The girl who had been called upon stepped forward.
On her shoulders was an immense responsibility. She had to set the pace for the rest of the hundred hopefuls waiting behind her.
Silence engulfed the crowd.
A see of anxious eyes watched her stand atop the circle, cradled within the golden hands on the Altar. Sunlight spilled directly onto her from the high windows as she awaited the gods' verdict.
Sometimes, the gods deliberately took their time. Like now.
Finally, the sigils beneath her feet took light, and just as hope began to rise, the light dulled out almost instantly.
There was a collective sigh.
Behind her, a gold colored crest appeared: a balanced scale enclosed in a circle.
"Aarona Cuttlefish of Riverward has been assigned the unawakened Class: Merchant!" the speaker announced.
Applause rippled through the crowd. It was more a consolation than a celebration.
They had all been reminded—yet again—that awakening was a gift reserved for very few.
"At least she got a Class that has something to do with magic," a voice muttered near Percival's side. "She'll be a good help to the Awakeners. Knowing my luck, I'll end up as an Innkeeper."
Another snorted. "Who'd give you an inn? I think you've got the face of a Stable Boy."
"Shut up!"
The girl smiled shakily, blinking fast to hide tears as she stepped down from the Altar and rejoined the crowd.
"Abastair Barnwick of the Mainbridge!" The next name was called.
Percival watched in silence.
Up above, in the gallery along the wall, the nobles sat and watched. One after the other, aspirants stood on the Awakening Altar and left without awakening at all.
It was unawakened Class after unawakened Class.
A Scholar, a Blacksmith, a Norice, a Storekeeper; thankfully, a Warrior here and there. But no Knights, no Swordsmen, no Druids… no Mages.
Every single aspirant had failed to achieve an Awakened Class.
Ulcraft of House Farnsworth, a weathered old man with moonlit hair and a stern jaw, leaned forward on his elbow.
"It is not looking well," he said. "The elves will surely outnumber us in Awakeners this year. That is certain. And since the king failed to do his job, we lost the only leverage we have."
Grigor of House Nightfall, dark-bearded and elegant, chuckled. "Give our dear friend Alfred some grace, Ulcraft. He can not force the boy. The Hero is the Hero because he chooses to help us. He's not a mindless soldier to our cause."
Ulcraft looked over King Alfred, and at Grigor, who wore a stagnant smile on his face, diamond cup in hand. "You do not fear the elves' rising power?"
"Of course I do," said Grigor, though his tone suggested the opposite. "But the elves know better than to make war against the gods' chosen people."
His whispering eyes slid to the king. "Besides, Alfred assures me the boy will come to his senses soon. He'll make the right choice. Isn't that right, Alfred?"
But the king's mind was elsewhere. Realizing he was addressed, he stirred back, tired and heavy on his throne.
"Yes," he said. "That is right."
It was not reassuring. Not at all.
Both noblemen agreed on that.
Grigor narrowed his eyes faintly toward the commoners below. "Is he even in the crowd?"
The Chief Diviner replied. "He is. I saw him enter the Temple myself. His name was placed on the list earlier today, but since he relinquished his title, he must await his turn like all others."
"Still," said Grigor, "it will be worth seeing what Class he awakens. The Hero is the only one guaranteed to awaken a Class. Mhm… how I wished my daughter, Nessa, shared such certainty."
He glanced toward Alfred. "I'm sure you wish the same for your Ethel."
Alfred offered no reply.
Ulcraft sipped from his cup. "True. At least, if your children and more humans awaken powerful Classes, perhaps we won't need the Hero at all."
"Do not rush to arrogance, Lord Ulcraft," said the Chief Diviner.
The heads of the nobles turned his way.
"Regardless of the Class the people awaken, remember, the Hero and only the Hero can evolve his Class and level up beyond the cap of 150. None other can."
The two nobles exchanged a solemn glance.
Ulcraft grunted, agreeing tentatively.
"Well then," Grigor murmured as he settled back on his chair, "let us see what Class he awakens first of all."
"Callia Lorgrace of East Haven!"
Over thirty aspirants had been called upon at this point, yet not a single awakening had occurred.
The speaker, who had made wagers with other speakers all over different provinces in Valoris, had started to give up hope.
But then a bright red light filled his vision.
Gasps and shouts filled his ears.
Someone had awakened. Finally.
The crest that appeared was a magical hat and a staff crossed by its side.
"Mage!" cried the speaker, relief and joy pouring from his voice. "We have a Mage! Callia Lorgrace of East Haven has awakened the Class of Mage, with a Legendary Talent of the flame element!"
"A Fire Mage!"
The crowd erupted.
Even the nobles held expressions of relief. Finally, an Awakener.
The girl, Callia, did not even smile.
She held the most egotistical glare, and had her hands balled into fists as though ready to fight that very moment.
It made perfect sense to Percival that she was a Fire Mage.
From then on, more aspirants awakened. For every ten who failed and gained an unawakened Class, one or two Awakeners rose.
Swordsmen. Mages. Assassins. Knights. Even a Beast Tamer. To King Alfred's relief, his daughter, Ethel had awakened as well. She was a Mage.
Her Talent of Verdancy was ranked Special rather than Legendary, but a Mage was still a Mage.
In time, as more names were called, the aspirants began to notice the absence of a particular important name.
"How come we haven't seen the Hero yet?" someone whispered. "I want to know what Class he'll awaken."
"You haven't heard?" replied another, his tone bitter. "We're on our own. The Hero refused to help us."
"What?"
"Yes. That's what everyone is saying."
"By the gods, what a selfish snob. A boar he is, unfit for honor. How can he take our gold and land and then refuse to help us?"
"The demons' curses upon him, abandoning us like this. You know, there won't be another Hero for a hundred years. The gods curse us with that heartless Hero. Do they want the Demon Lord to take us all?"
"Hells to him, that braggart boar."
"I agree. Hells."
Percival was right beside them, the object of their anger, though he pretended not to hear.
When the names starting with G ended, those beginning with H followed. And not long after, the speaker called out another name.
"Hero!" his voice rang out. "It is the Hero's turn to stand for awakening."
Silence swept the crowd again.
Up on the wall, King Alfred's eyes narrowed. Grigor leaned forward, smiling.
Aspirants glanced curiously among themselves.
Percival had a grunt lodged somewhere in his throat.
They hadn't known his real name when compiling the list, so he must have been listed under the title "Hero." The same title he had just refused.
"Can the Hero step forward, please?" the speaker called again. "Or is he not here?"
He was.
And though the word scraped his heart like rusted metal, Percival still needed to awaken.
A sigh left him. Then he advanced a step.
Shoulders were brushed out of the way as he pushed through the crowd. Stares, gasps, and murmurs trailed him like a shadow till he stepped into the light of the Awakening Altar.
The two boys from earlier pointed, eyes bulging in disbelief.
"Ehhh? It was that guy all along?"