4 | Chapter Four

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Day One.

A hot rush of hatred and loathing succumbed Connor's thoughts, with the kindling of such scornful emotions being the image of the moon mage. Everything about her was irritating, from the way she leered at him in disgust to the crude attitude she had in her voice.

How do the likes of her hold the five attributes?

Chafed at the restraints imposed on him, Connor schemed in his spells lecture hall, avoiding Iza like the common cold. He needed to strategically plan out the ways he was to best this 'moon mage' and how a lowly fire sage like him was to shine brighter than a mage of lunar prosperity.

Just because she's born gifted, doesn't mean she's better than me.

One by one, the students began to arrive, filling up the vacant seats, with the current play of light gossip about the moon mage. Connor attempted to ignore it all, keeping sane by drinking the sights that surrounded him.

The room looked its age, which was almost a million years old with fire marks streaking across the roof and the odd shard of metal jutting out of the walls. The wooden panelling appeared smooth and silky as the light from the chandeliers danced along with the graining. Although revolting against the naked eye, lime-green carpet flowed down the aisles, complementing the darker fixtures nicely. And each desk had the will of Grendilton burning in the sides, reminding everyone of their expected perilous journey at the institute.

But while Connor attempted to drift away, one sentence he heard someone mutter made him snap. He slammed his hands on the table and cussed in anger, making someone gasp in shock towards his sudden outburst.

"Bad day?" he asked, smiling down at the now embarrassed Connor. "It's only the second class; surely it can't be that bad."

The man laughed, scratching his belly due to the itchy material of his sweater. He had glowing blue eyes, shrouded and smoky; in contrast, ginger coloured hair and a beard that flowed down to his chest. He was not human, with a complexion of dark blue skin with faded glowing marks scattered along his body. This man was a Djinn, and also their spells Professor.

"Sorry Professor," sighed Connor, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just a little on edge, that's all."

The Professor's eyes lowered down to the serpent pendant he wore; then, his eyes widened at what it meant.

"You must be Connor Heslington." The professor extended his hand, greeting Connor more formally. "Has your brother spoke about his great spells Professor Breslin Ramudia by any chance?"

Connor raised his brow, bug-eyed at his question. "Yeah, he spoke about you all the time, Professor." His voice was high in pitch, an indication that he was lying. But how could he lie to a Djinn? Their smiles are too infectious to say anything negative.

While Breslin made his way down the aisles, more students began to fill the seats. This class was much larger than advanced guards, holding more students in the room. Everyone occupied the back seats first, with no one advancing to the front where Connor was.

All except one.

The multitude of bracelets she wore rattled against one another, her sneakers squeaked along the wooden floor. Her head was down in a book, one that Connor was vaguely familiar with as he indulged in the excellent piece of literature. As he peered at the book, a powerful aroma of roses and coconut filled Connors nose, one that was sweet and tantalising, almost intoxicating. But her mere presence made his blood boil, making him sneer as she got closer.

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