Page 155 of Shadows in Bloom

And that wasn’t all. They were about meet those Darmarayans, those traitors, who had stayed away after that disastrous night, five years ago.

From the inside, Academiae Scientia looked exactly like he remembered it when he left nearly before the summer break. With its never-ending walls, its pointed arch that allowed for a vaulted ceiling and thinner walls that contained numerous stained glass windows, the academy was impressive. Rumours had it that once upon a time, this great hall was used to house the Blossom Queen. They said that her throne was made of glass in which vines had grown for prosperity. That the sunlight would come through those coloured, arched windows, and threw the perfect light upon the Queen, making her beautiful like a Goddess.

It was a beautiful tale. But people talked and there was no proof to back up that theory. Then, words were the easiest melody to transform into lies of hope, or deceit for that matter.

Today, the hall was decorated to welcome all novitiates and their families to celebrate the festivities that marked the new school year together.

They were gold and blood-red, proud and secluded, silver and black, loud and untamed. Blue and yellow and filled with excitement. House Akotan was situated east of Novar, and they had fought side by side to defend their people from the southern enemy forces. Akotans banner holders held their colourful flag high in the air, making it seem as if the drawn boat was floating on the rippling piece of cloth. Their long, braided hair was up in a twist of a bun that showed their wealth and status, and exposed the painted foreheads of their novitiates. Curled signs were delineated onto their flesh in a creation of unknown marks and signs that looked pretty, but strange. They kept to themselves as they conversed in their strange language, that sounded like a tumble of rrr’s and vvv’s and shhh’s to Novarians. Though they’d enjoyed mocking them for their native tongue last year, it had been annoying to find that Akotans could smoothly switch to Novarian, which was one of the three official language taught at the academy.

“No sign of the others yet,” Fabiano mumbled as they walked in side by side, with their father in the middle, toward the college clerk and the selection of flags that represented all nations of the treaty.

“Astor and Fabiano Prianos.” Their arrival was announced with a light bow and a wave of the Novarian flag. While he curled his lips into a polite smile, his gaze whirled around the majestic room that was filled with the finest of uniforms, haircuts and soldiers.

“There,” said their father, and he discreetly pointed his index finger to the corner across the room, where a brown flag with a thick, yellow cross drawn inside, flapped mockingly in the air. Gaeta.

The invaders.

They had talked about them over the summer, about the barbarians which everyone refused to call by name. Over the past five years they had sent their delegation of novitiates to the Academy, forcing the other nations to share space with those who had needed less than four months to leave a trail of misery and death as they’d made their wake up north, until they were stopped.

“The level of audacity never ceases to amaze me,” grumbled Fabiano. They joined the others in their assigned corner. Over here, they had a perfect view of the hall that was lit up with rows of torches and chandeliers that made the adorned walls flicker. It made his brother’s white garment stand out even more. Like the others, Fabiano too would have to change into his school uniform once the games would come to an end, and strangely enough that reassured Astor. Fabio could no longer be a possible beacon of torment, which was Astor’s greatest fear.

“The bastards have come with ten novitiates this year.” Fabiano’s lip curled up in a rare display of animosity. He huffed out a snort. “You see how they’re all wearing their finest cloth?” They turned to face each other. “And all that just for the show,” Fabiano wiggled his eyebrows. “Right, big brother?”

“Si.” Astor nodded. Suddenly he couldn’t wait for the games to start. For them to end, for their family to say their goodbyes, for the tears to be shed and for the gates to hell to close. To finally close.

With them inside.

He was ready for another round with these smug assholes. He was ready for this beautiful, toxic place to transform into an environment of ambush and tricks, where violence and bloodshed and bullying reigned.

In the name of peace.

And yet he had a funny feeling in his stomach.

They hadn’t needed many months here at the academy to understand the unwritten, unspoken rules. When the lights are on, stay together, stay safe. When the lights are off, run for cover.

It was true. This place had only needed a few years to be transformed into a prison for the nobles. During the day, they studied, played sports and games, went for walks. At night, the halls were void of its usual sound and filled with shadows and whispers instead. That’s when the positions of their carefully crafted board games in the play rooms would be fought out in real life.

That’s where it really mattered.

Fabiano stood, tall and proud as if the ancient power truly ran through his veins, his white suit and cape aflutter around his shoulders, the sides held together by the brooch that matched the red and golden glow of House Novar. His blonde hair was a tumble the way it cascaded down his back where he kept it in two, loose space buns. The style was a deft effort to separate his style from House Staljord, who were fair-skinned and carried their platinum hair in long braids over their back, or pinned in their necks. They wore silver uniforms that were heavily decorated with black jewels, the two colours of their flag. Silver and black.

“There you are!” A tall boy with long, auburn hair that flopped below his ears, and large, grey eyes, clasped Astor on his shoulder, pulling Astor in for a hug. He crooked a smile. “We were afraid that you wouldn’t make it in time. It’s good to see you, man.”

“Oreon.” Astor returned the hug. It had been too long since he’d seen one of his best friends. “We got held up. We travelled through the forest and ended up at the Eastern Gate.”

Oreon frowned as he pulled back. “Eastern Gate? You guys travelled through the Three Point Country? Why?”

Astor shrugged, his attention already on Scilla, Oreon’s older sister. “Can’t exactly question the Leopard of the Novarian army now, can I?” It was a warning and Oreo snorted in amusement, the most appropriate reaction. The subject was ignored, the pointless meeting that had turned out to be a stand-up not mentioned and Astor moved to take Scilla’s hand and plant a kiss on it.

“Can’t wait for the games to begin,” she smiled, eyes dancing with mischief.

“I bet you can’t.” Astor released her hand and touched his temple with his fingertips, a gesture Scilla copied. “You beat all those poor Akotanian wenches last year.”

“And I fully intend doing it over this year.” She gave him a mocked bow and a grin, before turning to Fabius. “I heard that Damaryan will be present this year?”

“That's what I heard too.” His brother flicked his intensive gaze around. “But they’re not here yet.”

That funny feeling in Astor’s stomach swooped.

---