Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Do you have a Master?”
When Berunn looked at him, Eridan realized that he was the one who’d said that. He flushed.
Berunn’s eyes narrowed. “Not yet,” he said evenly, giving Eridan a hard look. “But I have been approached by several Masters, and I expect to be chosen within the next few months.”
Despite his confident, bored tone, Eridan could sense that the older boy was far from confident. Initiate Berunn was actually feeling… anxious.
Eridan cocked his head to the side. “When is an initiate too old to be chosen?”
Berunn’s jaw clenched slightly. “Twenty-one standard years is the cut-off age. If an initiate isn’t chosen by that age, they will be transferred to the servicing department of the Order.”
Eridan dropped his gaze, realizing that his question had likely been taken as a mockery. Berunn definitely couldn’t be much younger than twenty.
He coughed slightly, not knowing how to make the situation less awkward. He didn’t want the older initiate to hate him.
“What is the earliest age we can be chosen by a Master?” he said softly, looking up again.
He had expected that the neutral question would relax Berunn, but instead, a strong emotion, something angry and bitter, rolled off the older boy as he glared at Eridan. “You should be careful, Initiate Eridan. Gloating does not befit a member of the Order.”
Eridan frowned in confusion. “What?” he said. “What do you mean?”
Berunn’s lips twisted into something ugly. “Just because Master Idhron already preliminarily claimed you, it doesn’t make you better than us, Eridan. You are still a junior initiate. He might change his mind yet.”
Eridan stared at him, bewildered. What?
But before he could say anything, the class exploded with shouts, other children’s anger, confusion, and jealousy quickly overwhelming Eridan’s senses. He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to protect his mind from the onslaught, but it was useless. His head started spinning, nausea rising to his throat, and the next thing he knew, everything was dark.
***
When Eridan opened his eyes, he was in the infirmary, and there was an unfamiliar Master seated in the chair by his side.
The man’s gaze was on the datapad in his hand, so Eridan took the opportunity to study him. Straight pale hair tied back, a sculpted face with a chiseled jaw, a straight nose, and eyebrows much darker than his hair. The stubble on his face was quite dark, too.
He was very young for a Master, Eridan noted with some surprise. The man must be in his early to mid-twenties. Eridan would have never thought such a young man could be a Master, but the heavy black robes with the Order’s insignia that the man was wearing clearly denoted his rank. Only Masters could wear them. He wasn’t even a Master Acolyte—he would be wearing gray robes if that were the case. He was a full-rank Master.
Eridan stared at him in fascination. He hadn’t seen all that many adults besides the Overseer. The senior initiates that taught children his age were barely older than children themselves. Eridan knew that as he got older, his classes would be taught by Master Acolytes, but that hadn’t happened yet.
“You should learn to shield your mind,” the man said, lifting his gaze to him.
His eyes were deep blue.
Eridan shrugged, looking at him curiously. “I’m seven. We’ll learn shielding at eight.”
The Master gave him an unimpressed stare. “Correction: mediocre initiates learn shielding at the age of eight. You should push yourself harder if you want to be better than just mediocre.”
Eridan opened his mouth and then closed it, uncertain. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The man gave him a look that was actually rather unreadable, but Eridan could feel a spike of irritation coming off him. “I am Castien Idhron. I would not be here if you had not ended up in the infirmary.”
Eridan’s heart lurched. “You’re my Master?”
Master Idhron’s lips thinned slightly. “Not yet. But I did claim you preliminarily, so I am the one the healers contact if something happens to you, so do try not to faint again. My time is of value. I have neither the time nor patience to coddle children.”
Eridan’s heart dropped. When he’d imagined being chosen as a Master’s apprentice, he’d always imagined his Master to be someone… kind and warm, the opposite of this cold-eyed young man.
“Why did you choose me, then?” he said, trying not sound petulant and hurt, and probably failing, judging by Idhron’s pinched look.
It took the man a moment to reply.
“You show promise,” he said at last. “If you apply yourself, you will be a good mind adept one day. If you apply yourself, which I am not sure you are capable of.”
And with that, Master Idhron stood and strode out of the room.
Eridan stared at his retreating back, annoyance, anger, and hope warring inside his chest.
But above all, there was determination. Determination to be better, to be the best.