Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 72: Sorting Part Six

Evanora doesn't waste a heartbeat after Julian Boleyn's vanishing act. Her hands flutter in that grand, imperious way and she's already ushering the final head proctor onto the dais. The woman is striking: tall, stately, her dark skin gleaming beneath the overhead lights, her black hair pulled back in a severe braid that looks as though it could double as a whip. She introduces herself, each syllable crisp and unyielding. "Afia Balogun. Head of House Umbra." Her strange accent cuts through the hush.

She launches into her monologue something about tradition, cunning, the veil between light and dark, the honor of being chosen for House Umbra. But her words flow over me. I'm not listening. I can't. I'm somewhere else entirely, lost in the undertow of what's just happened.

I stare down at my robe at the new patch stitched with gold thread into my chest. The figure is unmistakable: the angelic shape, wings of flame, sword pointed earthward, sun bursting behind it in a perfect, holy circle. I trace the embroidery with my thumb, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. House Apophis. Of all the places, of all the banners this one.

I'd spent so long plotting, calculating. The duel, the display of violence, my goal was to be feared by other first years so when my three marks come to light I'd have a reputation to protect me. That being said however, I didn't want to take the lime light, I just wanted to coast through the Academy as low key as possible from here.

But now? Now I'm a member of the smallest, most volatile house in the Academy. I'm surrounded not by the weak or the stupid, but by the ones the Empire thinks might be the best of the year. The peerless. The spellbreakers.

My gaze sweeps the hall, cold and detached. The crowd has transformed. Every student now wears their house across their chest. The uniforms, once identical, are marked by new patches: Luxorem's sun in blinding gold, Melruth's cracked mask, Vespera's broken shackle, and so on. The kids from Apophis what, less then thirty of us? stand out by our scarcity and, I realize, the way we look at each other and everyone else. Wary. Calculating. I sigh.

The voices in my head are a constant, hissing static now, pressing against the inside of my skull like snakes slithering beneath my skin. You're throwing a fit for nothing, they chide. This is the first step. You want power? Here it is. You heard them boy, you must take what you want in this world nothing is given to you!" 

Shut up, I snap back at them, teeth gritted. You think you know everything? You're me!"

They cackle, delighted. Weak. Still so weak, little Ayato. But we'll teach you. You'll see. The world is shaped by those who seize it, not those who sulk in the dark. You know it to be true deep down" 

I want to scream at them, to claw them out of my mind but it's not use, ever since me and Cain figured out a way to trigger them they never go away anymore, their always at the edge of my mind coiling in my thoughts hissing their poison.

They hiss in amusement "You hear us and call us madness. But in reality dear boy we are a choir!

Afia Balogun is finishing her speech. I catch a few words something about death, and bla bla bla. She gestures, and the last batch of students glow with a faint indigo shimmer, rising to join House Umbra. Their patches, when they sit again, are stitched with the silver eye in the downward-pointing triangle. I wonder, once again, if I would've fared better among them.

But it's too late for that now.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the present. The ceremony is finally, finally winding down. Evanora claps again her pink eyes glowing. The banners dissolve into thin air. The lights snap to their accustomed harshness.

My shoulders feel heavy, as if someone draped a leaden cloak across them. I look at the Apophis patch again. The gold thread catches the light, glimmering like it's alive. It's not a badge of belonging. It's a target. A promise that someone, somewhere, expects me to be more than I am and will punish me if I'm not.

All I wanted was to be left alone. To be feared enough that no one would bother me. But now I'm in the house that can't be ignored, the one everyone will watch, waiting to see if we rise or fall. My stomach churns. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and the hunger sits in me like a stone, gnawing at my insides.

Evanora's voice snaps me out of my spiral. "First years! I Hope you are ready" I blink, dragging my attention back to the present. Something is off. Her tone isn't playful or mocking, none of the usual performative excitement that's colored every word she's spoken since the moment I arrived. There's a hardness in her voice now, a coldness I haven't heard before. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

She scans the crowd, her gaze cruel and unblinking. "All of you, group into your new houses," she commands, her voice now flat and brooking no argument.

For a moment, the entire hall is silent. Then, as if a spell has broken, students start to move, shuffling and swarming across the floor in a flurry of nervous energy. There's shouting, confusion, elbows jostling ribs, frantic glances at the newly embroidered patches on uniforms. The proctors don't help no soothing words, no guiding hands just stony silence and those ever-watchful eyes.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity of awkward shuffling and a few shouted directions, the chaos resolves itself. Three hundred sixty-five first years, now standing in thick rows, grouped by house. I find myself near the front of the platform, Elijah at my side, the House Apophis badge burning gold against the black cloth of my uniform. I catch a few glances from the others curious, and wary. I don't have time to study them in return.

Evanora's lip curls in a sneer. "It took you all five minutes to follow such a simple order," she says, voice laced with contempt. The insult lands like a slap. A ripple of shock passes through the rows; students shuffle, some shrinking back, others bristling. I can feel the collective pulse of humiliation and fear.

She turns to face the platform where the other proctors are gathered. "I think we need to instill discipline first thing when we get on grounds because this is quite sad, don't you think?" Her words ring out with annoyance.

Proctor Dean steps forward, his expression twisted in open disgust. "Oh, one hundred percent," he drawls, voice heavy with disdain. "Don't worry I think a combined game will get them accustomed to our expectations."

The other proctors nod or murmur their agreement, several with thinly veiled smiles. I feel a cold knot form in my gut. The last thing I want is to be the subject of some "game" the proctors have cooked up. I glance at Elijah, and he shoots me a grimace that says he's thinking the same thing.

Evanora just nods, her eyes glittering. She gestures to a small proctor standing a little apart from the rest a woman with short blonde hair, teal eyes, and features so unremarkable she's almost invisible. "Hilla, if you would please?"

Hilla steps forward obediently, her gaze bored. She reaches for Evanora's hand. For a split second, nothing happens. Then, to my shock and, judging by the sudden hush, everyone else's as well both proctors begin to glow. Not the harsh, unnatural light of the selection, but a pure, searing white that pulses and grows until it's almost painful to look at.

Evanora's voice, now doubled and strange, echoes through the hall. "With a combined effort..."

Hilla's lips move, barely a whisper, but the words ring in my skull: "Life Step."

And then everything vanishes in a blaze of white.