All the Light I Cannot See

One

Hopping out of the taxi, the teenager surveyed his surroundings with a critical eye. Camelot High, his new school, rose out of the well-kept lawn like a castle. Ivy crept up its walls, and its windows caught the mid-morning light. It looked cozy, nestled in the outskirts of the town, but functional. From his vantage point, he could see the bleachers of the football field and a corner of the basketball court peeking around trimmed hedges.

He shut the car door and made his way to the front doors. The blond needed to check in at the office before he could start classes. While he walked across the pavement, he found himself admitting that this school would definitely be better than the one he left behind. Not that he'd admit it to his father, after that fantastic argument they had about moving here in the first place.

He pressed the button to open the automatic door, then took a right, following the sign that said OFFICE in big block letters. There was a line at the desk, so he stood behind a boy with long brown hair and brown eyes, and probably an aptitude for trouble. He just gave off that kind of vibe, you know?

"Next," said the lady behind the desk, who was most likely bored out of her mind, and the troublemaker stepped forward. "Ah. You," she said, her voice as welcome as the Arctic ocean-- cold, dangerous. "The Principal told me to give you this."

She handed the boy a cream-coloured envelope, and the blond expected to see, like, a red wax seal or something, it was literally sealed with a scratch-and-sniff sticker. Okay, then.

He was so busy watching the brunet open the envelope that he didn't hear the lady call him forward until she slammed a book on the desk and shouted, "NEXT!"

Jumping, he started forward sheepishly. "What do you want?" she asked in that same, expressionless voice, which was better than the icy one.

"Arthur Pendragon," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I transferred here from Cenrad's?" His statement tailed off into a question, and Arthur cursed himself mentally. I sound so unsure, so vulnerable! This is not how I want to be remembered!

She nodded, understanding filling her face. Pulling a file out onto her desk, she flipped through it and produced a cardstock schedule and an accompanying yellow sheet. "Here's your classes and a map of the school grounds. Your locker number is on the back of your schedule." Looking at the clock, she added, "Just go to Block 3; Block 2 is almost over anyways."

Thanking her, Arthur turned to go, but as he reached the door, he heard the other boy jump up from his seat, shaking the balled-up letter in his fist. "This is bullshit!" he declared, and, looking the guy up and down, Arthur decided to stay and watch the action. "You can't make me do this! There's a curse!"

The receptionist smiled thinly, the one of the first real sign of emotion. Like she was talking to a slow child, she said, "Mr. Macken, look at it this way: your grades are atrocious, you have terrible attendance, you've been suspended multiple times this semester, and are one slip-up away from being removed from the rugby team. This is something you must do if you wish to graduate. And there is no curse, and you would do well to remember it." She said the last words firmly, extinguishing any further argument immediately.

Mr. Macken hopped from one foot to the other nervously, not wanting to take on the intimidating receptionist but also not wanting to do whatever it is the envelope had instructed him. Both onlookers could see the struggle on his face, and watched it contort and grimace until finally he broke.

"Okay, fine! But I thought you didn't believe in the death penalty, Minerva!"

Then he turned around and flounced out of the office. Flounced. Now, Arthur didn't know a thing about this guy, but he did know this: his life would be incomplete if he didn't follow this drama queen.

When Arthur caught up to him, the brunet was muttering about death, the worst ways to die, whispering swears filthier than anything Arthur had ever heard, and throwing his hands all over the place. Arthur was walking several steps behind him when he stopped suddenly, and Arthur crashed into him.

Glaring at his attacker, Macken asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"Arthur Pendragon. I'm new." He raised his eyebrows and Arthur sensed that it might be best to get to the point. "I overheard your conversation. What curse? Should I be worried about it?"

Suddenly he morphed into a completely different person. His face lit up and he stopped fidgeting with his hands. Grabbing just above Arthur's elbow, he pulled him out of the hallway and into a dark, empty classroom. Seating himself onto the teacher's desk, he flicked on the lamp beside him, casting the room into uneasy light.

"Right then!" he said, the cheeriness out of place in the gloom. "My name's Gwaine Macken, and this," his voice darkened ominously, "is the curse of Camelot High."

"There once was a boy named Merlin Emrys. He was a genius. Everyone loved him. But he was uncanny. Strange. He made you feel that something was... off, that something wasn't quite right. You see, Merlin was blind. But the way he looked at you with those pale, blue eyes, well, he could see right through you."

Arthur gave an involuntary shudder and Gwaine grinned at him before continuing the tale.

"He lives in the east tower."

"Wait, he's still alive?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Gwaine wasn't fooled, though. He knew that the story was terrifying the shit out of his new friend.

"Oh, yes. And every year he gets a new aide. Do you know why he gets a new one?" Arthur shook his head, unable to speak, and Gwaine leaned forward, the lamplight shining on his face, making his eyes appear as black voids. "Because not one of them has ever made it through the year."

Arthur gasped.

His dignity shattered.

Gwaine laughed an evil laugh. "My freshman year: a fellow classmate, Morgana. She actually volunteered for the job, she was that kind-hearted. That June she fell down the tower's stairs and broke her neck."

Goddamn.

"Then I was a sophomore, and two died. Morgause got terminally ill and died in April, and Mordred drowned on a school fishing trip in May."

That's brutal.

"Junior year killed off a fellow athlete, Agravaine. He was a dick, but still. Nobody deserves to be killed on the basketball courts."

What the fuck kind of school even is this?

"And now I'm a senior, and it's my head on the chopping block," finished Gwaine, sliding off the desk and turning off the light. Despite his imminent destruction, he seemed to have calmed down considerably. Apparently terrifying others had soothed his damned soul.

The two walked out the door, Arthur shaking violently, and Gwaine asked the other, "So what class do you have in," he checked his beat-up, cheap watch, "eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds?"

Arthur fumbled in his bag and produced his schedule. Studying it, he said, "Social Studies with Walker."

Gwaine nodded. "She's boring. Her class is in Room 105. Go straight down that hallway," he pointed to the right, "and then take your fourth left. Don't be late! She hates that."

Smiling, Arthur thanked him, then took off in the direction Gwaine had indicated. From behind him, Arthur heard Gwaine yell, "Meet me in the cafeteria at lunch!"

Turning, Arthur saw Gwaine wave, and then returned the gesture almost clumsily. They stared at each other for a moment, before Gwaine shooed the new kid onward in a don't be late gesture. Arthur smiled again, then made his way to Social Studies.