Focused. Precise. An incredibly valuable asset. The Votary smiled slightly as he read the report given to him by the overseers. Placement test overall score: 120/120. A perfect score. Finally. After years and years of training, here it was. A ticket to the best life a votary could have, marked by three simple numbers printed on parchment. The score wasn’t even the best part about his report, but rather the notes scrawled alongside it. Perfect form, It said. I can’t see a gap in his defense. The sword looks like it’s a part of his body… The praise seemed never ending.

  Even now, The Votary was surprised that he had done so well, despite training like hell. He flexed his fingers, watching the calluses and scars ripple in sync. The scars might as well have been a gift, seeing how they had paid off.

  “I think,” he said to himself, the words breaking the silence in his chamber, “That I deserve a new name.”

  Of course, this was a name just for him, since votaries weren’t allowed to have names. Nevertheless, every now and then, The Votary would imagine new and exciting names for himself. His latest one had been the simple country name of “Mika.” But now, Mika didn’t suit him. It was too basic for a person who was “focused” and “precise.” The Votary chuckled to himself. No, it was time for an upgrade.

  The Votary scanned his report, trying to find a name that had caught his attention. He traced his finger along it, reading word by word slowly. He wasn’t the best at reading since he had almost no time for learning, but he could get by with some time and effort. Suddenly, he found it. The perfect upgrade. It was in the fine print at the bottom of the report that proved it was real.

  “Validity,” The Votary said the word quietly, letting it roll off his tongue. “Validity.”

  The Votary had never seen the word before, but it was similar to other names he had heard before. Sure, it was hard to pronounce with his Kaitish accent, but it sounded fancy. And considering the fact that he had scored first out of the five hundred votaries in his unit, his life was about to get very, very fancy. Maybe he’d even get a bed! Now that was the best part about the simple roll of parchment. A score like that meant that he was too valuable to be bought by any old noble. Plus, when you have something expensive, you take care of it and make sure it doesn’t break right away. If a noble had maids to shine their trophies, surely they had beds to accommodate their votaries.

  Validity plopped onto the bamboo flooring of his chamber, scanning all of the words once more. For once in his life, it wasn’t too good to be true. He’d make sure to thank the Artifex before he went to bed.

  A knock at Validity’s door interrupted his fantasies. “Hey, 265, it’s me, 907! Ya okay in there?”

  Validity sighed. It was his closest friend at the Constructory, a large institute in Aegnad that trained Votaries. Validity had lived there for most of his life. 907 was introduced to it at the age of twelve, so Validity first became friends with him to learn about the outside world. Aegnad’s foreign colonies gave their sons to be votaries from birth, but sons from Aegish outcasts were often taken as well. After all, with the speed of advancement that the nobles demanded, hundreds of expendable hands were needed. Might as well not let any child go to waste, right?

  “Ah can hear ya shufflin’ n sighin’ in there, 265. Are ya gonna open the door?”

  Validity got up to answer 907, quickly stuffing the report in his pocket. He opened it. 907’s gangly body towered over him, a worried expression resting on his freckled face.

  “What’s the matter?” Validity asked, gesturing for him to come inside the room.

  “Well, Ah was comin’ over ta compare scores n stuff, but Ah heard ya mutterin’ like an ol’ hag in there.”

  “Oh,” Validity averted his eyes. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

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  907 quirked an eyebrow. “Are ya sure—”

  There’s no way I can explain my fake name to him! Validity thrust out his report to interrupt him. “Let’s uh– compare reports! What’s your score?”

  907’s eyes lit up, and he took his own report out, puffing out his chest. “105! Not too shabby, though Ah really need ta work on offense. It’s ‘nough ta land me a lesser position as a Votary ta some sorta noble, though. Ah’m really excited for it, ta be honest.” 907 put his hand behind his head, scratching the back of his neck and smiling bashfully. “Though, mah score prolly pales in comparison ta yours. What’d ya get?”

  Validity suddenly felt a little embarrassed of his perfect score. “Well, I… I did really well actually.” He found himself frowning. Now that he thought about it, he was probably never going to see 907 again. When Validity got assigned to a noble, he probably wouldn’t even be called by his serial number.

  Of course, 907 didn’t have the drive that Validity did. He always stayed up far past curfew, perfecting his skills. He had swung his sword until he was too tired to breathe, spent hours with a knife in his leg to improve his pain tolerance, and had sparred with countless visitors from the outside world. It was hard, so Validity didn’t blame 907 for sticking with the normal routines. He had earned his score. So why did he feel so guilty?

  907 took Validity’s report, his eyes falling to the bottom of the page and staying there. They lingered for a couple minutes before 907 spoke up. “Man, that’s… amazing,” Despite the praise, his face was crestfallen. “Ah guess these are our last days together, huh?”

  Validity nodded solemnly. “Yeah.” He realized that he was going to miss that goofy country accent waking him up in the morning.

  “Well,” 907 started, “Ah guess we’ll just have to spend it well, then. ‘N Ah’ll work hard, too! Maybe then Ah can see you again.”

  Validity felt a smile spread across his face. 907 was always the optimist, from the very start. Maybe that’s why they were friends. They balanced eachother out. Even in this cramped room, Validity didn’t feel the need to keep his guard up. It was nice.

  “You’ll catch up in no time… And if my master lets me, I’ll try to find you.” Validity said, trying to match 907’s positivity. That probably wouldn’t happen, but it was nice to dream. Sometimes he forgot that no matter the praise he got, it wasn’t personal to him. The overseers probably attributed his performance to his lessons and teachers, not to his hard work. That’s just how things were for votaries. They were akin to objects or weapons. Validity would be treated like a finely crafted sword— something to respect, but ultimately a tool. He looked away from 907. If only they had been born normal. Then maybe they wouldn’t have to part.

  A thick melancholy filled the room. 907 knew these facts as well. The pair sat in silence for a while, each of them thinking about the future. They thought about the past, too. About the experiences they had shared. When 907 had gotten in trouble for teaching his birth name to the other kids, Validity had slipped him extra bread through the bars of solitary confinement. And when Validity had gotten beaten by an overseer so hard he blacked out, 907 fended off the others so that he had some space. They had been there for each other for so long. They were… best friends. And now, like two puppies being sold to different owners, they were being ripped apart.

  After letting out a heavy sigh, 907 broke the silence. “Ah guess… what really makes me sad is that ah’ll never have a name again.”

  Validity shrugged. “I get what you mean, but… does a serial number even count as a name?”

  907 leaned against the wall, getting a faraway look in his eyes. “It does ta me,” He crossed his arms. “Ah used ta have a real name… and it hurt more than ah thought it would when ah lost it.”

  Another pang of guilt. “907—”

  The sound of heavy boots interrupted Validity’s thoughts. Crap! Guards! They weren’t banned from making friends with other votaries, but it was frowned upon. Being caught together could tank their score.

  907 jumped up and sprinted over to a window, firmly grasping the rim and hoisting himself halfway out of it. “Let’s hope we see each’ther tomorrow, 265!” he whispered.

  Validity waved, laughing a bit. 907 looked silly. “Oh, Kine. Just get out of here, you idiot!” Validity pushed 907 out of the window, and he landed in the bushes below with a soft thud. Validity smiled at him and turned away, closing the shutter carefully behind him.

  A bell sounded right outside of Validity’s door. That was the evening search bell. The nobles couldn’t have their precious Votaries playing games or harboring potential weapons now, could they?

  The guards opened the door in response and shoved past Validity, sweeping through the room as quickly as possible. They were humans, of course, like most working class people. Their eyes seemed droopy and sunken in, probably because they had been doing this all day.

  After the search, Validity settled into his futon. I hope 907 doesn’t get shipped off tomorrow… that would be too soon. He turned over to stare at the wooden ceiling. He had stared at that same wooden ceiling every night for as long as he could remember. And now he would be leaving it behind along with everything else. When we finally part, I’ll change my secret name to something that reminds me of him. That way, when I’m all alone, I can remember that somewhere out there I have a friend.

  Validity closed his eyes and began to dream.