"Huh?"
A figure sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. A small cold seemed to be coming on. His grey hair was tied neatly into a long ponytail, black eyes framed by glasses that slid low on his nose. He groaned softly and rubbed his temple.
"Hey, Harold!"
Another voice cut through the quiet corridor. A man stepped in, wearing the ceremonial robe of the temple. His black hair fell across his forehead, and a faint scar ran along his left eye.
"You okay?" the man asked, raising a brow.
Harold glanced up, his expression bored as ever. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just the wind getting to me."
Though he was dressed in the same white ceremonial robes as the other apprentices, the black badge pinned to his right side marked him as one of the higher apprentices—those a step closer to the inner circle.
"Oooh, hold on there," the man teased, sidling closer. "Don't tell me you're gonna fall sick on such an important day."
