"Time. Pencils down. Fold your paper into the designated envelope and hand it in before you leave."
A spacious hall filled with eager-looking adolescents swathed in post-test murmurs. Students quietly rose from their seats, set in tall, ever-growing rows, and handed their envelopes to their university professor.
A man with a long beard and twirly mustache, standing at a podium, accepted the white papers and smiled. "Congratulations on completing your Houtis Medical Mock Examination. This will allow for a better gauge of your abilities before the real exam."
He took more papers. "Remember, even if you remain at the top, study like you're at the bottom. Anything could happen. We, the normal, have no control over fate. Only the Liege, Lord Maisedes."
More than half the students said in unison, "Praise the Totem."
The mass's footsteps echoed on the polished wood as they left the hall. A seventeen-year-old maiden's quick strides, in particular, hastened as she entered Houtis National University's main hallway.
She placed a hand on her beating heart and sighed. "What a thrill. I'm one step closer, now." She checked that no items—like her embroidered purse, pencils, or lucky charms—were stolen, and headed off.
As Amariel Cline strode through the bustling streets of Saint Precinct, her stomach rumbled. Her face flushed promptly. How embarrassing, she thought, relieved that no one familiar was nearby.
"I'll go satisfy it. A treat for doing well today. Well, I hope I did well. . ." She pushed a strand of rust-brown hair behind her ear and went in search of a bakery.
Amariel noted how many people walked the streets of Houtis worry-free. Just a decade ago, the country had been swamped in constant murders and madness.
During that worrisome time, she made sure not to ever leave her house. It was much too dangerous outside!
But that was then.
"Now, the folks act like nothing happened. Oh, I wish I had their courage." Regrettably, Amariel had an innate fear that someday, the killings would reignite.
However, after her brother's effective persuasion, Amariel overcame her fear and gradually explored the city. . . To some degree, of course.
After a few moments of searching, she found a bakery aimed at satisfying the young's tastes. Amariel worried not about her wallet, but about her appetite. She hoped her picky palate would be pleased.
Ring!
The pushed door rang its hanging bell, and all patrons inside set their gaze on her. With a meek tone, she bowed and said, "Good afternoon."
Some nodded, others went back to their work.
Amariel bent to the glass case and scanned the options. Her figure showed in the faint reflection: long brown hair tied neatly into two beautiful buns. Ocean blue eyes moved from one pastry to another, deciding which one to pick. She had soft lips, tan freckles, and an abnormally large forehead.
She wore a light blue flowing linen dress, a small bonnet, and fancy dress shoes.
Her finger landed on a particularly smaller-than-average pastry: a pink macaron with lemon-yellow filling inside. She joyfully looked at the clerk and said, "I'll take two, please."
The clerk nodded her head and prepared Amariel's food. "You look happy today."
"Yes, I just took my Medical Mock Exam and thought that maybe I should treat myself," Amariel replied, a wide smile plastered on her face.
The clerk's interest perked. "A Medical Exam? Fascinating. We don't see many future doctors come through these doors."
"Really? Well, I'm glad to be your first."
"Haha," she said. "What made you decide on the path of medicine? I've heard it's quite strenuous."
Amariel deliberated. "I want to make Houtis a place where no one should feel shame for visiting the doctor. It's heartbreaking that our country's hospitals turn away people not in urgent need."
The clerk's eyes widened as Amariel continued, "No matter the severity, those people still need help. I understand that becoming a doctor is challenging, and the road will be rockier than ever, but I'm ready for it."
She added sorrowfully, "My sister abruptly caught a condition where she's been paralyzed in her entire body, and no doctor can figure out why. I want to be there for her. I want to find a clue. I want to heal her."
The clerk warmly smiled. "That's an admirable dream, little one. I hope you can reach it smoothly."
Amariel blushed. "Thank you for your words."
"You know, have you ever tried imagining yourself as a doctor? I heard visualization helps strivers reach their aspirations more successfully."
"Imagine?"
"Yes, imagine. Try thinking of yourself as a doctor."
Amariel bobbed her head and thought of herself as a doctor. In the visualization, she wore a long doctor's jacket and had a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. Her face was slightly wrinkled, most likely from the stress. But most of all, this future Amariel was happy.
Genuinely happy.
Opening her eyes, Amariel bowed once again and said, "Thank you, I feel like a doctor already, haha."
"You're welcome. And, just in time. Here is your order. Five dinar, twelve qunat, please."
Amariel rummaged through her purse and paid for her meal. Saddened that the seats were taken, she opted to go outside and enjoy her macarons on a bench.
Despite nearing sunset, the sun still shone radiantly this fine day, and for that, Amariel was grateful. She humbly sat on a wooden bench and brought the first macaron to her lips.
Crunch!
"Sweet!"
She wiped the crumbs off her cheeks and finished it in two bites. Amariel gazed at the view for a while before eating the second macaron.
She thanked great adventurer Francis Silvester for his wonderful creation. How would Houtis fare without his macaron?
Out of the corner of her eye, Amariel noticed a boy about her age, dressed in an all-black suit and turtleneck, his back against a wall close by.
She tilted her head to get a better look. The boy had a disheartened expression, making Amariel instantly feel sorry for him.
"I wonder what's ailing him. . ."
She contemplated going up to him and asking what was wrong. Who knew, maybe she had a solution?
Unfortunately, time stopped Amariel. She glanced at her pocket watch and abruptly stood up. "Hopefully the sun doesn't set too quickly."
It was never safe for a young maiden to walk home alone at night, especially in a country like Houtis
. . . .
'That's her,' Specter whispered in his head.
Emory Vaughan narrowed his eyes and followed a brown-haired girl as she walked home.
'She's a Circlet, even though she doesn't know it yet. That's better for you, Emory. Kill her and head off.'
His first target as a Hierarch. He pulled a small dagger from his pocket and spun it in his hand.
Can I turn this invisible as well?
'Yes. Anything you touch, as long as it's smaller than you, will turn invisible when you do.'
Emory nodded and hastened. This was his first human kill. It pained him that it had to be a cheerful-looking lady.
Julius Bersebus and his descendants deserve it, he angrily thought. Hearing the history of the nations from Specter really fueled a passionate hatred for the Bersebus Empire.
No matter what personality she had, this girl still held that wretched man's blood. There was no room for empathy.
His target turned left into a secluded alley.
Perfect.
Emory swiped at his entire body, progressively turning invisible. He then lightened his footsteps and raised his dagger.
The young lady stopped in her tracks, forcing Emory to stop as well. She said in a subtle voice, "Who's there?"
Emory tensed. Did she notice him? Never mind that, he needed her to die and collect her Authority. With a tremble, he moved the dagger closer to her neck.
"I can feel you. Please show yourself," she said again.
In reality, Emory was heartbeats away, his weapon nanometers away from her neck. Her breath shuddered on his neck.
For some baffling reason, Emory's arm froze. Why can't I kill her? he asked Specter.
No answer.
Suddenly, Emory's eyes drifted off; he was losing consciousness. At the same time, his invisibility wore off.
He fainted.