The Elixir

~Interruption

Finally, relishes Derald, dinnertime. I thought the day would never end.

It doesn't bade well for him, seeing how he's already exhausted. He still has years at this Academy to go. The professors either don't care or don't remember that they are first years, judging by the fast-paced lectures Derald has somehow managed not to snooze through. He's never been a very efficient person, so, like many others, he stays up nearly every night, taking notes and catching up on homework assignments. His roommate, Owain Snagsnout, seems to be his polar opposite.

"Man, that was grueling," groans Phade Holyward, as he shakes out his hair. The boys are all sheening with sweat, but it's the type that one would wear proudly. A badge, of sorts. The first year Wing teams aren't very impressive, considering the level of skill the upperclassmen had. The first years had gotten the chance to witness the third year team in action.

They made the first year team look like a bunch of pansies.

Derald rakes a hand through his moist hair, grimacing. As much as he would like to shower off, his hunger outweighs his need to bathe. Besides, he's not even the stinkiest one of the group. When Dillian Goldbane had swaggered out of the locker rooms, Derald had nearly passed out from the smell.

"You said it," sighs another first year that Derald can't identify.

"Did you see the Roffinnes brothers? They're clearly best on the team."

"You mean Xara Roffinnes's brothers?"

Derald perks up at the name. Xara's in his group for Beast Anthology and from what he's gathered from their stiff brainstorm sessions, she seems to be a reasonably nice girl. If not a bit cold.

"That's the one."

"Is she really in the leagues with the Warlord?" asks a short boy in a hushed voice. Derald is surprised at the spark of anger that flares in him.

"The rumors are fake," he snaps at the team. They're silent for a moment; either they're analyzing his odd reaction, or they aren't sure whether to continue. Derald doesn't care about which it is.

"If she wasn't a Storm, I would definitely go for her." Dillian smirks. Phade snorts derisively.

"Right. As if any girl would agree to go out with you."

Dillian slows, before aggressively resuming his pace.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You aren't exactly a ladies man, Dillian."

Dillian rears back. "I'll have you know that I had a haggle of girls begging for a dance with me at our region dance."

Phade gives him a sidelong glance. "Was it your sisters?"

Dillian goes beet-red in response as the rest of the team cackles.

"Real score, Dill," drawls Phade. Derald refrains from saying anything. All in all, Phade's a pretty cool guy, but he can be sort of a prick sometimes.

The dining room, as always, is buzzing with energy. Laughter, utensils clinking. But the sound of Derald's rumbling stomach muffles all of it.

"Hungry now, are we?" teases Dillian.

"Very much so." Derald salutes his team. "See you guys on Thursday." The team parts ways and Derald wanders to the buffet, where students line up. The trays and platters magically refill themselves, spelled. Derald heaps a generous serving of the mashed potatoes and the bread pudding. No one cooks as well as his mother, of course, but the Academy meals come pretty close.