Talentless

The Arch

          I hate Exillium uniforms.

          There was no other possible way to begin this chapter of my life. I mean, seriously! The itchy, poor quality fabric, the shoulder pads, the studded masks that smell like medieval herbs, the lack of pockets---it was like the person who designed this hated children. I imagined Councillor Bronte or Emery sitting in a dark room with a sewing needle, mumbling, under his breath, "no pockets...hahahaha!" 

          And I was contemplating this exact thought when I felt a tug at my ankle. I thought I'd tripped on a ledge or something, grasped the air helplessly for some support. In about a few seconds I hung thirty or so feet in the air, a threadbare rope tying me to a brick arch. If I made the slightest move out of turn, I'd fall headfirst into an icy river. Or, at least, I assumed the worst. The mist was so thick, I could hardly stick my arm out and count my fingers. I had no sharp objects on me, no way to cut the line and then levitate myself to safety. With my body turned a sharp 180 degrees so quickly, headaches pounded my temples. I wasn't sure how long I'd last here. There was no way this could get any worse.

         "WELCOME TO YOUR DIVIDING!" a voice boomed from below. 

         I take that back. 

         A small crowd had gathered below. They were all wearing the same costumes as me, except for a red, blue, or purple handprint over each of their hearts. Three much taller figures stood in the back, each wearing tattered cloaks of the same color. I recognized the blue one as the one who just spoke. "The Council has deemed you unfit for elvin society. This Dividing will decide which of us trains you during your time at Exillium. You must find a way down from the arch using any resources within your abilities. None will be given to you. You may begin."

          How would I get out? I had no abilities except for my telekinesis. Maybe that would help. I breathed in, spreading energy through the rope. Unknowingly, I'd spread it across the arch as well. I pulled. Pulled---

          I tugged some more, feeling the friction finally working with me. I opened my eyes to see the metal on fire, the blazes getting closer and closer to my rope. I opened my mouth to scream, but only let out a breathless gasp.

          And that's when the arch blew up. And then I plunged to my death.

          As I fell from the arch, I was neither cold nor nervous but in mysterious lucid dream state, like a blanket that softly enveloped me. This must be some kind of defense mechanism. I struggled but could not get my muscles to tighten or move. I opened my eyes to some kind of scarlet brim around my vision. It faded in, like some kind of odd sunset. I only had a few seconds to contemplate it before the world went dark.

          I woke up in a dark tent, a figure cloaked in black rumaging through a cooler on the opposite side of my cot. The Exillium logo---a black X over three tents---was printed against the wall. This must've been the Healing Center or wherever Exillium sent their injured. I was the only person there, so I must've been the only casualty in the explosion. Who was the person who'd saved me? The figure (I assumed he was the healer) turned with his batch of elixirs. I nearly fell out of my cot. His mask looked like a plague doctor. Or a---

          "You..." I wheezed. "You look like a boobrie."

          Boobrie Dude did not reply, much to my disappointment. He laid out all of the glass bottles. I recognized them only by their smell. Instead of proper crystal bottles in which the liquids were supposed to be contained, Exillium medicine was in short, squat glasses, a perfect ecosystem for harmful bacteria to make their colonies. The cooler seemed to be one of those plastic ones humans have, and was about as good at keeping the medicine fresh as a net is at holding water.