Chapter 13: Applicants Turn Acolytes (1)
Things returned to normal quickly, with the applicants forming into clusters. Thanks to Riniock and Urael's schemes, there were no outright failures left amongst them.
Of course, those who had taken Urael's deal were visibly furious, realizing they had been cheated out of a hefty sum of lunaris whilst others got a far better deal. Surprisingly, their anger turned towards Riniock, convinced he had deliberately waited for them to take Urael's offer before revealing his better one to the remaining applicants.
'That damn guy!' one of them spat bitterly. 'I could've saved my money if he'd just spoken up earlier!'
Despite their grumbling, the frustration eventually faded. Soon, concerns of the missing applicants arose once more.
'They're taking too long,' one staff member muttered, glancing towards the glades.
'I agree with Illiar. We should start searching,' another added.
Noidron held his hand up and shook his head. 'Let's give them a bit more time. If they're not back within the hour, we'll send a team. Illiar and Grahost will lead it at that time.'
'Fine!' Grahost grumbled, annoyance clear in his tone. 'You'll bear responsibility –'
'Relax,' a voice interrupted their argument as another staff member approached, pointing at four silhouettes in the distance. 'Fingal and Jorian just got back.'
Then tension eased momentarily, but Noidron's brow furrowed. 'Where's Hilida?'
Moments later, Fingal and Jorian arrived, each supporting a battered and bruised applicant. One carried a broken wand, its focus missing, whilst the other's clothes were shredded and filthy, covered in dirt and grime.
'What in Murat happened to these two?' Noidron demanding, rushing towards them.
Fingal sighed heavily; his weariness evident. 'We found them together – fighting – over a topi's corpse – in the middle of diallos territory.'
Noidron stared at them in silence, the sheer absurdity of their situation punishment enough.
'Has it been long?' Fingal finally asked, ready to return.
'It has,' Noidron replied, his patience growing thin as well. 'With the two of you here, only Hilida remains.'
Jorian scanned the group, his expression darkening. His eyebrows shot up in concern. 'My sister still isn't back?'
Noidron shook his head grimly.
Suddenly, a spark shot into the night sky, exploding like a firework and briefly illuminating the glades with bright red hues. The group froze, startled, their gazes instinctively turning to their compasses.
'Hilida is in this direction!' someone exclaimed.
'She must be in danger!' Jorian shouted, bolting off towards the signal. Grahost and Illiar quickly followed, determination etched on their faces.
The majority of the group followed suit, leaving behind a scattering of applicants who now stood uncertain and vulnerable.
'You two,' Noidron took brief command, pointing at a pair of staff members, 'escort the applicants out of the glades and back to the college.'
They gave a brisk nod, readying themselves to shepherd the youths.
Fortunately for Noidron, Fingal remained behind, a pillar of calm amidst the growing chaos. Had he charged off with the others, the situation might have actually spiralled out of control. He was amongst the few who managed to cast perfect teleportation spells.
'Fingal…good, you're here,' Noidron called out, his tone urgent.
Fingal raised a hand, already anticipating the order. 'I know. I'll open the gateway right away.'
'Good. Once everyone is safely through, follow after us,' he instructed firmly.
Fingal nodded, moving swiftly to carry out the task as Noidron disappeared into the whitewood trees, following the others towards the spark's origin.
Fingal stepped forward with practiced determination. Unlike the effortless motion of the professor, he raised his hands, performed a subtle wave, and then slapped his palms against the bark of a nearby tree. A crackling sound filled the air as the space before him began to distort, splitting apart with a ripping noise until a shimmering gateway appeared, its edges glowing faintly. Beyond the portal lay the familiar grounds of the college, exactly where they had last departed.
'Hurry up, everyone!' Fingal called, his voice strained as he held the passage open with his magick. Unlike the professor, Fingal had to actively channel his energy to maintain the spell, and the effort showed in the tightness of his expression.
One of the staff members stepped through first, vanishing into the portal to ensure the path was safe. Moments later, he returned, ushering the applicants forward with urgency.
The line began to move, applicants filing through one by one. A hundred or so terrified individuals shuffled forward, their fear and confusion palpable as they clutched their belongings. The staff members moved briskly, encouraging the stragglers to quicken their pace.
'Keep moving!' Fingal urged, his voice taut with exertion. The portal shimmered under the strain of his magick, and the faster they passed through, the sooner he could release the spell.
As the last staff member stepped through, Fingal finally released the spell, the gateway collapsing with a soft crackle as the fabric of space stitched itself shut. He exhaled heavily, wiping sweat from his brow, the strain of maintaining the portal evident.
Without missing a beat, the professor arrived, his usual jovial demeanour as lively as ever. 'Ah, splendid! Welcome back, everyone!' he announced, clapping his hands with enthusiasm. 'I trust your harvests were fruitful! I can already sense the energy of some fine successes amongst you.'
His eyes scanned the group, but his cheerful expression wavered briefly when he noticed the absence of several staff members. 'Hmm, where are the others? Noidron, Grahost, and the rest?'
One of the staff members gulped nervously before replying, 'They're…still in the glades, professor.'
The professor tilted his head but quickly waved it off. 'Ah, well! No doubt they're handling things with their usual diligence. Nothing to worry about!' His tone was confident as he refocused on the group. 'Now, onto the exciting part! It is my great pleasure to inform you all that, despite the late hour, the college shall officiate your admissions immediately!'
The room buzzed with relief and excitement. For Riniock, however, it was a bittersweet moment. The sooner this ceremony concluded, the better – it would mean fewer prying eyes, fewer questions, and less time for anyone to piece together the events surrounding Odrean's demise.
They were led into the castle's grand chamber, a sanctuary of warmth and comfort after the cold trials of the glades. The room was vast, its high ceilings adorned with banners bearing the college's crest. Columns stretched to the ceiling, their bases draped in rich tapestries. Floating candles cast a soft, golden glow, whilst a roaring fire in an immense hearth filled the chamber with soothing warmth. Thick, intricately woven carpets muffled their footsteps, adding to the sense of coziness.
At the far end of the chamber, the professor took his place in a luxurious chair, a scroll hovering before him like a spectral ledger. 'Now then,' he began, his voice carrying authority tempered with excitement. 'When I call your name, step forward. You will surrender your wand and entry token, and present any beast materials you've gathered to exchange for rewards!'
The gathered applicants were filled with excitement, eager to display the fruits of their labour. Conversations rippled through the room as participants compared their spoils, their anticipation palpable.
All but one shared in this enthusiasm.
Riniock stood silently amongst them, feigning disinterest whilst his thoughts churned. The professor's announcement struck a chord far deeper than simple excitement. Instead, relief surged through him, subtle but undeniable, as he registered the significance of surrendering their wands and entry tokens.
The moment those items were collected, any chance of tracing the spell cast on Odrean – or identifying the possessor of his entry token – would vanish. For Riniock, this was an unexpected stroke of fortune, cloaking his actions further in obscurity.
His face remained unreadable, but inwardly, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
CJJChedid
CJJChedid With his worries at a possible end, what will Riniock's harvest yield?
Weekly Power Status
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