Chapter Twenty-Three #2
In the distance, surrounded by cascading waterfalls that seem to spill from the heavens like liquid silks—the water pouring into a network of streams winding through the hills—nestled comfortably amongst the verdant swells of land, stands Bathara Academy.
It’s a sprawling complex that looks part manor, part castle, glinting iridescent against the morning light. Majestic towers and spires forged from natural stone branch into their own wings, encased by an architecturally astounding wall made of glimmering moonstone, carved with ornate decadence.
A dazzling academy, astounding waterfalls, and one thought: Am I dreaming?
It is everything and more I ever fantasized it could be.
I glance up at Gray, who is just as wide-eyed and slack-jawed as me. “I never imagined it would be so beautiful,” he murmurs.
Someone clears their throat, and when I glance toward the sound, I find Kiran and Draven standing off to the side, a few paces ahead with their arms crossed.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Kiran asks.
I huff a laugh, absorbing all I possibly can of the sight. “Remarkable is an understatement.”
One side of Kiran’s mouth curves. “I understand entirely.”
Griff appears, and the portal blinks shut behind him. “Well then, shall we be on our way?”
When we reach the front of the academy, Draven and Kiran excuse themselves, saying they have other matters to attend to now that they’re back at Bathara.
My heart deflates as the question forms in my mind: are they going to find Nuha and tell her about Meiji?
On instinct, I grip the ring in my pocket.
I wonder if I should give it to them? I know Meiji handed it to me, but I was his only option.
Kiran and Draven…they seem to know Nuha.
And even if they aren’t familiar with her on an intimate level, at least it won’t be a complete stranger offering Nuha her fallen partner’s ring—quite possibly the only remaining item left of Meiji for Nuha to keep.
Deciding, I quicken my steps to catch them. “Wait,” I call out.
Draven and Kiran stop. Kiran turns fully, while Draven only shifts partway. But Draven is the one closest to me, so I pull the ring from my pocket, hold it up for them to see, then gently grip Draven’s wrist, lifting his hand to place it in his rough palm.
“Where did you get this?” he asks me in a low voice.
“Meiji gave it to me. He asked me to give it to Nuha, and to tell her that he loves her, and he’s sorry he couldn’t keep his promise.” I pause, swallowing against the lump clogging my throat. “I figure his final words will mean more to Nuha if they’re not coming from a total stranger.”
Draven stares at the ring for a long, silent moment.
Kiran steps forward and observes the ring with a wistful stare. “Before burning his body,” he supplies quietly, “we searched him for this ring. We knew what it meant to him—what it represented. We thought it was lost.” Kiran looks up from the ring and at me. “Thank you.”
The quiet earnestness of his gratitude catches me off guard.
Draven’s fingers slowly close around the object, and he drops his fist to his side.
His expression remains unreadable as he studies me in silence for several seconds.
Eventually, he tears his gaze from mine and redirects it to Kiran.
“Come on,” he says with a jerk of his chin.
“We’ve got to go if we want to make it in time. ”
Kiran nods at Draven before offering me a parting smile. Then, with closed mouths and silent steps, they turn and continue walking ahead toward the gated entrance. I stay behind, absently observing them as they go, a strange numbness drifting through my chest.
As I watch, I notice the quiet look of deference lingering in the eyes of the guards standing vigil at the academy’s gates as they let Kiran and Draven pass. Afterward, confusion ripples across their features as they notice that both men had been traveling with me only moments before.
Odd…the way the guards almost seem protective over them.
I jolt at the sound of Gray’s voice. “Everything alright?”
I hadn’t realized he and Griff caught up with me. “Yeah,” I assure him through a series of rapid blinks. “Of course.”
Griff stretches out his arms and grips both Gray and me around the shoulders, guiding us forward. “Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll escort you two to the check-in table before leaving you to your own devices.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting—maybe for the academy to be packed with scary people—but everyone looks so…normal. Not to mention, the academy grounds are so large, it doesn’t feel crowded at all.
My eyes bounce around, drinking in all they can. The courtyards are beautiful. The fountains are lavish. The marble walkways, enclosed by sprawling bushes, are decadent. And I count five impressive wings in total—or at least, the ones that are visible.
Groups of people stand scattered around, laughing or whispering.
I catch more than a few girls watching through lowered lids as Griff and Gray pass by, smiling with fabricated innocence.
It takes a feat of strength not to roll my eyes at the display—clearly, a strength the noblewomen here lack, considering they do exactly that to me, paired with a lovely sneer.
Typical.
A movement catches my eye, and I flick my gaze between Gray and Griff, finding them both standing a little straighter, their chins lifted.
I arch a brow. “Really?”
“What?” Griff challenges through a laugh. “Might as well give ‘em what they want.”
“Shameless flirt, indeed,” I mutter. My eyes slide to Gray next. “You, too? I thought you had more dignity than this—you know, honorable Nightenjoy and all.”
Gray chuckles. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”
I click my tongue at him.
When we approach the line formed in front of a large table, Griff claps his hands together. “Well, friends. It’s been fun.”
My brows skip up. “I don’t know if ‘fun’ is the exact word I’d use.”
He pinches his chin. “Fair point.” A pause.
“It was nice traveling with you, then.” Griff rubs the back of his neck.
“Good luck on the exams. I hope to see the both of you in aggregate uniforms after the Autumnal Equinox.” He glances to the side before back at us, leaning forward and cupping a hand over his mouth.
“All I’m saying is,” he begins in a whisper, “if the opportunity arises and you find yourself Selected by the captain of the Castaria aggregate, you should accept.”
My face scrunches. “What? What does that—”
His loud, cheery whistling cuts my question short, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets before turning on his heels and walking away. He throws up an idle hand as a final goodbye.
“He really is quite the character, isn’t he?” Gray muses from beside me, humor leaking into his words.
“Something like that,” I say through a smile, watching him wander farther and farther away.
The long line moves quicker than I expect, which is equal parts a good thing and a bad thing. It gives me time to settle my growing nerves, but it also gives me time to marinate in my own pointed thoughts. Before I know it, Gray is next in line.
“Name?” A man in his mid-twenties with long, mousy-brown hair asks Gray while staring down at a piece of parchment.
He wears a stone-colored tunic paired with a fitted, deep pine-green robe trimmed in crimson.
An emblem featuring a white eagle with outstretched wings is stitched in gray and red over his left pectoral.
Above the eagle, a banner of burnished bronze unfurls, the word Elefet scribed artistically within.
Below the eagle is another banner, angular and sloped to a point.
Inside, the word Glory is elegantly written in bold print.
Gray’s voice is steady when he responds. “Gray Nightenjoy.”
The man looks up, his head cocked. “Nightenjoy, eh? We haven’t seen someone from your bloodline in a while. What type of wielder are you?”
“I wield illusionary magic.”
The man leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “No kidding? We haven’t seen someone with that type of magic in a long, long time. Do you have a particular aggregate you’re hoping to be accepted into?”
Gray shakes his head, and I wonder if he, too, wonders why everyone keeps asking that question. “Not particularly.”
The man with amber eyes huffs a laugh. “Well, if you’re worth a damn at all, you’ll no doubt be accepted into at least one aggregate with that magic.
I’d wager you wind up with the Castaria aggregate.
The captain likes to collect unique wielders, you see.
” He records Gray’s name and magic type onto a piece of parchment.
Once finished, he gives Gray a close-lipped smile. “Good luck.”
Gray nods his thanks and then veers off to the side. I approach the table as Gray did.
Without looking up, the man again asks, “Name?”
I lift my chin. “Lyra Izacalli.”
“What type of wielder are you?”
Fighting the urge to shift on my feet, I chew on my lip instead. “Uhm…flora-wielder, I think.”
His head jerks up from the parchment, and he narrows his eyes at me. “What do you mean you think ?”
My hands clench together before I make them go slack. “As in, my wielder’s mark hasn’t manifested yet, so I don’t know my wielder-type for certain.”
The man studies me carefully, looking positively dumbfounded. “You don’t have a wielder’s mark? When the hell did your magic manifest?”
Do I tell him the truth? Do I lie? Or at least, embellish reality?
The truth makes me seem weak, yet a lie implies I have some strange defect. How else do I explain the lack of a wielder’s mark without raising suspicion?
I decide on the truth, settling on the simple fact that perceived weakness often leads others to underestimate a person—which, honestly, is probably better for me anyway.
“A few days ago, actually.”