Gilded Serpents

Chapter One: The Herculea Conservatory School

It felt like the coldest morning in Spring, and I wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep. My bedside window had been left open, just a sliver, and the cool, thick breeze kissed my face awake, despite my protests.

Dearest Mary had been gently rapping at my door with her soft - yet determined - paws for who knows how long. Through the slivers of my eyes, the light was still dull, and the two suns had barely started their dancing journey across the sky, only now just peeking over the forest horizon.

I reluctantly sat up on the edge of my bed, pulling the thickly padded quilt around my shoulders and wiping the sleep out of my eyes in a daze. With a sobering stretch, I brushed the heavy dark velvet curtains away from what they had still covered of the lightly frosted window and saw the silver rays of light, streaming through thick waves of morning fog, make their steady and slow climb through the garden. Tiny sparkles of crystal light danced among the newly branching vegetable stalks and tiny newborn flower buds nestled in the thickly manicured hedges. It was at this time of day that the dark emerald of the forest barrier and gardened grounds was at its most vibrant. It was enough to make me catch my breath before the chill of the damp morning air swept across my face with its familiar silver slap.

In front of the window was a small white candle, held in a silver ornate holder, with four jeweled legs. Beside it lay a delicate box, equally as detailed and engraved, holding a tin of soft white powder. The table was bare, cleared of my room's ordinary mess of books and half-scrawled parchment, save for these two items - two very important items - and I let out a defeated sigh despite my best efforts.

For the past six days since my seventeenth nameday, I was to place a tincture of the fine silvery-white powder in the palm of my right hand and carefully blow it on the waxed white wick of the candle. And today, same as the last six times, nothing happened as the white powder swirled past the candle and out of my window into the thick morning air. Despite my best efforts, another defeated sigh parted my lips as I wiped the rest of the dusty particles off my desk.

This was the Ritual of Solia - a rite of passage of every young man and woman in this realm. Ideally, the fine powder would ignite the flame with vivid color - each designating one of the specific high houses in the realm.

If it was to glow with a vivid purple, I would be matched with the Tumet, a guardian of space and time. His school existed in the clouds, with silver and mechanical wings flying high through the mountains, dancing in the shining suns as twinkling clockwork. Patrons walked the chilly cobbled streets in the sky-island in sharply tailored capes among the carved cathedrals of high academia. I had never seen the flying school myself, but my father had told me stories when I was young of witnessing the air-beast crossing through the night sky when he was at one of his posts. They learned Time Magic there - a delicate craft, only learned by the most intelligent and curious of the realm.

Next of the main four pillars was Myrot, champion of the sea. His flame was a deep blue, twinkling playfully on the candle. The Myrot School was hidden deep under the black sea of Noor. I had heard stories of webbed winged creatures wisping its disciples under the unsuspecting cool water, only to be met with a decedent pearl city of splendor hidden in the dark, lit with dazzling lights strung between the high coral towers. The effervescent city taught water and other elemental magic - but they also boasted as masters of trade and fortune within the realm.

Then was the dazzling red flame of Selphena - guardian of fire and forge. Only the fiercest of warriors, in both spirit and body were chosen by Selphena. Hidden in the cold dark mountains of Sine was the onyx-black school. Pillars of oppressive obsidian formed the tall, brutally carved gate. Winding tunnels warmed by magma-light carved deep into the tallest mountain, where underground coliseums held matches between red velvet warriors with golden-filigree masks. This was my father's school, where he learned to wield a magic blade of silver to protect himself against whatever creatures loomed at the outer Barrens.