Page 13 of Missing

"Brutal is my middle name," I joked, tucking the map safely into the pocket of my jeans. I rolled my shoulders back, ready for whatever came next.

"Alright, everyone, eyes on me," a commanding voice boomed through the classroom as I took my tentative steps back inside and took a seat. The figure at the front was tall and authoritative, with a posture that demanded respect without crossing into intimidation.

"Professor Tindal," he introduced himself, his arms sweeping across the room like he was embracing the space. "For those of you who might think lighting a match is just about striking flint, you're in for a surprise."

"Is this room fireproof," I said under my breath.

"Indeed, Ms. Hillstrom." Professor Tindal caught my murmur, a knowing look in his gaze. "This room is designed to handle heat, but let's not test its limits without cause. We have two water wielders stationed outside at all times. They can pull a tidal wave's worth of intervention from the harbour if necessary."

"Water people," I mused, nodding toward the vast expanse of blue beyond the glassless window. "Guess it pays to have the ocean as your backyard hose."

A few snickers broke out around the room, and I caught Melody's reassuring smile from beside me.

"Each time we welcome a new student," Professor Tindal continued, drawing our focus back to him, "we revisit the basics. It's crucial to remember that our powers are gifts, not parlour tricks or, heaven forbid, weapons."

My heart drummed a frenzied beat against my ribs. I was sure I had no powers at all, there was a cock up at the machine, I’m not supernatural and I certainly didn’t have fire magic.

Professor Tindal offered a patient nod, sensing my mix of anticipation and nerves. "Control is fundamental. Mastery over flame requires discipline, understanding, and most importantly, respect for the element."

I straightened my back determined to learn everything that was thrown at me, if it turned out the machine wasn’t broken then I needed to play catch up.

"Good," he said, apparently pleased with my response. "Now, let's begin with the most elementary principle of our craft."

The class shifted in their seats, some with the ease of familiarity, others with the rustle of curiosity. I could feel their eyes on me, the newbie, the unknown variable in their well-oiled machine.

"From the spark to the inferno, we command the flames, but we do not rule them," Professor Tindal intoned, his voice a hypnotic cadence that seemed almost...sacred.

"Command, not rule," I whispered, half to myself.

"Exactly," Tindal affirmed, his eyes locking onto mine. "And so we begin. Among the crucial things to understand," Professor Tindal continued, his voice cutting through the hush of the room like a torch through the darkness, "is that those gifted with firepower possess an innate immunity. We cannot burn each other."

I blinked, trying to process this new information. It was counterintuitive, defying the very nature of fire—to consume and destroy without prejudice.

"Wait, so you're saying we're fireproof?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could catch them.

"Against one another's flames, yes." A wry smile played on his lips. "A little evolutionary perk, if you will. It prevents us from...undue scorched uniforms during practice." Laughter rippled through the class, but I only half-heard it.

"Damn..." My thoughts spun, igniting with possibilities. No singed eyebrows or blistered fingers. No more fear of getting too close to a flame.

"Yet do not mistake this immunity for invincibility," Tindal warned, and I snapped back to attention. "Complacency leads to catastrophe. Remember that."

As the lesson unfolded, with Tindal demonstrating controlled bursts of flame from his palm, the sheer volume of knowledge I needed to absorb pressed down on me like the heat from a bonfire.

I quickly realised that my initial excitement was being smothered by the overwhelming amount of rules and lessons to learn. Luckily, there were only two classes per day, with a long break in between. I wanted to speak with someone in charge, like the principal or dean, to clarify some things for me. After class, I asked Melody how to make an appointment with the appropriate person. She suggested going to the administrative office and asking for Mr. Hunter Greyson, the Dean. She kindly offered to walk me over there and grab lunch afterwards. I gratefully linked my pinkie with hers and thanked her as we walked over.

Chapter 13

Orlando Greyson

The final whisper of earthy incantations dissipated as I stepped out of the dim-lit classroom, where tendrils of vine and stone had danced at my command. Sunlight stabbed my eyes—too bright after the subterranean comfort of Earth Magic 201.

"Orlando, man, you gotta hear this." Dante's voice sliced through my adjustment to daylight like a hot knife through butter. He fell into step with me, his large frame radiating that familiar, restless energy.

"Shoot," I grumbled, still half-distracted by the remnants of magic tingling at my fingertips.

"Harper was there, in Fire Class," he began, a sly grin stretching across his face. The way he said her name, it was like sparks were crackling around it, ready to ignite something dangerous.

"Eight seats ahead of me." He says with an excited voice.

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