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CHAPTER FOUR. ✷ lessons in physics.
WHEN MOM SEES YOU, SHE'LL PROBABLY IGNORE YOU. DON'T WORRY. SHE'S THANKING AMARI IN HER HEAD.
— RECOVERED CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN LIEUTENANT COLONEL CYPRUS BERRAGAIN TO NIAMH BERRAGAIN
Death roll is long today. Seventy cadets are dead from conscription day, and all seventy are to be listed while those who remain stand in formation in the courtyard. Niamh can't help but wonder if the roll will always be this long. Captian Fitzgibbons reads off the names, her eyes drift to the star on her shoulder. A silver one with four points that lets everyone know she's in her first year. She wears it on her black clothes, something none of the cadets on the roll were able to accomplish. They'd never wear the lightweight tunics and sturdy boots. They'd never get the chance to modify their uniforms as many of the elder cadets have.
"Jesper Floyd," Fitzgibbons calls the name of the redhead who stood in front of her on conscription day. The image of him falling to his death flashes through her mind and she winces. His face was frozen, forever in a scream. His hair was in the wind as he plummeted hundreds of feet. His eyes—Gods, his eyes.
Niamh shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the image. She doesn't let her face twitch anymore out of respect for all the other lost lives. Their things are likely already burned in a pit and offered to Malek, along with their souls. A Navarrian tradition she never quite liked: the burning of items. But, it's Malek's choice, she supposes.
"We commend their souls to Malek," The captain eventually finishes, causing Niamh to look up in shock. For how many names that were on the list, that didn't take very long. She wonders if he might have skipped a few or if the scribes didn't quite record them all. But, as she replays the morning in her head, she realizes all seventy were there. Strange how quick it was to get rid of them.
The scribes roll up their papers and they, along with Fitzgibbons, leave the dias as if nothing happened. A normal Tuesday for them. Her squad leader—Taylor Avani, is her name—breaks formation and turns to them with a deadpan stare. It's a normal Tuesday for her too.
"Second and third-years, get to where you're supposed to go." She demands, not explaining if anyone were to need it. About half the squad splits and begins walking off of the dias, "First-years, take note of your schedules. Get to class on time, and I'll see all of you in the sparring gym later today." Taylor finishes quickly then turns on her heels and starts leaving with the second years.
"Well, that was no help at all," Niamh scoffs as she reaches into her rucksack to pull out her schedule. It would appear that she is the last to do so since everyone is already memorizing the paper.
