His bed wasn't very soft; it wasn't meant to be. Even its purpose was supposed to teach them something, maybe about the suffering of not getting enough sleep or the suffering of back pain. Or maybe it was to prepare them for the inevitable traveling every priest would have to do soon after graduating from the academy. And it couldn't be because of funding; the academy was richer than most cities.
Years have gone by, and Kanrel has yet to figure out the exact reason. If there even was one.
There was no window, yet he knew it was morning. His body refused to oversleep, refused his wish to stay in this little room of his and do nothing. So he got up.
Now standing in the middle of his room, he looked up at the ceiling, which refused to change, even a little. For years, he stared at the same ceiling. He did it lying down, standing up, and even while sitting down.
Yet there was no hole created by his very gaze. In theory, he should be able to easily dismantle it. He now had that power, yet he had no desire to use it. No wish to figure it out. So he let it be—this new thing he had and the ceiling that was.
His newly found abilities, or magic; this something that had been a desire of his. To understand it, to learn it, to push it further than anyone else had ever done before. He tried to muster a sensation within him, an urge to have a desire.
But nothing happened. The thought was present within him, but it was just there and nothing else. Having had the thought brought no sense of direction for him; no desire to act upon earlier fantasies about it.
Then, it felt weird. The space in his head, wherever thoughts and feelings arise. Irritation. As if he were trying to remember something that he had forgotten, something that he had remembered just a moment ago, but had now, so suddenly, become something that he could not access. It had been right there; now it was gone.
There was no feeling intertwined with the actions or thoughts, even when they were illogical. Suffering he did feel, but it wasn't controlling his thoughts; they weren't there to guide him toward a path of suicide, as one who suffers might go toward. Instead, his feet took him to the door; his hands forced it open, and once again, his eyes saw the same corridors he had seen many times before.
The corridor was empty. The door was like bars keeping him in. The room was a cell. And the academy was a prison for people like him. Opposite him was another cell with another student inside, if they had succeeded in the ritual. In fact, this corridor was filled with cells like his. They all had, or did not have, prisoners like him within.
Did they all feel like he did? So… empty?
It was the morning after the ritual, and Kanrel had not received instructions. He had no idea where they should gather or if they should gather at all. He didn't know if there were others who might've survived the ritual. All he had was routine, so he followed that.
He remembered his wonder as he first walked through these corridors, courtyards, and buildings, and the rooms all these led into. He had so much curiosity that he wanted to explore everything the academy had to offer. And he had done so, at least in the visual sense.
The tall corridors, with their intricate details, carvings that adorned every wall, ceiling, and floor, told a story of the people who had built it long ago. How they had given everything to create the very masterpiece that is the academy. All this feeling and artistic expression—this great manifestation of beauty—from masons and such. Architecture that was awe-inspiring yet practical in nature.
Now this, which was once a creation built with the sweat, blood, and tears of artists, had become monotone to him. Each corridor looked the same; each room was a mere extension of these corridors. Each place now lonely and devoid of life.
What a waste of time to build something so grand just so that the eyes that see it cannot enjoy it. All this feeling poured into every inch of every little detail means nothing in the eyes of the prisoners who are held within.
Minutes went by as he walked before he saw another human; it wasn't even a priest, just another student he didn't recognize. He didn't even offer the girl a look; he just went by as she muttered a greeting to him. Or did she? It was so hard to tell.
Soon, it wasn't just a student. First, it was a pack and then a flood. There were so many humans he did not recognize; they were all here with him. The more people passed him by, the more alone he felt—like a faulty thing among the living.
He presumed that none of them felt like he did in this moment, and all the moments that were ahead of them. Kanrel knew that it was, perhaps, an incorrect assumption, but he felt too wronged to care if it was or wasn't.
Then he stopped in front of a classroom. Its door was wide open, and some of the human flood poured inside. He entered, giving no regard to these people.
The first person he recognized stood in front of a huge chalkboard—a teacher who taught ancient history. Hanrek Mykwle. A man who wasn't really tall but was broad; truly a man of both strength and knowledge.
Their eyes met for a short while. Maybe Hanrek saw in Kanrel's eyes what he had seen many times before: the newborn priests wandering the halls of the academy in confusion. He and many of the 'normal' teachers and professors knew exactly what to do with those who had gone through the ritual. It wasn't exactly a thing that he or anyone had to do, but nevertheless, he approached Kanrel.
"You should seek one of your own," the man said and gently turned Kanrel around and out of the classroom.
The seated students stared. Their curiosity made his skin crawl; it burned, and he wanted to scratch it away. They all knew what had happened to him, to the other novices. They all knew about the Ritual—not what happened during it, but about what the novices were like after it; what the priests were like for the rest of their lives. They all must have heard the same rumors that he had.
The corridor was more or less empty; a few students rushed in different directions, trying to reach their classrooms before they were late.
A priest… He had to look for a priest.
Only one place, other than the cathedral, would have them, no matter the time or the day.
A large part of the academy was allocated for magical study, and this large complex of buildings and even more corridors was at the northernmost part of the campus. That was only an hour's worth of walking.
He exited the large building, which was shared with classrooms and rooms for novice priests. He had entered a large park that had paved paths to every location on the campus. This was, in fact, the very center of it all.
He didn't hesitate at the crossroads of the paths. His feet already knew where to go.
South was where he'd just left; it was where he slept. Narrow rooms and locked doors, the routine of his life. East was noise and appetite, and the many books he had once enjoyed. West was the entrance to the campus as well as something meant for order, correction, and healing.
North meant priests. So he went north.
The air outside was fresh, and Kanrel could see the shadows on the paved paths and on the well-kept grass that covered most of the park.
The shadows of trees and tall buildings fell upon him. He went northward, not paying much attention to this. He walked past trees and benches that surrounded him. Past flowers that were well-kept and people who took care of those flowers.
Past people who were cutting the grass, past people who were idling near the pond, on which the surface of the water glittered in gold as the light beamed brightly from above. Paradise it was. And so he had experienced that as well, as he had described it to be. Now it was just nothing. Just something he walked past in a hurry.
The warm light felt cold. The fresh air was just as suffocating as the air indoors. The people who looked happy made him feel even more miserable. How could they be so happy if he wasn't?
They were so intact; still allowed to feel and exist... None of them knew what they had; what he gave up. So naive, so blind.
Somehow, they were as human as he was.
Was he?
He walked past them in a hurry, not because he was in a rush, but because this very scene of beauty and all these people enjoying it made him feel even more insignificant and useless. It made him feel bitter about the choice that he had made so foolishly and so willingly.
All this for a thing he didn't even feel. All for a thing he now didn't wish to use. A curse indeed.
The name for the building complex was pragmatically boring: "Laboratory of the Study of Magical Energy." It is said that when this part of the campus was first built, the name was much longer: "Laboratory of the Study of Magical Energy and the Laws of Physics which are Affected by its Nature."
But it is no wonder, as the priests were allowed to come up with the name by themselves.
Before, Kanrel thought that such a name was quite stupid and not cool at all. Now, it felt fitting.
Not only for how accurate it was, but also for how well it helps one understand the nature of priests, especially the priests who conduct their research within the complex.
The last time he visited the place, he couldn't really see the difference between this complex and the other parts of the campus. Now he could feel it. His skin was crawling as he went closer; cold shivers went through his body, and disgust rose in him. He felt hopeless as he stood before the laboratory.
He had seen other priests use magic in their demonstrations, and when they had to study magic in theory. It looked amazing; it was like nothing else. But now that he could feel and sense it in all its awe, it felt wrong. It was disturbing and so… so wrong...
This complex was visually different. Before, it had had the same sort of reaction that the cathedral had given him; now it was the same, but just how he felt about the cathedral... now. The magical energies flowing through it all didn't make it any better, but they did make the cathedral more pleasant in his own memory of it.
And as he entered, more sensations went through him, and he came to a stop. All this magical energy did was amplify the feelings he had within. No. It was more than just that. He felt the feelings of all those who had used magic here, their despair and suffering engraved into the very stones of the laboratory. A monument to never-ending pain.
Was this the nature of magic? How did they feel when they used their powers? Kanrel wondered as he continued his search for a priest.
It didn't take him long to find one. Inside a large, mostly empty room, there was a woman weaving with her hands. Lights ignited harmlessly within the room as she carefully observed this reaction. Soon she stopped and turned around to a table on which there were papers, books, ink, and quills.
Would he have found her beautiful before? Her eyes were piercing and blue, her skin was clear and lacked such things as wrinkles, as if she had never smiled or really even frowned. But strangely, she didn't have a single hair on that head of hers. No hair, no eyebrows, and not even eyelashes. It was... strange.
She noticed Kanrel yet ignored him; instead, she picked up a quill and dipped it in ink. Carefully, she started writing on a piece of paper.
Kanrel approached the table and took a peek at what she had written:
...the lights ignited without bursting for the first time; this is only possible when the lights are kept small enough, and it doesn't matter how many of them you weave in at the same time, but have them any bigger and they'll ignite in a violent manner, causing an explosion.
I wonder what is needed for a reaction in which the lights explode inward, a reaction I call an 'implosion.'
"Novice, it is impolite to come in without permission or an introduction, and even more impolite to read through someone else's writings without, again, permission."
The woman suddenly said, while still writing, her voice was very nonchalant; it was like she was teaching someone such a simple thing as manners.
"Forgive me; it seems I've forgotten how to behave," Kanrel said and returned to the door. Then he knocked on the frame of the door and said, "Excuse me, may I enter?"
The woman put her quill down and turned toward the novice. She lacked any facial expression that could give any information about her mood or thoughts; she just gestured for him to enter.
"I am Kanrel Iduldian, and I've recently gone through the Ritual; in fact, I went through it yesterday, or I woke up from it yesterday, but nevertheless... I would like some direction on what to do now."
"Where are the new novices supposed to be?"
The priest inspected him from head to toe and said, "I see. So you're one of those early birds, as they say. Rare ones, who awaken more quickly than others."
Kanrel just stared at her, waiting for an actual answer.
"For now, you don't have to do anything. Just get used to what you are now. Your studies will resume when the rest are awake—well, at least the ones that wake up at all."
Kanrel gave a nod and was about to leave.
"But I would suggest that you stay here for now and try to put what you've learned in theory into practice. It should make things much clearer for you. It does so to all of us."
The priest said this and smiled in a practiced manner; there was no joy in her smile. She then returned to her writing, as Kanrel still observed her.
"Where might I practice?" He asked.
With her right hand, the priest made a gesture toward the other side of the room, saying, "Just don't blow this place up."
Kanrel thanked her, and as he was going past her, she added, "Iduldian... fancy meeting the son of the Herald... Ewen Oidus, ask for me if you need help."
He almost came to a stop. His body had tensed so suddenly.
His mother...
His face must have held a pained expression; that was something he could feel. But it was something that he should hide. He managed to keep walking.