As a scholarship student, Ryder was no stranger to visiting the headmaster’s office to make sure he was meeting the requirements of the school to make sure that he was going to stay a scholarship student, but this time he waited outside the door to wait his turn in meeting a Champion, someone chosen by the Gods to fight against them in the trial to return the Moon to the stars.

Ryder scratched where the neckline of his pullover met his skin, and then he forced his hands into his lap when he remembered he had a mysterious rash growing around there—a rash which he knew to attribute to stress rather than allergies after going purchasing a couple different brand of detergents, lotions, and soaps.

There was a click of a door, and Ryder jerked his attention toward it. An old man with glasses that made his eyes look far too large for his head was standing there, and he nodded at Ryder.

“It’s your turn, Master Glazier," he said in a shaky voice, a sign that the man was perhaps a little too old for his position as headmaster.

“Thank you, sir,” Ryder said as he ducked into the headmaster’s office.

The room had always felt the room was far too large for an office. There was a desk, plenty of chairs for meetings with multiple families, too many bookshelves, and far more space to walk from the door to the desk than was necessary.

Of course, all of that fleeted his mind when he caught sight of the man sitting behind the desk. He was rather tall, his body taking up much more space than his principal’s did. His dark blond hair was disheveled. Red was visible in his eyes, even from a distance, and there were dark circles under those eyes.

It was Lucas Driscoll, a Champion of the Sun God.

“Good afternoon, Ryder,” Driscoll said in his Cognitian accent, which was far more interesting than his own Aeftennian-Anglan accent.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

Ryder took a seat in front of the desk. His back was straight as he watched Driscoll pore over a paper in his hand. He ignored the itchy feeling around his neck, and he hoped that none of his hives was visible. It was bad enough he had just had an acne breakout on his cheeks.

“You’re a smart kid,” Lucas said, dropping the file onto the desk. “You work hard. That’s good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let me in on a little secret: the Gods like to make us chase for Their Chosen Champions, but They pick who They want before we even go on a search for them. I don’t know why they don’t just tell us. I assume it’s some kind of punishment for failing to achieve our goals, but I’ve never gotten the Falcon to admit to it. However—”

Driscoll ducked down to grab something beneath the desk. It was a leather bag, and there was loud thunk as he plopped it onto the desk.

“The Falcon talks to me,” he continued. “It’s one of the—and I hesitate to call it this—perks of being a Champion for Him. He sometimes talks to us and makes feel like we’re crazy. He sent me on a mad hunt just like he did all the others, but as soon as I arrived at this school—” Lucas tapped a finger on the headmaster’s desk. “—He finally told me that He chose you to be His Champion.”

Ryder’s eyebrows came together. The itchiness was stronger than ever, and he pinched the meat of his thumb with the other hand to stop himself from scratching it.

“He’s chosen me?” Ryder repeated.

“Not Him but another, and the Gods give us no choice in the matter. You’re one of us now. Well, almost. You have to claim your Handle.”

“My Handle?”

Driscoll opened the bag, and he pulled out a crystal wrapped in leather. It emitted a faint white glow. He waved it in the air as he spoke:

“This thing belongs to you, and as soon as you claim, it’ll hurt me if I try to touch it. I can touch it now because it’s my job to make sure it gets to you, but once it’s officially yours, you’ll have to put it back in the bag for me.”

Ryder nodded his head. He was uncertain what to say to all of this.

Driscoll held out the Handle. Ryder was surprised at how still his hand was as he reached for it. He gasped as his vision turned dark, but when he focused, he realized was staring at a night sky. There were some white stars that blinked in and out as he watched, and there were some varying colors.

A strong breeze threatened to knock him onto his rear, but his back struck something—a tree, he realized. It was unnaturally bright for nighttime. He could see that he was in the greenest forest he had ever seen with his natural eyes. There was a large lake that reflected the starry sky on its surface.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Ryder jumped at the sudden voice. He spun around, looking for the source of it, and he found a man wearing a plaid tunic under metal armor. His right arm was missing.

“It’s so much better with my mother in the sky, but well, we have to make due with what we have.”

Ryder suspected that was supposed to be a clue about which God he was looking at, but he Radiant Eagle and the Lunar Huntress were the mother and father of five Gods. It only narrowed the list to most of the Gods.

“I don’t expect you to recognize me, boy. Normally, I am portrayed as a woman holding up the sky.”

Ryder’s eyes widened.

“The Maiden of the Stars?” he gasped, taking a step toward the man.

“Yes, boy, I have chosen you as my Champion to fight in the Temple Chastity.”

Ryder felt like an idiot when his face flushed at that last word, but of all the sins he had expected to be accused of, “chastity” was the last on the list.

“You are a diligent boy, strong of heart and mind. You need not worry too much about my choosing you to fight against me. Not now, at least. There will be plenty of time to understand it for yourself.”

There was another strong gust of wind, and Ryder’s back struck a tree again. When he blinked, he was staring at Driscoll—a very bored, tired-looking Driscoll who was watching Ryder while resting his chin on his fist. His Handle was laying on the principal’s desk. It glowed purple.

“You might be thinking that’s purple,” Driscoll said, “but it’s indigo. It’s really hard to tell the difference when the colors aren’t right next to each other.”

“The Maiden of the Stars chose me,” Ryder said, breathless.

“Yes, She did.”

“That’s—I don’t—I...”

Driscoll rested his hands on the desk.

“It’s overwhelming. I know, and I can’t really help you come to terms with it. Put the Handle in the bag. I have some paperwork for you, and we’ll get you home to speak with your mother about this.”

Ryder nodded. He grabbed the Handle, which was warmer than he had expected it to be, and he placed it inside the bag. Driscoll handed him a stack of papers, and Ryder set back in the chair as he read through them.