Lazarus
Trial Two is in three days. Meaning, he decides as he shoves soggy potatoes and overcooked chicken into his mouth, he needs to stay focused on the theme to come. Which is considerably more difficult than usual because Zeno shepherded him to sit with his notoriously distracting friends.
Only he and Kallias—who somehow materialized at the table where Zeno, Alexander, and Eudoxos sit, first for breakfast and now for lunch—are silent, listening to the others ramble on.
“Duo challenge. Who are your bets for partnerships?” Alexander asks with a grin at Zeno, who immediately slings an arm around Eudoxos’ shoulder.
“Obviously the two of us,” Zeno says, ignoring Alexander’s affronted squawk.
“You don’t think I’m in the running at all? I’m your best friend!”
“I’ve known him for longer,” Eudoxos shoots back.
“Sorry, Alex. I can’t say no to this one.” Zeno presses his cheek to Eudoxos’ head, and Lazarus looks away because he feels like he’s intruding.
“Well, it doesn’t even matter,” Alexander says. “I already know who I’m going to be partnered with.” He smiles at Kallias, and Kallias returns it with a glare. “This tall drink of milk over here.”
“I hate you,” Kallias responds, more fondness than fire in his voice.
It’s sort of nauseating to see Kallias act this way. Lazarus always thought of them as the same—immune to obnoxious charm. Obviously not.
“So you agree that we’ll be paired?” Alexander asks, ruffling some of Kallias’ hair out from under the glasses perched on his head. Kallias doesn’t move as Alexander artfully arranges his hair, just keeps eating, angled toward him to give him access.
“I agree that you’re stubborn enough to make sure that the Guardians put us together.”
“Good enough for me.”
They might as well be making out on the table for the amount of intimacy on display here. Not that Eudoxos and Zeno are any better, now play-fighting over Eudoxos’ last potato.
“What about you, Laz?” Zeno asks right when Lazarus finally manages to zone out of their chatter.
Lazarus ignores the stupid nickname and hopes that no one decides to use it again. “What about me?”
“Who do you think you’ll be paired with?”
“Hopefully Theokleia,” he replies honestly.
Alexander gasps. “Does someone have a crush?” he asks, turning to Lazarus, but still leaving a hand at the nape of Kallias’ neck.
“No,” Lazarus says, rolling his eyes. “She’s smart and I think we’ll work well together.”
“Right,” Alexander responds, playfully suspicious.
As if Lazarus could have a crush with the Trials in progress.
In the company of his new idiots, he’s one minute late to the meeting.
He would be annoyed, but he feels lighter than usual. Like maybe this whole thing isn’t the end of the world.
Everyone just barely makes it into their seats, Lazarus at the board with chalk again, when the intercom blares through the room. Whatever inner quiet he found at lunch with Zeno and his friends is gone at the sound of the Educator’s voice.
“Firstly, congratulations to those whom this announcement concerns. You have made it to the second Trial.
“Do not let this pride blind you. In three days, your accomplishments will be null, and you’ll become just as vulnerable as you were a month ago for Trial Two.”
“Well, that’s nice,” he hears Alexander grumble.
“With that said, your theme for the second Trial:
Thinking is paramount when
mountains are high.
Ration’s in slivers when
rivers are wide.
Icarus fell while
reaching for the sky.
Narcissus drowned while
watching his eyes.
Don’t let it fool you
lest you be a fool.
Death is avoidable
if you keep your mind cool.
“May the Forms grant you wisdom in Justice.”
A static sound echoes through the room before the announcement cuts off.
Silence falls for barely a second before Alexander, true to form, blurts out, “Well, that was definitely a poem.”
Kleitos opens his mouth, probably to say something mean, but Theokleia interrupts. “Maybe more like a riddle.”
“Nice, both of you.” Lazarus tries to smile encouragingly, but he’s sure it looks more like a grimace with ambition. “Split into three groups and try to figure out what it means?” he asks.
“Let’s,” Theokleia says.
During the group brainstorming, Lazarus can hardly bring himself to speak. He’s scared, and every day he grows more so. Friends or no friends, lunch or no lunch, everything is closing in on him, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.