The cold is a memory now, burned away by the muggy, suffocating air trapped beneath the massive trees. Every step through the woods feels wrong like walking through someone else's dream, or maybe their nightmare. There's a hush to the air, not the peace of a forest but the heavy, watchful silence of a place that resents our intrusion. The snow is still visible in patches on the gnarled roots and high branches, but it doesn't melt, nor does it fall. It just hangs there.
I keep asking myself: Are these woods alive? Or are they someone's or somethings mark of power at work? It could be a proctor's though I doubt it, inhuman as us Elites are even the most powerful among us could never twist nature so completely. The ground feels spongy and uneven underfoot. The muggy air beads sweat on my brow, and every so often a draft of cool, pine-scented air cuts through, making my skin crawl with gooseflesh.
We move in formation, a loose but disciplined rhythm that's remarkable, considering we only met yesterday. Necessity makes quick soldiers of us all. At the very front, Ayil, the girl with the shield mark who fell on her ass, leads the way down the path. She's short and wiry, blue-eyed with grey/silver hair. Her hand hover at her side ready to throw up a barrier at the first sign of trouble.
Flanking Ayil, to her right, is Bragg, his massive frame a natural bulwark braided hair looking lavish. He strides through the undergrowth as if it's hardly there, eyes narrowed, arms loose at his sides but ready to move earth or wood with a flick of his thick fingers. On her left is Niko, his skin the color of burnished copper, moving with the careful precision of someone used to being both shield and spear. His mark Iron Hide means he's our second wall, a living battering ram if it comes to a fight. Just behind the point, Elijah and I spread out to the right, a step or two apart but close enough to watch each other's backs. Elijah's power of invisibility will save a few of us it shit really hits the fan.
To the left of the vanguard, Lucian stalks silently, his face set in a mask of cold indifference. Vihaan keeps pace beside him, pale and composed. Arya, with her plant-shaping mark, moves with feline grace just behind them, her eyes constantly scanning the ground for roots, blooms, or anything else that may catch her eye.
Behind this front wedge comes the main body of the group nearly two dozen more, moving in a staggered double line that stretches back through the gloom. Imara walks near the center, her tall figure unmistakable, ready to shift her density at a moment's notice. Dominic, the lightning-caller, is a pace behind her, fingers twitching with nervous energy. Joon-ha Kim, always a little apart even when walking in the middle, watches the others with that hawkish, unreadable gaze, his emotional manipulation mark a silent blade at his side.
Rye, the firestarter, sticks close to Imara. Rye's small size makes her easy to overlook, but I make sure not to lose sight of her. Tahlia, the wind-girl, floats along the left edge, always a little restless, eyes darting for paths of least resistance. The rest fill in the spaces: students with marks for poison, ice control bla bla bla. Conversations are rare, just the occasional order or warning hissed low" Watch your footing," "Something moved up ahead," "Stay close." The woods swallow every sound instantly, so we keep our voices low, half-afraid to disturb the oppressive hush.
The discipline of our formation is a comfort, a thin shield against the unknown. The vanguard breaks the path, the core holds the line, and the rear guards our backs. I'm impressed, honestly, at how quickly we've become a unit. Fear is the best teacher after all. Followed closely by pain.
We move through the forest in wary silence, and my mind spins with questions that make my skin crawl. My mind returns to the same thought what if these woods are someone's or somethings mark of power. The thought is astounding and terrifying. I know the stories. Everyone does of course. When the First King arrived from the Dark Continent, he didn't just bring his version of civilization; he brought war. His Elites, his Inquisitors, the original Awakened, they were more weapon than person. They swept across these lands in waves, hunting down every corrupted creature that crawled or flew or slithered, erasing them with fire and steel and the raw force of their marks. Monsters, they called them: remnants of the corruption that had come from Dark Continent same as them, ancient creatures warped by marks of power and malice. The history books say the Elites wiped them out, bled the land clean and killed them all. Then of course the first King founded his first territory Avrael and launched his holy war on the same countries and nations he had supposedly just saved. But again the story is that monsters are all gone save for the ones across the sea hundreds of thousands of miles away. But history is written by the victors, and the victors are always lying.
Monsters are supposed to be extinct, but that's what you'd want people to believe if you were running an empire, isn't it? Or waging a holy war claiming you and your bloodlines is blessed by the gods. If you were the ones who wrote the laws and the lessons. I'd do the same smother the truth, keep the fear at bay, let the people sleep easy at night while you deal with the things that still crawl in the dark. The Elites, the proctors, maybe even higher-ranking soldiers they must know. They must've seen things, fought things, covered up the evidence.
A chill seeps into me, prickling beneath the sweat and the muggy warmth. What if the forest is alive in ways we can't even understand? What if it's not a spell, not a mark, but an old horror that just never died? My mind drifts back to Cain when me him and Howard were talking. And he told us under penalty of death he could not warn us of what the Academy would hold.
At the time I thought he'd was being dramatic as he so often is, and was referring to the political aspects of the Academy which only a fool would think did not exist. But what if he meant this? What if the penalty for speaking isn't just for breaking some rule, but for revealing that the world isn't as safe as we all pretend? That the ancient horrors the monsters, the things the First King claimed he solved still existed.
I keep my hand on my sword hilt, my mark humming low and dangerous beneath my skin. If a monster does step out of the gloom if the forest itself turns against us or some corrupted fiend busted out of the wood line could we win? My mind races through our abilities. We're strong, at least on paper. Thirty Awakened, thirty demi gods each with a mark of power and super human strength and agility.
But monsters aren't people. They are corrupted beasts rejected by the gods and the world itself forced to endure their own madness. I clench my jaw, Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. The proctors wouldn't send us into a death trap would they?
They wouldn't right?