Page 27 of The Song of Sunrise
Hopefully, I will make it that far, I think morbidly. In the meantime, I’ll wear a gray cloak like the rest of the first years I’ve seen walking the corridors.
Ramona and I change into our blues in our room before heading off to our first class before lunch. I opt for a simple form fitting turtleneck and cargo pants, while Ramona chooses the sweater and skirt option. Though I have the same set in my closet, Ramona looks effortless, like the uniform was made for her, nose ring and all.
Ramona leads us down to the mezzanine level through a long corridor full of classrooms. Introduction to Talent is our first class, and I feel like a fraud in Watcher blues compared to all the confident cadets tromping around like they know exactly where they are going and who they are.
Everything in this part of the castle seems rounded. The tall ceilings, curved, dark wooden doors, even the Source lit sconces are cylindrically shaped. Each one a different iron depiction of the moon phases or suns. The orb light glimmering and flickering within gives the sconces an effect like they are alive.
Beautiful.
I wonder how easy it will be to channel magic like this. Will I catch on quickly? I like to think that the combination of my scrappy upbringing and ability to embellish with little to no details will serve me well at the Watch. I guess only time will tell.
We arrive at our classroom easily thanks to Ramona’s extensive knowledge of the castle.
Perks of befriending a Legacy, I suppose.
A first year cadet stands in front of our classroom door with a small pouch in her hands. She pulls out something from the pouch and places it in our palms, curling our fingers before we get a chance to see what she just placed in our hands.
Something cold, small, and round. What type of test is this?
“Don’t look at the stone you draw. Keep it closed in your hand until Professor Novak tells you to open it–oh!” She finally looks up at us, brown eyes rounding. “Hi Ramona.” Her posture straightens, and spots of pink blot her tawny cheeks. Her curly black hair waterfalls past her shoulder, where a large satchel currently hangs, heavy with books.
“Selene,” Ramona draws out her name then swiftly passes into the room. Did Ramona justwink?
Ramona insists that we sit further toward the back away from Selene, so I follow. Other cadets begin to file in the room. My stomach feels like that one time Rosie accidentally added sour milk to the bean brew.
A tall, brown haired man sweeps into the room, his slick hair not moving an inch despite his swishing strides.
The room hushes instantaneously.
“Welcome to Intro to Talent. My name is Pavo Novak, but you may call me Professor Novak.”
He stops in the center of the room and swirls his hands into a succession of patterns.
The room erupts with white mist, so thick that I can no longer see my hands on the desk in front of me. The rhythm of my heart skips a beat, and I reach for Ramona to find her doing the same.
Gasps and surprised sounds fill around me.
The wind howls in tritones.
The atmosphere begins to thicken and cool, stealing the precious dry particles from the air and replacing them with wet, freezing, minuscule droplets. Phantom gusts of wind whipmy hair in my eyes, stinging with each lash so roughly that I burrow into Ramona’s side, desperately trying to escape the cruel punishment.
Someone screams, and the room returns back to normal as quickly as it came on.
No more opaque white tendrils of fog.
My ears are instantly relieved as the dissonant wind dissipates.
Cadets are disheveled. Desks are flipped. Selene, sitting near the front, tries to hide her sniffling and quickly wipes the tears from her face.
“Great moons, that was brutal,” Ramona whispers.
Not a single hair is out of place on Professor Novak’s slicked head.
“That”—Novak pointedly scans his stare across the classroom—“is called Mysting. Now, who can tell me the primary types of Watchers and what faction might channel this particular type of magic?”
Murmur and whispers fill the room. A male cadet with short, curly dark hair in the front row raises his hand.
Professor Novak points to him. “And you are?”
