There was little of the interior of the Academy that interested Dowyr, as somehow it managed to feel even more lifeless than the orphanage. It was pristine, yes, but the soul of mud was far preferable to the soul of a polished and sanctified brick. Dowyr considered whether thinking of it like that was an insult to bricks.

  They had not gone beyond the second floor—four in total—as all channeling was done on the top two floors. Only the bottom two had objects infused with Indifference that stopped any attempt at channeling, no matter how powerful the Class. Dane called them voidstones, based on the name used for Indifference Emogicians, Voidspeakers, who were able to block another Emogician’s channeling. It was also claimed that, when channeling, they were able to communicate with Hell himself, which was a major turnoff for religious types. Voidstones didn’t seem to bother them though. Probably because Hell had nothing to say to inanimate objects. Not that Dowyr believed it was really Hell from The Five Sentinels speaking to Voidspeakers. Something spoke to them, but it could easily be the worst versions of themselves.

  Dowyr had been momentarily tempted to sneak off to the third floor, but decided against it due to the brawny men that guarded every staircase. If the stairs to the third floor were as long as the ones between first and second floors, he wouldn’t have gotten far.

  Dreadfully, it was going to be a month before he was allowed to the third floor to start practicing his Emogic. And so his time at the Academy started passing by, most of it being spent on a wagonload of lectures, reading assignments that Dowyr had read years ago, and, of course, mandatory sermon attendance every week. Students weren’t allowed to leave the Academy until they had been through three months of training, so there had to be a chapel on the first floor. There was no way they could allow new students to be away from religious indoctrination for so long, or at least that was how Dowyr saw it. He even had to listen to one of Pastor Orson’s sermons, the smug bastard. It was an effort to endure, and the only reason he ever managed to get out of bed for the morning services was because Weynon practically dragged him out every time. He didn’t begrudge him for it—or at least, not all the time. The kid was only trying to help and thought it right. Weynon was never judgmental towards him regardless of his protests, outwardly at least, and so their relationship remained friendly.

  To Dowyr’s dismay, it was the only relationship that remained friendly. None of the interpreters spoke to him, and the few teachers who could communicate with him did not appear to like him. He did not know why, but the faces they made when he introduced himself as ‘Dowyr Mawkin’ gave him a suspicion. Mawkin was not really his last name—being an orphan he didn’t officially have one—but he had adopted the name as it seemed both befitting and amusing. The reason was because it was a disparaging religious term for orphans, one that had been coined by the Snake Hades. It was used to imply that orphans were Hell’s property. Dowyr thought there was a nice ring to it, but of course the teachers disagreed.

  The other students around his age also avoided him, although he was used to such treatment from his time at the orphanage. It didn’t help that he was unable to communicate with them without something to write on.

  Weynon had no issues with making friends. He was the most soft-spoken of those he spent time with and got along with all but the nastiest teens. And somehow, as if by miracle, even the nastiest came to love him and made apologies for their damnable behavior. Weynon forgave them with smiles and handshakes, and seemingly held no resentment. It was the most unusual phenomenon Dowyr had ever witnessed, and he had to wonder whether Weynon’s Emogic of Peace played a part, but there was nothing written in any of the library’s books about Druids being able to make friends so easily.

  Dowyr had initially suspected Weynon to be a holier-than-thou type, but quickly realized he wasn’t like that at all. For instance, Weynon stuck to eating with him in the mess hall, which meant just them and an otherwise empty table. Nobody else wanted to sit near Dowyr, even with Weynon there. Perhaps Weynon felt sorry for him, but he did not think it was that. Of all the people in the Academy, perhaps in all the city, Weynon genuinely believed in the Five Sentinels, followed their teachings to the letter, and didn’t think himself better than anyone else for it. There was not an ounce of hypocrisy in the boy, and that is what Dowyr liked about him the most. It’s what kept him sane through the ridiculous church sermons, knowing that the kid beside him was better than all the pastors and preachers combined. Sometimes he wanted to try asking what Weynon’s thoughts were about the more blatant pulled-out-of-the-pastor’s-ass type sermons, but he could never bring himself to write out the question. It just seemed like it would be rude.

  One evening, Dowyr was leaving his room to go to the mess hall for dinner when another boy, nearly a head taller than him, brushed against him so forcefully that he was knocked to the ground. As Dowyr tried to pick himself up, a foot came down on his back, and suddenly he was surrounded by half a dozen other boys.

  “Aw, look at the poor Mawkin,” the boy who held him said. “What’s the matter? Why don’t you cry for help?”

  Dowyr recognized the voice of Fenton, a Class 1 Worry Emogician, or Sprinter, who was a suck-up to all the teachers and pastors. Why anyone else liked him was a mystery. Laughs echoed around while Dowyr rolled his eyes and managed to sign, I can still yell, dumbass.

  “Look at his funny gestures.”

  “I can wiggle my fingers too.”

  “Hey, what if he’s insulting us?”

  “There’s an easy way to stop that.”

  Another boy stepped hard on Dowyr’s hands, and he screamed. The other boys jumped back and cursed, even the ones on top of him.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “What in Heaven’s name is that noise?”

  “That sounds worse than my sister’s cat when it was sick!”

  “Sounds like a dying dog to me.”

  Dowyr groaned as they laughed. None of his fingers felt broken, thankfully, and after flexing them he signed, go to Hell. And he did not sound like a dying dog. He would know.

  A new voice came from down the hall. “Hey, I just saw Weynon go in. Come on guys, let’s ditch the Hell-loving rodent and get some dinner.”

  The others bellowed with agreement and strode away. Dowyr pushed himself up and flexed his fingers some more, glad they still bent in the right direction, but they still throbbed with pain at the movement. Where’s a Healer when you need one? On the third floor, unfortunately. The Academy always kept at least a Class 2 Compassion Emogician on staff to treat injuries, but new students were only allowed onto the third floor to be healed for the most serious cases.

  With a sigh, Dowyr continued on to the mess hall, moving slowly in the hopes that the boys would be long gone. When he entered the mess hall, he looked for Weynon and found him sitting at a table with Fenton and the others, who were all innocent smiles and pleasant manners. Dowyr grimaced at them and joined the line. He sat alone at his usual table and stared at Weynon while plucking at his plate and not caring what came up to his mouth or in what order. Weynon smiled apologetically the moment he noticed his stare, but Dowyr just rolled his eyes.

  Then, as if out of thin air, a girl walked up to his table and sat down across from him. His jaw dropped, and some food may have rolled out. The girl looked only a couple years older than him, maybe seventeen at the most, and had long strawberry blonde hair with too pretty a face. What intrigued Dowyr most was her clothing; she didn’t wear a student’s shirt, just an ordinary dress, which meant she either wasn’t an Emogician, or she had already completed her training.

  “What, have you never seen a girl before?” she asked in a demeaning tone.

  Oh, she’s a witch, Dowyr thought, snapping his mouth shut. Well, I’m not talking to her, whoever she is. He looked past her and saw Weynon and the others looking at them in a mix of surprise and disbelief. That’s just great.

  “Um, hello?” the girl said, leaning towards him and waving a hand. “Are you blind? Blind and deaf? Well, whatever your problem is, I heard you were a Mind Intruder.”

  Dowyr blinked and looked at her.

  “Ah, so you can hear me. Well, are you? A Boredom Emogician?”

  Dowyr raised an eyebrow and nodded shortly.

  “Class 1?”

  He shook his head.

  “Class 2?”

  He nodded.

  “Wonderful. Thank you very much, strange little alien!”

  She got up and disappeared out the mess hall. Dowyr locked stares with Weynon, who shrugged at him. He shrugged back. Girls are the aliens, he thought.

  Once finished with his food, he went back to his room and changed into his sleepwear. Weynon came in shortly after.

  “Sorry for not sitting with you,” Weynon said. “Fenton practically begged me to eat with him and the others.”

  Dowyr grabbed his journal and charcoal and wrote, Paradise 5:42? A verse about doing what others begged of you, so long as it wasn’t wrong.

  “Yeah.”

  Dowyr nodded and shrugged, but wrote, Do you even like hanging out with them? They’re just a bunch of jerks.

  “They’re not jerks. Fenton is actually pretty smart.” Dowyr rolled his eyes. “He knows a lot about history and battle tactics and stuff. His dad’s a Colonel. Is there something wrong with your hands? Why are they so red?”

  Dowyr had been unconsciously massaging his hands whenever he could. He stopped the moment Weynon mentioned them and resisted the urge to continue. He wrote, It’s nothing. I tripped and landed on them funny earlier. There was no way he was going to admit he was attacked and couldn’t defend himself.

  “Oh. Maybe you can get them healed tomorrow if they still hurt.”

  Dowyr’s heart skipped a beat. Had it really been a month already? Quickly comparing the current date to when he had arrived at the Academy, he realized it had.

  “Are you nervous about your Emogic lessons?” Weynon asked.

  Dowyr shook his head and wrote, I already know how to use mine, I just need practice. You?

  “A little bit. Being a Druid sounds nice, but understanding plants and animals is kind of freaky. Bird songs are not what you think.”

  Another time Dowyr would’ve asked about the birds, but instead he wrote, Did you recognize that girl who sat down in front of me?

  “No, I’ve never seen her before. She was really pretty though. What did she say?”

  Just asked me if I was a Mind Intruder, that was it.

  “Weird. What did you think about her?”

  She’s trouble. I’ll be happy if I never see her again.

  “Well if she talked to you once, she’ll probably talk to you again. I wonder if she’s an Emogician.”

  Dowyr groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to hear, but instead of complaining about it, he climbed onto his bed with the journal and charcoal and began to sketch. Art was what helped him relax, and so he began outlining a mountain. Landscapes were what he liked to draw the most, especially while stuck inside the Academy. Not a single clear window was to be found. Plenty of stained-glass along the halls and chapel, but it was impossible to see through any of them.

  “Do you wanna be an artist when you grow up?” Weynon asked.

  Dowyr made a face and shook his head.

  “What do you wanna be then?”

  Dowyr paused. He hadn’t really thought about that, but a smile crept onto his face as something came to mind. Flipping to his writing page, he wrote, I actually do want to be an artist. A con artist.

  “Oh, that sounds cool. What kind of art is that?”

  Dowyr suppressed a laugh. Religious art.

  “Nice. I think you’d be pretty good at that.”

  Dowyr faked an appreciative nod, and on the inside was convulsing with laughter. If Weynon had one fault, it was naivety. The kid couldn’t be helped, having grown up in a small farm town with his mother and grandmother who didn’t have the time or resources to give him a proper education about the world. Yet Dowyr had to remind himself that books limited his own knowledge of the world, and he had never been outside of the city. Even other nations like Kircany or Parasten were only words and descriptions, and everything he’d learned about Arkonia was by word of mouth, as in the books it was barely mentioned enough for anyone to know it even existed. How he longed to go there and get away from all the stifling religious fog that permeated the entirety of Elyssanar. Arkonia might even have better reading material. How much more about the world could he learn from their libraries? It was an exciting prospect.

  Dowyr suddenly realized the room was dark. He looked down at his sketch and blinked, barely able to make out the mountain he had outlined. Where had the time gone? He had fantasized about traveling the world from time to time while in the orphanage, but now that it seemed like a possible reality, the idea sucked him in.

  Filled with anticipation, he slowly put the journal and charcoal away to not brighten the room’s lightstone and tried to calm his mind to fall asleep. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.