Hyacinth High

Hyacinth High sits lonesome on a strikingly green mountaintop. Hundreds of years ago, the fortified courtyard palace was home to generations of royal families. Today, the colonnaded structure and pointed arches host elite magical students from all over Valia, but most importantly, from the Hyacinth Valley down below.

Typically, on the ninth day of the month, at this time of day, students should be rushing to class with their assignments and, more often than not, with their excuses. There seems to be an unsettling case of magical beasts devouring homework in the valley... However, on this day, they remain standing and fidgeting in the open courtyard.

The professors glance sideways at one another with furrowed brows. A few of them step back under the shade of the portico to seek respite from the blazing sun. The students are not faring much better. They stand in the yard, separated into nine lines: three classes per level, across three levels.

Levels 1 to 3, the A Class, hold the prestigious students. They have the brains and the abilities to back them up.

The B Class students across all three levels are as smart and hardworking as the formerly mentioned, but they lack the magical prowess to make the first cut.

And C Class... C Class students do their best. They certainly have plenty of personality to make up for lack of brains and powers.

By now, all classes across all levels are getting antsy. A portal shimmers open at the back, admitting a late student, but no one even chastises him. He slips into his section’s line unnoticed by the faculty.

Another student from Level 2, Class C, steps out of the end of his line and wiggles his way to the front, where his shorter friend is standing.

“Sorry,” Dani murmurs as he steps on a few toes. “Let me through, thank you.” He finally manages to squeeze himself between his friend and an annoyed girl who gives him an exasperated sigh.

Pinching his friend’s elbow, he bends closer to ask, “Can you hear what’s happening?”

“They sent a servant to check,” Ran whispers with a hand cupping his mouth. “It’s not clear yet.”

A fit, muscled man of about a hundred years old, though he does not look a day over forty, steps forward and addresses the students. “It seems our principal will not be joining us this morning. Let us commence the daily prayer in his stead.”

And so it begins.

“Our mother in the heavens,” Professor Nasrat chants, his palms raised upwards. The students echo behind him in chorus.

“Protector of all that is life,” he continues. “Bless us with your divine love...”

At that moment, a tall, domineering professor breaks formation. Her departure unleashes disapproving glances from several other faculty members, who tut-tut under their breath.

She strides towards the main building, completely ignoring their whispered jabs, then breaks into a run once she is out of sight.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she arrives to find the same young servant from earlier, knocking at the principal’s door unenthusiastically. The girl looks up at Professor Rina’s sudden approach.

“Still no response,” she says with a shrug.

Professor Rina reaches for the door, instructing the girl to step aside. Her nose wrinkles as she turns the handle.

The moment the door swings open, a rancid, sulfuric stench hits them both in full force.

“God, what is that?” the girl mutters, covering her nose. She tries to peek in, but Rina grabs her by the shoulder, holding her in place.

“Stay here,” she says firmly.

“This’ll be a nightmare to clean,” the servant whines under her breath.

Inside the room, the curtains are drawn tightly shut, shrouding the room in gloomy darkness. On top of a mahogany desk, a burly figure lies slumped, his balding head resting on an outstretched arm.

The girl, ignoring the professor’s order, slips inside anyway and slaps the sleeping man’s arm to wake him up. Rina purses her lips, ready to scold her, but it is already too late.

The servant’s eyes go wide with alarm and her lips part in a piercing scream. It echoes down the corridor as she bolts out of the room, alerting every occupant of the building.

The professor pinches her nose to stifle the smell and scans her eyes over the man’s office. It is in an even bigger state of mess than it usually is.

Drawers hang open, their contents rifled through. Documents, pamphlets, and old newspapers are strewn across the floor and counters. On the desk, a cold cup of tea sits beside his stiff, bulging hand.

Rina steps behind the desk and leans over his shoulder to better see his face. His eyes are wide open. Greenish foam clings to the corners of his mouth, and his skin is ashen, shriveled, and cold.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Madame Khannah’s voice shatters the silence, snapping Professor Rina out of her spell.

“He’s passed away,” Rina announces quietly.

Madame Khannah’s brows shoot up in surprise, but she quickly schools her features. “More experienced faculty will handle this,” she says tersely. “Please return to the teachers’ lounge.”

Rina doesn’t argue. She backs away from the body and steps out of the office.