tell us what you thought of the ceremony,” he said instead, that same fake smile returning once again.

With a sigh, Berenice joined them in the table and started narrating her experience.

--

After a while, Anak stood up once again. “Let this be a toast to the future of the Eldri family and our beloved Berenice, who is joining the Cults as a Novitiate! This is indeed a sign by the gods that our family still has their favor! Cheers!”

Everyone held up their cups in agreement as well and cheered. With a hearty laugh, Anak placed his cup down and walked over to where Berenice was seated. “Now, I think it’s time for my lovely daughter to finally meet her new sorcery guide, let’s not keep her here any longer.”

“Yeah... thank you all for coming to my commencement!” She told everyone, waved goodbye to her mother and turned around to leave. “I’ll be waiting for you back at the house. Don’t be late!” Anak’s voice was heard from behind as she walked, a constant reminder of what awaited her upon her return.

“...” A warm feeling suffused her being once again, and a slight smile donned Berenice’s face. Her hands moved below her cloak to pet her tutelary, thanking him for comforting her. “At least I know your feelings will always be genuine…”

With her spirits somewhat risen, Berenice decided to look for her new mentor. No matter how much she despised it, she agreed with her father that meeting and introducing herself to her future tutor was important. First impressions mattered after all, and she had delayed hers for quite some time. What if Magus Nevrakis was the type of person that detested tardiness? Berenice did not want to get on the Magus’ bad side from the get go, if she could help it.

---

"Again, apologies," Kho said as he bowed his head respectfully toward Anakh, just in case she was slighted by him stealing her sister's attention. He looked back to Anatu and hesitated for the briefest of moments. Did she know who he was? An introduction might come off condescending if she did, especially if he kept it as formal as he would've liked. While he couldn't quite say he preferred strict formality, it was rarely accompanied by the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to mind his manners that made itself known when he spoke to someone casually. Anatu didn't seem to have nearly as many misgivings, and he didn't want to come off as cold - it seemed he'd have to match her introduction.

"You can call me Khotanebre-"

"Or Kho, or Khota, or... really any variation of that you want," Teken interrupted, "He won't stop you. Too much decorum gets him acting all boring."

Kho shot the falcon a sour frown as he unconsciously shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Loosening up was so embarrassing, especially when he got carried away; he didn't need Teken actively encouraging people to help him do that. Still, his tutelary wasn't entirely wrong; he was still being unnecessarily stiff with Anatu. He'd likely be stuck working with her for years, so she was bound to see him at his worst regardless.

"Yeah... that's Tekenkhasut. Don't call him anything because too much attention gets to his head."

The bird squawked indignantly in response, but Khotanebre cleared his throat to cut him off before continuing, "Anyway, I hope you don't mind if I join you. Magus Xavier doesn't seem like the type I'd want to be alone with yet." There was always the possibility the man was a total softie despite looking like a veritable demon, but Kho wasn't eager to find out until he absolutely had to.

---

@Gisk

---

The green haired noble daughter looked over at Radaam as a small girl seemed to tun up to him, begging to take the boy's familiar off to see the place. It was an odd request to be sure, but Ishara could not help but lightly smile as the two siblings (as they turned out to be it seemed) had a short exchange before her very eyes. The little girl herself was adorable, to say the least, though it seemed to strike an odd chord within the new apprentice.

She'd lived with priestesses when she was rather young, indeed, and even now some of them felt like an 'older sister' in some sense. But she'd never really had a 'sibling' of her own at any point in her life. She was her mother's only child, and even her adoptive mother had not given birth to a child at some point in her life thus far. It was all odd to say the very least, and she'd been used to those long nights studying and doing things to keep herself busy when time seemed to drag on. Yet somewhere inside she inevitably wondered one thing: "What was it like?". Perhaps it was a mixed bag, like with any family, where you had the good and the bad. Perhaps it was one way for some, and another way for others.

Eh...perhaps now wasn't the time to ponder. She responded to Udjebten's concerned look by leaning down a little and patting the little hippo on the head in a friendly manner. With how much she'd been praised back at Pesedjet, it was a wonder she hadn't summoned a Tutelary of her own yet. Yet as compared to the struggles of so many, it was a trifle of a thing indeed that seemed to have gotten under her skin. There were those who weren't as skilled, but whose hard work she wished would be seen for what it was. She'd always treated the hard work of others of any status with respect, but...mmm. She'd heard the whispers from peers before, back at the school, talking down as if they enjoyed her having some kind of area she lacked. She'd worked hard to get where she was though! She had no control over who had taken her in, and who had given birth to her! What was so wrong with applying whatever 'talent' it was said she had, rather than just sit on her laurels?

Regardless, the green-haired girl let out a quiet sigh and looked over as Khaemtir moved over and was talking to their new master. Dagon seemed to be a somewhat intimidating man in his own way, but Ishara silently watched on as he spoke. She wanted to introduce herself as well, though...well, it would be rude to interrupt her peer. Albeit she was, admittedly, curious to first see how the Sorcerer was like before coming over there as well.

Magus Dagon

The Magus of the Cult of the Crow had been conversing softly with a nearby colleague a step from the dais, but their conversation died as they spotted Khaemtir approaching. Dagon watched coolly as the boy offered his fealty as a student, with even his Tutelary supplicating itself similarly. The older master's lips pursed as he watched the display, and the lines on his face seemed even more stark from this angle directly below him. Truly it seemed like there was no color about his entire face and head, except for his startlingly blue eyes. They were not as icy and pale as the sky, nor as wine-dark and deep as the sea or lapis lazuli, but they possessed the sharpness and clarity of cut sapphires. Truly a gaze that seemed to cut right through you.

"There's no need to attempt to appease me. Not now, anyway." He spoke, and while his tone was ambivalent there was a dry, papery quality to his voice that made it seem like he was suffering from going through this minor social interaction. "I assume by donning that cloak that you're prepared to make all necessary commitments and sacrifices. If not, well, that will be sorted out in short order." He rubbed his chin with one of his gloved hands, still appraising Khaemtir with his inimitable gaze, before making a dismissive gesture at him. "Go on, go enjoy the festivities. Meet some other Novitiates; they'll be more helpful to know in the future than some stuffy old Magi that are like as not to retire before you're done wearing that white cloak."

Dagon spotted his other two Novitiates waiting close by, staring at their interaction with obvious anticipation. "Well? The same goes for the two of you, unless you want something specific. Enjoy yourselves now, there will be plenty of work to come in the future."

---

Magus Nevrakis

The Magus of the Cult of the Serpent had departed the dais with all haste when the formalities had ended, and Sarahi found her diving head-first into the diversions of the banquet. She was sat at a wide table with a variety of other people around her, presumably her friends or colleagues. Her bare feet were kicked up onto the table, and she was alternating between drinking, eating grapes from a nearby plate, and talking and laughing with the others sat at her table. She seemed to spot Sarahi coming from some distance away, and Nevrakis' brows knitted together at the sight of her student. She didn't look directly at her Novitiate until she was done speaking, instead fussing with the contents of her plate.

"Yes, well, as am I, child." She said, not sounding particularly enthused. However, her expression suddenly shifted, and she looked back at Sarahi, knocking back her cup to drain it. Then she tossed the ceramic cup to the student and said, "Here, your training begins now. Fill that with beer and bring it back to me."

After Sarahi returned with the filled cup, Nevrakis wanted another plate of fruit. And after that, she wanted confections from the desserts table. It seemed like she had an unending list of desires, purely to keep Sarahi running around doing her petty bidding. At just about the point where Sarahi's patience was running out, the other Novitiate, Berenice, appeared. This again made Nevrakis' expression change slightly, her interest seemingly piqued by having two of her students present at once.

"Oh good, the other one." She said in a voice that sounded pleasantly surprised, as she licked honey from her fingers. "Now once that third shows up we can really get started."

The Magus wasn’t nearly as terrifying as his nerves, and the Magus’ appearance, made him out to be. He was cordial, if not a little stern, so Khaemtir offered Master Dagon another bow and his thanks. Despite the seemingly harmless conversation, Master Dagon’s eyes were haunting Khaetmir was irrationally afraid of what they may see. His worst secret, if one can even call it that, was skipping classes, procrastinating on his studies, and giving his mother the run around so he had no need to be worried but still. The Cult of the Crow specialized in Divination and he couldn’t even imagine the things they must look into about their Novitiates before selecting them. Khaemtir only hoped it was a good thing.

He turned back to his fellow Novitiates and flashed a quick thumbs up. “Well, you heard our Master! Time for us to mingle with the other Novitiates.” Khaemtir slung his arm around their shoulders, or in Radaam’s case tried to because he was a giant so he settled for around his arm instead, and pulled them in. “So since we’re all hanging out later we should branch out for now, get a little gossip on everyone, and reconvene at my place to discuss! Mother will be okay with Ishara―Mother will probably find Lady Thumotep before I do actually―but you’re a new face so she’ll want to meet your family. Make sure you find me before you leave or I’ll have to send a messenger to your house to fetch you all and that is actually more of a hassle than you’d think.”

“We should greet your mother first. She will want to congratulate you.” Udjebten piped up from his side.

“You heard Master Dagon. We need to greet our fellow Novitiates.” Khaemtir waved at his Tutelary dismissively. Did he absolutely use Master Dagon as an escape? Of course. “Plus, we’ll have plenty of time afterwards. This looks like it’ll go on for quite a while.” Udjebten gave him a knowing look and shook her head.

“A quick stop with an explanation should satisfy her for a while. I’m sure your sister would also appreciate it.” Udjebten insisted. Khaemtir only shook his head and dove into the crowd, much to Udjebten’s annoyance. If he went back to his family now, it would become about the family. He wanted to bask in the knowledge that this was still about him for a little while. He looked around a while and spied another familiar face: Beatrice Eldri. At least he thought it was Beatrice. Again, another family he recognized but a person he didn’t bother pushing to meet. It didn’t matter. He’d make friends with them soon enough!

Khaetmir paused a table over instead of calling out to Berdine when he realized she was approaching a Sorcerer-Magus that he recognized from being on one of the daises. That must be her new master and the Novitiate next to her radiating annoyance must be one of the others called. Kjaemtir didn’t recognize her in the faintest, suggesting that she didn’t attend Pesedjet and she wasn’t part of the aristocracy, but she clearly wasn’t part of the commoner class like Radaam. She was still dressed well and appropriately. Maybe her family just hadn’t made it into the upper levels of society or perhaps they were new to their wealth. Radaam still had that quaint accent so maybe it was just that he was new to the city and her family wasn’t.
Either way, Khaemtir settled down at his table to watch. Whatever this mystery person was going to do was probably going to cause a little excitement and he wasn’t one to deny himself the fun. And then afterwards, he’d introduce himself. It was perfect!

Radaam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as the Magus finally spoke, hardly a trace of his severe exterior tainting his attitude toward his students—for now, at least. He answered the Magus’ address with an acknowledging smile (which was probably weaker than he intended) and a nod, breaking away from the Sorcerer’s gaze with a few butterflies still settling in his stomach.

Khaemtir seemed none the worse for wear, if the strange attempt at a huddle was anything to go by. Being around the boy really was like trying to walk through tangled river grass, but at least he meant well. Judging by the game plan he laid out, it seemed that Khaemtir had impressed him into his little posse, but Radaam supposed he wasn’t one to refuse. There was really no need to be so skittish; no one was any different just because someone hung a chain of gold around their neck, and beyond that, they weren’t brickmaker’s son and aristocrat-in-the-making anymore. As soon as they donned their white cloaks, they were students, colleagues even. Hell, maybe even rivals, if that turned out to be the way of it. Even if this wasn’t his best school of magic, and even if Radaam wasn’t the most competitive type.

Banter over messengers aside—Radaam seriously doubted one could even find his home, and he wasn't eager to advertise it to his wealthy new acquaintances anyway—introducing his family to Khaemtir’s was a surprising prospect, but then again, it really probably shouldn't have been. Given the back-and-forth he had with his tutelary as he walked away, it was easy to guess that Khaemtir’s mother was probably the overbearing type. Fair enough; his own parents would probably be happy to speak with the families of his colleagues, and be even happier to hear he was actually making friends. Radaam never saw that as an issue—it wasn’t like he was a loner or anything—but his mother had often chided him about standing more like a statue in a room than a guest. Zahra had enough outgoing vigour for the both of them in his opinion, but this at least would assuage his mother’s concerns.

Speaking of which, he probably should find his parents. His mother was almost certainly on eggshells waiting for a chance to shower him in praise, and his father’d been beaming more than Radaam had ever seen when they left the house this morning. Radaam himself wasn’t sure how he felt about all the fawning, but it was only fair to give them their chance. His stomach was calming, too, which meant in the wake of upset, it was getting more demanding. Figuring sooner was wiser than later, he opted to dive into the crowd much like Khaemtir had done, looking out for his parents above the heads of the other banquet-goers and helping himself to some interesting-looking fruit along the way.

---

While Radaam struggled with his newfound popularity, a much smaller Esi skirted around between banquet-goers and wandering musicians, taking in the foreign sights, smells and sounds with wide eyes and an even wider grin. With Toruk wrapped around her arm and shoulder like a watchful (if easily distracted) guardian, Zahra practically bounced between the tables, snatching a taste of anything and everything that looked or smelled exotic, mindless of the looks of shock from people not expecting a stick of an arm covered in half-melted flesh to reach between them for confections.

Several scraps were thrown to cats loitering under tables in the process and Toruk was tossed more grapes than Radaam would ever allow him in a week, but it was unlikely anyone but the critters would notice; to Zahra’s eye, the bounty of the banquet was as endless as it was colourful, a parade of plenty the girl had scarcely ever seen. Not that she was accustomed to hunger, either—her parents always made sure there was enough to go around—but the sheer variety and scale impressed upon even a girl as young as herself that no expense could have been spared in the name of celebrating the young novices (or whatever they were called).

Toruk snuck into a satchel or two as they perused, Zahra rarely giving more than a giggle in response and waving for the snake to come back to her when it was time to stop being nosy and look around some more. Once or twice she spotted her parents through the crowd, but other than giving a wave, she always kept carefully out of reach. Short of making sure they were still around, Zahra had no intention of getting corralled back in so quickly; there was far too much exploring to be had! She’d never seen so many fancy people in such fancy clothes—the students in cloaks that shimmered like shiny white fish, women with hairstyles that looked impossible and dripped with gems, people with so much gold on their arms she could hardly believe they could still lift their cups—it was all so exciting! It was like they were from another land completely, like they’d come down from the shining silver tower she always saw in the distance and brought little pieces of it with them for decoration.

And that wasn’t all; the people didn’t just dress differently, but they looked different too! There was that scary-looking man that Radaam had gone to with hair and skin the colour of sour milk, and a woman near him with green hair! There were people with skin that was as light as sand and as dark as soot, and one with eyes that glowed like embers; it was like they were all painted figurines, each more outlandish than the last. But best of all were the animals. Radaam called them “tutors” or something and said that they weren’t real animals because they needed a sorcerer’s help to be born, but Zahra loved them all the same. It took all she could not to get hung up on each one, but then again, the next always seemed even more interesting!

As she scanned the crowd for what to look at next, Zahra’s eyes fell on a flash of… pink! At first she thought it was a hat or maybe a turban, but upon closer inspection, she was delighted to find it was a boy’s hair, and then even more delighted to see none other than a hawk sitting on his shoulder! In a cute little scarf no less! Eyes wide, Zahra snatched a piece of rarely-cooked meat from a table and bounded over to the pink-haired stranger, eyes on the hawk the whole way. Her neighbour the falconer could never get his bird to wear clothes; maybe this boy knew the secret.

Holding the meat up as high as she could in her free hand, Zahra quietly whistled to the bird, just as her neighbour had taught her. Impatient, she also tugged on the boy’s cloak much like she had Radaam’s, keeping her hand outstretched with the hawk's gift but beaming up at the boy when he turned.

“Are you a hawk family?” she asked the obvious question first, rocking on the balls of her feet.

Where are they? Sirvan wondered as he walked around the crowd. They are bounded to be around somewhere, he has an idea of what they work like. Sirvan has been classmates with them before and it should not be this hard to find his fellow Novitiates. Maybe they were moving around the crowd like he was or maybe they were meeting with their Sorcerer-Magus? Which is something he needs to do before the night is over. Maybe she is not so disinterested when he finally arrives to meet her. Though before that Sirvan opted to meet with his family first.

After Amata poked her head out to see above the crowd, she pointed to where his family was and he made his way there. Upon, reaching his family, Sirvan's mother was the first to greet him and had a big smile on her face. "I am so proud of you Sirvan". His mother moved towards him and hugged him. Sirvan briefly resisted before his mother would stop hugging him. While he loved his mother, hugging him like this in front of people made him feel embarrassed.

"You do not need to do that mother," Sirvan said as he could hear Amata snickering. No about getting a small kick of this.

"But I am so proud of you my child, you have been chosen the honor to be a Novitiate. This is such a big day for you".

"It is mother and I am glad that you are all here with me to witness this".

"It is an honor my son", Sirvan's father voice spoke up. "Though your mother has already said, you are making this clan proud. Even if some of us do not agree with it".

Sirvan temporarily silent for a moment before speaking. Another reminder of his status within his clan. Maybe they will their minds down the road but, that may be a long shot. Taking a deep breath before speaking, "I know father, I know, and I will not let any of you down".

"I know you will my son", his father spoke, and then his two younger siblings move up to meet him.

"Good luck older brother", his sister spoke.

"I know you will be fine and will do well", his brother spoke.

"Thank you all from supporting me like this and though I have already said it, I will say it again. I will not let anyone of you down". Sirvan spoke with determination in his voice.

His family responded with smiles and being supportive. "I feel we have taken enough of your time my son". His father speaking, "time you enjoy yourself before the night is over".

Sirvan smiled back, "That I will do father and see you all later". Giving a short wave goodbye before moving back into the crowd.

"Perhaps now is time to meet with your Magus Sirvan", Amata suggested.

"I think you are right Amata" and she would poke her head out again and spotted the Magus.

"Looks like she is over there and there are two people with her. Might be your fellow Novitiates".

"Good and about time to finally meet them and the Magus in one swoop". Moving his way through the crowd, Sirvan made his way to his new Magus. Once he had reached her, Sirvan politely spoke to her, "Hello Magus Nevrakis, I am pleased to have been chosen by you". Let's see what kind of mood she is in and if she is still disinterested. He thought as he looked at his fellow Novitiates.