Ashes of the Elite

Evanora doesn't waste a heartbeat after Julian Boleyn's vanishing act. Her hands flutter in that grand, imperious way and she's already ushering the final head proctor onto the dais. The woman is striking: tall, stately, her dark skin gleaming beneath the overhead lights, her black hair pulled back in a severe braid that looks as though it could double as a whip. She introduces herself, each syllable crisp and unyielding. "Afia Balogun. Head of House Umbra." Her strange accent cuts through the hush.

She launches into her monologue something about tradition, cunning, the veil between light and dark, the honor of being chosen for House Umbra. But her words flow over me. I'm not listening. I can't. I'm somewhere else entirely, lost in the undertow of what's just happened.

I stare down at my robe at the new patch stitched with gold thread into my chest. The figure is unmistakable: the angelic shape, wings of flame, sword pointed earthward, sun bursting behind it in a perfect, holy circle. I trace the embroidery with my thumb, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. House Apophis. Of all the places, of all the banners this one.

I'd spent so long plotting, calculating. The duel, the display of violence, my goal was to be feared by other first years so when my three marks come to light I'd have a reputation to protect me. That being said however, I didn't want to take the lime light, I just wanted to coast through the Academy as low key as possible from here.

But now? Now I'm a member of the smallest, most volatile house in the Academy. I'm surrounded not by the weak or the stupid, but by the ones the Empire thinks might be the best of the year. The peerless. The spellbreakers.

My gaze sweeps the hall, cold and detached. The crowd has transformed. Every student now wears their house across their chest. The uniforms, once identical, are marked by new patches: Luxorem's sun in blinding gold, Melruth's cracked mask, Vespera's broken shackle, and so on. The kids from Apophis what, less then thirty of us? stand out by our scarcity and, I realize, the way we look at each other and everyone else. Wary. Calculating. I sigh.

The voices in my head are a constant, hissing static now, pressing against the inside of my skull like snakes slithering beneath my skin. You're throwing a fit for nothing, they chide. This is the first step. You want power? Here it is. You heard them boy, you must take what you want in this world nothing is given to you!"

Shut up, I snap back at them, teeth gritted. You think you know everything? You're me!"

They cackle, delighted. Weak. Still so weak, little Ayato. But we'll teach you. You'll see. The world is shaped by those who seize it, not those who sulk in the dark. You know it to be true deep down"