As Creed continued his walk he saw Lyra, a girl from his year. In the early days, right after the accusations had started to spread, she had been one of the very few to offer him a kind smile. It had felt like a miracle at the time. Now, her eyes met his across the crowded hall, widened for a split second, and then darted away as if she'd seem something obscene.
She practically dove into a nearby classroom.
Creed's jaw tightened until it ached. Even the kind ones eventually learned to fear him.
A group of younger students, first years judging by their uniforms that were still a little too stiff hurried past. One of them audibly gasping and yanking her friend back, her eyes huge and scared as if he might actually do something to them in the middle of the hallway. He was a rat everyone was scared to get near.
…
The antechamber to Kiron's Grand Hall was a gigantic space in its own right. The ceiling was lost in shadows far above. The walls were decorated with more tapestries, these ones depicting Kiron's most celebrated Archon's and their legendary, probably exaggerated, feats.
Today, the space was filled with students, a sea of grey uniforms creating a nervous buzz in the air. The Selection. The air was thick with it, with anticipation, with anxiety, and with the desperate hope of the unchosen.
Creed scanned the crowd, his heart starting to beat harder against his ribs.
And then he saw her. Iris.
Even from across the chamber, her long black curly hair was unmistakable, a wild waterfall of black silk tumbling down her back. She was laughing. Her head was thrown back, and the sound of it somehow carried over the crowd. It was a sound he hadn't heard directed at him, or even in his vicinity, in ages.
She was surrounded by a small group of girls, her usual friends. He hadn't bothered to remember their faces but Elra, with her know-it-all smirk, he could easily point out.
Creed's feet moved before his brain had a chance to veto the terrible idea. This was it. This was his last chance to fix everything. Before what came next.
"Iris!" His voice was rough, louder than he'd intended.
Her laughter cut off instantly. The entire group turned as one. Elra's smirk changed into a scowl, her face turning ugly as she stepped slightly in front of iris. Iris herself turned slowly, her dark eyes, once so warm and familiar, were now cool and distant. The scar that ran down her left cheek, a mark he'd once teased her about, now only seemed to highlight her closed off expression.
"What do you want, Creed?" Her voice was flat. Devoid of any warmth.
He could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on them, the chatter around them had died into an expectant silence. Creed's mouth was suddenly dry. "I… I just wanted to talk. To you. About Emily. About… what actually happened."
He stumbled over the words, completely forgetting the carefully constructed speeches he'd rehearsed at night.
Iris's expression remained unchanged. She made a small gesture with her hand, a flick of her wrist in dismissal.
"There's nothing to talk about, Creed. Honestly. I don't care what you have to say. It doesn't matter anymore."
"But it's not true," he insisted.
The words felt pathetic. His voice was pleading now, and he hated sound of it.
"You know me. You know me."
"I knew you" she corrected him. "Now if you'll excuse us."
Elara sensing the moment, stepped forward more assertively.
"You heard her. Go away."
Her eyes full of disdain.
"No one wants you here."
A hot flush crept up Creed's neck. Shame. He felt it burn his ears. The faces in the crowd turned into a blur. Defeated and humiliated on a scale of epic proportions, he gave a short nod, turned on his heel, and walked away without another word.
Normal conversion resumed behind him instantly, now louder, and filled with fresh speculation and amusement. He could feel the brand of "Kiron's Shame" burning hotter on his back.
…
As Creed moved towards the massive, black archway leading into the Grand Hall, his shoulders hunched with the fresh weight of Iris's rejection. The murmur of the crowd shifted again. It was a subtle change at first, a different tone of whispers, ones filled with awe, esteem, and a touch of fear, and then a more noticeable phenomenon. A parting of the sea of grey uniforms.
Alta Crestmore had arrived.
She moved with a majestic, almost unconscious presence that commanded attention, even as she herself seemed oblivious to parting of students before her or the admiration that followed in her path. Her shoulder length crimson hair seemed to amplify the light, glowing like a halo of burning fire. Her face was sharp with aristocratic features which were flawlessly defined, her skin like porcelain. She radiated the aura of a supreme. Wearing the same grey uniform as the rest, she looked closer to an angel then a student.
Creed found himself pausing, unwillingly caught in her gravitational pull. He registered her beauty, of course it was impossible not to. But more than that, he saw the unshakable confidence in her walk, the tilt of her chin, the completely uninterested look of her gaze as she passed by the lesser students. She was the daughter of two sitting Archons, Elna and Marcus Crestmore. Her path hadn't just been paved with gold, it had been blasted through the mountain for her. She was the living embodiment of Spire success, destined for a greatness that was simply her birthright. And he… he was Creed. The orphan. The charity case.
The whispers swirling around him confirmed what everyone knew
"The Archon's daughter…"
"Can you feel that? So powerful…"
"She'll definitely be a High Cleric, at least…"
It was a stark contrast to the whispers that followed his own footsteps. Alta was a living monument of everything he was not. Everything the Spire valued and everything he lacked. There was no real envy in his observation, not anymore. That had long been burned out of him, Now there was just an acknowledgment of the vast chasm that separated their realities. Their perceived worth.
She didn't even glance his way as she walked past, flanked by an entourage of similarly aspiring students and admirers who looked like a royal guard. He was beneath her notice. He finally turned and walked through the archway disappearing into the Grand hall.