A field, designed to look like outside, but we're all well aware that we're still inside. The sun high above us, does not produce the same lumens as the real sun, the vast horizon is instead highly detailed painted brick, and the wind and weeds? All artificial. Every aspect here has been meticulously designed to prepare and train us in the hardest way possible. "Alright class, today we will be working on summoning our familiars, these specific ones are only temporary, so don't focus on setting yourselves up to adjust your style to their skills."
Internal Spirituality 1109, our Guidance, Extear Addams, has been teaching this class for decades, most recently becoming the oldest educator and assassin in the school. But don't think that makes her useless or no longer a threat, no, she can still have a knife to our throats within a heartbeat if the wind even whispers to her that someone possesses ill intentions.
"Ridiculous that a little pipsqueak is allowed here," A young male, about four to five years older than myself, mutters with annoyance. "She's like what? Eight? Nine years old?"
"Now Acolyte Ninety-Seven, it is important for you to understand that age is not a qualifier for a person's abilities, Disciple Two here has shown incredible progress compared to her mutuals, meaning that she must be treated with the respect she deserves and for us, that means she has to be moved up in a few classes." The teacher chimes in patiently, as though she understands the perspective of all those around her and just wants all her students to do well.
It's ridiculous to say the least, a majority of everyone here will be dead within two years.
It's been a month since that day, the day I had used fire for the first time. It's led to my position in the school skyrocketing and almost all my classes being booted up a few grades. I'm passing all my classes, but I'm still not good in areas like languages or geography, but I don't need them honestly—killing in the shadows requires no words. I'm not officially Disciple Two yet though, that's just a rumour going around, no, I'm still nameless until I turn of age. It's been amazing for my ego and training, but it has also led to more people targeting me. My personal guide has explained to me that confidence and self-assurance are the main driving forces in strength and the use of powerful magic, so as long as I view myself as better than everyone around me, then I will always be stronger than everyone around me.
"Now then," The class has decided to accept that response and move on, listening closely to the lecture and demonstration taking place. Standing atop the carpet of grass, Ms. Addams raises her right arm, and seeping from it, an illuminatingly pink light reaches upwards, forming into an orbs as gentle oohs and ahhs play out from the class. It begins to grow limbs, the light splinters off into feathers, and, once the brilliance has finished taking shape, an owl rests upon her arm, tall and confident. It's head shoots in every direction, deeply scanning all of us in search of our ideals and innermost thoughts and feelings. "Right here is my spirit animal, Twilight." It is a snowy barn owl. "Now, when encapsulating the form of your spirit animal, it will likely be the same as mine to start, but through time and hard work, you will eventually be able to make it your own." She shifts her arm slightly and the owl takes flight, wings spread out wide as it soars high above us, scanning the Earth for threats and food. "Let's start with some meditation, by me-" The teacher gestures to a nearby table, designed like a massive tree trunk, where a collection of vials stand in a metal tray; a dark, thick, bubbly liquid within all of them. "-You will all be able to find a herbal medicine I had made to assist in the activity. One-by-one, you may all consume the vials and return to your positions."
We all line up, in no particular order, and take a vial from the tray, drinking it instantly and place it back in its spot. I'm eighth in line, watching closely at all those who have gone before me, examining how they grip the vials, the veins in their arms as they lift them, the consistency as they're poured, momentary reactions to their scent, the shifts in taste before, during, and after consumption, any changes as they return the vial, their breathing and pulse after drinking this mystery medicine, and every second of their existence after returning to their spot.
In the end, I've deduced that the vials are weightless, thick but still easily pourable, they are scentless to a fault, they're either salty to sweet to tart or bitter to sweet to tart.
It's finally my turn, I step up to the table and begin reaching for a vial, I've only seen a change in one person so far, the third in line, seems to be symptoms of a stomach ache.
The glass vial is light but certainly not weightless as I grip onto it, raising it. Smelling, I realize that it actually does have a scent and quite a pleasant one, though powerful in its own right. Tipping the vial up, I watch the bottom of my vision as the fluid slowly makes its way up and out of the container—thick but still flows nicely.
The first bit drops into my mouth, immediately coating my taste buds, I fight off my coughs as spice immediately begins burning me from the inside, only growing stronger and more smokey once the vial has been completely emptied and returned to its slot. Swallowing, the liquid slides down my throat, blazing like liquid magma before dropping to my stomach and boiling my insides. Licking my lips, I return to my spot in this deskless space, a new flavour finally coating my tastebuds: sour, harshly sour. So sourly that it cuts at my innerflesh, now filling my mouth with iron. My breathing doesn't change, neither does my heartrate.
No.
Other than my body melting from the inside, something that I can keep hidden, I'm actually fine.
So what was that liquid then? Was the herbal medicine more like just a thick tea? Was it just intense in flavour but had no active effects, perhaps to keep our minds focused on our insides?
The heat spreads steadily and uncomfortably, I watch as everyone else steps up, sips back their vial, and returns to their position, all seemingly without any reactions, like all they're drinking is lukewarm water.
Are they too just hiding the flaming sensations within, or am I and that person with the stomach ache the only ones feeling it? Is there something specific that lead to us having a different reaction to it?
"Alright, class, and-"
They spread rapidly and without remorse. The flames escape my skin, burning off my arm hairs as though I was always smooth, then the same with my legs, knuckles, toes. It spreads throughout my body, engulfing me in yellow, shooting out at my fellow assassins, piercing them, leaving its mark subtly, and forcing their screams to ripple in the wind.
I drop to my knees, coughing nonstop, scrounging for a breath, no matter how shallow. But only smoke fills my lungs. My tears bubble and boil on my skin, leaving behind a white residue that makes me cry more.
"Oh my dear, young one!" Ms. Addams cries through crackled words, and a moment later, a faint glowing red hori hori knife is pressed to my throat, carefully slicing into my skin. Her voice is now only a distant chime as the cracking of fire grows more deafening within me. "They appear to view your soul as a battleground, please, I beg you, pull away from that fire building inside you!"
But it's no use. I'm already down on the ground, surrounded by ash, just begging, dreaming, that whatever is enclosed by my meagre mortal flesh will please just finish me off quickly; release me from this hellish torment.
But it doesn't.
And all I come to know is the witful meaning of fire.
Antonio and I lay beside each other, sore and restless, either unwilling to me as we are scorched by the hot sun practically burning a hole in our tent. My throat is dry and my nose stuffy, but I ignore those, instead asking him through raspy words, "Hey, Blake, what was your first time using magic like?"
He's confused but doesn't choose to outwardly question it, choosing to assume that I must have a reason for this, "Well, it's kind of hard to describe. Primarily because my first time using magic was clear."
"Clear? As in a gas?" His confusion is growing now, but he continues choosing to trust me.
"Exactly, my fire is gas based, just like how others are wood based."
"So what happened?" Now his suspicions begin to grow, he's eyeing me as though I may betray him any moment.
"They found me, and I had no other choice but to fight back."