บท 3: The Crimson Glades (1)

The registration woman pulled out a scroll and a quill. Then, without hesitation, she stabbed the young man's finger with the tip of the quill and dabbed it with his blood. The feather instantly turned red.

She bent slightly forward, pushed her scarlet hair back, and crossed her legs. She was evidently young compared to the rest of the staff in the yard – a clear testament to her talent perhaps.

'There we go,' she said, pressing the bloodied quill against her red lips. 'Name and surname?'

There was silence for a brief moment. He was caught off-guard by her actions, 'erm…Riniock. Riniock Ev Tolgir.'

The lady promptly wrote it down.

'Mine's Mathilia by the way.'

The second her quill was relieved from the paper scroll, the writing turned a darker shade, as though it had been written there for a very long time. The red colour smearing the quill faded slightly as well.

'Age and hometown?' she casually continued, going for another swift dab of his blood.

'I will turn fifteen in the upcoming time. And I hail from Tilaadea, upper district.'

There was a pause.

She raised her eyebrows as she looked at him with her scarlet eyes. Pulling her scroll aside, the lady gave him a scrutinizing glance from head to toe, sizing him up. 'You from the capital? Don't look much like a poshie prick to me. You'll do!'

'Thanks, I guess?' Riniock couldn't hide his discomfiture.

For such a professional exchange, this interaction was definitely shifting towards being personal. Worse yet, what did she mean when she said "You'll do"…

'No problem at all. Here's a few more questions…'

The process was long and drawn, too detailed for one's comfort and privacy. Some of the queries were for a lack of a better word: creepy. It was almost as if they were designed to be personal, targeted at Riniock specifically, and put in place by Mathilia herself against college jurisdiction no less.

Riniock was sceptical but chose not to act on his suspicions. If the woman used the registration process as a pretext to pry into young men's personal lives for her own agenda, then he couldn't care less – especially since he had lied about most of the trivial details anyway.

'That's about it,' Mathilia finally announced. 'Be seeing you around, handsome.'

'I better not,' he inwardly hoped.

With that trivial inconvenience out of his way, Riniock was now free to wander around the antechamber until further notice.

There were an overwhelming number of applicants this time around.

However, Riniock had no interest in making friends or acquaintances. His sole purpose in applying was to learn, refine, and master the arcane arts whilst pursuing the mysteries of odh.

What captivated him most at the moment, though, was the source of the rich energy emanating from the castle grounds. Despite his inexperience and lack of training in identifying sources of odh, he felt compelled to investigate.

Relying on his senses, Riniock traced faint energy trails to the edge of the antechamber.

'It's not in this place, then,' he muttered through gritted teeth. 'It must be coming from the inner castle. The search will have to wait until later.'

With his quarry far from current reach, Riniock planned on returning to the main gathering area.

'I thought I'd find you here,' an ominous voice hissed.

He had been retracing his steps with his head lowered when a random group of four men accosted him. As he carefully assessed their appearance, he realized he was surrounded by strangers he had never encountered before. Yet one of them clearly suggested otherwise with the way he talked just now.

'Do I know you?' he asked, his stance shifting defensively. Their demeanour practically radiated harmful intent – no one with friendly motives would impose their presence in such a manner.

The owner of the voice stepped forth and chuckled.

'We've never met before this,' he answered. 'My name is Urael Flonderance, of the noble house of Flonderance in Tilaadea, upper district.'

'Nice to meet you?'

Urael swallowed his pride and shared his thoughts, 'I overheard your conversation with the pretty registration lady. You're from the capital city, same as I and my companions here.'

'What of it?'

'This makes our relationship much more complex. Not to mention, your parents and mine share some friendship. The Flonderances and the Tolgirs have always been on good terms so I see no reason in breaking that bond.'

'You wish for me to be your friend?' Riniock almost laughed out his words, urging a frown out of Urael.

'Why make light of my proposal. Think about it, Tolgir. With the both of us, joining forces, this place would be ours for the taking.'

A sound proposal at first.

However, Riniock's ambitions extended far beyond the measly overtaking of a college. Such deliberation was far too shallow a thought for the likes of him.

'No thanks,' he answered with cruel honesty. 'I work best alone. Be seeing you.'

Having swallowed this humiliation, Urael finally cracked under the guise of amiability and switched to his actual and genuine self. With the constraints of making allies out of the way, he switched to a different demeanour, to a more threatening tone.

'You will regret this, Tolgir. Don't blame me for acting uncordially the next time we meet.'

Empty words were all he said.

Riniock remained unfazed in the face of his threats. He of all people was known to be decisive and exceptionally cruel to those who've wronged him – but Urael did not know that as of yet.

'If you make trouble for me, you will be dead next time.'

Many more hours passed and the sun finally began to set when a white robed man appeared in their midst, materialising out of thin air. He had a prominent black beard, long grisly hair and a pair of spectacles underneath the shade of his large quirky hat.

A blank red orb floated and followed his lead. He carried a large book under his sleeve; its leathery cover pulsating with strange fluctuations.

'A warm welcome to you all,' the maegi initiated, his voice projected across the area with equal volume. 'I'm certain everyone is aware why this day is particularly important. But I digress, allow me to make things clearer.'

With a swift yet calculated move, the maegi slammed his palm against a wall nearby. Resonating with his strike, a crack drew itself in the air, tearing through the fabric of space. A blurred image formed within the crack, foreshadowing a land both distant and fraught with opportunities.

He rubbed his palm and descended some steps. As he scaled them down, he resumed explanation.

'Inside this gateway,' he indicated, 'you will be transported to the site of your exam. The Crimson Glades!'