“YOU CERTAINLY HAVE a way with the ladies, Mr. Grey,” Mr. Gatt said ten minutes later. Artorius and Casey laughed. It helped ease the potent tension still pooling from their encounter with Kylie. Mr. Gatt had handed off the large body of students to other faculty members and was now accompanying the Horum Vir and his companions. Monson really didn’t need the personal escort but was reluctant to say anything.

  Monson scowled at Mr. Gatt’s remark. “Honestly, the way she was yelling at me, you would have thought I just murdered her cat or something.”

  “That’s just how she is,” Artorius said, still chuckling. “You should have seen when Casey and she got into it last—”

  “Ar-thur!” Casey shot out angrily. “We really don’t need to talk about that.”

  “Oh, come on,” Artorius replied, a malicious grin on his face. “It’s in the past. You need to let it go, my man.”

  “Yeah, Casey,” Monson said. “What’s with the two of you? And don’t try to deny it. You guys have a past. Spill it.”

  “Now is not the time or the place,” Casey said, giving Mr. Gatt a sideways glance.

  Mr. Gatt chuckled. “Please, do not let me stop you. As a matter of fact, I’m fairly curious myself. I like to know what motivates my students.”

  This was obviously not what Casey wanted to hear. “It’s such a long, boring story.” He looked flushed and uncomfortable.

  Monson opened his mouth to encourage him, but before he could say anything, Mr. Gatt cut him off.

  “Do not worry, lad. This is not something that has to be shared now. Perhaps another time.”

  Casey looked at him, relief starting to dull the red that had overtaken his face. The group pressed on, picking up their pace a bit.

  Mr. Gatt did not talk much as he led the three boys to their dormitory. This was perfectly fine with Monson; the quiet did not bother him. Casey chatted up a storm, telling Artorius about his summer, the places he had visited, the girls he had met, and a bundle of other things, all of which sounded exaggerated. Artorius seemed content to listen as Casey dove headlong into a story about a trip to Rome. Monson stopped listening and turned his attention to Mr. Gatt.

  “So, how long have you worked here, Mr. Gatt?” Monson asked politely.

  To Monson’s surprise, Mr. Gatt let out an ironic laugh. Monson observed—but did not comment—that it was probably a good thing Mr. Gatt had not been drinking at that moment, as something would have come flying out of his nose. Mr. Gatt certainly was a strange man. He continued laughing for a minute or so, then wiped a tear from his eye and said, “Well, young man, that is quite the question, and I suppose it depends on what you mean.”

  This was not the answer Monson had expected. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Gatt. I—”

  Mr. Gatt interrupted him. “My apologies. My own little joke.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I was inquiring whether you wanted to know how long I’ve actually been here, or how long it feels like I’ve been here.”

  Monson looked perplexed. “Well, I guess I mean how long you’ve actually been here.”

  “About twenty-five years, off and on,” he said simply.

  Now Monson was thoroughly confused. He did not understand what was so funny about working at Coren for twenty-five years. He also could not help but feel amazed. Mr. Gatt did not look that old. His hair threw you off, but up close his face looked no older than his late thirties.

  Markin Gatt looked at him with a fatherly expression. “Mr. Grey… Monson, this is a world of privilege, and with those privileges come certain expectations and norms one must follow.”

  “So, why is that funny?” Monson asked timidly, not wanting to offend.

  “Allow me to answer in the form of a question,” Mr. Gatt said patiently. “What happens in a society highly restricted by rules and regulations when someone within that society does not conform?”

  “I have no idea,” Monson said plainly. “That person is thrown out?”

  Markin Gatt laughed again. “In a way. Their interactions are definitely constricted. However, they are not thrown out—especially in a society like this one.” He stopped, spun on the balls of his feet, and gestured to their surroundings. “These people would not physically throw anyone out; it is not en vogue.”

  Monson raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Gatt was talking about. Who are these people?

  “Do not worry, my friend. You’re a bright one. You’ll eventually understand what I’m talking about, but it’s a lesson you’ll need to learn early, I’m afraid: appropriate responses for the appropriate situation.”

  Monson couldn’t think of anything to say and decided a change of subject might be wise.

  “You said you’ve been here off and on for twenty-five years, right?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “What were you doing when you weren’t teaching?”

  “Adventuring.”

  Monson blinked, certain he’d misheard. “Adventuring?”

  “Have you ever seen any of the Indiana Jones films?”

  Monson had seen the first one. It was a good flick. He eyed Mr. Gatt suspiciously. “I’ve seen one of those movies. Why do you ask?”

  “Consider me a real-life Dr. Jones.” Mr. Gatt looked rather satisfied with himself. “That’s what I do when I’m not here. It’s all very exciting.”

  “Then why are you back here?” Monson asked. The question was simple, but it seemed important.

  “Research,” Mr. Gatt answered lamely.

  “Research?” Monson pressed. “What sort of research?”

  Mr. Gatt smiled. “I’m looking for someone.”

  Monson smiled back. “A woman? You should try eHarmony. I hear it works wonders.”

  Mr. Gatt laughed and picked up his pace, offering no more details. Still, Monson felt his curiosity prickle. Mr. Gatt was indeed an interesting one.

  The walk to the dorms seemed to take almost no time at all, even though Monson knew they were on the other side of Coren’s sizable campus. The grounds displayed an abundance of the now-recognizable stylized architecture he had first noticed in Coren’s Coliseum. The structures were enormous, beautiful, and clearly expensive. It was not difficult to understand the impression Coren’s board of directors intended to make. Still, something was lost in the overall effect. To Monson, much of it seemed too planned and rigid.

  After ten or fifteen minutes of walking, Monson, Mr. Gatt, Artorius, and Casey arrived at a massive, bulky structure with elegant décor. White brick walkways lined with lighted stone columns matched the gray sculpted stone of the building’s exterior perfectly. An indoor atrium was visible from every walkway. A large hedge encircled the building, giving it a secretive feeling, as if this place were a world apart from the rest—a refuge of some sort.

  Mr. Gatt continued briskly until he reached a three-way fork in the walkway. Just before the fork stood a large, finely carved stone arch. He stopped directly beneath it and turned to face the three boys.

  “Welcome to the Barracks, boys,” Mr. Gatt said formally, bowing. “I will now show the Horum Vir to his prepared quarters.”

  Monson, Casey, and Artorius exchanged puzzled looks, taken aback by the sudden formality. Monson recovered first.

  “Mr. Gatt,” he said uncertainly, “why exactly are you talking like that?”

  Mr. Gatt smiled warmly and placed a hand on Monson’s shoulder. Giving it a small squeeze, he said, “I apologize. It’s a habit. There is usually a ceremony called the ‘Induction.’ It is when the students and parents gather in the indoor atrium to witness the Horum Vir and his ‘Ascension’ into his quarters.” He removed his hand and placed it over his chest. “I am typically the Master of Ceremonies for the Induction. The formality is hard to break.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “That’s weird,” Casey said, stepping closer to the others and scanning the area as if expecting people to leap from the hedges. “What the hell happened to the ceremony this year?”

  “Do not swear, Cassius,” Mr. Gatt chided. “It is a sign of a weak mind and an undisciplined tongue.”

  Casey blinked, clearly taken aback. “Sorry.”

  “Monson’s winning of the Horum Vir scholarship was something of a surprise,” continued Mr. Gatt. “The Induction ceremony was canceled because the board was unsure whether Monson was going to claim the scholarship. The ceremony is quite elaborate, with celebrities, political figures, and businessmen from all over. It’s very much a spectacle. The board didn’t have time to organize on the timeline Mr. Grey here gave them. But do not fret; there will be a small reception this evening.”

  “There you are!”

  It was Molly. She jogged up to the small group, looking slightly winded.

  “Molly!” Monson said, moving toward her to steady her. “Are you all right?”

  “Hey there, love,” she said after catching her breath. “I’m fine. I’m just glad I didn’t miss you. I was going to wait for you just outside the Coliseum, but I realized they weren’t having the ceremony this year.”

  “What, did you think I was going to let you leave without saying goodbye?” Monson replied. “Don’t be silly.”

  Molly smiled at his pitiful attempt at humor. “You’re such a sweet boy. I’m going to miss you.”

  “Me too,” Monson said fondly. It was true. He was going to miss her. She had been his rock for the past few months—one of the only connections to his past, and for a time, his only friend. Monson suddenly felt sad; he was going to miss this woman a great deal more than he had been willing to admit.

  Molly smiled at him again, her eyes shiny. She surprised him when she gently laid her hand on his face, lightly touching his scars. She kissed him on the forehead. Monson looked at her. Molly never displayed this kind of affection.

  As if this were not strange enough, Monson received another shock when he heard a slight sniff. Confused, he looked into her big, dark eyes and gasped. Tears were starting to flow freely, making her eyes and cheeks puff. She sniffed again. He looked to Artorius and Casey. They stared back, obviously more confused than he was.

  “Molly…” Monson tried to keep the concern and confusion out of his voice.

  “Shhhh,” she said softly. She pulled a small bag out of her pocket and gestured for Monson to take it. “Monson, honey, I have a gift for you. It’s something very important to your family, so I want you to promise me that you will always wear it.”

  Monson took the small cloth bag and opened it. Inside was a small square box, the kind used for an engagement ring or anniversary gift. He held it up and said with bravado, “Are you asking for my hand in marriage, Molly? Because I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I’m your type.”

  Everyone laughed, including Molly. After a moment, still giggling, she said, “Just open the box, smartass.”

  Monson did and gawked at a large silver stone set on a silver chain. He looked at Molly in disbelief.

  “Well,” Molly said, her voice becoming less emotional and more dignified, “examine it. Get to know each other.”

  On this enigmatic note, Monson scrutinized the stone, removing it from the box. More a gem than a mere stone, its color was a deep silver, seemingly transparent as well. Mesmerized, Monson lifted it into the sunlight and searched its depths.

  Strange. The distance within the stone seemed incomprehensible and constantly shifting, as if the material just below the surface were in motion. He lowered his arm and smiled. It was one of the most mysterious and beautiful things he had ever seen.

  “It was your grandfather’s,” Molly whispered. “He told me to hold on to it. I want you to take very good care of it. It’s a gift from him.”

  “Molly, I—” Monson began, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

  “Well then, let’s see it on,” she said, some of her former excitement returning. She gestured for him to hand it back. He did and turned around. A moment later, the silver chain rested around his neck, the stone hanging at its center. In that instant, Monson felt at ease for the first time in a very long while. It was strange, but something about Molly’s demeanor, her formality, and even the stone itself gave him a feeling of hope. The feeling was bittersweet. Monson smiled, looking from the stone to his two new friends, to Mr. Gatt, and finally back to Molly. As corny as it sounded, he was glad they were all there.

  There was nothing left to say. Monson extended his hand to shake Molly’s. She looked relieved for some reason. Then, abandoning all pretense, she threw her arms around him and squeezed as if her life depended on it.

  “I’m so proud of you. Hardships await, but you’ll rise to the task. I know you will. Be courageous and happy.”

  She released him. He hugged her again. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”

  “Of course,” Molly said, wiping her eyes. “Have a good term.” With that, she headed toward the other side of campus and the parking lot. After a short distance, she turned and waved energetically, beaming. It was odd, but something told Monson he was not the only one she was waving to.

  “YOU AND YOUR mom have a really weird relationship,” Casey said, perplexed. The look on his face made Monson snicker.

  “Oh!” Monson smacked his forehead. “I forgot—you wouldn’t know.”

  “I wouldn’t know what?”

  “Molly isn’t my mother.”

  “OK… then who is she?”

  “My lawyer.”

  Everyone except Monson burst out laughing. It went on until they noticed he wasn’t joining in.

  “You’re serious?” Artorius asked.

  “It’s a really long story, and it’s kind of depressing, so let’s not talk about it right now.”

  “Fair enough,” Casey said, picking up his luggage.

  “OK, but I want to hear it later,” Artorius added. “Don’t forget.”

  “Why are you so interested in Molly?” Monson asked, flummoxed.

  “She was crying,” Artorius said, something like wonder in his voice.

  “And?”

  “My dad’s a lawyer,” Artorius replied, “and I wasn’t aware that lawyers could cry.”

  They all laughed.

  “Mr. Gatt,” Casey said, moving toward him, “I believe you were going to show us where we’re staying.”

  “That I was, Mr. Kay,” he replied with a bow. “If you will please follow me.”

  They gathered their belongings once more and passed through the arch, heading down the center pathway toward the atrium.

  “This is your entrance,” Mr. Gatt explained, looking to Monson. “It makes it much easier than navigating the boys’ or girls’ dormitories.”

  He led them through large glass double doors and onto a red brick path toward the center of the atrium. The boys followed, marveling at their surroundings, including expertly crafted stonework.

  “Wow,” Monson said. “That’s amazing.”

  There were statues—many of them—stone depictions of heroes and heroines, gods and goddesses, lining the lower level of the dorm. At the center stood a grand fountain with hundreds of spouting veins of water arcing and rippling in intricate patterns. Atop it stood a giant statue, probably twenty-five feet tall and weighing several tons. Its features were finely shaped, especially the eyes. Spotlights illuminated the perch, drawing every gaze upward.

  “Jupiter,” Mr. Gatt said simply.

  “Ah,” Monson replied, comprehension settling in. Of course. Who better than the king of the gods to watch over the students? The myths of antiquity were among Monson’s favorite subjects. The gods especially fascinated him—their near-infinite power paired with all-too-human flaws. He had heard it said that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Monson wondered if that was true.

  He stepped closer, examining the fine detail and smooth marble. He really liked the statue.

  “So who’s this guy supposed to be?” Casey asked, bored.

  “Jupiter,” Artorius answered.

  “How’d you know that?” Casey asked.

  “Well,” Artorius grinned, “the massive thunderbolt kind of gave it away. And then Mr. Gatt just said it.”

  Monson thought he heard Mr. Gatt stifle a laugh, though when he spoke, his voice was even. “Over here, please. The Horum Vir’s entrance is just around the corner.”

  Casey and Artorius moved on. Monson lingered, staring up at Jupiter’s blank stone face.

  “Absolute power…” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “So how did that work out for you, Jupiter, old boy? It’s lonely at the top, no? If it makes you feel any better, it isn’t that great at the bottom either.”

  He winked—why, he wasn’t sure. He just felt compelled to do it.

  The statue winked back.

  Monson froze.

  That did not just happen.

  “Monson! Hurry up or we’re going to be late!” Casey called.

  “Late?” Monson called back, tearing his eyes from Jupiter. “Late for what?”

  There was no answer.

  Monson hurried after them, leaving the king of the gods staring silently behind him.

  THE ENTRANCE to the Horum Vir’s quarters was a small elevator found in one of the corners of the Atrium. It was a little cramped, but after a few minutes of arranging, Monson, Casey, Artorius, Mr. Gatt, and all the luggage were packed into the elevator and cruising upward to the top floor of The Barracks. Cramped and uncomfortable, talking seemed like a luxury they could forgo. After a few sore moments, in which everyone wished wholeheartedly that they had split up, the elevator screeched to a halt and the doors opened. This caused everyone and everything except Mr. Gatt to tumble out of the elevator. Being the closest to the door, Monson fell first. He spilled forward, hitting the ground hard. He looked up just as Artorius and Casey lost their balance. Monson shuddered as they came stumbling out after him.

  In the midst of the disorder, an odd-looking man rushed to their side, catching them all off-guard. He was skinny to the point of bony, with long fingers, high cheekbones, and thin eyebrows. He also had a kind of austere manner that spoke of an unwavering strictness. Despite this, he looked at them with kind eyes that were brown with hints of green.

  “Ah, Brian,” said Mr. Gatt, putting his hand forward. “I was wondering where you scampered off to.”

  “Markin,” Brian said, extending his own hand and shaking Mr. Gatt’s vigorously. “It has taken you a great deal longer than I expected. I thought you might be in the Comfort Room with the other students and parents. So I went to investigate.”

  “What did you find?”

  Brian shrugged elegantly. “The usual pretentious people, of course.”

  “Well, allow me to alleviate that burden,” Mr. Gatt replied, letting out a slight chuckle. “Let me introduce you to the new Horum Vir, Monson Grey.”

  “Hero,” Brian said, giving Monson a slight bow. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”

  “Hero?” Monson said, confused by the greeting. “Why are you calling me Hero?”

  Brian looked slightly shocked. “Hero—have you not been told what ‘Horum Vir’ means?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Monson replied.

  “Horum Vir is Latin for hero. Well, actually, the Hero.”

  Monson raised an eyebrow. “So, I get to walk around with everyone calling me Hero? Nice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to throw myself off a balcony.”

  “I see this one has a quick wit,” Brian noted.

  “And a sharp tongue. I think you’re going to have your hands full with him, my old friend.”

  “Indeed.”

  Monson glared at the two men. “On behalf of all teenagers, I just wanted to let you know that we love it when you talk about us as if we aren’t here. We think it’s awesome.”

  Mr. Gatt put up a hand. “Peace, Monson, we’re on your side, I assure you.”

  Brian bowed. “Please allow me to show you to your quarters. You’re in for quite the treat.”

  “You two, please follow me,” Mr. Gatt said to Casey and Artorius. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

  “You got it!” Casey said buoyantly to Mr. Gatt as he finished gathering his scattered possessions. “We’ll hook up with you later… Hero.” He looked highly amused.