The Selection

It was the first day of yearwake, 432 D.A.— the date of the Selection. The Ancients came at sundown, cloaked, and their faces were hidden beneath golden helmets. My little boy, Ethan, already fully concentrated. When the riddle was spoken, he answered before anyone else could even grasp it. I think I could even sense a hint of surprise from the Ancients at how quickly his answer came. He was always different—gentle, curious, no taste for swordplay, no thrill in mischief. While others brought home scraped knees, he brought questions. The other mothers called him a dreamer, or said “Books won’t put a roof over your head.” But I saw his potential. And on this day, the Ancients saw it too. They chose him as a "Scholar of the Empyrean". One of the sacred few—guardians of knowledge, keepers of truth. Now they whisper his name in reverence. Even those who once mocked him bow their heads when he passes. But I don’t care for the others—it's the light in his eyes, the purpose in each of his steps toward the Night Sanctum. He may walk along scholars now, but to me, he'll always be that curious little boy. And I've never been prouder!