POV: Your Life at Every Rank as a Callidus Assassin (Warhammer 40k)

POV: Your Life at Every Rank as a Callidus Assassin (Warhammer 40k) The Schola is always cold, and you learn that on your first morning, when the stone floor pulls the warmth out of your feet through thin-soled boots and the incense from the iron censers does nothing to soften the air. You are here because someone who shared your blood died in the Emperor's service, and the Imperium has decided that grief is most efficiently converted into function. You are not a student. You are raw material, catalogued and assessed from the moment the transport doors open. The Drill Abbess who oversees your cohort does not teach. She watches. Every morning at assembly she stands at the head of the hall and applies pressure, measured and deliberate, to see what each of you does under it. Most of your cohort performs composure. A smaller number breaks cleanly, which is at least honest. You go still.