The Classroom

The East Wing smelled of chalk, old wood, and wet wool. My name on a list beside the door led me to the classroom. On entering, the class did not fall silent, but the conversations changed. They became quieter, more precise, sharper at the edges.

The first two rows were almost full. Only two students sat in the third, with an empty place between them and the aisle. The fourth row was empty. The order stood out at once, though its meaning remained unclear.

A teacher stood at the desk in front. He was not tall, but he carried himself in a way that made no one think of calling him small. His hair was grey at the temples, his face calm. Perhaps too calm.

He looked up from his book.

Darian Holt“You are late enough to be noticed, but not late enough to need an excuse.”

A few students laughed. Not loudly. Cautiously.

Before an answer came, the girl from the street stood up.

She was sitting in the third row.

The black ribbon held her hair back. Only then did it become clear that it was not merely tied there, but wrapped twice around her wrist as though she might need it again at any moment. She did not approach like someone offering a welcome. She only stepped away from the desk and looked at me.

Mara“You really are here,” she said.

The room grew a little quieter.

Her face was familiar. Not from a memory assembled properly, but from an image that had passed too quickly: a sleeve in my hand, wheels on wet stone, her fingers against my arm.

Elias“You were in the street,” I said.

Mara“Yes.”

Elias“And then I was gone.”

Mara“That too.”

The teacher closed his book. It was not a loud sound, but it was enough.

Darian Holt“Mara,” he said. “If you have already welcomed our new student, you can also let him sit down.”

Her expression did not change. “I only wanted to see whether he remembered.”

Darian Holt“And?”

Mara“Not enough.”

The teacher looked at me. “Name.”

Elias“Elias Vorn.”

Darian Holt“Bearing.”

Only after a moment did it become clear that he was not asking for my opinion. My shoulders straightened almost by themselves.

Elias“Better once I know where I stand.”

No one laughed this time. Under the teacher's scrutiny, whether the answer had been clever or foolish remained unclear.

Darian Holt“That applies to most people,” he said. “Sit down.”

The empty place was beside Mara.

At the empty place beside Mara, my bag went down and I sat. She kept her eyes ahead, but spoke softly enough that the words were meant only for me.

Mara“You really did not recognise me.”

Elias“I was busy falling, waking up, and not understanding anything.”

Mara“That explains part of it.”

Elias“Only part?”

She looked at me now. “The rest is your face. You look as though you are about to argue with the desk.”

The objection died when my hand was already gripping the strap of my bag again.

At the front, the teacher wrote his name on the board.

InscriptionDarian Holt.

Darian Holt“You are not here because you are already something,” he said. “That is the first mistake people at home like to send you away with. You are here because we want to find out what you might become without you breaking first.”

A student in the front row raised his hand. “Do we begin with magical signs?”

Darian Holt“No.”

Student“Basic forms?”

Darian Holt“No.”

Student“Theory?”

Darian Holt“Later.”

The teacher put down the chalk.

Darian Holt“Today you are going into the forest.”

The word changed the room. Some students sat straighter. Others looked at their neighbours. Mara tightened the black ribbon around her wrist once.

Student“All of us?” someone asked.

Darian Holt“All of you.”

Student“On the first day?”

Darian Holt“Especially on the first day,” Holt said. “In a classroom, anyone can look as though they have themselves under control.”

His gaze passed through the rows. I did not feel addressed. That did not make it better.