The steamy locker room air clings to me as I drift down the aisles. The rest of my class is already showered and heading to the arena for the graduation ceremony. Most of the locker doors hang open, empty, ready for a new year of cadets. My arms and legs are wooden as I open my locker for the last time, grabbing what I need for the showers.
I'm quick to get clean and replace the bandage on my chest. It's never a good idea to linger in the showers, especially alone. A few stragglers pass by as I get dressed in front of my locker. The bright red Primus band secured on the arm of the fresh ceremonial uniform hangs on my locker door. I'm surprised to find it still in one piece.
I look around the empty aisles one last time. My stomach drops when I think of leaving it all behind. This place is nothing to me but the scene of countless abuse and torment. My muscles tense and the metal of my locker door groans as I release my strength into my grip. I'm angry about feeling anything other than relief about moving on. I take a deep breath and get dressed.
I inspect myself in the cloudy mirror by the exit door. Everything is in place. The black, long-sleeved jacket is stiff and sits heavy over my shoulders. It's too tight across my back and the high band of a collar rubs against my jaw. My leather boots reflect a glint from the overhead lights. I'm ready. With a slow exhale, I pull the collar away from my neck one last time and make my way to the arena.
The graduates stand to the side of the stage, grouped together as a class. It's the last time I'll be part of this group, any group. Standing at the back, I take in my classmates' excited faces. As Primus, I graduate first and need to get into position at the front. I shift on my feet and look for an opening. It's almost over. I'll step on stage, receive my Gate Guard assignment, then return to my spot, and wait for the rest of the class to graduate.
My jaw clenches as I try to move forward without calling too much attention to myself, but I can feel the stares accumulate. I shift my shoulders back and I lift my head higher. I'm used to eyes on me. My purposeful strides lengthen as my classmates move away from my approach. I survived all these years by never hiding or cowering, by standing tall and forming a shell no one could break. Slipping into this overly confident role is second nature.
I keep my eyes forward, dismissing those around me, and focus on the stage. Inside, my senses are on high alert. This is the last time I have to carry this rigid shell. Will I even be able to shed it when I don't need it anymore? All I know is I'm tired enough to find out.
Cole and his friends stand stiffly in the front top ranked spots. I haven't seen Cole since this morning. It feels like weeks ago. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as I see Drax. He has two black eyes, and a swollen nose from Klaus' punch. They don't notice me as I take my place on Cole's other side. He’s unusually quiet and still. I'm thankful they don't acknowledge my presence until I spot General Targe's eyes planted on me from the stage.
Cole grunts out a breath next to me, but I keep my focus straight ahead, just beyond the general. I don't dare look but sense he’s tracking my every move. Targe steps up to the podium, and the sound of the microphone hum signals the attendees to quiet down.
"Congratulations to all our graduates." The general's fake smile dials up when the crowd cheers. "We are proud of all you have accomplished and look forward to your many years of service. Join me in welcoming these skillful warriors into our honorable ranks!"
The general starts the applause himself before calling for silence shortly after. With a swing of his arm, he motions for me to come up on stage. I work hard to stay steady as hissed whispers and rumbles from the attendees fill the air.
I finally reach the podium and salute General Targe. The general makes a show of giving me a proper salute in return instead of the quick head nod officers usually give cadets and warriors. His crisp white officer's uniform makes a snapping sound as his right arm rises from his side. He crosses his arm parallel over his chest, with his fist over his heart. Once he releases his salute, I release mine.
"Congratulations to this year's Primus, Graduate Rain Oren,” General Targe announces into the microphone.
I barely notice the silence from the stands as my eyes catch on Cole's at the foot of the stage. He combed his usually slicked back hair over one purple eye. There's a deep red crusted line running down the middle of his lower lip where his sneer should be. The general blocks my view of Cole as he walks over to remove the cadet insignia from my uniform jacket. The red, chapped skin of Targe's knuckles stands out on his tanned hand as he pins my warrior medal in place.
Up close, Targe's fake smile is more sinister than charming as he nods for me to turn and face the attendees. I turn and glance over the crowd, thankful to soon be forgotten in my village as just another Guard.
"Warrior Rain." Targe's voice booms over the murmurs and is loud enough to not need the microphone, "will begin his service to our nation...” my fists clench ready for the words that will finally set me free, “as a member of the Elite Squad."
The general's announcement echoes in the quiet shock of the audience as my stomach drops in response.
