Simon's heart was still pounding in his chest when he was escorted by the two remaining Magi to the waiting carriage. He might have completed the Selection, but his journey was only beginning, and perhaps, for the first time in many lives, he was truly entering uncharted territory.

It might be the first time since the Unspoken, he thought to himself as he walked.

Certainly his time with the Oracle’s little cult had been uncharted, of course, but she was much more benevolent. His time in Hepollyon never felt like he was walking into the lion’s den, but what he was doing now certainly did.

Every little detail was putting him on edge now, from the way the Magi walking with him talked about him as if he wasn’t there, to the silent nighttime streets, to the deferential way the slaves and servants moved around them as they broke down the other tents. A few hours ago they would have looked at him like garbage, but now they didn’t dare to look at him at all. He was one of the elect, and it wasn’t hard to stay in the sort of shellshocked character that was his role as Nijam.

For now, he emulated the silent Magi and kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead on the elaborate carriage that was waiting ahead of them. Normally, Magi traveled like peacocks on brightly colored palanquins, but for such a large group, that was infeasible.

The thing was just the opposite of their usual conveyances and was lacquered in dark colors with heavy curtains to block out the world, but that made it no less fancy. Even the spokes on the oversized wrought iron wheels were twisted into delicate geometric patterns.

When the first magi entered, he whispered a few words under his breath, and a tiny glowing butterfly sprang into existence. It did more than light the dark, claustrophobic interior of the vehicle, though. It wasn’t just a glowing mote of light like Simon would have cast.

Instead, it fluttered and flapped inside the glass sconce attached to the ceiling of the compartment. As soon as the door was shut, it was all that Simon could do to pretend to be astounded as he tried to decide if the behavior was created by the words, the intent, or the vessel.

“Do not worry, Nijam,” the red-masked Magi said with barely restrained mirth. “That is the least of the miracles you will learn in your new home.”

Simon wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply nodded and enjoyed the light show. He’d thought they would leave immediately, but they waited until the third Magi joined them, which made for an uncomfortable moment in the suffocating incense that permeated the confined space.

Once all four of them were in the wagon and they started moving, the men quizzed him for a few minutes about a number of particulars. These were the same sort of test questions he’d had to endure through the selection. These seemed more of an effort to determine what bad things he’d done to make his aura so dark at such a young age.

How many years had he been on the streets? Was it a hard life? When was the last time he’d eaten well before today? Each was easy enough to lie about, but he still had no idea if they might have any way to sort lies from truth with magic, so he tried to base his answers on true things just in case. Let them think he was obfuscating if they wanted. They would just assume he’d done terrible things he didn’t want to talk about. That was a normal enough human reaction.

So, he told them how he’d lived alone almost since he’d first come to the city and the frequent fights he’d gotten into with other boys his own age. He neglected to mention the small fortune in gold he had buried under a wall in the building he currently rented, though, and that those fights had all been for play, not survival.

Eventually, their interest in him waned, and they began to talk about him rather than to him. Simon ignored that, but only because he figured out from the way they spoke that they’d switched to a language they didn’t expect him to know. He still had trouble parsing who was speaking what language since he could understand them all, but he’d grown very good at reading social cues.

Listening to them while they thought they were speaking in secret was better than being asked questions, anyway, because it was much more revealing. It was also disturbing as they joked with each other about whether or not Simon would survive the indoctrination.

“He seems tough enough,” the red-masked Magi answered when the blue-masked Magi seemed to imply he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’m not so sure,” the green-masked Magi added. “There’s talent in him for certain, and a darkness too. He’s a fine neophyte, but I’m not sure he has enough fight in him. The other acolytes may eat him alive.”

“Well, that's half the point,” the blue-masked man added. “The pyramid is for sorting, and not everyone survives the process. All will serve the God-King to the best of their ability.”

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Their words seemed to imply that Simon was going to be thrown to the wolves, but he didn’t mind that. More ominous was the idea that his death might still serve them somehow. That almost certainly meant they did something to the bodies or the souls of those who died, and he had no desire to find out if Helades' magic would protect him from such a fate.

This time you might have bitten off more than you can chew, Simon told himself as he pretended to wait impatiently.

While all this went on, he fidgeted and struggled not to respond to the things they said, lest he reveal things about himself that he shouldn’t. He also resisted the urge to open the curtain to peek outside so that no one would see the need to correct him or worse, and interrupt the flow of the conversation that the three Magi were having.

While they’d covered the windows for some reason, Simon had hoped to see the ride into the inner city. During all of his previous trips, he’d tried to avoid the areas where he was most likely to find an abundance of Magi, but now that he finally had an excuse to gawk, he was denied the chance. It was frustrating, but he knew there would be other opportunities.

By the time they arrived at the Pyramid of Lesser Miracles and everyone exited the carriage, Simon was pretty sure that these three had lost almost all interest in him, and they passed him off to an older man in gray robes. He still had a bit of the ageless look that all Magi shared, but it was strained, like it was a bad facelift.

“We have a new neophyte for you, Minder,” the blue-masked Magi told the new man before taking off his mask and tossing it back into the carriage as his peers were doing. “He’s quite the artist. See if you can make something of him.”

“Of course, Exalted ones,” the man said in a carefully neutral tone as he bowed to them. “Each child you bring me will find their place in the God-King’s plans.”

Each of those comments was interesting to Simon. There were so many layers there. There was the difference of hierarchy, deference, and religious fervor. Even color seemed to play a role in whatever was going on around him. The three Magi he’d been with had all been dressed up in finery fit for any noble, but the Minder wore gray, and the few children his own age he could see wore matching robes of brown or black, depending on their ages.

Then there’s his agelessness, Simon thought to himself. What does that mean? Is he a Magi in a teaching role, or something else?

Simon only had a few seconds to take all of this in. As soon as the Magi were done speaking with the gray-robed man, he whirled on Simon and judged him silently for several seconds. It occurred to Simon too late that most children would have withered under that gaze. The most he could do was look away suddenly, as if the man’s intensity was too much. That seemed to please him, because he finally spoke then.

“You’re a scrawny one, aren’t you?” the gray man asked. “I’m surprised they didn’t throw you back and find someone more worthy.”

Simon pretended to flinch at the insult, but he expected it was the first thing that men like this said to every neophyte within the order. After a moment, he added defensively, “I just want to find my place in the pyramid.”

“I expect your place is on the street,” the Minder said with a feral grin. “Which is where I’d send you if it was my choice, but if the Magi have chosen you, then we will give you a chance before we throw you away.”

Simon thanked the man, but his stiff response made him think that the Minder expected something more dramatic. Simon didn’t care if he was disappointed, though, and after a few minutes, Simon was taken to a nearby building where he was forced to bathe in cold water before his hair was sheared off, and his scalp was shaved by an old slave woman who was only slightly more gentle than the Minder had been so far.

Through all that, he was lectured about the grand expectations placed upon all of them and a bunch of near-religious mumbo-jumbo. While he listened, he largely ignored what the man said. Instead, he noticed that no one bothered to ask his name, which was, again, very telling.

Then, shivering, he was given cheap sandals and rough brown robes that reminded him a little of his time with Zoa before he was made to throw the rest of his belongings into the fire of a brazier that seemed to be kept burning for that express purpose.

While he did so, the Minder gave a short lecture that he’d obviously given many times before. In it, he tried to impress on Simon that this was the end of his old life.

“You have nothing now,” the gray-robed man explained. “Nothing but what you earn from gaining the God-King’s favor. Do you understand? Any family you might have had has been paid for. Any objects or garments are only ashes now. Even those robes belong to our lord and can be taken away if you ever displease him.”

“I do,” Simon answered, trying to sound appropriately afraid as he kept his teeth from chattering despite the warm night. This time the Minder nodded and seemed satisfied with Simon’s response for once.

“You may sleep there tonight,” the man said, pointing at a corner not so far from the fire. “In the morning when they blow the horn at sunrise, you will go to the top of the pyramid and present yourself to your instructor.”

“Your class will help you sort everything else out from there.” Despite his experience and his age, he was a little taken aback by that response. The Magi inducted children into their cult or school or whatever this was, and then, rather than answering any questions or explaining anything, they treated them like shit and threw them to the wolves.

I’m really going to enjoy tearing this place down, he thought as he bowed and moved meekly to the corner. The Unspoken had been pretty creepy, but at least they’d given him an explanation and a tour. Here, he didn’t even know what he’d be doing tomorrow. He was just kind of expected to wing it.