Alpha Academy: Misfit's Rise

Chapter Twenty: The Fate

By the third day of the Spirit Festival, I had yet to see the shadow dance again, though I did finally figure out why I was so obsessed with it. It was the way it had so intricately intertwined the feelings of misery and hope, so that it was impossible to separate the two emotions. Those were the same feelings my magic gave me.

Unfortunately, with all the other events that Lucian had planned for us, it looked like I was going to have to wait until next year to feel it again.

"What are we watching, again?" I asked Lucian for the tenth time.

"The seer Lebadeia's famous reenactment of the Pythia, Oracle of Delphi." That was what he had said the first nine times. I gave him a look, even though that was sure to invite another history lecture.

"Today is the day of the dead," Lucian said. "Many people visit their loved ones' final resting places, while others choose to visit mediums or seers, like Lebadeia."

My expression only looked more confused, and he sighed, but I could tell he was actually excited to lecture me even more.

"The Pythia were priestesses praised for their ability to commune with Apollo and divine the fate of men. They were Magi, of course, and many modern Oracles reenact this ceremony to honor the time when mortals respected magic."

"So, they're fortune tellers? Like, real ones?"

"Yes. They're Half-breeds," Lucian said, "like the Elves and Warriors, except they're much rarer."

"Half-breeds of what?"

"Fae and Witches." He smiled softly. "Which is why they are so rare."

I shook my head. "I don't get this whole Half-breed thing."

His brows crinkled. "What's not to get?"

"I knew Fae and Witch hybrids in the Rustlands, and they were Misfits."

He sighed, which meant I was about to get a long answer. Not that he'd ever given me a short answer before.

"The Realm has been a blessing in many ways. It's a refuge, where our magic is stronger and safer. But ever since our arrival, we have been unable to produce any more Half-breeds, and the amount of Magi born without magic has increased by thirty percent over the last century."

"But why?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice level. "If magic is so much stronger here, shouldn't all of these things be happening less?"

He smiled again—one of his distant, humorless smiles. "But that's just it. Magic is stronger here, because we pay a price for it. The Realm isn't like Earth, Billie, just a dead planet. The Realm is alive, and it demands a sacrifice in exchange for its blessing."

I stared at him, eyebrows raised. This wasn't the first time he'd said some—eccentric— things, but saying the Realm was alive? That was a bit much, and a bit creepy.

But before I had a chance to ask him to elaborate, the crowd fell silent as a cloaked woman stepped out onstage.

The cloak fell off her shoulders. She was naked, save for a green mist swirling around her body. It wrapped around her arms, forming emerald bands around her wrists and upper arms. It settled around her hips, and then extended down her leg in strands. Circular objects took form in these strands; dusty, dirty white objects with two hallowed out holes. Eye sockets. The circular objects were skulls, and the strands were made out of bones. The mist moved to her chest and neck, forming a black bodice that left her midriff exposed. The bodice had little black beads that buzzed and move over her skin, with black tendrils like thorns weaving in and out of them.