Chapter 2: The Scholarship of a Lifetime
A sharp pain at the top of Eathon's head jolted him awake.
"It's about time you woke up, bub."
He blinked. Please let this be a dream.
Perched at the foot of the bed was a large black cockatoo — wearing a tailored suit, puffing a cigar between its clawed feet. The bird's voice was raspy, like one of the old-timers who used to drink bitter coffee outside the timber yard at dawn.
It leaned in, snatched a hair from his head.
"Ow! What the—"
"Ah, shuddap," the bird snapped, chewing the strand thoughtfully. Its eyes suddenly went wide. The cigar dropped from its claws.
"What the hell... this for real?" it muttered. "Deal with this. I need to tell the Boss."
A sharp thud slammed into the back of Eathon's skull. Darkness swallowed him whole.
Light crept into his vision like rising floodwater, blinding and slow. He squinted against it, blinking up at a whitewashed timber ceiling. A hospital? Beds lined either side of the room. Warm sunlight poured through arched cathedral windows, the stained glass casting soft mosaics across polished wood floors. The air smelled like eucalyptus and overly starched linen.
He touched the back of his head, expecting a welt. Nothing. No bump, no bruise. Just a headache pounding behind his eyes.
Where am I?
Footsteps pulled him from the thought.
"Mr. Lorenzo," a calm voice said, "you've found yourself in quite the predicament."
Eathon looked up — and froze.
She was... stunning.
Long waves of shimmering brunette hair framed an almond-shaped face. Emerald eyes peeked through half-moon glasses perched delicately on her nose. Her white blouse was crisp, tucked into a high-waisted grey skirt fastened with a broad decorative belt that emphasized her figure. Stockings clung to long legs that ended in crimson heels, each click of her step impossibly composed. Her lips were full, painted to match the shoes.
She stopped at his bedside, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"I am Michelle Santos, Vice Dean of the Academy. Miss Tendo informed me of your unusual circumstances. That leaves me in a... complicated position."
She began to pace, her heels clicking rhythmically.
"Somehow, you've eluded our radar. Typically, we sense unschooled talent from birth. You, however, are in your mid-twenties and only surfaced on our detection systems within the last twenty-four hours—purely by accident."
"And to make matters worse, you lack any financial backing to secure a place in this college. The Dean—our only person capable of safely wiping your memory—is currently away. No other professor has the required skill. So I'm left with two options."
She turned, her expression cold.
"One: we incarcerate you for a full year. Solitary confinement. No interaction with students. Fed three times a day. Allowed two hours for exercise under complete isolation. It's humane... compared to the older method of petrifying and decompressing you in granite."
"Option two: you receive a full scholarship—fees, books, and robes included—but in return, you accept the position of Groundskeeper."
She tilted her head.
YOU ARE READING
The Grounds Keeper
FantasyEnter the world of the Academy, a world outside of the common existence of man, where the rare few blessed by their genetic potential have a chance to visit. Join Eathon Lorenzo a troubled Orphan who fled his home for a chance at a new life and foun...
