"The Somatic Scar is not a metaphor." Professor Halren declared in his booming voice, the words penetrating the tense air with ease.
Thirty-two students listened intently. Pens scratched as they danced across notebooks.
"The phenomenon is real,” he continued. “When the mind fails to resolve trauma, the memory embeds itself in the dermal layer of the skin."
Halren's pointing stick tapped at the arm, directly upon a line. He continued, "Scars are pieces of the Shadow, the darkest parts of ourselves, and a grotesque infection of the mind." He lectured. The stick punctuated his last words. Tap tap
The lecture hall was still. The unmistakable music of pen on paper rose from the semicircular arrangement of students. An ensemble of wannabe Weavers.
There was a pregnant pause. Halren picked up a bottle from under his lectern. He stared at it for a moment, then drank. The mauve liquid within sloshed around lazily. His brown eyed glazed over a little
It wasn't alcohol. Someone had once asked about it; Halron had snapped that it was medicine and said nothing more. But someone in the back row had whispered one word: "Tranq."
"Right," the lecturer mumbled to himself, he spoke in a flat voice as he delivered the rest of his teaching, "Despite what you might have heard, the task of the Keloidic Authority is not to punish, they simply cut out the rotten part of the soul." He concluded quietly.
A young woman, barely twenty with mousy hair tied back neatly,
timidly rose to her feet, entire body shaking with nerves. "Would removing a piece of us, even a bad one, not be...damaging?"
Halren snorted at this. "Let me ask you, Miss Oriole, would you ask the doctor this question if you were told you had cancer?" The Professor snapped.
He drank more of the liquid, the glare he had fixed her with slowly dissolving into a bored expression the more he consumed.
Another student stood as Oriole sat. William Ardo, who went by Bill.
Bill had more confidence. Too much for his own good.
"What might the esteemed Professor Otto Halren of Lumière University, think of the fringe practice of Over-Pulling? Overdoing it so that–" He flashed a sneaky, self-satisfied grin as he brought up something inflammatory for attention. He never got to finish.
Pulling, the extremely rare ability to take another's pain contained within their somatic scar(s) and merge it back into the Shadow temporarily, was required to become a Weaver. Therefore, it was a core part of the course.
Over-Pulling was a different beast. The mere mention of it sent the Professor into a wild rage.
"Do not speak that filth in this hall!" He roared, slamming his fist on the lectern with a heavy thud. The sound rang in every pair of ears as the offending lad toppled over out of pure shock.
Foaming at the mouth, Otto Halren was not quite finished with his rant. "A theory, Ardo? That is the ideology of terrorists!" He snarled, so far removed from the calm scholar he had been mere moments ago.
Gasps erupted from classmates as a deep, glowing gash opened across the mortified speaker's mouth. His hands frantically tried to conceal the freshly formed Somatic Scar but it was far too late.
The towering double doors burst open to reveal a pair of intimidating men in grey uniforms. All of the colour leached out of Professor immediately when he saw them. His eyes flicked from the men to the shrieking mass writhing around in agony on the polished floor.
"The disease is already claiming that foolish boy and only purification can save him," he growled at the entire class, silencing the cautious whispering that had begun filling the room, "take him to the Centre, please." He intoned solemnly as the two seized the poor soul by the arms.
"Come on, son, you'll be better soon." One of them said in a robotic monotone. "The Authority awaits." The other told Bill.
The three of them marched in lockstep out of the hall without another word.
All eyes turned to the now calm Professor. He was draining the bottle of that purple liquid.
"Class dismissed." He muttered with a belch.
Of the remaining thirty-one, only one man had been observant enough to note that his teacher had spoken exactly like the pair of men from the Keloidic Authority. His name was Austin.
Austin Middle.
ns216.73.216.33da2
and then Add to home screen.