The sound of weapons being drawn echoes around us. Groans of agony come from both sides of where I lie. What threat could we possibly pose? We’re all indisposed at the moment, and even at our best, we couldn’t compete with upperclassmen or professors.
A shrill scream pierces the air and collides with the bellows of a man in agony.
I raise my weary head to look in their direction. The student is hunched over, pulling at his hair as if he’s trying to tear it from his scalp.
I blink slowly.
I must be hallucinating. His form elongates, his fingers transform into claws, and black scales emerge across his body, replacing flesh. He raises his head to roar, throwing his chair across the room in the process. I freeze at the sight of his raging red eyes darting over the heads of the upperclassmen who have their weapons drawn and ready to return any kind of attack.
The shrieking of a female, hunched over, arms cradling her stomach, draws the beast’s attention. He turns and tears towardher in a full gallop, his claws shredding the wooden dais. A dagger is thrown from the left, lodging in his hind leg, but he doesn’t falter. He grabs the shrieking cadet, his teeth tearing into her neck.
Blood sprays across his face. She frantically grabs his head, and ice starts to coat his entire body.
Chaos erupts all around.
Complete and utter pandemonium.
Veils are forcing cadets to the ground left and right as their powers erupt in uncontrollable anarchy. Noctryns throw daggers and unleash shadows with lethal precision. A first-year close by screams as shadows erupt from his hands, and his body contorts in an unnatural angle.
The professors linger in the back, arms folded, just watching the mayhem unfold. Sentinels relishing the unraveling order they’re meant to control.
I shake my head to try to clear it.
It’s absolute anarchy in here.
I call out to Mallory as she thrashes on the floor, her hands clutching her head, but my voice cracks, and sound refuses to come out. Finnley remains in his chair staring straight ahead, but his eyes are vacant. Mayline rushes over, grabbing onto Mallory’s hand. Shadows ripple around her, but not in a disorderly way. She seems in control. Calm.
I try to rise on all fours, but my arms tremble, and my legs feel numb and hollow. Powers erupt and emerge around me, but the only thing I feel is my broken body. Nothing materializes from within.
I flinch and cover my head as a Noctryn tackles an initiate right next to me.
The student is bearing fangs and looking at me through bloodshot eyes like I’m their next meal. He writhes and screams beneath the dark wielder but is thoroughly subdued by theupperclassman. The Veil, standing guard over me, leans down and scoops me up in his arms. The familiar scent of a stormy tide washes over me.
Darkness coils at the edge of my vision.
The darkness isn’t cruel or loud, and I gladly let it take me.
Chapter fifteen
Expectations are high at the academy.
I’ve known that since before I enrolled. Yet to know it and to witness it are two different things.
Many are still nursing various injuries from the Blood Initiation Ceremony. Some from their first-year peers and others from the upperclassmen maintaining order. Even with the bodily damage and mental exhaustion, we’re expected to attend our classes for the day.
First-years still have powers emerging at inconvenient times, which explains the multitude of upperclassmen pulled from their own classes to guard the hallways and lecture halls alike. Their expressions are stony and uncompromising. I still haven’t figured out if they want us to succeed and join their ranks or fail so they can move on with their academic year without having to hover over us.
The chair legs wobble as I take my seat in another mixed class of both light and dark magic. This class is the one I look forwardto the most. The one I know I’ll excel at. It won’t matter if I’m stuck between two worlds in this room. What’s taught in this class has already been. The lessons learned over and over again, so they don’t repeat themselves.
History.
The professor of the class walks in holding a stack of books balanced precariously under her chin. With the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times, she sets them on her desk without any falling from their designated place and moves over to the teaching podium.
She screams worn elegance. Unlike the other professors here, her robes have seen better days. Almost as if she couldn’t be bothered to replace them. It doesn’t seem to faze her though, as she regally pushes her slim-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. It also doesn’t escape my notice that her fingertips are ink-stained. More than likely from poring over pages of print in the archives. Her pale skin is a stark contrast to the pitch-black hair, bluntly resting on her shoulders. It’s as if she has the pallor of something once buried. A mysterious aura surrounds her like a signature perfume.
I squeeze my quill and sit forward.
Every student in here is staring at her with rapt attention. I don’t know anyone in here except Makon, and I made a point to sit as far from him as possible. I quickly jot down the professor’s name inside my textbook as she introduces herself.
