Discharged, again

"It is decided," the headmaster's voice echoed through the room.

The four learning hall masters, Veronica, Marcus, June and Xillian, had their knees on the ground and their faces toward it. The intensive discussion they had with the headmaster left their eyes determined on the solution.

"Yes, headmaster!" the four hall masters echoed in unity.

"Leave," the headmaster commanded. The hall masters left in an instant, as if blurring and disappearing into thin air.

The headmaster sat alone on her office chair, once the place of tragedy, or so everyone thought.

"Ha… it's been such a long time since I last used my power…" she murmured, hesitating as her eyes shifted from the bright full moon in front of her to the row of books in her great and vast collections.

"Was it this one?" she asked, the book seemingly covered by a faint purple aura, moving along as she searched for the right one.

Then she found it. The bookshelf was far away, yet the book moved out the ranks of books and levitated steadily toward her, as if seduced by her. Landing itself on her thin, soft laps.

On its front cover was the word.

"Demon,"

—

Three days since his admission, he found himself discharged from the weirdly empty infirmary. He was soon greeted by the orange sun that was just setting itself into the horizon and Dareon.

"Hubert! What did you even do that you injured yourself in your room?" Dareon asked, a form of greeting based on his curiosity.

"My room? Was it really my room?" Hubert asked. For the last three days, he spent his time alone. Rotating his routine of watching the environment from the small opening of the window or conversing with the nurse, which he soon felt, once again, unworthy of.

"Of course, the instructors said they found you unconscious in your room, they think it had something to do with your awakening," Dareon said, his tone almost hesitating, explaining the pieces of news he gathered as they began making their way to dormitory building C.

"So that's what happened…" Hubert muttered, slightly unbelieving of the story.

He felt something was hidden from him, the countless times he tried rewinding his mind during his rest were in vain. He tried getting a glimpse of the truth, but every time, he was greeted by blur and uncertainty.

As if something, or perhaps, someone, was hiding something from him.

The pair soon arrived at the entrance of dormitory building C.

"Ron is waiting for me at the usual place, he said that you need to get some rest before joining the routine again... So... get a little rest, Hubert," Dareon bid, hurriedly walking away before Hubert even got a chance of replying.

"See you…" his voice got weaker as he realized that in no way Dareon heard him from the place he stood.

For some reason, he felt weird, estranged from the outside world, like someone not belonging to the ground on which he stood. Maybe, his awkwardness had built up in his loneliness or maybe everyone changed.

He wondered about it before, in the three days of his restraint to bed, not once did Ron or Dareon visit him. The feelings of weirdness where he once pushed into the farthest corner of his mind began coming back.

"What is wrong with me?" Hubert murmured with a shaky voice.

Though soon, he noticed the wind around him getting colder, night was coming. Quickly, he continued on his way to his room, once again pushing his doubt to the back of his thought.

The hallway of the building was cold, not because of the design or the growing night wind that leaked in through the opening the window provided. But the cold, mingling with a bit of disgust and hatred came from the fellow students around him.

Murmurings reached his ear in each step he took.

"Hey, look,"

"Isn't that Hubert? That weird guy in the day of awakening,"

"Him? He doesn't look half bad though,"

"You can't judge the book by its cover,"

"Why? Is there any news about him?"

"I heard he made a contract with a demon or some sort, that's why he doesn't have any affinity,"

"I heard the same thing too, you know, under the glove,"

"A demon mark,"

"No way… Isn't that treason against the kingdom?"

"Of course, well that isn't the only thing,"

"What? There's more?" 

"Aadish is said to be framed by him, you know?"

"Ah, I got this news that he shared the room with a lowly servant of the academy,"

Men and women, boys and girls, guys and gals, young and old, genius and basic, smart and stupid, rich and poor, talented and talentless, strong and weak, attractive and ugly, all seemed to be in the same thought.

Weird, evil, cunning, and outcast were only examples of the words they threw at him.

In three days, he went from being praised by all, a genius of his time, a kind and caring friend. Now barely someone worthy of batting an eye to, someone who didn't care about morals and hated by everyone.

Just like before.

The moment he reached the front of his room, he felt a slight moment of relief. His key clinked against the keyhole, the sound of its mechanism unlocking as he turned the key to the right.

Creak

The door swung open, creaking, its hinges abused from the tearing of time.

"Ha…" he sighed, relieved of the familiar sight of the room, with its windows closed, providing a sanctuary for the shadow.

Closing the door, he felt peace. There, no one would curse him, no one would talk behind his back, no one would call him a coward, like they always did. There, the quietness of the lightly damp room became his companion.

The room felt homey.

He fell down, placing his slouched back against the door, his hand on the ground, aligned with his feet that laid leisurely. His stare blank, though relieved, he knew, once again, the world's hatred ran deep in him.

"Ha…" a sigh formed, not relieved, but wondering the end of all his misery and hatred he had gotten until that moment.

He stayed like that, thinking of a few of his friends. Greyson, the brawny guard that rested forever in the northern outpost, Robert in the slave camp, and Ron and Dareon training outside in the usual place. That was all he got, that was all he could have. 

Yet the world was cruel, his enemies, many and strangers talked of him. They despised him, they hated him, they framed him. He was an outcast to their eyes, he was an outcast to their exclusivity. Nobles hated him because he was a peasant, peasants hated him because he was Hubert.

"Why…" he asked, his voice shaky, almost sobbing.

He thought coming into the academy was a way of escaping poverty, a way of getting power and connections. The previous arrangements settled for him was a ray of hope in the unending darkness.

But his hope was useless, proven to be a naught. All his efforts went unnoticed. His perseverance was like a toxin. His righteousness in itself was being encroached.

"Maybe… If I end things," Hubert muttered, desperation plighted his voice. Then he closed his eyes, dropping his head down, and rested.

Knock

The knock came out of nowhere. Not from the door behind him as he didn't feel any vibration, but from his right. The closed window stared back as he watched, awaiting.

"Ugh…" he groaned as he supported himself. He felt the days he stayed in the infirmary proved to be draining of his strength. His muscles were not as preserved as he originally thought.

Yet he prevailed, pushing through his effort and made his way to the window. Where he then opened its simple locking mechanism in a smooth motion. Opening the door, he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight.

Flap Flap Flap

Not that of a human, as he expected Ron or Dareon. But a bird, a dove, flapped its wings, each of its motion blowing air onto Hubert's face. Its majestic feather, colored not white but silver, gleaming the orangery evening sunlight. Its presence was dignified and domineering, as its eyes were bright silver, like something out of a story. 

"What are you…?" Hubert asked, confused. But the flight felt oddly familiar, like an old friend or a long-lost acquaintance.

The bird flapped repeatedly, it couldn't speak, but its intention was clearly written in its stare. The bird was like a guest to a house, waiting for the owner's permission before entering.

Hubert too realized, he knew and stepped aside, giving room for the bird's movement. The bird appreciated, pushing himself forward into the room with his flapping of wings.

Then Hubert closed the door, turning around, facing the bird. Now, the sound of flappings was gone, replaced by the eerie quietness. And the bird was not on ground, but floated on air as if being restricted from the effects of gravity.

The bird gleamed white. At first, it provided a faint light in the middle of darkness. But soon, it became one that rivaled the sun of midday itself.

Hubert closed his eyes, yet the light continued piercing his closed eyelids.