The Timeservers

Chapter 4

New York City, New York

The Ivory Tower

December 1, 227 P.F.E

0043 hours

Via stands on the roof of the Ivory Tower, the training center for chancellor candidates. It used to be some fancy library with a façade that's an architectural marvel. Still, the roof got left out of the renovations, and it's covered in gravel that she has to be careful to walk across silently.
She takes a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm her nerves. It's later than she's used to, so she has to keep her breath from becoming a yawn. Making noise would make her taboo actions worse and alert someone.
The clock in the middle of the city lets her know just how far over curfew she is, and the longer she stays out, the worse the potential punishment. She'll take the risk.
Via sits down, letting her legs dangle over the roof's edge as she rests her arms on the rails. She pushes down the thoughts of how easy it is to slide off and keeps her eyes firmly planted on the starry sky and the skyline, and it seems like looking down would be tempting fate.
The screen in her hand almost blinds her when she boots it up, and the picture of her parents pops right up. They look so different from what she remembers, though it was so long ago that she doesn't remember much. Her mom's hair was lighter, and her dad's darker. Neither of them had gold in their eyes.
Stop torturing yourself, a part of her cries out. Others will be more than happy to do that for you.
You deserve it; another part shrieks. Via tries to silence it, but whenever the other candidates' bullying stops, that voice comes in to fill the void they leave behind. What are you even doing out here? Like this will change anything? Like they'll ever love you. Like they ever did. They don't even know you, Stupid.
It is stupid to be up here. Via pockets her screen as the patrolling elite walks around the corner below. She turns back to the door, ready to go back to her dorm and wait for another day of being forced inside an impossible box of rules to begin.
Most candidates, and even chancellors, don't even try to fit in the box. They're better at making people think they can. Why be a contortionist when you can be an illusionist? Via just isn't skilled at the art of illusion or misdirection. She couldn't figure out how to hide a bad deed, so she hadn't gone through with it until a few weeks ago. Even now, she only does her misdeeds once everyone is sound asleep and it's so dark no one can see her.
Still, after every venture out after curfew, she feels dirty and like if she doesn't confess to someone, she'll explode. She hasn't yet, but she's waiting for when it inevitably comes out.
Via makes it to the door, held open by her shoes, and eases out the slippers. The inside of the Tower is dark, almost like a black hole, and she turns to keep from looking at it as she struggles to put on her shoes one-handed.
Instead of looking into a black hole, she looks at the eye of a hurricane. She sees where the former first student, the one she would eventually replace and had been the confidante of, liked to stand. They would slip between the rail bars and lean out over the edge, completely unafraid. She believed he was entirely untouchable, and he always looked up. She sometimes thought he could take flight like he wanted to.
When he left, things might have gotten better for him, but everything that had been around him flew apart, at least for Via. Everything seemed off, scarier than before. Or entirely and terrifyingly empty. Like when something terrible happens, but you can't process it. Maybe she'd visit him in the morning to feel better, though he might be getting fed up with her.
She turns away from the spot and goes inside. Navigating by touch, even as she knows the building from memory, she feels her way to her dorm. She doesn't bother being careful around the headmistress' room, and she's probably the only one who gets a good night's sleep in this place. She came in after he left.
Approaching her dorm feels like approaching a classroom on the day of an exam you're unprepared for, and her footsteps get heavy. Every step takes effort, far more than it should. She can feel her shoulders slumping and a collapse to the floor becoming inevitable. If only she weren't on the top floor, she could feel closer to the dirt and not have gravity pulling at her.
She's deteriorating and fumbles for her key card, dreading that she'd left it in her dorm. She finds it and sighs as someone steps around the corner. The elite's running early.
Via turns toward the elite patrolling the floor and closes her eyes against his flashlight. She holds out her arms to put the cuffs on, and he reluctantly does. He knows her. She feels him mark her sleeve with a marker and is shocked by how much she wants to cry when he accidentally brushes her arm with his hand.
There's a rustling as he pulls out his screen and says the report into it. "Chancellor Candidate Via Moss, 17, top student, received a mark for breaking curfew at 0100 hours on December 2, 227. Penance initiated immediately; one day of isolation."
The elite's voice is recognizable to Via. They're one of the nicer ones. "I'll do my penance in my dorm if that's okay. Please don't tell anyone you don't have to." Keeping her mistake secret is impossible, but any slowing of the spread will be worth it.
"You're still first by a long shot. I won't tell; just don't let us down. Tatiana Finch as a chancellor is a frightening concept."
Via laughs a little and steps into her dorm. The test is completed, and a strange weight is lifted from her shoulders, only to settle in her stomach.