The Obsidians

Prologue

I cannot say that the expanse of Larkspur College's rolling green fields is any solace to my spirit. The administration of my previous institution, with their misplaced ideals of discipline, decided that a person of my fiery disposition should be instead sent here, to this enigmatic enclave.

With each step upon the cobbled pathways and through the arcades adorned with solemn stone gargoyles, I feel the weight of my current situation. I was sent here with nothing but a single bag and a bottle of pills concealed in its depths—a cruel irony for my mind apparently in need of taming. The hidden orange bottle, nestled within, is my solitary concession to the so-called 'treatment' prescribed by those who failed to understand my nature.

I cannot precisely determine how long I lingered before the main building, an imposing structure made of opulent stone, its multitude of arched windows aglow with the morning's golden light. As I stood there, the murmur of numerous voices enveloped me—students engaged in peculiar and trivial dialogues, be it about the realms of art or the mundane intrigues of politics. Such discussions were to be expected at Larkspur College.

My predicament, however, was more pressing: I was obliged to listen to my advisor, Helen Jones. She awaited me in the principal's office where she would undoubtedly express her satisfaction with the smooth course of my journey here. Yet, how could she know?

Helen, despite her awareness of my so-called 'issues,' recommended that I pursue psychology—a field recently introduced at Larkspur College, designed for the new generation of students. She believed this program would help me connect with peers of my own age. However, I disagree and I find her opinions about me to be fundamentally wrong too.

"Elias, I must say I'm rather astonished to see you here so early. The principal is nearly finished preparing your documents and should be ready for you shortly."

Helen Jones, my assigned advisor, was appointed to me following an incident in which I fractured the nose of the former headmaster's son and sent him tumbling down two flights of stairs one fateful Monday afternoon. I wouldn't be surprised if the new headmaster's first questions were to be, "Why did you do that?" or perhaps, "Were you coerced into it?" To which I would likely offer no response; on a rare occasion, I might simply shrug and dismiss their inquiry. The deed was done, and that was all that mattered to me.

"Elias?"

Her voice interrupted my thoughts. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the straps of my bag. "Yes?"

"Did you hear what I was saying? We've discussed your attitude before."

I made a concerted effort to avoid her round, brown eyes, though evasion proved impossible. "I heard you. The principal awaits my grand arrival, yes?"

"Elias, what did we discuss?"

I hated this question. "Take a deep breath, calm yourself, and let the negative emotions be swallowed by the positive ones, for those are the ones of greatest import," I recited like a mechanical parrot.

She smiled approvingly, her satisfaction evident as she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, her gaze fixed on the wooden door that led to the principal's office on the third floor of the main building. The corridor around us resembled an ancient castle—soaring ceilings, opulent decorations, and lamps casting a warm, golden glow. To my surprise, I did not feel cold, despite the imposing exterior of the building.

With a swift motion, she opened the door, and we stepped through into the waiting office beyond.