No more sharing.
Speaking of sharing, we must have gone over a hundred scenarios this evening on how I ended up in this predicament. Each one we came up with was improbable and impossible to explain. Honestly, at this point, it doesn’t even matter. We can’t undo what has already been done.
I grab my steaming mug of tea and take a generous sip, the hot liquid warming my throat as it goes down. I’m nervous about the classes I’ll be assigned to tomorrow, and I was having trouble falling asleep because of it. The kitchen steward recommended this brew when I asked for something calming to sip on before bed. I feel like perhaps Kintoira has bitten off more for me than I can chew. How does someone balance light and dark magic without it driving them completely mad?
Walking that kind of fine line is dangerous.
A coin cannot show both sides at once. It’s either one side or the other.
Reading the results hurt. Like physically hurt. The sharp jab of pain from seeing my name at the bottom of the parchmentcauses the back of my throat to itch and my eyes to feel heavy. I tried so hard. I gave it my everything,and it still wasn’t enough.
I still wasn’t pure or righteous enough. And that scares me.
Correspondences aren’t allowed during the first few weeks of learning so that we have time to acclimate to the social structure within these walls without outside influences. It seems I’ve been given a hiatus before my mother finds out. That’s if someone here doesn’t leak the information to her first.
Which let’s be honest. She probably already knows.
I set my tea down and uncurl from the window seat, stretching my arms above my head. My eyes feel heavier than they did mere moments ago, and the urge to lie across my new bed to test it out is overwhelming.
The thick material of the comforter surrounds me as I jump into the blankets face-first.
I roll onto my back slowly and let out a big sigh.
The bed is so soft and cozy. That’s the last thought I have before unnerving dreams take hold.
The next day starts in typical fashion.
Badly.
A curse leaves my lips as one of my books bounces off the stone floor, causing it to open and fall sideways, bending a few pages in the process.
“Watch it,” a girl wearing all black barks at me.
“Sorry,” I mutter to her retreating back.
I rearrange the pack hanging on my shoulder, all while trying to balance the multiple books in my other arm and bend down topick it up. I have to carry around twice as many texts as everyone else because I have twice as many courses.
Most students have study periods or library sessions coordinated into their schedules, but not me. They filled those with additional classes. The only bright spot is that they took away my lieutenant rank due to my courseload, so I don’t have to attend officer classes or shoulder that responsibility.
Ashlyn remains a lieutenant in the Veil squad, and Mayline kept hers as well for the Noctryns. I have no idea who replaced me, if anyone. Apparently, there isn’t a set number of officers who can be assigned each year. It just depends on how many individuals qualify.
I still haven’t figured out the qualifications.
At the moment, it’s pretty low on my fucks to give.
Class schedules were given out toward the end of last week, and I’m still struggling to find my way around. Typically, it results in me running from one end of the academy to another since the dark and light classes are separated.
I roll my eyes. They couldn’t make it easy on me and schedule them accordingly.
The few courses the two regiments do take together aren’t on my schedule until the end of the day. By then, I am a sweaty, exhausted mess.
A bell chimes, and my next class has already begun by the time I make it to the upper northwest corner of the academy and slip through the door. The professor is writing on the blackboard, her long blond hair twisted into an elegant style that falls down her back, swishing back and forth as she writes.
I slip into an empty desk a few rows from the back and set theShadowcraft: Fundamentals of Shadow Weavingbook on top. The guy to my right is bouncing his leg full of nervous energy as he scans the contents of page 43.
I quickly flip to the same page in my book.
The tapping of chalk on the board continues. Professor Rinkin is written in capital letters at the top, and below are rows of numbers with complex codes of letters and different wavelengths beneath them.
