Chapter Fifty #2
A figure in a white robe steps out from the tree line.
I recognise him as Opal’s unit leader. He walks with fluid grace toward the podium in front of the Opal students.
Following behind him is a grey-haired woman, also dressed in a white robe.
Her pointed chin is held high as she walks with grace toward her podium.
When a third figure emerges from the tree line, dressed in a deep green robe, my stomach flutters.
Sebastian. He’s several inches taller than Opal’s unit leader, not to mention broader.
Making him that much better to look at as his long legs carry him across to our podium.
The students of Malachite roar loudly as he passes, clearly paying no mind to the silent rule as they clap and chant for their unit leader.
Their cheers fill me with pride as I watch him ascend the podium and turn to face us. Somehow, his eyes find mine within seconds and the hardened look in his eyes softens just a little, making my cheeks heat.
The yelling only gets louder when Nicks arrives, sans robe and dressed in his usual combat gear. Black jacket, pants and laced -up boots. It makes me laugh, because it would be this bloody unit that tosses aside the rules, given the faculty leader can’t be bothered sticking to the dress code.
He joins Sebastian on the podium, clasping him on the shoulder before giving us his attention. There’s mirth in his eyes, but he still gives us a look that tells us to quieten down. Everyone does, obeying his silent command.
The air crackles around us as the unit leader for Agate arrives with her head held high, as if she’s the headmaster herself.
The way she scans her eyes over the crowd as if she’s looking through everyone, not at them, has my nose scrunching.
She was never found guilty of Harley’s death; according to Nicks, there was no magic signature on Harley at all, which meant he was killed by brute force.
And Helena wouldn’t have had the strength to do it.
No one turns their head to watch her ascend the podium – her entrance is outshined by the quiet gravity that descends as Bartollo Zain unfolds from the darkness of the trees.
He steps into the open space with measured precision.
There is a cane in his left hand, helping him navigate the uneven terrain, and it taps against the earth with each step.
The entire length of the cane is a swirl of browns, reds and greys.
It’s made of agate, I realise. The floor length robe he wears is a deep brown, with a golden brooch at his throat holding the two sides together.
It billows around him, blown by a phantom wind.
With each step, the air thickens, and everyone seems to go still in the presence of his magnitude.
Bartollo emanates power, strength and something almost otherworldly as he passes.
He is the backbone of Valmora Academy; it only takes one look at the sea of faces around me to recognise how respected he is.
It makes me wonder what he’s done in order to receive this amount of reverence. Maybe even fear.
‘It has been almost eight centuries since our Stars fell from the sky and joined this world. Offering us their gifts, their magic, their secrets.’ His voice booms across the crowd, unnaturally, as if he’s using his element to extend his voice on the air for us all to hear.
‘Valmora Academy was established five centuries ago. It is my honour to stand here among you all and lead my nineteenth Imber Stellarum celebration. We are here today to thank the Stars for choosing Valmora as their home. To thank them for their generosity, for if they did not sacrifice their ethereal bodies and place their feet on our soil, we would not be here today. The magic that runs through your blood would not exist, and neither would our academy.’
Clapping ensues, a cheer breaks out among the crowd, from students and faculty alike until Bartollo hands his cane to Agate’s unit leader.
He closes his eerie pale eyes and raises his hands in the air, then starts to whisper, so faintly it’s impossible to distinguish.
But slowly, his voice gets louder, until he is chanting in a language I’ve never heard before.
It sounds ancient, but it rolls off his tongue with ease as if he’s spoken these words hundreds of times.
The wind picks up as he becomes more animated, gesturing to the sky, the ground, the ocean behind him.
My skin pebbles, the hair on the back of my neck rises, my heart starts to race.
The atmosphere is electric, almost dizzying as Bartollo’s arms begin to move in front of him, cutting through the air then moving fluidly like water.
His robe starts to whip and lash behind him, as if it’s trying to break free and flutter off into the wind.
He’s wielding, I realise, as the wind starts to sing through the night sky. Until just as suddenly, it stops. Bartollo’s eyes snap open, and something about his expression looks wild. Primal even.
‘The Imber Stellarum has begun,’ he announces. ‘The Stars are ready to accept our offerings.’ Bartollo gestures to his left at the Opal podium. ‘Opalus was the first to fall. She is waiting for your offer.’
Both unit leader and faculty leader face the crowd before them, their white robes reflecting the moonlight like glowing beacons.
‘In the prism of the broken, Opal weaves the light,’ they chant loud and proudly together.
Their unit chants it back. Shivers roll up my spine.
I’ve never felt this type of energy before.
It’s all-consuming, so much so, that as they turn to face the ocean with their arms outstretched, I swear I hear it begin to roar, and I briefly forget that this is the moment I am supposed to slip away.