Chapter 3

PART II

"Shifter magic is innate. Their bodies and their brains come prepared to work with nature in such communion they are but one. Still, Shifters cannot cast spells, and therefore, their magic is erratic, faulty. They lack the capacity Sanguinaires have of phrasing their wants and needs into a perfect spell, one that enhances their very energy - which they've obtained from Shifters. Thus, words seem to be possessed of a particular kind of magic of their own, which would benefit from further study."

Darren J. Whitford in Principles of Nonpareil Alchemy, ed. Cours St. Cyr, 1993

September 1st, 2018

Collège de St. Cyr,

Outer grounds - Serpens Hall

Moon in Taurus - Waning Gibbous

The grounds are abuzz with new life, as flock after flock of students are dropped off either by helpful parents or teams of buses full to the brim. They gather on the front lawn, by the front steps, drip into the surrounding areas in groups of twos, threes, fours. Hugs are exchanged, greetings are thrown about, the noise is blinding, bustling. Teachers come and go with smiles on their faces, and some apprehension too, for there's more life to these young ones than they know what to do with it. After the initial moments of pandemonium, the students begin to make for their respective Halls.

No one goes through the front doors of Grand Hall except Year One students, and these mill around the sizeable entrance space, looking for their names on the many lists posted up the notice boards. Which will tell them what Halls they'll be moving into, what classes they'll be taking, what teacher to address as of their arrival, so that their schedules may be handed along with the keys to their Hall and private room.

Amongst these students, one newcomer stands out, or rather, stands slightly apart. Having checked what their Hall is, the newcomer waits a few moments before heading for the door, carting a large suitcase trolley and a heavy rucksack. Down the steps, the newcomer goes, as if these grounds weren't new. As if knowing where to head. Across the front lawn, making way through the smooth gravel, diving through the arches on the left, the newcomer alights at one of the inner patios, pauses as if to take stock and redirect. Studying the surrounding buildings, finally seems to come to a decision, and heads straight to the arched passage across the patio, where a heavy wooden door stands ajar. It leads to a smaller hall, down a light-flooded corridor, out into another small patio. Finally, the newcomer seems to have reached the intended destination, stopping in front of a black arched door.

The knob is metal, painted dark green, with a serpent in the same colour and material coiled around it. Over the door hangs a metal plaque the same hue, with the word Serpens inscribed in white. Taking a long, studious look around, the newcomer hoists the rucksack, grabs the trolley's handle and pushes the door open. It welcomes the interloper into a wide, light, square hall, dotted with dark wood chairs, a notice board and a couple of illustrations. Da Vinci copies, the newcomer's brain registers. All legs and narrow hips, the newcomer is, clad in tight fitting black jeans and a black fitted shirt, over which a grey silk waistcoat lends the only pop of colour. Long, blond hair is tied in a ponytail, kept away from a face that looks smooth, beardless. Eyes that seem brown prove to be very dark blue, and a nose that is rather on the long side, sniffs the air with a hint of disgust. As if sensing an underlying current of rot, of decay.

Dragging the luggage, the newcomer checks the notice board, dives to the right of the hall, heading for the stairs. These will lead to the first floor, where most first years are housed. No matter what Hall they're ascribed to, at St. Cyr Year One students always get the first floor of the dormitories. Except when they're part of a special group. The newcomer must climb all the way to the top floor, where the special students are given special quarters. It's an honour to be entered into such an elite study group, and the newcomer is well aware. Only excellent grades will grant you entrance, and very rarely has a Year One been admitted to it. The A.A.S. The most coveted class at St. Cyr. Rumour has it they study real Chaos Magic, not the wishy-washy thing forced down their throats during their formative years. Forbidden Chaos Magic, some whisper, and the thought places a smile up the newcomer's wide lips.

Excellent grades were easy to attain, for the newcomer, but that alone wasn't guarantee of a spot at this small, elite class. Outstanding results and an essay on Transmutation Laws has done the trick. A philosophical treaty, twenty pages long, that took the newcomer most of the previous year to write. But it had been worth it, for it was the key to open Serpens Hall's door and the admittance into its third floor. Coming up to the final landing, the newcomer stops in front of the one door that'll change futures, and make or break lives. With trembling fingers, the newcomer pushes it open, slithers through. Like the proverbial snake which named this particular Hall. The corridor ahead is narrow, peppered with doors. These, the newcomer knows, lead to the bedrooms, said to be slightly better than the rest. Private bedrooms, too, one person a room, not the crowded affairs downstairs, where people are forced together into close quarters, with absolutely no privacy.

The newcomer being a Year One student has been given the first room. It's probably the worse of them. Taking a step further inside, the newcomer studies the numbers over the doors, knowing the final one belongs to the teacher who chairs the class. That's room number six, hidden in the attic space of the Serpens Hall turret, attainable through a set of narrow, winding stairs behind that very same door. Which makes room number one the first on the right, with the common study room across from it. Dropping the luggage by the door, the newcomer faces the entrance of the common room.

Hands curl into tight fists in a nervous tell. The newcomer blinks once, twice, steadying the heart rate and breathing, forces a smile upon lips that twitch, reaches out one steady hand. Opens the door wide, comes to stand in the threshold, face searching those already inside. Studying them quickly and effectively, until forced to lock eyes with the beauty curled on the furthest armchair. The girl smiles, cocks her head to the side, gestures the newcomer in with an air of open invitation, while the other three men stare in different degrees of curiosity.

"Hi, I'm Alec Delacroix," the newcomer says with a voice that takes on a thinner, higher timbre than expected.

Eyes that swerve from brown to blue lock with the pretty girl's, whose cheeks blush a deep red, her mouth dropping in an awed 'O', a look of shock washing over her entire countenance. Back straight, body hoisted to full height, the newcomer smiles at the other students and steps inside.