2 | Chapter Two

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The Paladin.

The vermillion glow that streaked along with the glass above him filtered across his tawny coloured skin. His eyes narrowed down to his arms, peering at the crimson glow of his magic seeping through his dress shirt. A twitch appeared in the corner of his mouth, grabbing at the silver pendant that hung from his neck, placing it gently onto his bottom lip. He softly brushed his fingers through his unkempt curly hair, gnawing at the intricate sterling serpent pendant. The gritty sounds of metal grazing against teeth gave Connor Heslington a sudden piece of comfort, relieving him from his stress, subduing the dark glow that bled through his clothes.

Day one. So far so good. The pendant fell away from his lips, landing onto the lapels of his blazer. He leaned back into his seat more, blowing at the one curl that hung down his forehead, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"Perhaps I should have returned to the dorms," muttered Connor, scanning the empty lecture hall he situated himself in as he waited for his professor to arrive. Fairy dust floated across his freckle covered cheeks, bothering his sinuses as he suppressed the urge to sneeze. "Then again, the early bird catches the worm as Michael likes to remind me."

Connor was taught at an early age that achievement excels nothing, as only the best shall lead the Citadel of Magics. An attitude of whatever it takes is impossible to stop. Those words echoed throughout Connor's childhood, crafting the idea that every Heslington is a formidable foe and a worthy leader towards any cause. They become overseers that guilds with an iron heart, making the best decision for those who cannot. Even if that means not everyone returns home to their families.

He shook his head, clenching his fists in anger, knowing deep down he was not who everyone makes him out to be.

You need to stop thinking with your heart. The right decision isn't always the best. Connor despised his families way of leading, pressing his lips into a flat line over the unsympathetic reasonings his father ever made. This is why people speak of war against the Citadel.

But his feelings were nothing but futile angst. No matter how much he denied being a coldly calculated Heslington, he was still proud to be one. Damnit. He snapped his head back, digging the nape of his neck into the seat, entangling himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Well, at least I gained four of the five attributes of light. Connor took in the sights that were laid out before him, jerking his chin up while attempting to take his mind off the ill thoughts of his past.

Midnight black bricks surrounded him, dark like the briny depths that they were from. When the fiery crystal light that hovered above them began to flicker along the walls, the transparency was almost a light shaded byzantine. A breeze from the top of the room descended downward, shuffling through Connors curly hair, making him flinch as it tickled the back of his neck.

Interrupting the silence, were the footsteps of the other students, traipsing into the room like a pack of wild animals. Some hollered about their results from the elemental test, stating that it was frightening while others spoke about the events of the Citadel, piquing Connor's curiosity.

"A war," said a wary student. "And it's all because of the death of the former overseer."

They're wrong. Connor began to tap his finger on the top of his table, with an irritating twitch forming in the corner of his brow. This war will happen because people are against the decree of order. Not because of the Citadels agreement.

His mouth slanted open, about to tell these half knowledgeable students his side of events. But he was quickly silenced by a sharp sweep of frost, drawing himself away from the hand that came in contact with his shoulder. A chill rushed down Connor's spine, creating discomfort in his body while he curse at the person who touched him.

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