Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 76: House Apophis

I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I catch Lucian's eye from across the fire. There's something about him an easy, ruthless logic I recognize and respect. A kindred spirit, maybe. For a moment, I wonder again if he and Jasper are related. The resemblance is uncanny: the same sharp jaw, the same air of cold calculation, the same predator's poise same red eyes. It's tempting to ask, but I bite my tongue. No need to bring up any connection to the crown. That's a headache I don't need, and unwanted questions are the last thing I want floating around the group.

The igloo Bragg built is holding up well, warm and close and—most importantly—secure. Bragg himself sits by the newly sealed entrance, arms folded, looking satisfied but alert. He'd packed the dirt tight, leaving only a small vent at the very top, where the smoke from the fire curls lazily up and out into the night. Inside, the thirty of us have settled into a circle around the fire, letting its heat soak into our bones. There's a momentary hush as everyone tries to shake off the day's chaos.

I glance over at the girl who started the fire. She's tiny, maybe four foot eight at most, with long black hair that falls in a straight, silky sheet nearly to her waist. Her eyes are striking blenge, a pale, stormy blue-gray that catches the firelight in odd ways. I catch her gaze and nod.

"Hey, thanks for getting this going," I say, keeping my tone light. "What's your name?"

She flushes, cheeks turning the color of ripe cherries. "Rye. Rye Moreau." Her voice is small, and glances down, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

I smile at her, offering my hand. "Ayato Daath. Nice to meet you, Rye." She hesitates for a second, then takes my hand her grip unexpectedly firm. I squeeze gently, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile. If I'm going to survive this little trail the proctors cooked up, I need everyone in this house to like me, or at least trust me. I can be the friendly guy when needed. I smirk to myself.

Around the circle, faces start to relax, the tension of the day easing little by little. Elijah is already chatting with another boy gesturing wildly. I stifle a laugh when I hear him completely make up a scenario in our test.

That's when the dark-skinned girl with the gold eyes leans forward, elbows braced on her knees. Her expression is guarded, but her eyes catch the fire in a way that makes them look almost molten. "Ayato Daath," she says, her tone casual but her gaze searching. "That name sounds familiar. Are you a noble perchance?"

Her question hangs in the air, and suddenly the whole circle is looking at me. I meet her eyes for a long moment, letting just a hint of poison seep into my stare. It's a warning—don't push. She just blinks, unbothered, and waits. The others are watching now too, curious.

I shrug, letting my tone go ice-cold. "No, I'm no noble. You might recognize my name because I was the one who had the duel earlier today." I do not need her mentioning anything about me having three marks, I'm sure it will come up eventually but until then I don't wish to deal with it.

She sighs and shrugs, accepting my answer for now. "Oh right, I saw the ending. You killed him." Her voice is neutral but I can hear the accusation in her tone. Murderer

I give her a thin smile, already disliking her for pressing the issue. I hold my hands up, palms outward, as if to show I'm hiding nothing. "I did. Because he was trying to kill me. I don't forgive that very easily."

She nods, her mouth quirking into a small, knowing smile. "I'm sure he was."

I roll my eyes "Are you insinuating something Miss?

She chuckles "I'm Zaria, and no of course not."

I nod in mock approval "I'm glad to hear that Zaria, I would say we have more pressing issues to deal with anyways then this boring talk of my duel."

She stares at me with a knowing looks and agrees. As the fire crackles and the wind howls harmlessly outside, I lean back against the packed earth wall, feeling the warmth seep into my bones.

Another boy leans forward into the firelight, his wiry frame casting a long shadow on the dirt wall behind him. He's got tussled brown hair that looks like it's never seen a comb, and eyes the color of old alabaster. He wraps his robe tighter around his bony shoulders and says, in a voice that carries a strange cadence, "We ought to introduce ourselves. And our marks of power, since we'll be relying on each other to get across the mountains alive."

There's a moment of silence. His accent is thick, the syllables rolling and clipped in ways that sound foreign even among all the different backgrounds here. I recognize the tilt right away though. Before anyone can answer, a girl blue-eyed and flaxen-haired, the same one who was whining earlier before Bragg made the shelter snorts and mutters something under her breath.

I narrow my eyes at her, letting a flicker of irritation show. She's already shaping up to be the kind of person who'll slow us down with complaints and pointless sniping. The wiry boy ignores her, his mouth set in a practiced, patient line, so familiar to Awakened Manahar all those months ago when he reacted the same way to Howards rude reaction. His face flickers in my mind: Howard, that honorable fool. My first real friend. A friend I haven't seen in months, not since I sent him into a coma. The realization hits me suddenly, Howard is here as well, somewhere, in one of the other houses. For a second I feel a powerful urge to break away from this circle, to push through the walls and the cold and find him, to see if he's forgiven me but then the memory rears up: Howard passed out on the ground, his mind trapped in a maze of nightmares his fathers horrified expression. Me massacring the Counts guards while Cain tried to stop my out of control power. Yea I think its best I leave it alone.

The wiry boy speaks again jostling me out of my thoughts "I'll go first, then. My name is Vihaan Deshmukh. I hail from the capital city of Kalka, in Trola." He pauses, taking in the group's faces, then adds, "My mark of power is the Vampiric Scepter. It causes my enemies to bleed profusely. From the mouth, nose, eyes; anywhere blood can escape, really. So I'm combat-oriented obviously."

I have to admit, that's... unsettling. Not someone I'd want on the other side of a fight but on my team I'm more then happy to have him. I nod thoughtfully, already weighing the pros and cons. Pros: effective in a fight probably wins by default if he can draw the fight out long enough for them to die of blood loss. Cons: probably messy, and I wonder if there are side effects or if he can accidentally hit allies. I file that question away for later. freewebnσvel.cѳm

There's a ripple of discomfort, but also a few appreciative murmurs from the circle. A tall, broad-shouldered boy with tawny skin and curly hair and sage colored eyes lifts his hand next. His voice is deep, a little rough. "I'm Niko Bellik. My family's from the southern part of Avvrael from a city called Ertonsas. My mark's called Iron Hide makes my skin hard as steel when I want it.

And just like that house Apophis starts going around the circle introducing themselves and their powers.