The wind blew gently across Edimun High- a gentle whisper among reeds. It rose from the luscious green valley, a red brick institution with grey rooves. Above it flew dragons with their raiders staring them across the valley.
Sion sat in the large courtyard, under a luscious green tree among students scattered across it- coal among colors. He held a paper in his hands, it was from his mother and it read.
"Mon Felis
How are you coping, how is your sister. Hope the weather of the west is not getting to you.
Mon Felis, I am so sorry that I have not had the chance to come for your visiting day.
However, I promise to make it to the next. Please inform me of the date ahead of time.
With Love,
Mom."
The letter was written on pale blue paper, the kind his mother favored because she said it reminded her of the sky on the day she first held him. He knew this because she'd told him a hundred times. She was always trying too hard, filling the space his father left empty with words and apologies and promises she couldn't keep. He shoved the letter into his pocket before the paper could soften in his palm.
The bell echoed across the school; it was time for lectures. He stood up and walked into the hall. Edimun High was quite a busy institution, they had six periods a day, that ran from the early hours of the day to evenings and meals in between.
They had courses ranging from Naheorthiai anatomy and physiology, essence class, algebra, calculus with were core and art, music, languages, astronomy, sciences and commerce which were elective depending on the type of class one found themselves in.
His sister, Harrieta, had always been the bright one—bursting with creativity he couldn't match, or perhaps refused to uncover. She took to the arts like water to a river, and he... he took to science, to facts, to things that could be proven and controlled. Her world was messy. His was orderly. It was why she still believed their mother's promises, and why he'd stopped long ago.
He walked through the hallway pass students and teachers to his class; Essence class. He took a seat on the cushion behind a girl whose dark straight hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that caressed her delicate back and bangs with curls that cascaded her cheeks.
During the nine months, he had learnt a lot about essence. He had learnt that the Naheorthiai body held two types of essence; the one from the live-giving mother Nahe and the other from the god of chaos; Orthi balanced within the body however that the greater flow is greatly dependent on the will of the individual.
He had also learnt how emotions after the flow, appearance, feel and intensity of the essence and the limits to which the Naheorthiai body could handle both.
A pump middle aged woman with short curly ginger hair, grey orbs like pearls and olive glowing skin stepped and came to stand in front of the class.
It was Miss Penelope, the teacher who taught them in this class. Today, she said that she would guide them in the practical aspects of channeling essence through the body. Everyone sat with legs crossed, breathed slowed as they listened to miss Penelope's voice.
Sion breathed slowing focusing on the growing pulse within him. It started as a gentle sting and gradually built up to a rushing gush that flowed unfiltered through his veins. It felt like the warm honey then shifted to ice.
His breath emerged as low, hitched gasps; his fingers began to twitch. Everything around him zoned out until there was nothing but silence. A wind began to blow, whistling as it passed by; he opened his eyes and discovered that he wasn't in class anymore.
He sat in a barren wasteland of ash and grey, above him the clouds were a chaotic blend of grey and amethyst with flashes of amethyst lightening with sounds of low rumblings of thunder. Around him was jagged mountains that rose form the sandy terrain, he is suddenly pulled by an invisible force to the entrance of a cave-dark and hollow-from it rose whispers of voices, a distant roar of waters that called out to him from the darkness.
Suddenly, a pair of ghost green eyes opened, it looked like smoke pouring out of deep pits. They seemed to pull him in- a fish drawn to a worm. A loud screech arose from the pit as the eyes raced to the light to reveal a pitch black long curved beak, Sion arms rose, his eyes shut close as the figure diffused to a shadow around him, it's touch as cold as ice.
"Come to me and I will make you whole" said a low ghost like voice.
His heart races as his breathing becomes more rugged, in the mortal plane, his eyes emit a green aura like the eyes he had seen, his veins emit a faint glow of ghost green from under his skin.
He had never felt essence like this before- cold, dark and dangerous and it curled and burrowed through him, needles in cushion. It called out to him, pulling him deeper and deeper filling him with strength like an empty wall starved of water.
Miss Penelope called out to him; her voice drowned by the whispers growing around him. She called to him again, this time shaking him.
His was suddenly pulled back to meet miss Penelope's gaze, her eyebrows wrinkled. The aura gradually faded as his skin returned to the normal shade.
"Are you ok, child?" she said.
He looked around to see that his classmates were staring at him with the same expression as miss Penelope.
He turned his gaze to her.
Miss Penelope's eyes—those grey orbs like pearls—were fixed on him, and for a fraction of a second, he saw something pass across her face. Fear. Then it was gone, smoothed over by years of professional composure. "I believe we all need a break," she said, and her voice was a little too bright. "Tapping into the pool can be overwhelming at first.".
"Class dismissed" she said.
*****
The sun stood below the horizon among a sea of orange, peach and sapphire.
Sion sat on his bed in his room he shared with his roommate; Baxston. His hands were still shaking, but as he pressed them flat against his thighs to still them, he realized something: for the first time since he'd left his father's house, he didn't feel small. Whatever that thing was—that cold, dark presence—it had filled him in a way he'd never been filled before. It was wrong. It was dangerous. And the thought that it could be his made his heart race for an entirely different reason.
What was that, who was that. He knew that was more than just essence, it felt like it had breath and a mind. It was like a hand-cold and dark had wrapped around him from a sea and pulled him under, trying to drown him in the sea of power that slowly crept through his veins.
Maybe it was all in his head. He laid on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to push the weirdness aside. It had been a long day, and his body felt heavy—especially after all the essence he'd channeled. He needed rest.
But his neck burned.
He reached back, fingers brushing the skin, and felt it: a mark, faint but unmistakable. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. Green. Cold. Waiting.
This was just the beginning. He now bore the mark of Buha, the god of death, whose ever-watching eyes searched the innermost core of the Naheorthai heart—and his had piqued his interest.