Chapter 52

  Dormitory II

  Mags swung her legs off the bed and planted her feet on the floor with purpose, shaking off the stiffness settling into her muscles. She stretched her arms over her head, leaning side to side to loosen her back as well. “I’m going to look around,” she announced, smoothing out her tunic. “Meet some of my fellow classmates. I showed up late, and it seems like others on campus have gotten familiar with one another.”

  Rue didn’t even glance up from her instrument. Her fingers moved with effortless precision across the strings, plucking out a melody that was both haunting and hypnotic. “Knock yourself out,” she said flatly, her voice barely above a mutter. “You’re right—you missed a lot of socializing that takes place during the week before the Welcome Ceremony, but it only makes it harder.”

  “Makes what harder?”

  Rue stopped fiddling the strings of her instrument and glanced up at Mags over the tinted lenses of her spectacles. “When those people—your friends—are eventually eliminated during the Entrance Trials.”

  ‘Eliminated’ is an interesting word choice. “Got it,” was all she said.

  She paused at the door, one hand on the handle. She hesitated, waiting for a breath to see if Rue was going to say more, but the girl seemed lost in her music. Then, just as Mags began to turn the handle, Rue sighed, the sound almost wistful.

  “I miss those days,” Rue said softly, her gaze fixed on the strings beneath her fingers. “The early days, when it was all new and exciting. Before the grind of the Entrance Trials started.” Her tone was as flat as ever, but there was a pain, a subtle longing, to her words that Mags didn’t miss.

  Mags offered a faint smile, though Rue wasn’t looking. “I’ll take that as a warning,” she said before slipping out the door.

  The long hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made her hyper-aware of her own footsteps against the polished floor. The doors lining the corridor stood like sentinels, some firmly closed, others slightly ajar, revealing empty rooms. Mags peeked into one of the open rooms as she passed. The bed was neatly made, the desk bare save for a single book lying facedown. It looked like many of the students were either still out and about, enjoying their last day of freedom before their lives belonged to Brightwash, and then the Crown Coalition Forces.

  She passed another door, this one open wide. Inside, a boy sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by books, scrolls, and what looked like glowing orbs of light hovering just above the ground. He didn’t look up as she passed, his attention fully absorbed in whatever task he was working on. She thought about introducing herself but decided against it. He didn’t seem the type to appreciate interruptions.

  Farther down the hall, a door slammed shut, the sound echoing off the walls like a crack of thunder. Mags froze for a moment, her hand twitching toward her side, ready to summon the hilt of Mithra before she reminded herself where she was. Not everything’s a fight, she told herself. Not yet, anyway. Then, she remembered the Welcome Ceremony from earlier that day. Well, not all the time, anyway.

  Before Mags could continue her trek down the hall, the one directly to her left flew open. A messy head of reddish-brown hair poked through the gap, followed by a freckle-dusted face and sharp, curious eyes that practically glowed green—so pale they were almost yellow. The young man scanned the hallway like a predator sniffing the air.

  “What was that sound?” he asked. He spoke in the common tongue, but his baritone voice was clipped with an accent Mags couldn’t place, the ‘th’ turning into a ‘t.’

  His light eyes locked onto hers, the intensity of his gaze unsettling. But what truly threw Mags off were his teeth—sharp and predatory, flashing in the low light as he spoke. She resisted the instinct to step back.

  “Someone slammed a door down the hall,” Mags answered, pointing toward the distant end of the corridor.

  “Oh,” he said, blinking in a way that seemed too deliberate. The lashes beneath his eyes were noticeably long, while the upper lashes were a light blondish-red that made them nearly invisible. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly as recognition dawned. “Wait—oh! You were on stage during the Ceremony. You fought in the first battle!”

  Mags winced, her cheeks warming. She forced a small laugh and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Lost in the first battle would be a better description,” she corrected, her voice dry.

  His sharp grin widened. “Still, that was quite impressive.” He stepped fully into the hall now, his lanky frame angled with an easy, restless energy. “Come on in,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the open door. “Ed! You won’t guess who lives on our floor!”

  Before she could protest, he was already heading back into the room. Mags hesitated for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her. Taking a deep breath, she followed him inside. This is what you said you wanted to do.

  Mags stepped into the room, the floor creaking softly beneath her slippers. The space mirrored her own dormitory room almost exactly: two narrow beds tucked neatly against opposite walls, matching desks cluttered with papers and trinkets, a narrow wardrobe in each corner. A window framed the waning daylight, streaking the room in a faint golden glow.

  On one of the beds sat another young man, cross-legged and hunched over a thick book. He was shorter than the sharp-toothed boy, maybe even a fraction shorter than Mags herself. His dark, messy hair fell over his brow, almost obscuring the rich shade of purple in his wide, startled eyes. He froze as she entered, his gaze meeting hers for a split second before darting away, a flush creeping over his cheeks.

  “Don’t mind him,” the taller boy said with a grin, striding toward his desk and spinning his chair around to sit on it backward. He rested his arms casually on the backrest, his sharp teeth glinting with every word. “I’m Galiel, by the way. Galiel Cantor. And this guy—” he jerked a thumb toward the shy one on the bed, “is Edvard. Edvard of Manneregio.” Galiel turned his head towards the shy boy who glanced up from his attempt to re-engage with the text in front of him. “I got that right?”

  Edvard gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yes,” he muttered softly, barely audible. His voice carried the faint lilt of someone unaccustomed to speaking much. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, glancing towards Mags. He gave the slightest bow of his head towards her.

  “See?” Galiel said, spreading his hands with a smirk. “Quiet, but polite. Ed’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Keeps life interesting, I’ve learned.”

  Mags couldn’t help but smile a little at Galiel’s energy. “Magdalena of Solstice,” she said, standing a bit straighter. “But most people just call me Mags.”

  “Mags?” Galiel repeated, rolling the name on his tongue like he was savoring it. He nodded in approval, his grin widening. “I like it! Short, snappy, tough—suits you.” He fluttered a finger in the direction of the unclaimed chair in the room.

  Mags felt a flicker of warmth at the compliment, and for the first time since the Welcome Ceremony, she felt the knot of tension in her chest loosen just a bit. “Thanks,” she said, glancing between the two boys. “Nice to meet you both.” She slid into the open seat, trying to relax.

  Galiel leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs groaning under the pressure as he crossed his arms over the top of the chair’s backrest. His sharp grin hadn’t left his face since Mags walked in. “That was a good fight you put up, Mags. I mean, really, solid work. Though, if I’m being honest. . .” He tilted his head, his freckled face glowing with mischief. “The second fight? Now that was the spectacle.”

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  Mags blinked. “The second fight?” she repeated, her curiosity piqued. She’d been hauled off the stage before it began, and it hadn’t even crossed her mind to find out how the second group of Recommended recruits faired in their fight. “I missed it entirely. What happened?”

  Galiel’s grin widened, his light-green eyes sparking with excitement as he leaned forward. “Oh, you missed a show. What else would you expect with Isolde Ovetha and Haregewoin Taharqua squaring off? I mean, come on. The crown princess of Broceliande versus the named successor Principali of Hykaera? People have written legends about their bloodlines alone and the Shedim their families have contracted with over the generations, but seeing members of those families actually fight…?” He whistled softly.

  Mags frowned as she thought about the two names. Isolde. Images of pale heels licking the air as children foot-raced in the field behind Soulgrave House. Haregewoin Taharqua. That was the tall dark-skinned woman’s name. The Principali of Hykaera. Mags wondered how many royal and noble families sent their children to Brightwash, as opposed to one of the other prestigious Academies at Wrifton. “So what can you tell me about their fight? Was it the same as mine had been, with the rings?” she asked.

  “Zone control,” Galiel said, his fingers tracing an invisible map in the air between them. “Three zones on the field, and each student started in control of one. To win, you had to take control of all three zones, and control the entire field for at least twenty seconds. They were able to gain control of a zone by being the only one in it for twenty seconds, or by actively removing the controlling person from their zone.” He let out a short laugh. “The third kid—didn’t catch his name—didn’t need assistance with that part. Poor guy took one look at those two and surrendered immediately. Couldn’t blame him, honestly. And that left the audience with the best case scenario: a proper duel between Ovetha and Taharqua!”

  Mags tried to remember the third student’s name. Chandrakant?

  “What happened?” Mags asked, leaning forward slightly.

  “Pure chaos,” Galiel said, eyes glittering. “Isolde started strong, using her speed and reach with her armament—a spear—to take control of the third zone and keep Taharqua from attempting to enter either of her two zones. Haregewoin countered with some sort of earth-shaking technique—I swear, I thought the whole coliseum was going to collapse. The crowd was roaring. It was like watching two storms crash into each other, and neither one was holding back. Ultimately, though. . .” He gave a dramatic pause, flashing his sharp teeth. “Isolde took it. Barely. Her aura control is unbelievable. It’s like she doesn’t waste a single drop of aether and was able to overwhelm Taharqua with a flurry of spells.”

  Mags let out a slow breath, imagining the scene. A fight like that would’ve shaken her to her core to witness, let alone participate in. She felt the painful sting of her loss to Szed all over again, the nagging reminder of how far she still had to climb. How would I have fared against Isolde and Haregewoin? Without being able to conjur the full strength of the Angel she hosted, probably not much better than Chandrakant had.

  Galiel seemed to notice her pensive expression because he shifted the topic. “So, Mags,” he said, his tone light. “Where exactly are you from? I’ve never heard of ‘Solstice.’ Sounds mysterious.”

  “It’s in Olendar,” Mags said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “The Far Country, to be specific. It’s not far from the Green Sea.”

  Galiel tilted his head, curious. “The Green Sea? You lived near that? What’s it like?”

  “Well, I’ve never actually been to the Green Sea,” Mags said with a small smile. “Too dangerous. And obviously the Coalition Front is there, so it’s not like there are towns and villages right on the edge, but I was close enough to give you a sense of where I’m from.”

  “Hmm,” Galiel mused, tapping his fingers against the back of his chair. “Sounds like a completely different world from Ravaelia.”

  Mags perked up. “You’re from Ravaelia?” The heart of the Ravaelian Empire. “What’s it like living on the Sky Continent?”

  Before Galiel could answer, Edvard, who had been quietly listening from his bed, spoke up. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but carried a thoughtful weight. “It’s not what most people imagine,” he said, his purple eyes darting toward Mags before quickly looking away. “You forget you’re floating so high above the ocean most of the time. The cities feel . . . normal, I suppose. Except the skies are clearer, and sometimes, if you’re close enough to the border, you can see the edge of the island if you climb high enough.”

  “Yeah,” Galiel added, giving Edvard a sideways glance, as if surprised he’d spoken up. “It’s not like we’re walking around feeling like you’re flying all day, or that we’re so superior to you earth-bound folk—though, you know, some of us wouldn’t say no to the extra compliments.” He winked, and Mags snorted despite herself.

  She leaned back, letting the conversation settle in her mind. From the Sky Continent—and the seat of the Empire—to a small village in Olendar’s Far Country. Regardless of where they hailed from, they were all there now, on the same stage.

  “How was the journey from Ravaelia to here?” she asked. “It’s quite the trek.”

  Galiel puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out, deflating them. “You could say that again. Ed and I were actually on the same transport, right Ed?” Edvard gave a short nod. “Along with this new professor joining Brightwash from the Explorers Guild . . . Don’t recall his name. Hope I don’t have him for class now. That would be awkward!”

  Edvard spoke up. “It was actually my first time. Leaving the Sky Continent.”

  Galiel leaned forward, the chair he’d been rocking in tilting precariously on its back legs. His greenish-yellow eyes sparkled with interest. “So, you’re a Recommended recruit… Are you roommates with one of your esteemed peers? Do we have two of you extra-special guys on our floor?”

  “Er, no. I arrived late, so I was placed with a Second-Year student. Her name is Rue.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. Did you just say your roommate’s name is Rue?”

  Mags nodded. “Yeah. Rue Hirata, I think?”

  Galiel’s reaction was immediate—and dramatic. He nearly toppled backward off his chair, arms flailing as he caught himself just in time. “Rue Hirata?”

  “Uh… yes?” Mags said cautiously, eyeing him like he’d just sprouted an extra head.

  Galiel slapped the back of the chair for emphasis, leaning forward eagerly. “Do you even know who that is?”

  Mags shook her head. “She plays some sort of lute, and she doesn’t talk much. That’s about all I’ve got so far.”

  “Lute—!” Galiel groaned, slumping forward as though physically pained. “Okay, let me spell it out for you. Rue Hirata is a member of the most impressive squad of Second-Years this school has probably ever seen. And do you know who her squadmate is? Guarani Adonargui!”

  Mags blinked. “And . . . I’m supposed to know who that is?”

  Galiel gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just insulted his ancestors. “Guarani Adonargui is a legend here at Brightwash! He’s only in his third semester, but he’s already being hailed as a future high-ranker once he hits the Front. People are already comparing him to the military greats. He’s already a Pillar.”

  Mags stared at him, still lost. She recognized the term ‘Pillar’ from her lessons in preparation for attending Brightwash. After their first semester, once fully entered into the ranks of Brightwash, all students were provided with a rank from Bronze to Diamond, and above Diamond were the ‘Ranked’ students—also known as the Pillars—the top ten students in all of Brightwash, who formed the Academy’s student council. But she supposed she didn’t quite grasp how impressive what Galiel was saying actually was.

  “Erm . . . Okay?”

  Galiel smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

  “Here we go…” she heard Edvard mutter.

  Galiel continued. “Guarani is only the third student in the history of Brightwash to obtain a position as a Pillar while still attending the Lower School. It’s him, some guy from ages ago who I think is only somewhat remembered as the Chaotic Titan of Brightwash—don’t recall his name—and then, of course, Olvira Stromsonn.”

  For some reason, ‘the Chaotic Titan’ tickled something in the back of her brain. “And who is Olvira Stromsonn?”

  Galiel just about fainted from shock at her question. “You’ve got to be kidding me? . . . She’s the current Number One, and head of the Pillars. She’s in the Upper School, and is looking like she might be the first student to ever obtain the title of Dux per Par twice while attending here! Though, with Guarani in the field this year, that might be a little less likely now.”

  “Twice?” Mags echoed, feeling her head spin. It was hard for her to imagine someone being able to be Dux per Par twice during their short tenure in Wrifton. But the fact that someone was able to do it so early, while still in the Lower School, gave her a glimmer of hope that she might even be able to accomplish the same.

  “Twice,” Galiel confirmed with a nod.

  Mags exhaled, shaking her head. “That’s . . . a lot to take in.” She tried to process everything he’d just thrown at her. Legendary students, impossible achievements, an entire school full of people with expectations as high as the Sky Continent.

  She jokingly added, “This isn’t going to be on the first exam, is it?”

  Galiel barked a laugh, the sharp edges of his teeth flashing in the dim light. “If it is, you’ll have the honor of failing alongside the rest of the class, other than me. I’m just a bit of a nerd for the lore of this School.”

  Even Edvard cracked a small smile at that, though he quickly looked down to hide it.

  Galiel stood, stretching his arms above his head. “Speaking of failure, Ed and I were thinking about grabbing some supper. Care to join us? You look like you could use a bite after all the chaos at the coliseum today.”

  Mags’ stomach chose that exact moment to rumble, loud enough for all three of them to hear. She flushed but grinned. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Excellent!” Galiel said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see if the mess hall’s got anything resembling edible food tonight.”

  Together, the three of them stepped out into the hallway, and for the first time since her arrival, Mags felt like she might actually find her place at Brightwash.