Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 78: Next Morning

The dawn is a pale, watery thing, barely more than a thinning of the dark. Cold gnaws at my bones as I trudge north, boots crunching in frostbitten grass, the ground rigid beneath each step. A thin snow begins to fall just a few lazy flakes at first, twisting and spinning down from a sky the color of old slate. One lands in my eye, melting instantly, and I blink the sting away, fighting the urge to curse aloud. The wind is sharp and insistent, biting through my clothes and skin, carrying the scent of depression and the promise of misery.

Everyone in House Apophis had introduced themselves last night, some with pride, some with a mumbled reluctance, others with a practiced indifference that I can't quite decide is real or a mask like mine. I remember the parade of names and powers: the strong, the subtle, the strange. Some of the marks seemed almost... mundane. One boy could talk to insects I already forget his name and even the boy Niko with his iron hid mark seems normal. I found myself frowning, trying to fit the pieces together. Why had the proctors put them here, among those they think could be spellbreakers? Are spell breakers like Cain not the Elite of the Elite, warriors so strong and deadly just referring to them as Awakened was insulting to their prowess? Was I missing something? Or was it all part of some larger game, a calculus only the proctors themselves understood?

I force myself to let it go. The logic of the Academy is never what it seems on the surface and I sadly have more pressing matters.

As the snow starts to come down I sigh and adjust my robe and think back to when we all woke up. We wasted no time once the first gray light filtered through the vent at the top of our earthen igloo. There was no real debate no one wanted to stick around and see if the proctors had left a second act of cruelty waiting for stragglers. Bragg unsealed the entrance, letting a fresh blast of cold air rip through the warm, smoky interior. I was at the front, already impatient, my mind half a league ahead of my body. Survival meant motion. Survival meant getting ahead of the masses, putting distance between us and any trouble the other houses might bring.

When we emerged, I took quick stock of the camp. The field was a mess, to the left of where we stayed, a massive hole had been dug, with a wall of rocks piled up to block the worst of the wind which was clever I suppose, till the snow started. Farther out, I saw a scatter of small wooden huts, their roofs patched with turf and pine boughs. Clearly, the other houses had managed to get themselves out of the wind and snow.

A small part of me was driven to once again look for Howard. I scanned the faces, searching for a glimpse of that familiar, open grin, the quick wave of a hand. But the memory of our last meeting his mind shattering under the weight of my illusions, his body limp and unresponsive curls like a snake in my gut. So I let it go once again, shoving the need down deep, where it can't distract me.

After a brief, muttered conversation with the others, House Apophis peels away from the rest. No elaborate goodbyes, no second glances. We slip into the wild, leaving the makeshift camp behind, striking out toward the mountains due north. The line of peaks is a jagged silhouette on the horizon, impossibly far, impossibly high, and the snow is already thickening as we walk.

We've made about three miles, maybe more, by my estimate. I keep to the front, step for step with Lucian, Elijah, and Joon-ha. Joon-ha; the emotionalist walks with a steady, silent confidence, his eyes dark enough to seem black, his features unreadable. He's a cipher, every movement precise and deliberate. Elijah is beside me, hands tucked into his sleeves, breath steaming in the frigid air. He keeps up a steady stream of quiet commentary, half-jokes, half-observations, but even he is subdued by the cold and the task ahead.

Behind us, a little to the left, Zaria and Vihaan have fallen into step with each other. Their heads are close together, voices low, almost conspiratorial. I strain my hearing to catch their words stretching my Awakened hearing to the max but the wind steals their voices, snatching them away before they reach me. It's infuriating. My hearing is better than any normal human's, tuned to the smallest shift in tone, the faintest crackle of brush underfoot, but even I can't fight the mountain wind.

I seethe, jaw clenched, boots pounding a little harder into the snow. I don't trust anyone here—why would I?—but Zaria least of all. She to suspicious, too knowing, and I'm almost certain she recognizes my name, if not my face. I catch her watching me sometimes, her expression inscrutable. She's the sort who collects secrets, and I suspect she's already started a ledger in her mind.

Vihaan is no better. His power is brutal, and there's a coldness to him I don't like. He reminds me to much of me and I recognize that I'm a borderline sociopath. He's polite, and hasn't done anything to draw my distrust really, but it takes a monster to recognize one. The snow is falling heavier now, to the point we may need to stop and wait it out, these fucking proctors really dropped as in the middle of nowhere in the deepest part of Avraels winter. Lucian walks beside me in silence, his face set in a mask of indifference as if the cold does not bother him at all. I wonder what he's thinking. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

Elijah nudges me, breaking my reverie. "Having fun?"

I snort, the sound muffled by the scarf wrapped around my mouth. "Not even a little."

He grins, teeth flashing white, and shakes his head. "Didn't think so."