I turn the corner and start down the stairs.
A smile spreads across my face. Today, we get our Asylamation results. The professors combine our written and physicalportions to determine our placement. We also get our class schedule for our first year.
I nod my head at a pair of third-years as I pass by, evident by the three solid lines embroidered into the shoulder of their uniform. They’re holding cups of something that smells deliciously like coffee. They tip their heads in my direction without pausing their conversation. They acknowledged me like I WAS one of them. It feels really good to find my place. Everyone has one. The place where you feel kinship, understood, and needed.
It’s finding it that’s the hard part.
Right now, the first mission of the day is to find out where the coffee is.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I make it down to the grand hall in record speed. There’s still so much I need to learn about the academy as far as where things are located and shortcuts to get there, but one thing I can find without help is the dining hall. The smell of bacon and eggs hits my nose first. The overpowering aroma fills the room, but it’s not what I’m desperately craving.
The usual boisterous area is eerily quiet, making the massive dining area seem even larger. A few students are scattered throughout, but even they are talking in hushed tones. I walk through the rows of large wooden tables, making my way to the food line, each step pronounced on the hard floor. I grab a flaky biscuit and follow the line, peeking at the other options. A plump woman with silver hair fills up the fruit trays, humming a cheerful tune under her breath.
I clear my throat, hesitant to disturb her.
She continues to hum and organize the fruit by color.
Okay, guess I’m grabbing a fruit. I reach out and select a shiny red apple. “Um, excuse me,” I say softly, especially because it’s so quiet in here, “can you tell me where the coffee is?”
Her robust form rocks back on her heels as she throws a hand over her heart. “Goodness, you’ve given me a fright. I didn’t even see you there,” she breathes out heavily.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, no, it was my own fault. So wrapped up in getting these fruits just right. If it’s coffee you’re wanting, head over to the room next door,” she says. “There are all kinds of morning beverages for your selection.” She’s speaking in a normal tone, which sounds like it’s amplified in the almost silent hall.
I quickly thank her before making my way out.
Directly next door is another dining area, large but smaller than the main one, and filled with anything you could possibly thirst for in the morning. I bypass the orange juice and various brewed concoctions and head straight to the coffee selection. The biscuit and apple are no longer appetizing with all the different flavors and options of this coffee bar. Honestly, just get me an IV and hook me up.
After getting the strongest option they offer, I head back into the hall, eager to explore. I have plenty of time to kill while I wait for the morning to start and the day to begin for everyone else. I’m usually never up this early, but I couldn’t sleep anymore. My nerves are too distraught.
My stomach is a little queasy, and anxiety fills my veins. But I’m not focusing on that.
The coffee warms my hands as I make my way along the flickering halls. Tapestries adorn a few walls, depicting various battles between soldiers and multiple enemies. The largest of them is a vivid portrayal of the Battle of Eyonean, when Salaryan unleashed every able-bodied soldier onto the wraiths. They broke through our wards that day, and many civilian lives were lost before the soldiers could arrive. It was the first time the wraiths had ever penetrated our magic and attacked a heavily populated region. They were absolutely slaughtered for doing so.
Since then, most attacks have been on small villages on the outlying borders, where wards are thinner and the areas are sparsely populated. The borders are and have always been a violent place. The demons want more, though. They’ve always lusted after the larger cities, overflowing with souls for the taking.
I run my fingers over the tapestry.
The threads feel as if they vibrate beneath my fingertips. Their story screams to be told. The souls of those long dead begging not to be forgotten.
Loud talking and heavy footsteps pull my attention from the intricate weave.
Roughly seven or eight Noctryns in full battle gear are walking in my direction. A few of them still wear their helmets, completely blocking out their identities, while the others carry them in their hands or tucked under their arms. Regardless, each one exudes power and a deadly aura. It’s hard not to respect them, even if you don’t particularly like them and what they stand for.
A shudder makes its way down my spine at the picture they paint walking this way. For some reason, my gut screams at me not to draw their attention.
Blend in and shut up, Norissa.
I plaster my back to the cold stone wall, trying my best to bleed into it. Carefully, I bend down to set my coffee on the floor. There’s a little alcove that partially hides me from their direction, and with any luck they won’t even see me here. I’m pretty sure they can’t see me at all, actually, but I can see them.
If the shape their armor is in is any indication, they’ve been fighting. Scuffs and debris adorn the flexible metal on multiple bodies, and those with exposed faces have the look of battle aftermath. It’s impossible to hide the haunting hollowness that fills the eyes after bloodshed.
Even if you’re trained for it.
Tiny hairs stand up on the back of my neck when a Noctryn from the back makes his way toward the front. By his sheer size, I immediately know it’s a man, even with his helmet on and visor pulled down. He easily stands at least six-feet, four inches, if not taller. He also has the authoritative and masculine walk of a man.
But also, somethingmore. Some people just have that something more about them, and he definitely has it.
