The students, growing tired and impatient, shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Ourania to finish her phone call. They had been standing on the cracked, uneven pavement for what felt like an eternity, the low hum of the city fading into the high-pitched whine of Ourania's voice. She was a tornado of nervous energy, her tiny figure darting back and forth in a frantic, repetitive pattern. The students watched her with a mixture of pity and annoyance as she became a bee, buzzing from one invisible flower to another.
"Hey, we got a situation," she mumbled into the phone, her voice barely a whisper against the bustling urban soundscape. She paced faster, her movements becoming more erratic. Her phone, an ancient relic by the look of it, was clutched in her hand as if it were a lifeline. "We have to get Nova and Sam."
Her thumb frantically swiped through her contacts list, a blur of names and numbers. Nova, Nova, Nova, where the hell is it? Her lips moved silently, muttering the name over and over again. The other students sighed in unison, some of them checking their own phones, others simply staring into the middle distance.
When her thumb finally landed on the right contact, she let out a piercing squeal that echoed down the street. "Maram!?" The sound was as loud and gleeful as a kid on Christmas morning who had just received the perfect gift. The heads of nearby pedestrians turned, and her peers, already on edge, looked at her, utterly perplexed by the sudden shift from frantic panic to unbridled joy.
But Ourania ignored them all. Her eyes were glued to the screen, a wide, goofy smile plastered on her face. Without even glancing at the caller ID to confirm, she answers.
"Maram!"
The voice that came back was not the one she expected. "Maram? It's me, Sam. Anyways, I need you to get to Peachy Corner, everyone else is waiting—"
The rest of Sam's sentence was lost to Ourania as her heart sank.
"Even Maram?" she whispered, the eagerness in her voice almost comical as she tried to contain her overwhelming anticipation.
A voice, now a booming presence on the speakerphone, was tinged with irritation. "Yes, even I'm here. Why are you so damn frantic?"
That question struck Ourania like a physical blow. She felt herself sink to the deepest depths of the land, her embarrassment a palpable weight pulling her down. Her face, which had been a beacon of hope just moments before, crumpled.
"I was just worried about my sectmates. Safety is a priority right now," she mumbled, her voice losing its confidence. The lame excuse sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Oh my greats, I was on speaker. The realization hit her with the force of a tidal wave. She could hear the quiet murmurings of the group behind her. She heard Sam's flat, unenthusiastic voice.
"Yeah, ok, that makes sense."
The sound of it was sapped with doubt, and Ourania felt her cheeks burn. She awkwardly gave a quick goodbye, a hasty escape from the humiliation. Without another word, she crouched on the floor, burying her face in her hands, a human-sized ostrich trying to hide from the world in the middle of a city street.
Will, ever the leader, walked over and, with a firm but gentle grip, pulled her up. He then gave her a small nudge to get her moving. The group, a silent procession, followed as they headed towards Peachy Corner. The street was a tapestry of sounds, the murmur of other students and the soft crunch of pebbles under their feet providing the only backdrop to their quiet journey.
As they walked, Bishie, his eyes wide with curiosity, spotted a peculiar fountain. The centerpiece of the fountain was a stout and stocky man, with a magnificent, braided beard that flowed into the rushing water. He held a small, finely crafted hammer in one hand, while the other rested on a round shield with intricate carvings. The man was muscular, with thick, powerful limbs. A low pedestal bore his name: The first freed. Bishie's mind, always a few steps ahead of his mouth, processed the image and immediately labeled it with a term from his home. "What a strange-looking Hu." Bishie stated out loud.
The silence that had followed them was suddenly broken by a collective gasp. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, turning to Bishie with the most taken-aback expressions. Their faces were a canvas of shock, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like pity. Bishie, caught off-guard by the sudden halt, froze. The silence returned, thicker and heavier than before, suffocating the light murmurings of the street. It stretched on for what felt like an eternity, a tense, breathless pause that raised an unasked question in everyone's mind.
Finally, Will, his voice low and serious, broke the silence.
"Do you know who the three great races are?"
Bishie, still puzzled by their reaction, answered honestly.
"Yeah, duh, Hu is the greatest race."
The silence returned, but this time it was different. It was filled with disappointment and a profound, shared sadness. No one spoke a word, sent a text, or even a telepathic message. The air was thick with their unspoken thoughts. They continued to the Peachy Corner, their footsteps on the cobbled path the only sound besides the quiet, unsettling shift of pebbles under their feet.
The weight on Bishie's shoulders was immense. He was a social pariah, a walking, talking blunder. He thought they'd never speak to him again. What had he said to make them have that reaction? He was completely lost, his mind replaying the moment over and over.
Ian's voice, cutting through the heavy atmosphere, shattered the silence completely.
"We're here."
The two simple words were a lifeline for Bishie. A weight was taken off his shoulders that he thought he'd be forced to carry forever.
The Peachy Corner was, as its name suggested, nestled in the corner of a narrow, bustling street. Its exterior was as basic as you could get: a two-story building with four large, unadorned windows on the top floor that faced out onto the street. The name, etched in simple, block letters, was the only thing that gave it any character from the outside.
"Nova said they're in the usual spot," Ourania stated, her voice still a little shaky as she held her phone up.
When they entered, Bishie was utterly dumbfounded by the interior. It was a world away from the plain exterior. The ceiling was a canopy of string lights that cast a soft, golden glow over the whole space, giving it a cozy, almost magical feel. The menu was painted on a large, distressed wooden board on the wall, its bold letters and decorative borders a perfect distraction from the most intriguing thing about the place: the aroma.
Bishie's nose twitched, following the scent of cooking seafood that mingled with the fruity aromas of fresh-squeezed juice and sweet pastries. The smell was a siren song, luring him past the dining tables and towards the source: the bar.
Behind the long, wooden bar were six swivel stools, inviting patrons to enjoy a drink while watching the latest sports on one of the televisions mounted on the wall. But just beyond the bar, Bishie could hear the distinct clanks and echoing of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on a grill, and the sharp hiss of a pressure cooker. It was a symphony of culinary activity, and yet, there was one major problem: there was no one here except his peers and their friends. The restaurant was completely empty, yet it was so active.
"I might not be able to read minds, but I can tell what you're thinking."
A soft, melodic voice startled Bishie. A girl, Gala, had grabbed him by the shoulders, her presence completely unnoticed until this moment. He was so dumbfounded by the restaurant's impossible vibrancy that he had stopped paying attention to his surroundings. She peered over his shoulders with a knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine.
"I can feel you shaking. Are you alright?" Gala removed her hands from his shoulders and gently grabbed his hands, a calm, steady gesture that contrasted with her earlier startling approach.
Bishie instinctively pulled his hands back, but Gala, despite being a petite girl, had a shockingly strong grip. He struggled, twisting and yanking, but she didn't budge.
"What the?" he muttered, bewildered.
"Anyways, the reason this place is so lively is because we're like, super rich. But Nova says it's because of our 'funding' from the sect, but I think it's the former."
Gala shrugged nonchalantly, as if her super-strength and insider knowledge were completely normal. She finally unclamped her hands from his, and he immediately fell to his butt, wincing.
"Holy, how'd you get to be so strong, lady?" he groaned.
"Lady!?" Gala's head snapped back, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed his wrists again, twisting them as if they were doorknobs. "I'm 16 years young, little boy!"
"Are you sure? Because it seems you have the temperament of an old lady!" Bishie's voice was strained with every angle his wrists were turned, the pain a sharp, jarring contrast to the restaurant's mellow ambiance.
"Gala! Let go of the kid!"
The words came from behind them. A low, ominous bellow filled their ears, deep and bold, a commander's shout that brought an immediate end to the struggle.
Gala's grip immediately slackened. She let go of Bishie, who scrambled to his feet, rubbing his wrists. A young man, tall and imposing, towered over the two students. He was wearing the same black cloak Bishie had seen on the proctors at the entrance exam. His presence filled the space, demanding silence and respect.
"Nova, I didn't know you were here, well I mean, here exactly. How long have you been watching?" Gala's voice became sporadic, her confidence evaporating like steam. She didn't even glance in Nova's direction.
Nova cleared his throat. "Go to the table. We have a mission to complete, and give the kid some space. You probably scared him half to death." The bold, bellowing voice was gone, replaced with an almost somber, gentle tone.
Gala sheepishly nodded. "Alright, see you there," she said, before running off to a large, circular booth in the corner of the restaurant.
While Bishie rubbed his hands, Nova crouched down to meet him at eye level. As he got closer, Bishie noticed something about him. The exhaustion in Nova's face was unmistakable—tired, sunken eyes, and dark, curly hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in days.
"You're the boy from the entrance exam," Nova said, his voice a low rumble. "The dud. Or well, the so-called dud. You should be registered as a scholar."
Bishie took a long, hard look at Nova's face, his eyes lingering on the weary lines around his eyes. He was the proctor, the one who had looked so calm and in control during the chaos of the exam.
Nova reached out a hand, a simple, confident gesture that felt both genuine and reassuring. "Take a candy," he said, a small spherical hard candy wrapped in orange tissue rested in his palm.
"You're that proctor guy," Bishie said, the recognition finally sinking in.
"Yeah, I established that. You gonna take the candy or not?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Bishie took the candy, unraveled the tissue, and popped it into his mouth. He let the hard candy rest under his tongue, savoring the flavor. "Tastes like a tangerine," he said, his voice muffled.
"Let's head back to the table. We'll talk and eat over dinner." Nova stood up and ushered Bishie along to the circle booth where Gala and the others were already seated.
The group was arranged casually, each person in their own world, yet all part of a single, coherent whole. From left to right sat Maram and Ourania, their heads bent close together as they listened to symphonies on a single pair of earbuds. Ian, cross-legged on the seat opposite them, meditated, his eyes closed and his face a picture of serene focus. On the other side of the table, Will and Ruby were absorbed in a high-stakes game on their phones, their thumbs flying across the screens. Sam and Gala, meanwhile, were deep in conversation about the various foods and delicacies they had enjoyed over the years, their voices a low, comfortable hum.
The last two seats were left open for Bishie and Nova. Nova, a large presence in the small space, sat on the outer edge of the booth, expertly cramming Bishie in between him and Sam.
Sam, with a mischievous grin, asked the boy, "So, Bishie, what brings you here today?"
Bishie, still trying to process everything, slumped down in the booth, trying to make himself as small as possible.
"I got in trouble with Ms. Yankava for being inappropriate during the introduction."
Just as he finished, Sam and Nova, with a silent understanding, lifted him up by his shoulders and sat him straight.
Bishie, no longer able to contain his confusion, looked from one face to the next.
"Now let me ask you guys a question," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity. "Who are you people?"