Fight Camp: Firebird Born

Chapter 1

When the bell chimes, Rohan flashes me a smile as he walks toward the door—I keep it as a hope for someday. Books fold into bags and pencils slide into pockets. Creya waves goodbye, hurrying out to meet her boyfriend. I'm left standing alone and anticipating what something as simple as a smile could turn into.

A hand gently touches my shoulder. I startle. "Aran, there are Officials here to see you. Room 3B," Instructor Alexander says with an even look that doesn't tell me whether to expect a disaster or—but I can't think of why Officials would be here to see me. They rarely enter our Domain. I'm not sure whether to be curious or worried.

In the hall, I pass the mural painted along the hallway of the secondary School I've attended for three years. I've made it a game to count the pastries, because they remind me of my father, a baker, and a distraction from the bubbles of nervousness in my belly. I also spot the cream-colored bowl with blue swirls, my contribution to the mural, painted to look like one of my mom's prized pieces. The choir arranged in a cluster with chins lifted in song reminds me of my sister, Peony, who inherited my mother's beautiful singing voice. The only hint of my brother, Kip, are the black and white bricks rimming the border, a contrast to the kaleidoscope of colors of the painting itself. Of course, there are also depictions of various artisans, figures enjoying leisure pursuits, and at the very center, the shining silver emblem of the Republic of New Dominia.

As the hallway fills, I hasten to meet the Officials. After knocking once on the meeting room door, a low female voice abruptly says, "Enter."

A man and woman sit solidly on two wooden chairs behind a table. A third chair waits for me. She wears a grey suit. He wears the same with pants instead of a skirt.

"Hello, Aran," says the man with an angular jaw and voice to match.

"Hi," I answer, waiting for what can only be devastating news given their somber appearance.

They study me for a moment, and nod as if they approve of what they see.

"We're here to recruit you," says the woman. The bun in her hair seems to pull her vocal cords tight.

Unsure what that means, I look at the space between them. Recruit me for what? But the question doesn't breach my lips before the woman speaks again.

"According to your academic record, you're a gifted member of Domain AL."

I relax my shoulders, thankful that no one vanished over the wall or is sick in the hospital.

The man continues, "We're here to offer you a highly sought after position at an exclusive summer camp where you'll have the opportunity to excel in all of your standard subjects and use innovative tools and programs to put yourself in the running to attend tertiary and serve the Republic of New Dominia."

My eyebrows lift despite myself. I never even considered tertiary—my mom still uses the old-fashioned term for university. I thought I'd apprentice with my father in the bakery or possibly take to the stage, with any luck. Although tertiary was a hope I had, I didn't know it was an option.

The woman clicks a tablet screen lying flat on the table and reviews it. "You are select, special, and full of promise, just what the Republic of New Dominia seeks in its young people. You're an ideal candidate for Camp Athens."

Too many questions occupy my thoughts to smile appropriately.

"We will speak with your parents to make arrangements." The two get to their feet and exit. The door slams at their backs.

I should have asked where, when, how? Where is this camp? When does it begin? How would I get there? How do I prepare? But their officialness leaves me stunned and my words hang limply in the room with me. Once more, I'm alone.