Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Hawkaun, Cyrean, Trollain, and Leonel were the four houses at Swinescar. For the past five years or so, Cyrean had been the head of the dorms, leading in both academic performance and magical intelligence and efficiency. It was the one house that everyone aimed to be a part of, but only the most resilient and intelligent students became a part of. Without knowing they had the most luxurious dorms on campus, or the highest grades in every subject, you could spot a Cyrean student by their deep teal robes, embroidered with silvery trim and lined with the real fur from an Argon Hydra. And their renowned uniforms were topped off with their house crest over the left breast pocket, a sharp bolt of ice in the center of a circular rune that spelled out the great motto of some great philosopher that no one really cared to know. 

 Always a step behind Cyrean was Trollain. House of the overachievers, the teacher’s pets, and the just-barely-missed-it-by-two-points’. Other than the finely tailored robes of mahogany velvet with a rosary insignia on the back, many students would tell you that there was basically no difference between Cyrean and Trollain. Both houses’ students were full of stuck-up, snobby rich kids who thought they were better than everyone else.

 Leonel was next in line, and was home to many of the middle class students. Nothing was special about them. Average grades. Average magical abilities, and slightly average attitudes about future prospects. They did, however, have the most beautiful attire of the four houses, and they were the only house who had different attire for men and women. Men’s robes were a silky white with a golden trim, and their crest a three headed snake coiled around the bones of a human arm and hand. Very ominous. Women’s attire of house Leonel was quite similar, though they’d been fashioned into snow white battle dresses, with slits on either side stopping high on the thigh, and silver chain links that wrapped around their heads, draping over their ears to hang below their eyes, wrapping back around under their ears and looping over to the forehead.

Lastly is Hawkaun, the lowest of the low by academic standards. This house consists of those students who just barely made it into the college, those students whose magical abilities were only subpar, and those whose families had to scrape up every last dime to get them enrolled. Their poverty and low rank on the academic hierarchy were only enhanced by the dingy brown robes they wore, with their house crest, a crooked lion mask, stitched sloppily over the left breast. A lion of all things!

 

Various flasks and beakers sat neatly on a counter in the alchemy lab. Cauldrons were lined up against one wall, and opposite them were more flasks and an array of measuring equipment. Abel admired his work from the doorway of the lab, a tired smile plastered onto his face. The lab benches had been scrubbed, chemicals of all sorts had been resorted into their vashite cabinets, the opalescent liquids glimmering in their cases. The Incedis lights dimmed out as he closed the door behind him. A breezy dusk greeted him with a warm embrace, but he wasn’t feeling very warm. There had been something missing these past few weeks. He and a few of his friends had let baby Xevagoses loose in the school, he’d tagged some inappropriate graffiti on a few bathroom stalls; and more recently he’d almost blown up the alchemy lab by mixing a flammable liquid with some highly flammable voslil, which to his dismay had earned him another demerit. 

No notifications. He slid his phone back into his pocket, heading up the paved sidewalk and making a right towards the boys’ dormitories. The familiar nightly warmth was accompanied by its share of animals and…other beings. High above, the silhouette of an owl could barely be seen floating through the sky. Abel jumped back as an electric red fox jumped across his path, chasing after a bright pink firefly. He smiled, gazing up at the lit windows of the dorm as he approached.

Thinking better of getting some much needed rest, he decided to walk a little longer, circling around the back of the males’ dorms and heading past the women’s dorms. The four moons gleamed brightly just above the horizon. Phanoria, Disyke, Chanvora, and Lliulia. Abel sat on the big fountain in the middle of the courtyard that separated the two dorm areas, gazing up at the sky, lost in his thoughts. He’d made it into the school of his dreams…well, his parents’ dreams. Magicology was always something he enjoyed, no matter how primitive his views of it were. Chant this to shoot flames from your hands, feel the magic flow this way to defend yourself, release it steadily to float a little bit. It had all made sense to him, and had come so easily. He’d made friends, lots of them, especially after pissing Angelique off and barely leaving with his life. School was school, as it always had been from elementary right up until college. School was…   

Abel jumped to his feet, rounding quickly as something crashed to the concrete behind him. He stared through the falling water, heart beating heavily as he readied for an attack that never came. He rounded the fountain cautiously, a tiny flame flickering in his right hand, ready to explode at any moment; but he wouldn’t need it. Slumped against the opposite side of the fountain was Angelique! Her white hair was plastered in a damp mess around her head, her white shirt and slacks were in tatters, and bloody scars raked across every visible inch of her body. A particularly nasty scar trailed from her forehead, across her right eye and down to her neck. “Hey! Tourneau!” He called out, dropping to his knees next to her. “Angelique?” Her chest was still moving, but her breaths were coming out in short rasps. 

“Shit, oh shit,” he’d noticed the blood pooling around where she sat, it was oozing from a deep pit on her torso. “Somebody help!” He began to shout. In all his years of studying magic, he’d never once researched a single healing spell, not even for his own personal use. “Help! Somebody!” He shouted again, projecting his voice out into the night. He grabbed her right hand, the one that wasn’t stained with blood, clutching it against his forehead, saying silent prayers for this girl he barely even knew. “Help her! Please!”

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