Ashes of the Elite
Chapter 92: Academy

Chapter 92: Academy

The group stops in front of the towering gates, the proctors clad in their white robes standing like statues of unyielding authority. My eyes scan the figures, and I recognize none of them except Evanaora Hilton. Her piercing pink eyes catch mine, and a slow, cruel smile curves her lips. She’s standing slightly apart from the others, her scarred face illuminated by the sunlight, and she’s watching us with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. The way she looks at us feels like how I would look at a nice piece of bread.

She drawls, voice smooth and dripping with condescension, "By the gods, is that the star first year himself? Awakened Daath?"

I meet her gaze with a sneer I hide behind a carefully neutral expression. Disgust bubbles up inside me, but I keep it sealed tight no need to give her the satisfaction of seeing my true feelings. Instead, I bow my head slightly, pressing my hand to my chest in a formal salute. "Indeed, Proctor," I say, my voice as steady and respectful as I can manage, despite the bile rising in my throat.

She chuckles softly, a sound that’s almost predatory. She taps her chin with her fingers, as if pondering something deeply serious. Her eyes narrow just a little, and her voice drops to a darker tone, almost sneering. "Hmm, indeed you say. But dear child, where is the rest of your house? This seems quite shallow."

My stomach clenches, and I stiffen, feeling her words cut deeper than they should. Her tone is almost playful, but beneath it, I catch the undercurrent of contempt. I force myself to stay calm, but it’s difficult. The words she’s chosen, the way she’s looking at us it’s a reminder of how little she cares for the struggles we’ve endured.

Her voice darkens further. "Also It’s been more than a week. Today would mark the ninth day since we ordered you here." She waves her hand dismissively, as if brushing away a troublesome insect. "Julian is besides himself at his house being the only one to miss the week deadline, but no matter. We’ll talk about it later."

Her words are a cruel, and I seethe inwardly. The way she says it, like she’s already dismissed us as a failure like we’re nothing more than a inconvenience. My fists clench, but I keep my expression neutral. I’ve known for a while now that these people don’t care about us. Power, success, and their own agendas are all that matter to them. Our suffering, our losses? That’s just collateral damage to these cold, callous elites.

She chuckles again, like she’s sharing some private joke. "Anyway, let’s go. Follow us," she says, turning her back without waiting for a response. Her boots click on the stone pathway as she strides forward, leading the way into the academy’s depths.

Imara and Zaria whisper rapidly between each other, their words low but tense. Rye and Lucian are doing the same, their whispers almost inaudible but charged with unspoken thoughts. I stand there, seething quietly, my mind racing with a mixture of fury, disgust, and bitter acceptance. I knew they wouldn’t care. That’s not what they are here for. They are here to forge weapons out of new Elites so they can wage the Kings war for him. The suffering of said Elites? It’s just part of the game.

I take a deep breath and let the callous attitude pass over me with little more than faint annoyance. It’s what I expected. The people here, these proctors they don’t care about anyone but themselves and their mission.

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The hall we’re guided through is something out of a dream or a nightmare I guess based off your perspective. It’s enormous, so vast that I feel like a tiny ant scurrying beneath an endless stone and marble. The walls are plain but wealth and power still oozes from every surface, shimmering chandeliers that hang like frozen stars.

The floor beneath my boots is polished marble. As we move, I catch glimpses of the other students all of them in the same sleek black robes, their faces calm and unreadable. They nod at us politely but without warmth, their eyes flickering over us like with little more then curiosity. The proctors flanking us are silent, their faces set in expressions of stoic indifference. The only sound breaking the silence is a soft humming, almost hypnotic, coming from Evanaora Hilton walking just ahead of us. Her voice is smooth, like silk sliding over steel, as she hums a melody that’s weirdly energetic It’s a tune I don’t recognize, but it carries an air of confidence and fun. Like something you would hear in a tavern or maybe a play.

Finally, we reach a massive set of doors so tall they seem to vanish into the ceiling. They are made of dark, polished stone, etched with the sigil of the Empire. The proctors step forward, each raising a hand, and the doors swing open with a deep, resonant creak. The inside is a large room with a dais and on either side of the room were empty seats.

Evanaora finally stops humming, her eyes shining with a cruel satisfaction. She turns her head slightly and gestures toward the hall. "Come," she says smoothly "It’s time for your debrief"