The following day was sunny. Arran and Jonathan met up at Spinelli’s. It was becoming a part of their routine to make the journey for a morning pastry. And since it proved to be a quiet environment as well, they chose to make it habitat for study.


    “How’s the eye feeling?” Jonathan asked.


    Arran looked up from his book and tested the edge of the dark circle. “A little better.”


    Better than your ego probably,” Jonathan joked.


    Arran laughed. “You know that’s a funny thing.”


    “Oh, it very much is.”


    “Stop. I’m talking about something else.” Arran let Jonathan finish laughing.


    “Alright, go on.”


    Arran took a moment longer to make sure jokes were aside.


    “On average, girls have a higher winning rate than boys do at dueling, right?


    “Yep.”


    “We get our asses kicked by them all the time.”


    “That’s right.”


    “And 3 out of the 5 top duelers are women.”


    “Brilliant.”


    “But still…”


    “But still…” (Jonathan echoed on as a headmaster might encourage a student’s series of questions, knowing what answers they might lead to.)


    Arran tried to hold back a smile. It was in the way that makes one frown. An inverted smile.


    “But still…There’s something about it that’s demoralizing.”


    “That’s because you’re a misogynist.”


    “Am not!” Arran laughed out, “But don’t act like you don’t feel the same way.”


    Jonathan shook his head in mock pity. “You know the one thing that misogynists and misery have in common?”


    “Oh, let me guess: they both love company.”


    “Bravo Arran!” – Jonathan clapped his hands together – “You might be an Aesthete after all.”


    “Alright, break times over. Back to studying.”


    ***


    The next day the sky was low and gray. It started the same way at Spinelli’s. In a far corner, Arran and Jonathan sat in the same wooden booth – a landmark that eventually went by the name, “The Booth.”


    Jonathan marked his place with a pen before looking up; and Arran did the same in the knowledge of his friend’s tendency. It was a pattern that preceded a question.


    “How’s the shadow chasing going for you?” Jonathan asked.


    “Oh, it’s going. I don’t know where, but it’s going.”


    Jonathan chucked as he collected fruit onto a large fork, making a mini shish kabob.


    “Yeah, same here. I’ve meditated a good deal before, but it’s just been that – I haven’t really had much practice with it while performing a shadow hunt, which almost seems like a new thing altogether, ya know?”


    Here was another reason for having another first-year close by: Arran got to know where he generally stood to others by comparison to Jonathan, who seemed to be a suitable measure, someone to contend with. But in truth Arran had never meditated before arriving at the Metropole. Not once. And he wasn’t ready to confess that just yet. So, when Jonathan had brought it up, he nodded his head as if he’d shared the same experience.


    “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like I don’t know where the first stops and the other begins.”


    “Exactly!” Jonathan signals with an index finger that he has more to say after he finishes chewing a mouthful. “Although I feel like I’ve heard it call before. You get that voice in the distance thing.”


    “I know. I’ve heard it once or twice,” Arran lied easily.


    “You have?”


    “Sure.”


    Jonathan gave a curious look with half squinting eyes. It made Arran realize that Jonathan could be using him for the same purpose that he was using Jonathan. As a litmus test of sorts – wanting to see where he stood among fair competition.


    “You don’t believe me?” Arran asked.


    “No, I’m sure you have.” Jonathan seemed to be considering more as he bit into another strawberry.


    “How about this,” Jonathan said before a hard swallow, “I bet you 500 bits that I’ll shadowshift before you do.”


    Arran looked gamely into the hazel eyes of his competitor. “Make it a thousand.”


    “Done.”


    After the deal was made and hands were shaken, Arran felt his nerves beginning to rise; so he took the opportunity to check his watch while Jonathan stuffed his fork into his mouth. “We should probably head to class soon.”


    Jonathan eyes fell on his own watch and spoke through a mixture of blueberries, strawberries and diced cantaloupe. “We have thirty minutes…”This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    “Yeah, but I want to get there a little earlier to skim over notes. You never know when she might give a pop quiz on the previous lecture.”


    Jonathan took the length of his chew and swallow to process his decision. But then he rose from the table while collecting his leftovers onto his plate; and in seeing an apple still on the table, he remembered the additional utility of his mouth. So, instead of adding the apple to his handful of compost, he pierced its flesh with his teeth and walked to the trash bin. It reminded Arran of the last time he roasted a pig – traditionally stuffing its mouth with an apple.


    “Hey piglet, you don’t have to come early with me. You can finish eating.”


    When Jonathan turned around, a smile worked around the apple before he pulled off the bite.


    “And let you get a head start on our wager? Ha! You must think me a fool.”


    ***


    In class, professor Callaway was going over her lesson on meditation. She preferred walking when delivering her lectures, so it wasn’t unusual to hear her voice anywhere in between the four-cornered room.


    “As I’ve said before, the best approach for leaning into the shadow is through the practice of meditation.” Her words were long and drawn out, matching the character of her physical extremities.


    “Noow, let’s close our booooks and begin with our mind-walking technique.”


    Jonathan looked over at Arran who was sitting at the table next to him. “So much for the pop-quiz.”


    Arran shrugged as they both put their books away, feeling that it was typical of Chance to not challenge the prepared.


    Professor Callaway was walking up and down the center isle as she spoke. “It’s easier to first start with your eyes clooosed than opened; soo, try that first.”


    Arran waited to see the other students around him follow her instruction; and then he joined them.


    “Nooow,” professor Calaway started again, “begin to notice the sensations of your weight against your seat, the breath at the tip of your nooose, the vague darkness in your visual field, the odd flickers of light therein…” She went on like this for a few minutes, guiding the class through the first stage of mind-walking.


    Then, for the second stage, she transitioned into a different instruction.


    “Nooow, ever so carefully, turn to your shadow; but remember, be careful.”


    This was always the ubiquitous urge of the Academy. Arran thought they should’ve had a plaque above every door with the inscription on it: Be careful. Though this was typically repeated when any instruction involved the shadow – where every half hour or so, a statement could be anticipated about how entering a ‘shadowshift’ (that’s what they often called the act of transitioning into the shadow state) could also make a person psychotic.


    “No stop!” A student cried out. “Stop!”


    At that moment every person’s eyes flung open.


    “Stop please!” he said again. When Arran first heard the voice, he was alarmed at how close it was. And when he heard this second plead there was no mistaking who it came from. It was Jonathan.


    Arran put one hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”


    “Don’t touch me!” Jonathan whipped his shoulder away from Arran, a movement so forced that it made him fall out of his chair. A round of chuckles followed from around the room.


    “Jonathan!” Professor Callaway said as she rushed to his aid.


    But Arran was by his side first. “No, don’t touch him,” the professor commanded.


    At this point, low murmurs began to hum in the air.


    Professor Callaway adjusted Jonathan so that he was sitting up with his back against the desk behind him.


    “No! Make it stop! It’s hurting me!” Jonathan yelled as he thrashed his head back and forth.


    “Jonathan, look at me,” the professor said, “Follow my voice. You have to try to be still.” Arran noticed a shift in her tone. It was calm and carried a note of deep care, as if she were a mother speaking to a son.


    “No, that’s what it wants me to do! It wants me to keep following. I don’t want to follow anyone!” Jonathan was still shaking his head violently back and forth, up and down. “Stop telling me what to do!”


    To Arran, it was difficult to tell who Jonathan was speaking to – whether his shouts were directed at professor Callaway or the shadow. And he wasn’t sure if Callaway knew either. But regardless, the professor kept to her training and tried to sooth Jonathan, calling his attention to her: “…That’s it, look at me. It’s going to be okay, Jonathan.”


    Jonathan’s dark brown eyes were erratic. They darted in every direction as if it was a pain to see anything for more than a second. Then, in the span of a few moments, he came out of it. And this time, it wasn’t at all difficult to tell who his shout was directed at – because both eyes landed firmly on Callaway: “Help! Help me please!”


    In earnest, professor Callaway lightly put her hand on his face, pulling it towards her own. “I’m here. Don’t look away, Jonathan.”


    “I…Can’t.” Jonathan’s face winced as tears streamed down his cheeks. He pressed professor Callaway’s hand against his face with his own. “Please get me out.”


    “I will. Just stay with me; keep your eyes on me.”


    Arran wasn’t sure what professor Callaway was doing, but he didn’t have to read her mind to know that she was working some mental manipulation on his friend. Her eyes become steady and her forehead crumpled down in concentration. She had also joined her free hand with the other in holding Jonathan’s face steady – limiting the disadvantage of a moving target.


    Finally, after several more minutes of intervention, Arran was relieved to see some positive responses from Jonathan. His eyes seemed more consistent, tracing back to professor Callaway’s face more frequently and for longer durations. His head-shaking also reduced itself to a bobbing motion.


    “Will he be alright?” Arran asked.


    No sooner did Arran say this than a response was given. It was the most blood curdling shriek that he had ever heard. And while Jonathan sustained this pitch, he fell to the ground convulsing.


    “Martha,” Professor Callaway said urgently, turning to a girl that was already out of her seat, “go to the medical ministry and tell them to call an ambulance.”


    The girl, wide eyed with fear, gave faintly more than a nod before disappearing in a flash.


    ***


    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dominic said after Arran had told him what happened earlier that morning. “I haven’t heard a case that severe from a first year. He must’ve really been pushing it.”


    “I think he was. He told me before class how he was feeling more confident in his meditation practice – said he thought he would shadowshift soon.”


    “No. What an idiot.” Dominic pressed his palms to his forehead.


    Arran looked at him sensitively, feeling that it was too early for criticism.


    “Look, I’m sorry. But you can’t just approach the shadow flippantly like that, no matter how confident you think you are.”


    “Well professor Callaway was the one encouraging us to do it in the first place.”


    “Arran,” Dominic said reproachfully, “there’s a difference between turning to the shadow and following the shadow. And if he was truly in the state that you just described him being in, he was following.”


    Arran didn’t say anything, he knew Dominic was right and that he was speaking out of passion. He realized where it was coming from too. It was a growing guilt for the deal he had cut with Jonathan before class – knowing that had he not have been so vain, had he not have provoked him, his friend would probably have been sitting next to him instead of lying in a hospital bed.


    “Do you think he’ll be back?”


    Dominic inhaled a consideration. “It’s tough to tell…”


    Oliver was sitting next to Arran, the thumb side of his index finger resting over his small mouth, as one deep in thought. “What would provoke him to do that?”


    It was rare that Oliver would be quiet for any extended period of time, so when he suddenly spoke, it surprised Dominic and Arran enough to consider the questioner before the question.


    “You’ve been quiet,” Dominic said.


    “Yeah,” Arran said, “I almost forgot you were sitting right next to me.”


    “Well yeah, I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been saying about Jonathan, and it doesn’t make sense. What first year chases after the shadow like that?”


    “An overconfident one,” Dominic stated. “Just like Arran said, he was becoming more comfortable in his meditation abilities. It’s not a stretch to imagine that he would chance a shadowshift.”


    “I disagree. Why would you chance losing your mind?”


    “Enough,” Arran said. He was getting upset with Oliver’s speculation – or more so the increasing guilt that came with knowing the answers to it.


    “What’s motivation really have to do with this?” Arran continued. “What’s done is done.”


    “Motivation…” Oliver gave Arran a tense look, “has everything to do with this.”