The pain had long faded from his body, with it the burning hatred vanished. He felt cleaner, like muck had been removed from his soul.

  ‘What was that?’

  He had lost control over himself, acting like a madman. It made no sense, fatty made him angry yes, but it shouldn’t have driven him to that. It was like something else was puppeteering his body. Then there was that voice.

  ‘I know I’ve heard it before…’

  Unlike before, this voice did not belong to Alicia. Back in the clocktower he had a similar experience. His body moved on its own, casting the fire sequence. But this was entirely different, before it had only been a slight reaction.

  Not to mention he didn’t lose his mind… He did end up killing a man though.

  ‘No! That was different, he was going to kill me… I had no choice.’

  He had a choice this time, he wanted to kill the boy, he wanted to feel his body go limp. It was sick.

  Pain began to return, his crushed lungs felt like they were being put back together. The feeling was increasingly unpleasant, but it allowed him to take in large breaths.

  Soren’s eyes shot open, greedily taking as much air as he could. He was alive, not just that, but it seemed like all of his injuries had been healed.

  “What the…”

  Looking over he saw the raven haired instructor kneeling beside him. In the palm of his hand, complex rings of sequences faded away until their light vanished. A few feet from him, Angus stood beside a fully healed piggy.

  A wave of relief washed over Soren.

  ‘Ah… I didn’t kill him. Good.’

  Piggy was hurling insults at Soren, trying to get the instructors attention.

  “You all saw it, he tried to kill me! He needs to be kicked out now… He’s just like that crazed father of his!”

  Soren’s relief shifted to minor annoyance, then to dread.

  ‘Right… The test. I had completely forgotten, I broke the rules. There goes any chance I had at learning proper weaving.’

  Soren stared at the ceiling somberly, waiting for the instructor to confirm this dreadful fact. He did not want to think about what he would do now, the only thing he wanted was to close his eyes and never wake up.

  Standing up, the instructor kept his piercing gaze on Soren for a moment, then spun around to face the chubby weaver.

  “You attempted to do the same when you crushed his lungs… Do not try and play the victim.”

  Soren turned his head to the instructor, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Huh?’

  Fatty’s face paled. Gritting his teeth he barked back.

  “So what then? Do we both fail? You saw how crazy he was, I defended myself!”

  Soren grimaced, he did say a lot of concerning things. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the instructor cut him off.

  “Defending yourself? Do not insult my intelligence… You were hardly in any real danger.”

  Fatty promptly stood up, stomping his feet as he stood in front of the cold man.

  “I barely survived that devil!”

  The instructor grabbed the boy by his wrist, raising it up. After being set ablaze his clothes were reduced to Cinderella rags. But the missing pieces of his sleeve revealed a small silver broach, runic carvings all along it.

  “You were cheating from the very beginning… What a disgrace!”

  Piggy desperately tried to pull himself away from the instructor's grip, but to no avail. He cursed back at the man.

  “Liar!”

  The instructor shot his gaze at the large student.

  “Angus, escort this boy off of academy grounds.”

  Nodding slightly, he grabbed piggy by his shoulder, practically dragging him up the stairs and out of the building. Fatty kicked and screamed, cursing both the instructor and Soren.

  Sluggishly standing up, Soren stood beside the instructor.

  “He was cheating the whole time?”

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  Cold indigo eyes fell on him, sending chills through his body.

  “From the moment your battle started…”

  Soren stared at the man for a moment, dumbfounded, he knew the entire time…

  “Why didn’t you stop it? If you knew he broke the rules from the start, then why did you let the battle go on?”

  The instructor responded swiftly and briefly.

  “This was a test… I needed to see if you had what it took.”

  He walked up the staircase, Soren quickly following after. As they rejoined the crowd, he could feel a hundred or so eyes trained on him. Their gazes were filled with fear and ridicule. No one said a word to him, no insults, or praise.

  ‘Ah… I had almost forgotten what this felt like.’

  It was the same as all those years ago… Except, whatever pity remained was replaced by disgust. Soren walked a bit away from the crowd, leaning against the railing. Everyone kept a good distance from him, their attention had shifted to the cold scholar’s instruction.

  He announced two names, then those two descended into the pit. Watching the two weavers battle, he saw them putting everything they had into their fight, but it wasn't nearly as harrowing as his fight.

  Their battle didn’t take long, more and more names got called. Each time, one weaver would rejoin the crowd, while the other would leave the building, occasionally shedding tears.

  ‘All of them worked so hard to get here, put everything on the line… And I won because some kid thought he could get away with cheating.’

  His hands gripped the railing, knuckles turning white. Sure, he fought his hardest, but he lost control. He only confirmed their suspicions, he was just like Killian. Had he gone mad too?

  Two young weavers stepped into the arena. One was a young boy Soren had briefly met, Amon. The other was a boy with orange hair, his cool blue eyes were filled with anxiety. He jumped a little when the instructor called out.

  “Begin!”

  Amon quickly dashed forwards, shimmering threads of white light wove together around his arms. They formed around his hands and forearms, like radiant gauntlets. The boy raised his hands attempting to cast some kind of sequence, but Amon was already on him.

  He delivered two swift blows, one to the boy's stomach, another to his head. The entire exchange lasted less than a minute, but just as quick as it started, the timid young boy went down.

  ‘Incredible…’

  Angus went down, scooping the unconscious boy up, carrying him out of the building. Amon followed up the stairs, his triumphant grin quickly faded. He had done incredible, better than most. Yet, no one came to congratulate him. His swift victory only earned him disgusted looks.

  He walked through the crowd, people shifting away as he passed them. His eyes fell on Soren’s somber figure. After a moment of hesitation he walked closer, sitting down a few feet from him, his back to the iron railing.

  There was a moment of silence between them, the ever present glares of young weavers sat heavy on them. Amon was the first to speak.

  “… You’re not actually a devil right?”

  Soren couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

  “No… Just my father.”

  A small smile appeared on Amon’s face.

  “Good. Other than that outburst in the arena, you don’t really seem like one.”

  Grimacing a bit at the memory, Soren attempted to explain, even if only a little.

  “That was… Well, I’m not too sure why I did that. It was like my body had a mind of its own.”

  Amon shot him a confused gaze.

  “What do you mean?”

  Soren stared at his hands.

  “It was like… All the anger I’ve had building up, was just let out.”

  Shooting a glance at the crowd, Amon’s confused expression became somewhat thoughtful.

  “Honestly, I understand how you feel… It’s hard to control that anger sometimes.”

  Soren followed his gaze to the crowd, then back to Amon.

  “What about you? You’re a Valentine, I would think everyone would be flocking around you.”

  He hung his head low, letting out a long drawn out breath.

  “It’s not like I’m a part of the main branch… Even if I was, they would still avoid me like the plague.”

  His shoulders sunk low.

  “… I’m a cursed child.”

  Soren’s eyes widened, he had heard about people born with curses, but he never met one.

  Amon held his hand up, strands of his soul weaving into a simple sequence. However, once it fully formed, nothing happened. The brilliant symbols remained still.

  “No matter how hard I try, no matter how perfect, I just can’t use runes.”

  The strands retreated back into his palm, staring at where the failed sequence had been, they sat in silence for a moment.

  Things made more sense now, the way he had been treated, the disgusted gazes of their peers. He was a reject, one from a great family at that. In a world where sorcery is everything, not being able to use any at all, was one of the worst fates to be subjected to.

  It seemed they had more in common than he originally thought. Both of them were hated for reasons outside their control. Soren was a victim of his father’s choices. Amon was a victim to the world itself.

  “Looks like we're both freaks…”

  Amon let out a soft laugh.

  “Yeah… I guess so.”

  The two of them had a silent understanding. Freaks needed to stick together…

  The peaceful silence they shared was interrupted by the instructor's booming voice.

  “Next up. Hudson Valentine and… Cyra.”

  Turning his attention to the individuals descending the stairs, he saw the boy who had knocked Amon over earlier. Next to him was a young woman. She was tall and slender, her face was sharp yet beautiful. Her golden hair was cut short, closer to how a boy would wear it. She wore a fierce expression, her golden eyes housed quiet determination.

  The two stepped into the arena, murmuring ran through the crowd.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, she has no family name!”

  “They let someone from the slums come here!”

  Amon’s expression shifted to concern and dread.

  “That poor girl. She doesn’t stand a chance.”