The Elixir

~Waltz

It's as if the Atrium has become a new room altogether. Even Derald, who could care less about decor and other nonsense, can't help but gape at the gorgeousness of the makeshirt ballroom. The Atrium is a pretty place on it's own, with pretty, light-inviting skylights fitted together. They've hung a massive white chandelier from the skylights and it looks as though moonlight is raining down from the night sky.

Derald thinks fondly of his sisters, Gia and Gwynn, who'd been obsessing about the Midwinter Ball since the school year had started. Gia, who's close to graduation, has taken it upon herself as a responsibility to educate Gwynn on how to be a lady. And Gwynn, who's idolized the concept of nobility and galas since she could talk, has floated about in a dreamlike state ever since.

Xara gently bumps into him, equally as immersed in the ballroom as he is. She looks fiercely beautiful, with her eyes edged in dark liner and her hair tied high up her head. It portrays a girl older than her 12 years. But out of the five of them, Xara has always been the more mature, more serious one.

The five of them huddle up. Vieva looks bored, most likely having seen the party scene previously. Owain looks positively green, and his knees knock together. Upperclassmen have always freaked him out and it's as though the entire school has decided to pack into the Atrium.

Lysabel glances at everyone impatiently, though what she's waiting for, Derald doesn't know.

"We all know the plan, right?" Xara confirms. Small tendrils of black hair fall forward. Her cinder block gray eyes are determined.

"I still don't understand why the vault needs to be looked at more," mumbles Owain. "I thought we couldn't get in."

Vieva scowls at him, her platinum blonde hair waterfalling forward in a sheet of white. "It's clear something valuable is there, something the Warlord wants. We have to get it first."
"Doesn't that mean that he'll come after us instead?" Owain insists hotly. "Why are we making ourselves a target?"

Xara places a hand on his wrist, smiling encouragingly. "If you want to opt out, Owain, it's completely understandable. It's risky, what we're doing, considering what's at stake for us. The four of us can manage well."

At that, Owain straightens indignantly. "No, I'm going."

Derald can't help but feel a small prick of satisfaction. Finally, Owain seems to have grown a backbone.

Partygoers swish around them, glancing at them curiously. Xara notices it too, nodding at Derald.

"We're gathering too much attention. Let's split up." Xara grabs Derald's arm, her skin cool. "Derald and I will go right, and Lysabel and Owain will go left. Vieva, you're on your own."

"Thank the Founders."

Derald rolls his eyes at her, and Vieva merely tosses her hair. There's no heat behind either of their actions; as much as he hates to admit it, Vieva Bestel is growing on him. And by the looks of it, it's mutual.

She melds into the crowd, while Lysabel all but drags Owain away. He sends Derald a panicked, save me look, but Derald only gives him a thumbs up. Mellow music drifts around the room, and in the center, people sway to the lulling beat. It's mostly filled with upperclassmen; the first years stay off the floor, content to gaze on. Xara tucks her hand under his arm, sneaking a glance at him.

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah." His cheeks flare and he ducks his head to hide it. He can feel the coolness of her skin through the thin shirt.

The dancers swirl together perfectly as Xara and Derald maneuver around the dance floor. They bump into a few people, who glare at them unhappily, but manage to keep a good pace. Until now, Derald hasn't visited the Atrium, but he could see it from his dorm room. It's unexpectedly larger than he'd expected. The exit is still a good distance away, and the crowds force Xara and Derald closer and closer to the dance floor.