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Keahi

It is Saturday night, so all the students above the age of 10 are allowed to stay in the great hall until 1 am.

I am watching a few of the older students play truth or dare when the door to the hall opens, catching my attention instead.

Seeing as it’s a few minutes before curfew, I expect a teacher to come to break up the party.

Instead, it’s just Kaz with a little girl.

I watch the pair closely as they weave their way through the hall, noticing just how shaken this particular newcomer looks.

Her tiny body is trembling visibly, and she looks pale, her skin almost shockingly white against the jet-black hair shielding her face from view like a curtain.

Her face is turned down toward the ground as Kaz leads her into the kitchen.

They’re gone before too many heads can turn their way, but the kids closest to the kitchen start whispering as soon as the door closes behind the trainer, probably speculating about the girl’s story.

While I don’t care enough to start a conversation about it, my brain comes up with its own theories.

Most new kids need about a week to get used to this place and all the information it comes with, but I’m betting this one will need more time.

The older someone is, the longer it usually takes, something about younger kids not comprehending the loss of their parents the same way.

This girl doesn’t look much younger than me. A year perhaps? That would make her about ten years old. Old enough to understand what’s going on just fine.

Then again, I was four when I arrived here and I was able to grasp what was happening and what had happened to bring me here just fine.

Maybe that theory about not comprehending loss at a young age is flawed.

Maybe age isn’t the deciding factor in moving on. Maybe it’s the inner strength and ability to adept that matters. I’m here to test those factors in the newbies.

The latest newcomer before the girl tonight arrived months ago.

Of course, that guy knows me well after the welcome I presented him with.

It’s just kind of my thing. While others try desperately to make friends, I prefer to pass my time handing out reality checks. Not everything is rosy and they’re not special just because they’re new. We’re all in the same boat here and I refuse to put on kid gloves for anyone.

No one stands up to me, knowing my temper, and I find that game much more entertaining than trying to get someone to like me.

I like to see the fear in my subjects’ eyes, the frustration about not being able to defend themselves, and lastly, the resignation before they quickly rush away.

I enjoy the power greatly.

I’m no longer the pathetic little boy I was when I first arrived.

Back then, the other students were much older and didn’t want to play with me.

While I was stupidly hurt by that back then, I’ve gotten used to being alone in the following years. Now, I know I’m better off than the rest with my approach to treating my classmates.

The solitude has made room in my schedule for more training sessions than anyone else puts up with.

The result? I’m the best student of my age in my division.

That satisfies me more than the presence of another person to hang out with ever could.

However, it seems I haven’t done enough to make everyone want to stay away from me for good, considering how excited the people from my division always get when I choose to sit with them.

They’re as scared of me as the others; I can see how their muscles tense when I talk or move too suddenly.

It’s like they think I will attack them for no reason, and I guess my voice unsettles them. They’re not used to it. I’m not much of a talker even when surrounded by people. I like observing my surroundings.

The difference is that they are too proud to show that my presence unsettles them.

And maybe they get a kick out of being associated with me and the caution it evokes in the kids around them.

A few minutes pass before Kaz comes out of the kitchen with the little girl in tow.

This time, the two draw more attention, and I observe the older students following the girl with curious eyes.

It’s clear they want to get to know her or something, no matter that she’s likely to be younger than everyone in this hall.

Her age doesn’t matter to them.

Some kids here think we’re one big family, the idiots.

I don’t share the sentiment. Not on the getting to know her part, and certainly not on the family fallacy.

I’ll have plenty of time to meet the newbie in the years to come, and even if I didn’t, I couldn’t care less.

I’ve been waiting for someone to spice this place up and maybe even try to stand up to me, but this girl looks like a gust of wind might break her.

Certainly not a worthy opponent.

Almost immediately after the double doors of the hall swing shut behind the two, it swings open again far more aggressively.

This time, it is a teacher.

"That is enough for tonight.

Everyone back to their dorms, you know the consequences if you are in the hallways after 1 am," she yells.

I hang back a few seconds, waiting for the better part of the crowd to disperse before following their lead to avoid being involved in any unnecessary shoving.

Jumping off the table I’ve been sitting on, I head for the dorm I’m sharing with three other guys.

The oldest of us four is Blaze, he’s been here for two years.

I am a few months younger, and next in line are the twins, Aiden and Cole.

The twins were brought in about a year after me, but they are slow learners.

They’d rather fool around and waste their time learning silly tricks than grow stronger, but not me.

I want to be more powerful than my fellow students. More so than any of the students that were here before, come to think about it.

I’m pretty sure I developed that goal when I first received training at five-years-old.

Maybe even before that.

Maybe my resolve to be the best was born the night my life was changed for good, or the second I was able to comprehend just what had occurred and what they had taken from me.

The people of the Dark Fraction.

I was only four, but I won’t ever forget how they tortured my mother and made my father watch before killing him as well.

Her screams are engraved in my mind, etched so deep that I still hear them when I sleep. I was hidden underneath my bed when it happened and stayed there even long after the intruders were gone, not even making a peep as my home went up in flames around me. The people from Arcane saved me just in time, but they could do nothing about the dark thoughts that have already started festering in my mind, demanding revenge.

"You done, Keahi?" Blaze knocks on the door of our tiny bathroom, snapping me back to focus.

With one last splash of ice-cold water over my face, I turn around and unlock the door, heading past my waiting roommate with a scowl.

I get under the cold sheets of my bed and turn my back to my mates, thinking once more about how much I despise sharing a room.

I have been asking for a single room for years, but they keep telling me to stop whining and be happy about the company like the other kids are.

I’m not.

I hear the others sneak around for a few more minutes before there is no other sound than our breathing.

Theirs eventually gets deeper, telling me they’re falling asleep while I’m still wide awake.

Sleep never comes easily for me, and I don’t want it to. I’d rather soak up the silence and go over my latest training sessions, reminding myself of the mistakes I made so I can change them first thing in the morning. It’s a better use of my time than turning and tossing while flashes from the past invade my mind.