“Fiona, please.” My father, pleading, reached out for my mother. I looked down at myself; I was at least two years old. “Don’t do this; what about Ashlem? Do you know how horrible it is to grow up without a dad? Because I do—” My mother pushed my father out the door.
“Hunter. Don’t even try, and... don’t come back.” My mother shut the door and looked out the open blinds, which sometimes prevented anyone from looking through the glass of the door but were now excluding my father from our lives. She closed the shutters and her eyes, sinking to the floor and sobbing. Her whole body shuddered as she breathed. “Ashlem, I can sense you. Come out, baby.” I wiggled out from behind the wall that divided the kitchen and the foyer to see my snotty, puffy-eyed mother.
“Where is Daddy going, momma?” I asked, all innocent. All my question did was make my mother sob louder and messier than before.
“To his new family, Ash.” My mother wiped her tears and snot away and took my tiny, toddler-sized hands in hers. "You know how you've always wanted a sibling? Well, you now have one.” My mother grinned for a second before immediately starting to bawl again. “Just come here for a second, Ash. Sit here with me.” My mother cradled me until I, or she, fell asleep. I couldn’t be certain; everything had turned black.
“Ashlem?” A voice called out from the darkness. “Ashlem…?” The voice asked again, then a light appeared, and I was soon enveloped.
“Ash!” I woke up with someone yelling my name and flicking me in the forehead. “Get up! My brother had to get me. Do you know how freaking annoying that was? Come on, or we’re both going to be late.” I opened my eyes to see Noma hovering over me. My eyes shot to the clock on my bedside table that was flashing the numbers: 7:50. Crap, my eyebrows nearly reached my hair line. “Exactly.” Noma grabbed my wrists, pulling me up. “Come on. Get dressed–” Noma picked up my schedule that I had sat on the same bedside table that held the clock that was now blaring at me. Noma quickly turned the clock off, trying to focus on the piece of paper in her hand. "-We both have Hereus History, which starts in ten minutes and is on the whole opposite side of the campus." Noma’s voice dropped while she explained the direness of the situation.
I shot up from my bed, my eyes wide as saucers. “Come on, history starts in ten minutes.” I practically yelled. I swatted Noma off of the bed, allowing me to jump up. I buzzed around my dorm, clothing myself in the school’s uniform, tying my shoes, brushing my teeth, and frantically placing my mana-enforced contacts into my eyes. Noma and I speed-walked, basically ran, toward our class, finally bursting through the frosted French doors with a thud, the bell ringing after us.
The noise of the doors was too loud; every single student in the class turned to look at us. “Come, sit.” Our professor gestured that we should sit in the two empty chairs in the middle of the first row. Noma and I stared at each other for a good ten seconds before we both finally found the will to move our feet. “Come on, we don’t have all day. Even if you think so.” Our professor muttered the last of his words; he eyed Noma as he said them. Noma and I stumbled down the stairs to our seats, tripping over one another before making a safe landing in the two vacant seats at the front of the auditorium. “Now, if we are all settled, could you please take out your books and turn to page 356.” Prof. Flait, whose name was written on the chalkboard behind him, spoke in a monotonous tone.
The class continued undeterred; mindlessly turned the pages of our textbooks as Flait instructed us to. “Can anyone tell us when mana manipulation was first discovered?” The professor sat on the edge of his desk, pointing to a Harpy-Raecan sitting behind me, whose hand had shot up. “Uriah.” Flait moved his arms from pressing on his desk to wrapping them around his chest.
“Uri, please.” The Haycan corrected Flait, winking at him. “And, uhm, …” She mumbled while flipping to the correct page. “–0 BA.” Uri finished confidently, nodding as she said it.
“And what do the letters BA stand for?” Prof. Flait questioned Uriah’s overconfidence in herself. Uriah’s eyebrows knitted together as she fervently skimmed through the pages of the book in front of her. She finally closed the book in exasperation.
"...Before Ashlem..?" Uriah finally let out after tightly closing her eyes and pressing her fingernails into her palms.
“Very good.” Prof. Flait clasped his hands together before getting up from his desk and writing 'BA equals Before Ashlem' on the black board. “You’re lucky it was common sense.” He put down the chalk and turned around, staring directly at Uri for an instance. Uri relaxed back into her red cushioned seat, folding her arms and trying to feign confidence. As I looked from Uri back to Flait, he was now writing a new page number on the board. “Now go to page 457, and Uriah, oh, sorry, Uri, please pay attention, as this will be on the test at the end of the week. Now that we know that BA stands for Before Ashlem, which most of you probably already knew, we'll focus on The First Five. Whoa, cool, I know right.” Flait wobbled his voice, smiling.
Prof. Flait appeared to be engrossed in his lessons as he delivered them; he paused several times, staring into space, silently contemplating the history of Hereus. The bell rang while he was in one of his daydreams, startling him out of it. “Oh, sorry. You are dismissed. And don’t forget that we have a test on Friday!” He yelled while the whole class filtered out of the door.
Noma bumped into me, swinging her arm around my shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s our first day!” She unhooked me and walked backward until she was looking at me and not at where she was going. She came across a group of teenage girls dressed in matching collared undershirts and intricate sweaters in a rainbow of clashing colors. Noma made one of the girls stumble, bumping into the whole group and making them collectively fall over. I grabbed Noma's wrist and pulled her up and into the nook between some blue lockers and a wall, just as she was about to collapse due to the domino effect she had caused.
“You know, you could've been more careful.” I stared intently into Noma’s eyes. Noma, who was now stuck between my two arms, was wide-eyed, and her cheeks were flushed. Noma instantly pushed me off of her.
“Sorry.” She quickly walked to her next class, avoiding direct eye contact, leaving me in the middle of the rapidly emptying corridor. As she skidded off, she swiped the front of her navy blue, paneled skirt that was part of the school’s uniform and smiled and waved at fellow classmates. I looked up at the clock; I was not going to be late for a second class. After a moment, I hurried after Noma, trying to process the fast movements that had just occurred, which I would not realize were incredibly embarrassing until years later.
I entered my second class, Battle Magic, subconsciously looking for Noma. My eyes darted around the classroom, finally settling on Noma, who was sitting at the far end of the room. When she saw me looking for her, her face reblushed, and she instantly swiveled her head away from my direction. I flattened my lips into a straight line and furrowed my eyebrows. I looked at her for an instant before taking a seat in the middle of the second row of the classroom.
The classroom was semi-outdoor with raised seating that surrounded a grassy plain. The stone stair-like seats had three walls: the back and sides sloped down onto a cement walkway that bordered all of the seats, and railings surrounded them on the north side. The place reminded me of a theatron, but it wasn’t 5 BA, and it wasn’t used for plays. The old Ayans also didn’t have glass protecting them from the elements—or, in this case, protecting others from the battles that conspired inside the place.
As the professor entered, the room stilled, with some of the boys actually in awe. Clearson was known for being strict, a battle genius, and—not as importantly—a beauty. “Class.” She clapped her hands, sending waves of noise throughout the whole room; she was a Hertzie. Sound is one of the only majors that isn’t tested for; no majors that are passed down by blood are tested for. Except for Gildism, but that’s just because of the kingdoms’ insane greed to be the best in next year's Battle of Kingdoms.
“Today we will be learning basic battle magic.” She put down a thick binder that she was holding in the nook of her elbow on her desk. This desk was at least 15 feet below where I was sitting and on the entire other side of the oval-shaped grassy area below. “You.” I stopped admiring the classroom for long enough to realize that she was pointing at me. “Come down here.” I hesitated for a moment, looking around me just to see if I was mistaken, and she was pointing at some other hopeless person besides me. “Yes, you.” I finally rallied up some courage and stood up. I timidly walked down the stairs that were on both sides of the amphitheater. I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.
Once I got down the seemingly endless flight of stairs, Professor Clearson directed me to stand in the exact middle of the grass, aligned with her desk and facing my fellow classmates. “Can you tell me the first type of battle magic?” She circled me, eyeing me like a vulture would a corpse, which I incoherently felt like.
“Elemental.” I mumbled under my breath, looking down at my feet.
“Look up when you’re talking to someone.” The professor tapped my chin with three of her fingers. “But I guess I should give credit where credit is due. You are correct; the first type of battle magic is that of the elements.” I looked at Prof. Clearson's face—her smile, her eyes looking up at me, into me. She squinted, hesitating before continuing. “You will be demonstrating this magic today.” She then whispered something so that only I could hear. “You might have to battle someone also.” She tried to suppress a laugh, smiling widely. Evil woman.
“Now, could you please demonstrate your element to the class?” Prof. Clearson clapped her hands in excitement. I rolled my eyes.
I steadied myself, focusing on the ground below me. I put all my energy into thinking of a stone wall, raising my hands, and feeling force coming from my fingertips. My body began to feel the gravitational pull of the air molecules surrounding me, trying to pull the rock in the ground toward them. I could see the cores of the atoms in the air grow, which simultaneously grew their gravitational pull. I didn’t know how I was seeing it, and I doubted anyone else could. Then a stone wall of about 16 feet was erected in front of me. I looked up in wonder; I was still unused to practicing my magic. Being able to create something so large definitely inflated my ego by a substantial amount. “That was very good, but you’re still a little rigid.” She placed her hand on my back and then turned to the rest of the class. “When you use your major, it should feel as easy as breathing. Now, pay close attention.” A millisecond after she stopped talking, I became deaf. The only thing I could hear was a shrill ringing. A second later, my senses were revived by a warped whooshing sound. Now I was the one in awe of Professor Clearson, and it wasn’t because of her beauty.
“I’m not sure I am ever going to become that comfortable with using my element.” I chuckled deprecatingly and scratched the back of my neck, looking at the ground.
“Didn’t I say to look someone in the eyes when talking to them?” Clearson tapped my chin and spoke solemnly.
“Sorry ma’am.” I murmured, clasping my hands together and hanging them in front of me.
“No, not at all. Especially since I am now going to make you fight someone.” She grinned and whispered in my ear. She then turned to the rest of the students. “And now, since this is Battle Magic class, and fights are always good fun, we are going to be seeing Mr.—?”
“Ashlem Beckett.” I stated soberly. I stared directly down at the grass under Professor Clearson’s feet when she turned away from me. I didn’t want to show how absolutely terrified I was to do this.
“Mr. Beckett is going to be fighting someone.” Clearson turned to me smiling; there was a blazing fire in her eyes. She started to circle me again, her body moving up and down as she walked. It was almost as if the universe was trying to make me fail. Why in the world had she picked me? It was like she could read my mind: “Now, I picked Mr. Beckett because he is the only Gravitt in this class, and I wanted to have you guys watch a Liquider and a Gravitt battle. They are always... interesting to watch, to say the least. Or maybe it's the most.” She chuckled to herself. She stopped in front of me, facing the class. “Now, please raise your hand if you are a Liquider.” Seven people raised their hands, all looking better than the last. “Very good. Now, please say your name, level, and rank. Starting with Adam.” Clearson pointed to a broad, young-looking man. His blonde hair was almost white in the light.
“Adam Olestein, level 3, Rank C.” The other students stood and described themselves, one by one: May Farrow; level 3, Rank D: Marzie Largo; level 2, Rank D: Abraham Dunn; level 3, Rank C. It continued in this way, and each and every one of them was better than I was. While I was certainly alarmed when the seven raised their hands, but not everyone scared me as much as the student furthest to the left. He stood up, and he was statuesque. I couldn’t understand how he could be a water elemental given how big he was. But sometimes water comes in the form of a tsunami. “Marcos Harrington, level 4, Rank B.” He scared me so much because Marcos was the first son of the most famous hunter in Hereus history—Chris Harrinton.
A loud clap from Prof. Clearson broke me out of my thoughts. “It’s definitely not slim pickings around here.” Clearson rubbed her hands together. I waited for her choice, even though deep down I knew that there was only one real choice. “Marcos Harrington, could you please come down here?”
“Of course, ma’am,” He moved like a soldier—rigid and unaltering. He didn’t project his element at all. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had Goldlock ancestry and metal-bending in his blood. Marcos might as well have been the 16-foot wall that I rose a couple minutes earlier, for he was at least six-foot-seven, a whole eight inches taller than I was. He stood in front of me, his back facing the students who waited in anticipation. Marcos extended his hand for a handshake, which I grudgingly accepted. Marcos’ forever stern face morphed into a kind of grin, and his hand squeezed mine so hard I almost couldn’t bear it. “I don’t think it would be very fair if you knew my rank and I didn’t know yours.” His grin grew into an evil-looking sneer.
-Go to #2 of Chapter 3-
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