The door separated Skylar from the gaggle of students. Like a horde of circling lionesses, they would all attack at once. They sought out the weak and infirm. Then would tear away at the soft abdomen. Ah, high school, a sifter that eliminated life’s gentler qualities.
Skylar inhaled deeply before nudging the door open with his foot. This would be his only class in a room, since he taught physical education. In theory, he completely controlled the agenda. As he strolled in, he said, “All right, students. I’m your homeroom teacher.”
That deviant spared no expense in his renovation of the school. A glass wall gave the students a view of the expansive grounds. From this height, one could almost see the edge of the school’s forest. Each new desk smelled of fresh pine and contained all the supplies a student could ever need.
Skylar only admired the construction for a moment. The students could have waited ten seconds before laughing. He felt a twinge of irritation that morphed into a massive headache once he saw Sydney sitting in her seat, horrified. Their faces mirrored each other.
When their eyes met, he muttered, “Sadist. Spiteful just because Lahl escaped from him again. Who’s the useless one now, huh, Michael?”
One student lazily lifted his head and plopped it back down. His eyes closed despite the noise. He didn’t seem bothered by the chaos.
“He’s our teacher?”
“So cute!”
A student with an eyepatch clutched at his desk. “Are they joking? I did not take down a three-horned rhino to be insulted. I almost lost an eye!”
“Learn from someone younger than me? No way.”
“Where’s his teaching pin?”
At the reminder of Lahl’s personalized engraving, Skylar stalked over to the teacher’s desk. Then slammed his hands down. “Silence.”
No one listened. They continued their snide commentary. Sydney’s eyes never wavered from him. Out of all the students, she probably understood his capabilities. Having already learned the tragedy of assumption, she kept silent. It appeared that she had learned the value of silence.
Skylar swatted the porcelain mug on his desk. It shattered onto the floor and the conversations mercifully ceased.
Leaning against the desk, Skylar stared at them. Most of them had the sense to squirm under his gaze. “I want you all in your chairs when the bell rings. No running out when class ends. I won’t expect your best behavior. I know what high school students are like. If you treat me with a modicum of respect, I will do the same. Otherwise, I will turn this into a dictatorship.”
“Look, kid,” interrupted a tattooed student.
Though tattoos were common among magicians, fledging students didn’t often wear them. They needed to decide their career first. While Skylar stared at them-their familiar design puzzled him-hiking boots squeaked against the floor. The student stomped over and lorded over him. The height difference hefted additional weight to the glare.
“I am here because the magic progr-”
“You will learn to let me finish.” Smiling with the warmth of glacier, Skylar kicked up a piece of the former cup. He caught it in a seamless motion and admired the sharp edges. With the flick of his wrist, it buried itself into the wall. Several students flicked their eyes between him and the new fixture. “I do not appreciate interruptions. The sooner you learn that, the less I will punish the class. Questions are fine at the appropriate time. Do you think this is an appropriate time?”
The student glanced at the projectile and swallowed. Sweat started to dot his forehead. But he still opened his mouth, “Do you know who I am? I-”
He choked on his pedigree.
Skylar tapped his fingers against the desk. Though the sound was unnecessary, he included it to draw their attention. The air constricted and tightened. If he idled, his wind would start to lift the student. But he stopped and folded his arms.
Coughing, the teenager massaged his throat. Fear and rage clouded those dark pupils. But Skylar never intended to coddle anyone at this school. The best graduates sprouted from the weeding ground of pressure. Packed dirt forced them to send their roots deep.
“I can’t believe that students have so little respect to just ignore me. I am your teacher. Do you think that Kenan would tolerate a weak teacher? I am someone you can learn from-so take advantage. Scrape away at my mind.”
Powerful magicians flocked to teach the next generation at Kenan Academy. A student genius could attend, but if they didn’t work hard, the administration held back the diploma. They claimed that it was disrespectful to the instructors. If you attended Kenan Academy and graduated without one, you might as well paint a black mark on your forehead.
Skylar exhaled. “Your name?”
With reluctance, he said, “Randal.” He raised his head with confidence.
“From the Roberts family?”
Pride suffused his face as he nodded. His silence showed that he knew better than to verbalize his answer. See? And Michael worried about his teaching ability. Two students already understood the importance of not speaking.
Personal information should be hoarded, not handed out like free samples. To hammer in this point, Skylar said, “Give your father my regards. I expect someone from the esteemed Roberts family to work twice as hard. Don’t make any grammatical mistakes on my papers. I’ll halve your grade. Actually, that last part goes for everyone.”
Randal’s face paled until it matched his shirt. Though the top two buttons were undone, his jacket was properly zipped up. Now Skylar recognized the tattoo-the Roberts’ family crest crossed his collarbones. Three piercings in one ear, four in the other. Despite his hooligan appearance, he feared his father.
“Isn’t it nice when your family name forces you to your limits? You must rise up against the sandpapered expectations,” said Skylar, beaming. “Anyone else want to confess theirs?”
Beatific silence answered him. “Wonderful. Shall we get started, then?”
Skylar stepped around his desk. Even though Michael wheedled him, all the proper paperwork was organized. Never get between a professional and his papers.
He winced at the sight of the hearts and pink checkmarks on the student roster. Some scribbled notes next to each name detailed their core abilities. No time for him to skim the writing; he needed to start the lesson.
Taking the chalk, Skylar wrote his name on the board. “My name is Skylar. Any questions?”
A barrage of them barreled into his slight frame. Curses, he forgot to add that they needed to raise their hand. It sounded like a cacophony of starling calls. He resisted clutching his ears.
“How old are you?”
“What university did you graduate from?”
“What is your last name?”
“How did you get this job?”
Nodding at them, Skylar tapped his nail on the chalkboard. “Since no one has any relevant questions, we are moving on.”
Sydney’s eyes flashed before her pencil snapped. It summoned everyone’s attention quicker than a lighthouse in the storm. “I don’t think any of those are irrelevant. I think we deserve an answer. Since you’re our teacher, after all. We have a right to know your qualifications.”
“It’s rude to ask someone their age.”
Skylar turned back to the board. But Sydney cleared her throat several times, getting progressively louder. It made moving onto the lesson impossible.
The chalk turned to dust between his fingers. Through gritted teeth, Skylar asked, “Is there a particular question, Ms. Histocry?”
“Where did you graduate from?”
He tilted his head at the raptured students. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. Besides,” the air in the classroom seized like spoiled milk, “I thought I made it clear that I can teach you. Did you somehow forget that? Or did the time away from me erase that?”
Nearby students hissed at Sydney to be quiet. But it only encouraged her to project her voice louder. “I’ll file a complaint. To the local council,” she replied resolutely.
Both of them knew that complaints to the Director would be as productive as screaming at a deaf person. Not since that ludicrous Lahl considered Skylar his. A fact Skylar would deny until the end of time.
As for complaining to the local council-did she think that the twelve members retained their positions because of their sterling personalities? He waited for her to make a threat that actually sounded like one. She didn’t disappoint.
Sydney finished with, “Even the High Council gets involved in cases of gross abuse of privilege. So don’t think you can escape judgement.”
Skylar laughed.
He couldn’t help it. The thought of the High Council stooping low enough to listen to something like this-much less cast a vote-was too amusing. However, they might do it. But none of the students knew that.
Then he shrugged off his snickering long enough to answer, “Halden. I graduated from Halden. Get the High Council involved? Please. Whenever you threaten someone, make sure it’s realistic. Because sometimes, your bluff might be called.”
Halden University. Unrestrained murmurs flitted through the room and Skylar allowed the rumors to run their course. Many Kenan Academy graduates attended Halden because their alumni served as government elites. Therefore, the university guarded the names of their students with zealousness. It was a signal of significant talent to be accepted into Halden. One of their more infamous alumni was Director Lahl, who also served on the High Council.
Without a method to confirm Skylar’s claims, everyone readied themselves for the lesson. Except, that is, Sydney.
Like any true tracker of repute, she didn’t give up. “Well, what is your last name?”
Skylar wanted to carve out that nosy trait. Nowadays, skilled hackers could discover your life history from a scrap of information. How lucky that she didn’t gleam anything useful from his ID. “I don’t use it. Since the other teachers don’t know it, I won’t tell you either.”
“You expect us to call you by your first name?” she asked, incredulously.
“You can also use, Your Excellency Whose Favorite Color is White, if you prefer,” he replied. Sydney’s cheeks bulged and darkened with color. It didn’t disrupt his callous answer. “But since that is a bit much, Skylar is fine. While we’re on the subject, under no circumstance, are you to truncate my name.”
His hands fisted in front of his rib cage. The air in the classroom thinned. Not enough for the students to break open one of the many windows, but enough for them to swallow. “Or I will break something important. Now, if you’re done with these useless interruptions, I’d like to start.” It was bad enough that he had to tolerate Lahl calling him Sky, because he lost a bet. No way would students be allowed to do the same.
He could see the frightened teenagers shiver. They probably didn’t expect a child to threaten them or be their teacher. A brave one stuttered, “W-W-What i-if we have a question?”
Skylar lifted the corner of his mouth. “You raise your hand. When I call on you, then you ask. Now, I would like to at least-”
The sleeping student raised his head. His droopy eyes were hidden under his floppy red hair. Though this student wore his uniform properly, the laziness that oozed from his pores made Skylar wary. He raised half-heartedly raised his arm to catch Skylar’s attention. “Hey teach?” slurred the student. Then he licked his lips.
Consulting his student cheat sheet, Skylar learned that his name was Dulan. And the last name made him want to tear his hair out. Lahl, that sly scoundrel, deserved to be used as target practice. “What?” he snapped.
“I’m feeling sick,” he said, sounding well. “Can I visit the nurse? I hear she’s an excellent healer.”
“She’s happily married,” replied Skylar.
An improper smile smeared across Dulan’s face. He raised an eyebrow and exposed his golden pupils. “I can make her even happier.”
“Her husband is a High Council member. You’re risking your life.”
“If he doesn’t find out, then does it matter?”
That blasé outlook tempted Skylar to allow the moron to go and learn what sprouted from stupidity. But he still wanted to shield the nurse from those lascivious eyes. Maybe Skylar was the idiot for worrying.
His nose twitched in irritation. They stared at each other, the gold challenging the emerald. “One day, you’ll be missing a certain body part,” he told Dulan. “A highly valued body part. I hope you remember this conversation. Because I’m going to be laughing.”
“So can I go?”
Throwing the chalk at Dulan, it burst into flames upon its descent. Those smug eyes remained defiant and taunting. They begged for Skylar to toss another as an excuse to show off his skills.
Before Skylar could react, the bell tolled. It signaled the end of homeroom. Though usually the longest class, it was shortened for the first day of school. Skylar didn’t have another class for an hour. Which suited him fine, because he had a degenerate to abuse.