This end is a Beginning.

In Brotherhoods and Companies they came, as they had come on the Red Moon of the End Day of the last month of the year, year after year, since the end of the Gifted Wars eight thousand seasons ago and more.

To the Teeth of Creation they came, because that mountain range was born from the same terrible reckoning that had hallowed the University and the Academy.

The Gifted who had spent the previous sixteen seasons learning their craft wore only their novice robes, and came unarmed, their Gifts held but not used; for those terrible days thousands of years gone lived all around them in the shattered bones of the world.

The families -- in most but not all cases, the Families -- who had filled the great bowl below the Mount of Tears wore simple robes and masks that concealed their identities, because before the Father and Mother, standing where Gifted had nearly destroyed their blessed creation, all were and must be equal. Emperor stood next to threadbare merchant stood next to Battle Matron stood next to dirt farmer, and in that moment, all knew their stations in this world would avail them not at all when the Father decided on the Garden or the Chasm.

So it had been and so it would be.

In the Hollow, every slippered foot marching in time created an effect like low thunder in the distance, which alternatingly amused and frightened the small (masked) children who had come to see brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins take their Oaths. Behind hundreds of masks, men and women decades past their time here smiled in memory and tried to keep the children from doing too much to ruin the solemnity of the moment.

The Magister Primus and Magistra Prima stood as the young Gifted came to a perfectly synchronized halt. Hand-to-hand the husband and wife walked as the Father and Mother walked in the Garden, to stand together on the raised dais. Though the Magister had led a quarter-step ahead the entire walk, the Magistra spoke first, her voice carried perfectly through the Hollow.

"This end is a Beginning," she intoned.

"This beginning is an End," her husband counterpointed, setting the rhythm for the opening of the ceremony.

"We stand where Gifted tore the world open, defiling the Father's and Mother's creation, in their wars for dominance," the Magistra continued.

"The Wars ended here because the world nearly ended here."

"A new birth came of those days."

"So that such an injustice would never come again to the face of the world."

"Our Gifts were made, as we were, to bring and protect life."

"Our Gifts were made, as we were, to bring and preserve justice."

Hands clapped chests throughout the Hollow, echoed by those of the children too young or too excited to remember the sequence of the ritual but old enough to shamefacedly or excitedly try to catch up.

The Magistra bowed slightly and stepped back a half-step. The Magister nodded to her, and stepped forward a half-step. "BEFORE THE FATHER AND THE MOTHER," he bellowed, his voice not so much echoing as filling the Hollow.

"BEFORE THE FATHER AND THE MOTHER," cried hundreds of young men and women, their eyes alight.

"OUR GIFTS SERVE MANKIND."

"OUR PATHS SERVE THE EMPIRE."

"OUR LIVES SERVE THE WORLD."

"I SHALL NOT BRING WAR TO ANOTHER GIFTED WITH MY GIFT."

"I CLAIM THE PATH OF,"

...and here, before the Father and Mother, before the Magistri and Magistrae who had spent four years teaching them, before their families, and before their peers and families in all but name, hundreds of young men and women cried out single words:

"WAR"
"LIFE"
"MEDICA"
"DELVING"
"SMITHING"
"MENDING"

...and many more besides.

Hands clapped chests again, as one.

The Magister took a half-step back and the Magistra a three-quarters step forward. Side by side, they stood; as one, they cried, "FIRSTS OF FIRSTS."

A young woman, tall and ruddy and dark haired, stepped from the mass of Witchspears as a young man, taller and dark skinned and blonde haired, stepped from the mass of Blademagi. They turned as one. "VEILED, STEP FORTH," they cried.

And the Blademagi who had elected to layer thin chain over their faces, and the Witchspears who had chosen leather straps for theirs, separated and bowed as one; first, to their families who would never see them again except, perhaps, on the field of battle or in training for the same; then to their families of four years who had trained and learned and bled with them; and, finally, to their Firsts, who had been closer than blood to them and who now sent them to their Abbeys and Cloisters for the rest of their times in the world. As one, they straightened, and marched from the Bowl, splitting into sub-contingents and setting off to their respective new homes.

A keen observer would have seen pride and a hint of boyish sadness on the dark skinned young man's face, and fierce pride and the slightest hint of tears on the ruddy young woman's as she bade farewell to her beloved lieutenant.

The Magister and Magistra spoke again. "BLADEMAGI AND WITCHSPEARS," they cried together. "WHERE THE WORLD NEARLY DIED, YOU ARE BORN AGAIN. GO FORTH TO YOUR OLD FAMILIES, NOW YOUR NEW. REMEMBER YOUR OATHS. REMEMBER YOUR DUTIES.

"TO YOUR HOUSES.

"TO YOUR FELLOW GIFTED.

"TO THE EMPIRE.

"TO THE FATHER AND THE MOTHER.

"GO!"

As one, the newly graduated Gifted clapped hands to chests once more.

And then cheered and whooped and cried and laughed and rejoiced, because they were still young men and women. Unable to hold back any longer, the Magister and Magistra allowed themselves to smile, the Magistra rubbing her swollen belly and clearly thinking of the future, near and a bit farther. The other Magistri and Magistrae echoed them, many of the men and no small number of the women roaring shouts and chants and prayers of thanksgiving.

And in the hours to come, bond presentations would be formalized; and none surprised those who heard more than Urielst -- no less shocked -- receiving a plea for Llaha's bond from Jufiea, carried by Martas, Amaso's brother. Llaha and Amaso hugged happily and Llaha smiled and blushed at Martas's bow. And somehow, in a moment of bemusement that would come back from his wife's lips for years to come, Olienas di'Urielst nodded at Martas's bow and clasped his hand, looking for the Garden as if in a dream.

And the Firsts of Firsts found themselves with their Families as their fathers clasped hands as Falein's bond was given to Kelsra; and while those who did not know them would think both perfectly stoic, any who did would see something roughly akin to shocked realization pass across both young faces almost at the same moment.

And then leaves were taken with pledges to begin the Waiting Period and what came after; and the daughter of Falein nodded stiffly as her new betrothed nodded back with a smirk with a hint of suppressed fear.

Kelsra departed with the masked man and woman who had hugged Joran at the close of the ceremony, and all were careful not to kneel and bow while the masks remained on. Alone among the Houses there that evening, they would not return home, for the tribes of the Western Desert had suddenly increased their raids and attacks, and so the Empire was marching to War and Kelsra would be at their van.

Falein gathered great and small and began the march to their homefort, to install their new Mistress of War; and for the first time, Kamiéra dal'Falein walked side by side with his father and mother, trailed by uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters and cousins, with all that had happened this day still finding a place in his mind.

SO ENDS THE FIRST STORY OF KAMIÉRA OF RALLA.

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