Ashes of the Elite

Evanora claps heartily, the sound loud and jarring, her scarred face twisted in a smile so wide it looks like it hurts. There's nothing genuine in it just another layer of performance, another mask for the benefit of the crowd. She waves her hand and the flags flutter back to their original forms, the lights flickering to normal. The students chosen for House Melruth sit back into their seats, the faint white glow fading from their skin.

Most of them look a little frightened, and who can blame them? You don't get picked for a house like that because life has been easy. But as I scan the group, three faces catch my attention a few who don't seem scared at all, but instead pleased.

The first is a boy with skin like old parchment, sharp jawline, black hair cropped close to his skull. His eyes are a cold, clouded gray, like river stones in winter, but there's a glint there something sly and calculating. He looks like the sort who never acts unless he's sure he'll draw blood.

Further down is another boy, taller and lean, with a mop of inky brown hair falling over one eye. His features are thin, almost delicate, but there's nothing soft about the way he watches the room. His eyes are a startling, unnatural yellow similar to Artemis's wide and unblinking, the kind of stare that makes your skin crawl if you look too long. He smiles, but I can tell it doesn't reach his eyes.

And then there's a girl, sitting on the edge of the group, back perfectly straight, face impassive. Her skin is dark, her jaw strong, and her lips pressed tight in a line of defiance. Her eyes are a vivid green, sharp as shattered jade, and she meets my gaze as if she could feel me looking at her unflinching, cold. She's not afraid, not even a little. If anything, she looks like she's waiting for a challenge.

I file those faces away for later, making a mental note to avoid them if possible or at least not turn my back on them. There's something about the way they hold themselves that makes me think they're dangerous. Internally, I groan. This endless ceremony is starting to wear on me. I'm hungry and dying of thirst, I keep thinking about the dinner I missed, stomach twisting in protest. If I'd known how long these house announcements would drag, I would have stormed the kitchens myself. The show is getting boring, and the only thing I want now is to be done with it.

I'm lost in the pleasant daydream of a massive meal some delicious meat, fresh bread, honeyed fruit especially an apple when a voice like a thunderclap booms across the hall, making me jump in my seat. Elijah snickers beside me, and I scowl, shoving my elbow into his side. He grunts and winks at me.

All attention snaps to the new proctor stepping onto the dais. She's impossible to miss: a giant of a woman, easily seven feet tall, with skin the color of burnished copper and hair the same wild orange as a bonfire. Her eyes blaze bright orange, almost glowing in the half-light, and her white robes only make her seem bigger, more impossible. She looks so utterly eccentric, so out-of-place among the careful, dour proctors that I have to wonder how anyone can have a conversation with her without bursting into laughter.

She plants her feet wide, hands on her hips, and when she speaks again her voice fills every inch of the hall. "My name is Proctor Anastasia Solovyov. I am the head of House Vespera." She grins, showing a mouthful of strong teeth, and raises her fist high. "The house of the evening star. We shines first, we shines brightest, and we shines the longest!"