Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 77: Around The Campfire

After Niko's introduction, the circle pauses. The fire crackles, the warmth seeps into my bones and once again I'm reminded of how hungry I am. A girl lifts her chin continuing the introductions, she pushes a tumble of black hair over her shoulder. Her face is narrow, lips set in a way that tells me she's used to command, used to being heard. "Ayra Gae," she says, her accent crisp and proud, each syllable shaped by the salt wind of distant harbors. "From the Noble of House Gae of the country Verion."

"My mark is Agrokinesis. I shape plants make them grow, move, even bloom from nothing." She flicks her wrist and a green curls from her palm, a tiny flower unfolding in the firelight before she pinches it off and lets it fall. Verion. The country to the west of Avrael, across the cold, churning sea the closest country to the Dark Continent. I think of the maps I memorized from my lessons, the country of Verion is one of beauty almost twice the size of Avreal but most of the land is forest.

With the mention of her power my mind flickers, unbidden, to the test earlier the one with the the freak I named Weed, the endless murderous vines and the the mention of the Midnight Rose. Was he a complete fabrication, or did the proctors use a real terrorist as a basis for their illusion? I file the question away as something to ask them when I see those bastards again.

I mark Ayra's face, her pride, and the way the other students' eyes go wary. A power like hers is subtle, but I've learned to fear the subtle ones most. Next, a girl with skin the color of cinnamon and a tumble of black curls hugs her knees and shrugs. "I'm Tahlia. No noble blood my folks work on a simple farm. My mark's Zephyr wind control, mostly. I can use it to fly but that's about it, I don't have the ability to cause massive windstorms or uplift rocks." Her eyes flick around, a little wary, as if she expects judgment. I just offer her a nod. Cain's mark is wind, too, and I know enough to respect it. Air can kill as surely as fire or steel if used correctly.

After Tahlia a boy with arms like braided rope and the easy, rolling stride of a fisherman says, "Marek. Super strength." He grins, white teeth bright in his sun-browned face. The others chuckle, the tension easing a fraction. Marek looks like he's spent his life outdoors him and Bragg will get along I'm sure.

Next, a slender boy with sharp cheekbones and close-cropped hair leans in, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee. "Dominic Axelsen my mark is lightning manipulation" He flashes a lopsided smile, and static crackles between his fingertips, tiny blue sparks dancing. "Not a noble, but don't ask about my family I ain't telling."

Then, a tall girl with skin like polished mahogany and eyes dark as molasses sits up straighter. She looks around, measuring us. "My name is Imara Sørensen I hail from Jarvix. My mark is Density. I can control the density of my own body, or things I touch. Make myself heavy as iron or light as smoke." The possibilities twist through my mind fighting, climbing, breaking through obstacles. She could be a wall, or a hammer.

The circle keeps moving. A boy with a hawkish face sharp jaw, pointed nose, eyes dark and hooded nods his greeting. His hair is glossy black, cut short and neat, a contrast to the wildness in his gaze. "Joon-ha Kim from a noble family also in Verion," he says, his accent subtle but unmistakable, every consonant clipped just so. "My mark is Emotional Transmutation. I can manipulate the emotions of others push them to rage, calm their fear, feed their despair, or lift their courage." His lips curl in a half-smile, not quite friendly, not quite cruel. "It is... versatile."

I watch him carefully—Joon-ha Kim. Emotional manipulation dangerous, subtle, insidious. I wonder if he can use it on me, if my marks would resist, or if I'd even notice until it was too late. His powers are similar to mine in a way.

As the introductions circle around, I let my mind roam, cataloging each power, each face, each threat. I keep my own expression calm soon it will be my turn. I catalogue threats and boons with the same cold logic I use for everything. Vihaan's Vampiric Scepter is brutal in a fight, but dangerous if he loses control. Niko's Iron Hide is a living shield, but he'll be the first one targeted by anything big enough to challenge him. The annoying flaxen haired girl Lysa's with her speed mark gives us a scout, but also someone who might bolt if things get bad. Bragg's telekinesis is a force multiplier, as long as he doesn't tire or falter. As the firelight flickers across the circle of faces, my mind keeps circling the same relentless thought: This is already hard enough, and we've only just begun. Keeping track of all these marks, all these abilities. In the stories, the Awakened are celebrated, feared, painted as gods and monsters that's what I thought too. But the reality is more nuanced we are still just people. Or are we? Hearing all of these insane abilities that the majority of humans can never wield or understand drives home how much we different we are from humans. Demi Gods if you will. War between Awakened must be nothing but nightmare fuel for both sides the unknowns, the sheer chaos of powers colliding it staggers the imagination. The voices hiss in my mind reminding me that I am not human but more, better. I sneer and lock them back in my subconscious.

I'm halfway down a mental rabbit hole, picturing armies of super humans crashing into each other with stormcallers, blood-bleeders, fire and ice users decimating the landscape and bodies, when Elijah nudges me with his elbow. The movement jolts me back, and I glance up to see thirty pairs of eyes waiting, expectant. It's my turn. I sit up a little straighter, let my shoulders settle into a posture that suggests calm confidence, and shape my face into a mask of easy arrogance that I've grown so used too. fгeewebnovёl.com

"My name is Ayato Daath." I let the words drift out, smooth and sure. "My mark of power is Veilshaper. I can craft illusions sights, sounds, even smells if I focus. It's useful for misdirection, or giving us an edge if things get rough."

The lie slides out of me as easily as breath, so natural it feels like telling the truth. I even let a small, self-deprecating smile slip onto my lips. "I promise not to make anyone see the boogeyman."

A few students chuckle at the joke, and I see tension ease in their shoulders. Elijah hides his smirk behind a hand, but I catch the glint of knowing in his eyes. Inside, I justify the omission with cold, clinical logic. There's no point revealing more. I can't use my Regenerator mark as I still don't know the trigger, and as for fearmonger the one that lets me reach into a person's mind and pull their deepest fears and sins into the daylight well, that's not a gift anyone wants to hear about. It's not a power that wins friends. If they knew I could strip their secrets bare, lay out their sins as easily as flipping a page, they'd never rest easy again. They'd never trust me, and I need them too. A few of them saw my duel with Alaster but I didn't show off anything crazy except my sword art. So I hide the extent of my illusion powers. For now. Until we get to the academy I need them all to like and trust me so until they are no longer useful to my survival I will be the best possibly friend to them all.