The four students standing in a half-circle beyond her snap into silence as they see us enter as if Victoria's mere presence yanks every sound from their throats. Boots lock, chins lift, right fists come to hearts in salute. Their shoulders square so sharply I can almost hear cartilage creak. Victoria mirrors the salute and the tension bleeds from their spines. They settle into an at-ease stance: feet apart, hands loosely behind backs, eyes forward but alive, predatory.
We close the final meters. Our own eight-person line gaggle fucks into a horseshoe, all of us not quite sure where to stand. Zaria ends up at my left, Lucain at my right.
Victoria turns a quarter step toward her left. "Aravind," she says.
The tall boy she's indicating has the deep bronze skin of Trola. His build is lanky, almost like he wished he was born a tree instead of a human, every limb look was defined. Long night-black hair drapes about his shoulders in tangled waves as if a comb hasn't touched it all year. His eyes were a murky red, reminding me of spilled wine. Those eyes meet mine for a single heart-beat no curiosity, no malice, just pure unblinking assessment. Then they move on as if I was only worth a second. He inclines his head towards Victoria and she smiles.
Victoria's hand drifts to the next student. "Ala." Her skin holds no color so pallid it almost gleams under the lighting in the room, as if blood refuses to rise near the surface. Her blonde hair is coiled into a faultless bun; not a single lock escapes. She has a posture carved from cathedral stone, neck long, nose straight, chin lifted exactly the right angle to appear aloof without being rude. And her eyes are arctic blue. For half a breath I remember Cain's eyes but no her eyes are icier and crueler then his. For a second I wonder what Cain is doing in Lont. Ala lifts her chin a little bit higher glancing at Victoria with a blank expression blank. She could be a wraith in courtly attire, there and not there at once.
Victoria shifts left. "Brutus."
Brutus defies proportion. Some blacksmith god forged him wide first, tall second, then added a head as afterthought. Biceps strain his training shirt; the fabric stretched so tight I wonder how he even gets it on. His complexion is the deep tan of someone who spends to much time outside. Short brown hair is spiked upward, and set inside that fortress of a skull are eyes the molten orange of a steel billet fresh from forge. When he smirks just a twitch his thick neck cords ripple. Victoria's voice, normally smooth marble, carries a faint thread of apprehension when she says, "Don't make him mad."
I nod and file that thought away for later. What type of freak he is I hope I never find out.
Victoria's arm swings to the last girl. "Alexandra."
Alexandra is small. Short and tiny enough to be mistaken as a child. No taller then four feet. Her hair falls loose about her shoulders, sable dark what really catches my attention are the braids that snake throughout her hair, because woven into those braids are bones and I would not take the bet they were not human in fact I would lean towards them being human bones her skin is the color of wet ash. Then her eyes: no sclera to speak of just black pools surrounding brick-red pupils that barely dilate. A flicker of a smile rides her lips, polite, but something in the set of her brow makes it feel like a practiced experiment rather than true emotion.
I open the private link with Lucain an unrolled ribbon of thought. There's no way walking around with human bones is hygienic.
A dry chuckle crackles back: Maybe they're souvenirs. He snips the link before my reply forms, leaving the taste of amusement on my tongue at the absurdity.
Victoria pivots on her heel to face us. The hem of her coat flares, falls, perfect lines. She lifts her hand again, but this time she stabs her finger at each of us in rapid succession.
"Ayato. Zaria. Lucain. Rye. Imara. Dominic. Niko. Vihaan."
When she finishes Vihaan's name, her lips soften into something like a chuckle.
"Now that you all know each other," she says, tone light, "we can get started."
I sigh I already feel the direction of the wind she for sure means some type of training but I still ask, because asking is what she expects us to do.
"Started with what?" My voice stays even, neither intrigued nor defiant.
"Getting to know you, of course," she purrs. "These four you see are year fives. Last year before they graduate and get their assignments."
Lucain shifts weight onto his back foot, arms folding, eyebrows hitching. "Okay, but what do you mean by 'getting to know us'?"
Before Victoria can answer, Alexandra tilts her head, bone beads tapping softly. She speaks, and her voice is quiet and borderline sinister. "It means you will do everything in your power to not die."
The words hang in the air.
Behind me I hear Rye exhale through her nose, a short, explosive sound and Brutus grins widely.
"What she said"