ROLEPLAY

A growing rumor had been circulating throughout the Empire for some time. It concerned the akenakos Azazor, who had been missing for many months. His absence had been reported on his return from an expedition into the depths, in search of members of the Root Lords tribe. The group had come across a large patrol of kirostas and, faced with their numbers, he had been brought back by the Powers. But the former legionnaire was not recalled. And ever since, opinions have been rife as to what might have happened to him. Some who had taken part in the expedition had seen him collapse to the ground when the kirostas attacked, while others had seen him run like hell. The latter claim was mostly made by backbiters, too happy to see Azazor as a coward fleeing from the kitins. Others simply couldn't imagine his death and continued to believe in his return.

But for the past week, rumors had been circulating that he had been spotted in Pyr. Students at the Imperial Academy had come across him in the school. They said he looked strange and distant, that his eyes were frightening, that his face, already badly burned since his return from the Old Lands, had deepened, revealing a waxy, cadaverous complexion. Some claimed they'd seen him dragging the carcass of a deep-sea kitin down a corridor, while others argued that it was the body of a student. Sometimes he wore the white robes of the teachers in the Chamber of Truth, sometimes a heavy, bloody suit of armor. In any case, the rumor mill continued to evolve and grow richer with each passing gossip. And yet, when Academy members were questioned, no answer was given. Depending on the member, there was either a huff of contempt, a faint smile or total indifference. The rumor mill continued to swell, and the students' great game was to see who could find Azazor, each one looking for him in increasingly unlikely places and not hesitating to add new rumors to the old. People were playing scare tactics, threatening each other that Azazor would sweep them off their feet in a corridor, or claiming that he'd been hired at the Academy to punish students who weren't very studious. And it had become rare to come across students wandering alone in the corridors.

For Phaïstos, a sixteen-year-old student at the Imperial Academy, it was all folklore. The kind of nonsense the older ones tell the younger ones to frighten them. He had heard of the legends circulating about Azazor. He was said to have survived Dragon fire, a fall into a bottomless Nexus rift, poisoning and even, it was said, an encounter with fyrak himself. Yet this time, Azazor was really dead, he was convinced. You couldn't tease death and constantly escape it. Sooner or later, as his mother used to say, it catches up with you. So Phaïstos paid little heed to rumors and stayed focused on his studies. Today, he would have a new kitinology teacher, and he couldn't wait to see what he would be like. A young one, it would be a change from all those decrepit old professors he sometimes found hard to hear from the top of the lecture hall.
He lined up with the other students in front of the classroom door. There were about twenty of them, all dressed in drogeus, waiting for their new teacher to arrive. Most were sons and daughters of good families, having already spent the last eight years studying at the Academy. As they waited, chatter broke out among the ranks. The atmosphere was quite relaxed as they awaited the arrival of the new teacher.

But a few minutes later, footsteps echoed through the corridors. Heavy, martial footsteps. An imperial army officer? This was a regular occurrence, as the Academy was also a military school. The students snapped to attention as they saw a tall fyros arrive, massive in his black kostomyx. He walked like a military man, straight in his boots. A large black axe hung from his back. The fyros' face was ravaged by scars and burns. His balding forehead showed a significant indentation, as if a large thorn had been embedded in his skull before being removed. Homins in the New Lands rarely saw scars, let alone ones of this magnitude. The powerful magic of these lands usually repaired the body without a trace. Yet what everyone saw before their terrified eyes was no hallucination.
The fyros continued to advance towards them. A nightmarish vision they'd all dreaded coming across over the past week, striding forward under their horrified gaze, finally reaching their height and planting himself in front of them. They could then see that his eyes were blood-red. Many things were said about red eyes. That they carried a curse, or were a sign of great power. But there was something even more terrifying about that look. Something unhealthy. He heard one of his comrades groan beside him.
The fyros gave them a long, stern look, staring at each of them. When Phaïstos met his gaze, he felt as if he were being probed from within. A shiver ran down his spine, and tortured images permeated his mind. Like his comrades before him, he instinctively lowered his head. Then, noting that all had lowered their heads, the fyros spoke in a hoarse voice:

"My name is Azazor Eridlo Mirihus and I'm your new kitinology teacher."

A thud was heard. It was one of the students who had just fainted.