Grendilton: Rise of the Shadows

4 | Pure Misery.

There wasn't a moment in Connor's life where his older brothers presence overshadowed his own. Michael was always more charming, ever so popular with students and professors alike. He was the mere depiction of perfection. Other men wanted to be him, women wanted to marry him. His light brown eyes were said to turn green when the sunlight danced across his corneas and the way his hair was naturally straight made everyone fawn and sigh.

Just the mere thought of his own flesh and blood made him clench his fists in anger. Because now, Connors presence lingers in a new shadow.

"How could she," he muttered illy, grinding his teeth in anger. "This mere moon mage has completely ruined my whole damn life."

Smoke began to shift through his fingers. The fire within him began to engulf him into hatred and negativity. He lowered his head, downcast from the resentful screams of someone he use to always turned to when life got hard.

"You're not a Heslington," said an angelic voice. She crossed her arms then rolled her eyes. "A real Heslington wouldn't have cared about who spoke to me. Why couldn't I swoon Michael? I thought his little brother was just the same."

Connor groaned, snapping away from the cynical thoughts his mind created. His lone voice reverberated around the lecture hall, with his eyes surveying the multitude of shamrock candles that were set before him. He combed his fingers though his hair, inhaling the humid air around him.

"She's not better," he told himself. "Just because she is born a rarity, doesn't mean she is."

Optimism ran though his thoughts like a waterfall. It was meant to create clarity in his mind. But his leg shook in agony, the adornment around his neck became somewhat of a stress ball, grinding his teeth along the serpent head in anxiousness.

"Bad day?"

A giant of a man stood by Connors side, his large grin stretching from ear to ear. "First day's are always hard," he said. "You'll get though."

The man jeered, his large pale hands scratching at his equally ginormous belly. Smoke circled around his ankles, his long ginger hair and beard looked like small bursts of fire.

Connor creased his brow. This man had some kind of enchantment in his body.

He smiled and extended his hand. "Professor Breslin is my name. Metal masters here at the Institute, former Dragoon and Spell-Casting professor." Breslin pinched at his beard, his dark green eyes lingering down at his adornment. "And, judging by the serpent pendant, you are a Heslingon. Connor, is it not?"

"Y...yes," he said, remembering that this man before him was different, shifting his gaze down to his metal leg. A limb that had magical energy shifting through it. "That's me, sir."

The professor smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet a future overseer," he said, as he continued to walk towards the front of the class.

One by one, students began to arrive. A few women cackled at him, giving off coy suggestions in his direction. Behind them were men, who couldn't help but glare at him, whispering things he couldn't quiet hear. He furrowed his brows and frowned. How unnecessary. People began to occupy seats, with none of them taking the seat situated next to him. The ones who were close were either too shy to be near him or loathed him too much.