5

Layla knew she should listen to Headmaster Brenton’s speech, but she just couldn’t concentrate, no matter how hard she tried. Her body still throbbed, and though it wasn’t as painful as before, it was still distracting. But it wasn’t as distracting as her main thought. What had happened to her?

‘Zayne didn’t touch me, but I’m sure he caused it. What did he do? Cast a spell on me? I don’t think so. The only thing he said was, I do not accept you as my mate—’

Pain shot through her body as the memory flashed through her mind. She grabbed her chest, almost gasping aloud.

‘That’s it. That’s what caused the pain. His rejection! He rejected me! Why? Is it because I’m human?’ She blinked away the tears that had begun to form.

His rejection hurt. She didn’t know what a mate was or why he didn’t want her to be his, but it hurt. Just thinking about it made it seem she was choking, like the air had become impossible to breathe and she was dying of suffocation.

Layla’s gaze flickered through the hall and landed on Zayne without thinking. He was seated in a separate part of the auditorium with five other students. They were different from the rest. Apart from the fact that their bows and ties were gold and their uniforms had gold hems and trimmings, there was something else. They eluded power. Raw, crushing power. They weren’t ordinary students.

Zayne turned his head her way, and their eyes met. He glared at her the same way he had when he rejected her, and her chest tightened. Layla looked away, not being able to bear the look he gave her.

She skimmed through the hall, and a small smile appeared on her lips as she saw Alaric sitting with a group of people she concluded were professors since Terra was there.

‘Please look this way, Alaric. Please.’ She chanted in her head. She wanted him to. Even if it was a little glance in her direction, or better, a small smile— anything at all, anything to make her forget the ache Zayne had sowed in her chest. But he didn’t; he was too enraptured by whatever the headmaster was saying.

‘Maybe I should listen too,’ she sighed and turned her attention to the man.

“… let’s welcome the High Lord Draven, High Lady Demeter, High Lord Boris, and High Lord Blaze, the esteemed parliamentarians.” He announced, gesturing to the entrance doors. Everyone stood, including the professors, and bowed.

‘Oh, them,’ Layla thought, staring at her shoes. She had read about them the previous night in the book that was on her table. Just a bit, but enough to know they were big shots in the Supernatural world.

The door swung open, and the smell of rot permeated the room. Bile rushed to her throat, and she pressed her hand over her mouth, holding the puke that bubbled at the back of her tongue. Her nose twitched, and the smell was no more.

‘What was that? What is wrong with me? Is this another of the side effects of Zayne’s rejection, or am I just nervous?’ She tapped her finger on her chest, calming herself down.

“You can lift your heads.” A man commanded, and everyone did so.

Layla’s gaze landed on four people, every inch of them covered in white robes; even their faces were hidden under the hoodies. They stood at the once-empty, decorated table behind the headmaster on the stage.

Her eyes narrowed at them; heat pooled in her palms, and she balled them into fists.

`Purge the unjust! Purge the unjust!`

A cool, gentle, unfamiliar yet familiar feminine voice chanted in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, and visions flooded her mind with the speed of light.

Wails—tortured wails of women, crying of children, and weeping of men—rang in her ears. Their blood and death filled her vision. Their pain and agony roared in her bones. They were begging, begging for justice, for their souls to find rest.

Layla didn’t know who they were or what had happened to them, but she was sure of one thing: they were all innocent. They didn’t deserve what they went through.

Hunger for blood coursed through her. Someone needed to pay. The perpetrator need to pay. Blood needed to be shed for the blood that had been shed. There was blood on all four of them.

`Purge the unjust! Purge the unjust! Purge the unjust! Purge the unjust!`

The chant grew louder, and something steered in her chest. It was like a beast that was trapped in there, fighting to come out and go crazy.

One of the parliamentarians was speaking, but she couldn’t hear it. All she could feel was the burning resentment towards them, which was strange. She had never met any of them before, so she couldn’t understand why.

The four of them sat, and everyone else did the same.

‘Calm down, calm down, calm down.’ Layla told herself as she sat, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths.

The chant stopped, the crying and wailing seized, the hunger for blood dulled, and the beast settled but still remained alert, waiting to be roused again.

She opened her eyes and focused on the headmaster, using his boring voice to drown out her thoughts and worries.

“… It’s time for my favourite part of orientation day, the reckoning.” Brenton grinned, pride heavy in his voice. “As we all know, this great institution prides herself on training only the best; that’s why you’re all here. The compass had determined that each and every one of you has more power and potential, far beyond the average Supernatural. But, even among the one percent, there is the one percent. The best of the best, the one in a million. They are the elite. The Reckoning estimates power and brings out these exceptional students. The test is extremely hard to pass, and only a handful have proven their worth."

He pointed at Zayne and the five other students, staring at them with pride. The rest of the students ogled at them with admiration, longing, and envy.

‘No wonder they’re separate from the rest, and the aura rolling off them is on a whole different level,’ Layla mused, eyeing them for a brief second, and her gaze couldn’t help but wander back to the parliamentarians. They were beaming with pride, like proud parents. The beastly feeling in her rumbled, ready to leap out, but she turned her gaze from them to Headmaster Brenton.

“These students are this world’s pride and joy, and only very few of you will be proven worthy to join them. Those chosen will also be held in the highest esteem by all members of the school. And once they graduate, they will be given the privilege to act as the parliamentarians’ special forces, one of the highest esteems a Supernatural could ever have. Let the reckoning begin.”

Headmaster Brenton took a step back, and the podium disappeared. Chatter rose among the students, and the excitement in the air was almost tangible.

“Please, let me pass, goddess Selene. Please, please, please,” a girl beside Layla prayed under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her fingers.

‘It must really be a big deal if everyone is so excited about it,’ she thought, looking around at the giddy faces of the other students around. She wasn’t moved by what the headmaster had said, maybe because she didn’t know much about their world, or maybe the parliamentarians left a disgusting taste in her mouth.

But she could guess why the others were thrilled. The parliamentarians oversaw the affairs of all the races, kingdoms and packs and ensured peace and harmony between them. It was like they called the shots. Who wouldn’t want to work with them?

Large, light blue crystals of different heights rose from the centre of the stage, forming a semi-circle. The middle crystal stood larger and taller than the others.

“The reckoning is quite simple; just place your finger on the tip of the middle crystal. It will detect the intensity of your magic and glow. If your magic intensity can shatter the crystals, you will have proven that you’re worthy to be one of the elite students.” Headmaster Brenton explained and held up his hand to the new students. “Line up!”

‘They are going to test us in front of everyone!’ Layla’s heart drummed as she joined the line. ‘What am I going to do? I don’t have magic. I’m going to be humiliated in front of everyone.’

Her eyes flickered from the crystals to Alaric. He remained seated, not even sparing her a glance, and she wanted to pull her hair. Did he forget about her? He assured her that everything was going to be alright; why wasn’t he stepping in? Was he waiting for her to climb the stage first?

One by one, the new students climbed the stage and did what the headmaster had instructed. The crystals glowed, but none of them scattered. Not even a single crack.

‘I can do this. I can do this.’ Layla held her breath, and her legs quivered as she climbed up the stage. The parliamentarians whispered among themselves, and their hoodies weren’t enough to hide their confused look towards her. Her eyes narrowed, glaring at them like they were the scum of the earth, and they returned it with the same intensity.

‘What am I doing?’ Her eyes widened, and she averted her gaze to the ground. She wanted to slap herself. How could she glare at them? Was she playing with her life? She gave a bow, clumsier than the other students had done, and rushed to the crystals.

“I can do it. I can do it.” She chanted under her breath, staring at the largest crystal, which was almost as tall as her chest, like it was a curse.

No matter how much she psyched herself, she knew the truth. The moment had come where she would reveal herself as a phony and become the laughing stock. They would kick her out before she could blink, and she would land in the street of the human world. Her hand trembled as she lifted it, and her pointer finger touched the cool tip.

Nothing happened.