Chapter Two #3
Isla offered her friend a small smile. “Okay, that sounds straightforward.” Though the simple explanation was doing nothing to calm her racing heart; nor did the idea of what Summoners could do seem cut and dry.
Her mind was whistling with all the potential things a Summoner could do if knowledge and imagination were combined.
“So back to your earlier question, I, as a Ventus Summoner, can not only manipulate or wield existing wind; I can also create—or summon—wind, as well as storms, lightning, and thunder.”
Isla nodded as if she understood, but she really didn’t. She tried to suppress a shudder at the thought of someone wanting to create storms. Had the storm today been summoned by Harold? She eyed him warily.
He gave her an amused look as if he knew where her thoughts had gone. “On top of that, as a Summoner, I also have philosophical abilities, which Wielders don’t have. I can perceive and influence emotions, through what we call emotional echoes that ride on the air around us.”
“You’re able to influence emotions. You can project feelings? Are you doing it now? Is that why I feel grief that my inner scientist just short-circuited?” she grumbled.
Harold smiled reassuringly at her, though she did not feel reassured.
“No, there are laws against influencing emotions without authority.”
“Okay,” Isla said slowly, “I can see how that could be a potential hazard.” She decided to bring them back to her original inquiry, though her overactive brain wanted to jump down another rabbit hole and ask questions about the laws governing those who used Aetheric Arts.
“You were saying about the people who come here, they don’t always have their abilities awakened? ”
“Correct. Though each case is different, and it is not often we have to make such a choice. There are various factors that help me make the decision to let a non-Aetherian attend. Sometimes my colleagues advise me as to who to accept, using their own unique abilities to determine whether they believe a student has the potential to have their gifts awakened while here.” At this, Isla noticed Harold’s eyes flick to Andrew and back, while Andrew fidgeted a little beside her.
“I also look into their family history, as genetics do play a part, though I am not saying that every Aetherian has Aetherian parents.” At this, Isla squirmed; she didn’t know her parents.
“I can also sometimes personally feel someone’s potential through their emotions and their drive to learn.
It isn’t always decisive, but powerful Aetherians have a thirst for knowledge.
So on rare occasions, even if their abilities haven’t awakened, I allow them access to the university, but they are never introduced to the Aetheric Arts department until their gifts have been awakened.
Students and staff with Aetheric Arts abilities all sign a legal document when joining our university that states they cannot under any circumstances share the location or the subject matter being taught in that department. ”
“Oh,” Isla said softly, understanding dawning.
“So,” Harold said, “I allow certain students in, if I feel there is a strong chance they could be an Aetherian, even if they aren’t aware of it.”
“And if their abilities never awaken?”
“Then they get a first-rate education. None the wiser.”
Isla hesitated, something tugging at her. “And the staff?”
Harold looked at her—really looked at her. A deep, measuring gaze that made her skin prickle. “If I can, I only employ those whose abilities are already awakened.”
Her voice was smaller now. “But ... I didn’t have any abilities. Mine weren’t awakened.”
“You,” he said quietly, “had the strongest emotional echo I’ve ever sensed in someone. Among other things.”
Something knotted in Isla’s stomach. “So that’s why I was hired?”
He shook his head, slow but not entirely convincing. “No. You are a genius, Isla. A brilliant mind. Your teaching is outstanding. Do not doubt that.”
“But you noticed me because of the echo.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He did look at Andrew again, and it made Isla stiffen.
Isla sat very still, unsure how to feel. Grateful? Deceived? Or just ... overwhelmed?
“It sounds like I have a lot to learn about the Aetheric Arts.”
“Yes, but let’s not overwhelm you tonight. You need food and rest.”
“But how do I know which Aetheric Art I’m associated with? And how do I know if am a basic user or you know ... advanced?”
She startled slightly when Andrew spoke; he’d been quiet for a while.
“Show me your wrist.”
She blinked at him, surprised. His voice was low, almost reverent, and he was staring at her like he was seeing something she couldn’t.
Her breath caught. She wanted to be annoyed that he was ahead of her again, that he and Harold had a relationship through knowing about the Aetheric Arts before her, but curiosity won out.
Slowly, she lifted her arm, awkward under the weight of both her own coat and Andrew’s jacket.
She pushed back the sleeve, exposing the skin of her wrist.
Andrew moved closer, cradling it gently in both hands, his fingers warm. How could Ice Man have warm hands? She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Harold and Juliette watched in silence as he examined the mark.
“Most people only get one part of the mark. That means they’re destined to be Wielders of the Arts. On rare occasions, their mark can expand. However, there are already three parts to your Sigil,” Andrew said.
“You mean tattoo?”
“It’s not a tattoo,” he murmured. “More like a birthmark that arrives late.”
He traced a finger gently over the first symbol—a straight line anchored by two small bars.
“This means you’ve awakened your Aetheric Arts—the basic gift. A Wielder.”
He moved his finger to a circle crowning the top of the bar, his touch featherlight. “This circle means you’re capable of accessing the Advanced Arts, to become a Summoner.”
Then he paused.
His eyes met hers—no teasing, no smirk. Just something solemn, deep, and unreadable.
“Harold didn’t mention this, but there is potential for power even beyond the advanced users.
This final part of your Sigil mark,” he said, running his finger gently over the final part of the design—twin swirls curling at the heart of the symbol—his voice barely above a whisper, “means you’re Fated. ”