Darkness Ignite

Chapter 8

Nesrin

The academy was a huge building made up of large stones. I swear by all the Mentioned Gods that the place couldn't have been built by human hands. The stones must have weighed tons. No average person could have lifted them.

The building itself stood around seventy feet tall. Its pointed towers looked down at its students. The towers were atop each corner. Guards stood in the towers, keeping a close eye out for thieves and drunkens. It wasn't an odd sight to watch a passerby make their way to the academy front doors. More often than not, their mouths would spew harsh words at the guards. Nevertheless, such actions were deemed inappropriate and enough to be held in the dungeons for a fortnight.

Inside, were massive halls that were just as wide as they were tall. The windows were massive throughout and arched at the top. Students kept the halls alive, otherwise the academy would've been gloomy.

The halls were adorned with artifacts from history, ages past. There were rusted suits of armor that were lined every few yards. Each held a sigil that represented the reign of a crowned ruler throughout the years. There were only a few sigils I bothered to remember: a blossomed thorn rose for King Lantor, a broken deer's antler for Queen Wyn, and a bear's paw representing the late King Oraxis. The last suit of armor had my least favorite sigil: a dead tree, chosen by the king who sits on the throne at the moment.

For all the repeated lessons of each sigil's meaning, I couldn't bother myself to memorize any of it. What did it matter that another ruler created a seal for their years of reign? It would all disappear in a few years time.

But for all the distaste I had for the symbols, King Corbyn's symbol was oddly intriguing. It wasn't a symbol of prosperity, justice, beauty, or hope. His sigil gave an eerie air about it. Literally speaking, dead tree welcome new abundant life. I can't find it in me to think the King of Syrone was keen on such things. Not to mention that dead trees also stand years after they've decayed. For someone whose title depends on its people, the king seems not to care about them.

"Seems as though someone is lost in thought." I turned to find Bently Drenwin already staring at me. "You came in without so much as a greeting. You hadn't even bothered to grab the book for today's lesson."

"My apologies Mr. Drenwin," I said shyly. I gave a weak bow to the old mentor.

He was a thin aged man who was as stubborn as his head was bald. He wore a brown habit that seemed too heavy for his shoulders. He had a hunched back that seemed to grow larger every moon cycle. His dark eyes upon his weary face never left me as I moved to grab the book for today.

"Must I advise you every week to mind your manners," he spat. I sat with a loud thump, annoyed that he continued today's lesson with another ramble. "I am your mentor not your mother."

The others he took under his apprenticeship shot me tired looks. This was not the first time I've caused the mentor to stray off topic. Nor was it the last time.

"Nevertheless we must continue." He wobbled back to his desk, or if you could call it that. It took him a while before he cleared most of what was on the surface, and finally opened the book. "In honor of the Throne Trials twentieth annual anniversary, shall we review its beginning and how it came about?"

His eyes loomed over the hushed class as they all avoided his stare. His gaze slowly passed over me, but moved on the moment our eyes met.

"With all due respect, we've heard the stories and lectures all throughout our childhood," Fredrick said. He sat in front of me, his back ever so straight. "War was common for nations to command as a means to resolve issues with one another. In the Tragic Ages, the Throne Trials came about as an attempt to avoid wars breaking out. It's a controlled environment for the nations to get politically violent without consequences."