Cold.
Not a lasting cold, that is of winter. Not a bone-chilling cold that can bring a terror that will never release itself again. No, this, this is something different entirely.
The creepiest cold that is of bone-chilling winter and the many other horrors of winter, and the entire world outside goes out of sync defys the force of gravity Jonathan feels as he steps over the threshold of the structure, and the world outside of the gravity it defys, at the moment his feet hit the 'solid' ground of the force.
He seems weightless for only a moment.
Then, something snaps.
Just a single breath, and the cold runs deeper.
Jonathan tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks it is. An ordinary school. Destral Academy is an outstanding piece of work, done by some insane designer with a very strange grasp on what normal is.
The stark, strange, pulsing colors of the towering structure flow and climb like a river of aurora across the upper floors of the facility. Bridges of light link the structures together, and suspended kingoms appear on walkways swarming with operatives, or whatever else they are.
Controlled weightlessness is a crime.
The murmuring of the crowd behind him does not matter as the portal begin to snap shut.
Seraphine is still outside as the academy portal billows her school-mandated cloak behind her, as if she controls all of the wind. "Do not stare, too much; suggests untrained training." she remarks.
"Well I don't exactly have any training to suggest."
"That is true, but that does not give one any reason to boast."
Understood.
Only now does Lydia step through the portal and change her demeanor entirely. The walls of the school makes her nervous. Only Jonathan is aware of it.
She controlled the outside.
She does not control the inside.
Protected, is all the warning Jonathans mind is receiving from the surroundings of the inside of this building, as the immense black obsidian bridge beckons them toward the yawning void of sky it extends over; and, at the same moment, threatens to send the three crashing into the unknown abyss.
"So..." Jonathan says bravely after dragging his gaze from the terrifying pit below, "...this place floats."
Seraphine does not even slow her pace as she replies. "It's partial-dimensional anchored. A slight phase shift from normal reality is how it is, and is the cause for the Academy to float in normal reality."
Jonathan blinks.
"...Oh."
"And that conclusion you jumped to? That's quite a claim."
"It is," he admits.
"No it is not."
With each step, he receives more and more unwanted attention.
Heads Turning.
Black, sharpened grey school uniforms.
Robe wear from earlier times, but much darker and baggier.
Lingering, scrutinizing gazes that are a mixture of pure assessment and predatory instinct; a hunting animal, more than a mere bystander.
They can sense the Core.
He knows it.
The Echo buzzes faintly in the back of his mind, "They can all sense the starfire. All of them."
Jonathan grinds his teeth.
Perfect.
A walking, living, breathing searchlight.
Just what he wanted.
They arrive before enormous black crystal double doors, tangled in living, moving silver-black vines. Shifting symbols writhe on their surface, and the two doors move, effortlessly, to open, without touching a single object.
Inside is...controlled chaos.
In the center of the Academy hall stands a vast, multi-tiered complex of walkways where teams demonstrate battle formations. Millions of holographic star charts and illuminated display screens, filled with writing which even Jonathan cannot comprehend, are displayed along with hundreds of thousands more that remain a mystery.
This is not a school.
This is a war machine.
Jonathan stops.
"...This is training soldiers."
For him, Seraphine is the only short cut. "For the oncoming convergence."
Again, that word.
Convergence.
He stops himself, cuts off,
A sound pierces the unsettling calm of the hallway.
"Oh? Our straggler finally found his way here."
Jonathan turns. He looks annoyed.
A man walks in. He's tall, slim, dressed in black Dark Academy commander uniform, complete with silver trimmings. He has neat hair and a clean face and a general appearance that he likes to take charge a bit more than he's comfortable with, or perhaps a bit more than he thinks he should; and, in essence, loves to get in other people's faces; he carries an overbearing personality with him like an invisible shadow.
His stare burns straight through Jonathan.
It is chilling. Terrifyingly so. As if the Director had stuck a mucilaginous star into one of his eyes and taken the other one out.
Seraphine shifts beside him. It's not the stance of readiness. Not defensive.
"Director Halvern," she says calmly.
Ah.
This is very, very bad.
Halvern's smile is razor thin and politely predatory. "Agent Vale," he says and with that he adds with mock gravity, "I must say, you do have quite a taste for the dramatic." He moves and his eyes fix on Jonathan's. The Destral Core in Jonathan's chest spasmed wildly, and the Echo became silent, once and for all. Halvern's grin widens again, "How very interesting," he states looking at Jonathan's chest.
Jonathan uncrosses his arms and lets his eyes meet his Director's. A few nearby operatives choked back a snicker and turned away quickly, not so much with amusement but because Halvern remained impassive throughout the ordeal. "Analyzing," Halvern states, walking in a circle around Jonathan. He is not touching him, yet the atmosphere around them shifts almost imperceptibly with his every stride.
He continues around Jonathan, peering intently at...
Judging him.
Measuring him.
Weighing him.
Jonathan feels the primal urge to flinch but manages to hold himself steady. Barely. Halvern stops right in front of him. "What a mess you've made for us. Collin. Rapid acceleration in Blackwell activity. Close near-breach indicators, and a single core flare." He grins as Jonathan flinches back a step, "what a entrance you've made," He adds stretching Jonathan's patience for even longer, "You near gave me a heart attack; quite the show. Quite the stunt you pulled." Halvern's frustration at Jonathan is amusement for a few moments and then vanishes as he adds "If you survive this, your ability to cause such chaos will no doubt be of great service." Jonathan glares. "Orientation." "No that's not why," Seraphine exhales beside him. "It's not necessary," she adds. Halvern turns his stare back on Seraphine, "On the contrary," he states in an even tone, "The protocol still stands." Something unsaid passed between them, something ancient and thin as a scalpel. Jonathan detests being in the center of it. "What, exactly, will this orientation involve?" he asks. Halvern's grin returns as he answers, "It's an orientation that will determine whether the Destral Academy will train you," He pauses again and Jonathan feels his breath catch, "or contain you." Silence descends once more. He knew it then, in his bones.
The Echo resounds in the back of his mind once more, low and ancient. "Watch yourself, heir, this place holds that which it cannot control."
Jonathan's jaw tightens and he watches his Director once more.
Halvern continues to stare at him with a look that says he was anticipating Jonathan Collin's reaction.
For the first time since entering Destral Academy Jonathan feels something with an edge of ice. The Academy had kept him alive; but it is clear now, it is far from safe.