Charon greedily ate the soup the hospital had provided him.
He thought it was carrot, or maybe parsnip. Really, he didn't care either way, gulping it down one spoonful at a time.
'Fighting for two days builds an appetite!'
It was only when the nurse returned with the tall bowl that he realized he hadn't eaten throughout the trial, even if his real body was held in stasis.
There was also the fact that the soup was actually spiced, a luxury the orphanage wasn't able to afford.
'If the Mistress saw me pigging out like this I'd be scrubbing the toilet for weeks!'
It was forbidden to eat more than your fill. There were too many mouths, and never enough food. The eldest kids often had to do without, a category Charon was part of.
'Being sixteen doesn't mean more freedom, just more responsibilities.'
The thought caused him to frown.
'Although that's not my problem anymore, I guess.'
He was still being drafted into the army to continue the fight for Creed. Small problems like the orphanage, the Mistress, and unseasoned soup would be replaced with a constant need for survival.
'Maybe I'll miss it one day.'
Charon took a swig of water from a glass to wash the soup down, taking his sour mood with it.
'What use is it to worry about that now? I have good food, a comfy bed, and the rare opportunity to be chosen for trials! I even have an ability now!'
All things considered, Charon felt pretty good about himself. Only a few days prior he was worried about what he would try and steal, and if he could avoid the police again.
'How fast fortune changes!'
Finishing his bowl, he placed it on the table beside the bed, taking care not to hit any of the large machines.
Sensing no one was approaching the doorway, he glanced around to be sure before sending a surge of energy into the tattoo on his hand.
The black staff appeared in it, slowly manifesting from a dark mist.
Charon had struggled not to recoil from it.
'It's not the same mist, it's not the same mist, it's not the same mist.'
Holding the weapon, he shuddered at the feeling of the cold material it was made out of.
'It's not wood, and it's not any metal I can recognize. I wonder if a priest could identify it?'
Remembering how harshly both the priest and knight reacted to him having the artifact, he figured it was best to keep hidden.
'As well as my ability, if Emerius is to be trusted. Great, I'm just full of secrets.'
He smirked.
'It's nice that some things never change, even after gaining magical powers.'
Charon pulled the staff up to his face, staring directly into the skull adorning its tip. The purple color was strange and alien, disturbing him just by looking at it.
Not wanting to stare any longer, he dismissed the artifact with a thought, watching it vanish into more of the mist.
'I'm not sure I even want to know what creature that skull came from.'
The worst part about it was that he felt certain the real power was being hidden from him, contained by the magic in the artifact.
If that barrier didn't exist, he didn't know what would happen if he looked at the skull.
'Lovely. Now I'm scared of the only reward the trial gave me. Can't wait for my next one, maybe I'll get a bag of severed heads?'
The sarcastic thought caused him to laugh, the absurdity of it a welcome respite from the dire circumstances.
A new presence approached the room, Charon feeling them with his ability. The pace was hurried, a fact he didn't miss.
He sat up, hoping that it wasn't bad news.
Instead of the familiar nurse, someone else walked in, the room growing darker with just his presence.
A tall figure wearing a black robe stepped inside, his face completely shrouded in shadows.
Charon instantly recognized him as one of the ten priests who officiated his ceremony, but that didn't stop him from shaking, the memories of the priest in the trial scarring his memory of the clergy.
'It's not the same person, I have to remember that.'
The priest stopped once he entered, his hooded face scanning the room before turning and closing the door, a soft click announcing that he had locked it.
Charon gulped, his fears mounting.
The man approached, his intentions unclear, before he audibly sighed, the sound strangely teasing.
"This is quite unprecedented, Charon. You have the church up in arms, the different Aspect Leaders are all vying for the first chance to meet you and figure out which sect you belong to."
The tone he spoke in was, unexpectedly, upbeat, as if he was preparing to drop a joke next.
Charon immediately drew a connection between him and someone else he knew.
'He talks like Emerius.'
His fear turned to comfort, fondly remembering the sarcastic ballerina of war.
"I was told many people undergo trials, why is it unprecedented for me to do the same?"
The man snorted, the action comical considering his hidden face and intimidating robes.
"Many people do, if it's any of the other gods."
His hood shook left and right.
"Death, however, does not often test his followers like that. He has always been very hands-off, preferring to let destiny run its course. Each of the other gods sends maybe three percent of their newly chosen mages into trials."
A gloved hand shot up, a single finger raised.
"We are lucky if Death sends a single person every year. You are the fourth person this decade, and the first in two years. It makes you a rare resource in a time when that resource is needed more than ever."
Charon sat up as he processed what he had just been told.
'That few?'
The nurse had told him it was a small chance, but one every year was just absurd.
Humanity had a population in the trillions, with millions earning their element every year. Surely the God of Death had more than a few options to pick from?
"Why am I a resource? I'm just an orphan, even if I went through a trial. I'm supposed to go to Creed and fight."
The man chuckled.
"You are a resource because you have the potential to grow much higher than almost every other mage your age. While most of the gods have tens of thousands of Trial-Born, we have hundreds. Each one is valuable and can tip the scale of a battle in our favor."
He approached, stopping just at the foot of the bed.
"The gods split their focus between their chosen, but Death? He has so few he can offer more aid than most. You will need months for what others spend years on."
His tone remained upbeat, but the next words were slightly somber.
"There is also the issue of us lacking an Archon, so every new Trial-Born is seen as a potential replacement. We are spared only because every other god also lacks an Archon, leaving the playing field more even. With the wars growing more fierce, we need every warrior we can get."
Every word held the stench of politics.
Not that Charon thought the man himself was spreading them, but that the churches were mired in it, interchurch relations being strained.
'I knew times were tough, but I didn't know friction between the gods was also growing.'
It had been centuries since the churches had fought, a long-standing peace having been brokered to keep things equal and fair.
If that was breaking down, the enemies of humanity would have a far easier time taking back territory on the other planets, leading to more kids like Charon being conscripted.
The thought of it angered him.
'Civil issues mean more innocents being sent to fight the government's battles. Typical.'
"I read your file. You are probably more ignorant of how the world works than most, but there will be time to learn."
Charon's head snapped up to the priest, a question bursting out.
"Does that mean I'm not going to Creed?"
The silence that followed was awkward, the hooded face turning away.
"No, it doesn't. You will still be expected to fight for the city until it's been reclaimed. It does, however, mean that afterward you will be granted more privileges than most."
The priest shrugged.
"You also will have some special allowances during the battle. We managed to successfully argue for you to be made a low-ranking officer, so you will have a better position. If used properly, this could be a great opportunity for you."
The man coughed when he saw the stunned look Charon gave him.
"What? Even the churches can't outweigh government mandates, at least not a single church in ten."
Despite what the man thought, Charon wasn't stunned out of fear, but rather excited, learning he had received the position he had been hoping for during the ceremony.
'I did it! I'm going to be an officer! I can actually survive this bloody thing!'
Although Creed was still deadly, his status as an officer meant he was seen as valuable and would be protected rather than just thrown to the front to die.
He had a purpose beyond meat shield, a far cry more than most soldiers could say.
To the priest's shock, a grin spread across Charon's face, his green eyes shining with pride.
"When do I begin?"