I wake up tired.
It was impossible to get any good sleep with all the excitement and fear bubbling inside me like a good broth left on the stove too long.
It has been exactly two months since I received that crimson letter. Those final months were spent in hellish hand-to-hand combat training and cramming a new language into my brain until it hurt.
I put a hand to my chest and feel my heart race, roaring like a Formula One car with no brakes. I do not feel ready. No amount of knowledge could change that. All I feel is fear. Fear that makes my hands shake. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what I do know. Fear simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over and swallow me whole.
I fiddle with the charm Hocus gave me, trying to calm myself down. It feels cold. Wrong. Unfamiliar in my hands, only making the pressure inside me worse. Realizing this is a losing battle, I drag myself out of bed to do something, anything, to keep my thoughts from circling back to what waits for me.
What happens if I fail?
I grab a towel and step into the shower, trying to outrun the thought.
Just to find it waiting for me inside.
— — —
A long while later, after drying off and throwing on some clothes, I step out of my room and into the now familiar hallway.
After a few twists and turns, I reach the hall.
My hand settles on the handle and stops.
I breathe slowly, deliberately, forcing myself to take in the moment.
For a stretch of silence, nothing happens.
And in that nothing, the broth finally cools.
If only for a moment.
I force the door open and step inside.
The room is empty and dark.
I close my eyes and open them again.
The same view of nothingness greets me.
My instincts take over. I turn on my heels immediately, already heading back toward the door.
"Hell no," I mutter. "I am not paid enough for this bullshit."
My hand closes around the handle.
The lights snap on.
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn back toward the sudden glare and stop dead.
A stage.
No. Calling it a stage is an insult.
It is a stadium. Tiered seating rises into the darkness, lights blazing down onto a massive platform at its center. A single chair sits there, facing it all.
Waiting.
I take a step back.
Then a voice booms through the space.
"Rio Gomez. Please come to the stage."
My breath catches.
Graduation music starts playing. Loud. Triumphant. Completely out of place.
And despite everything, despite myself, my mouth betrays me.
It slowly curls into a grin.
A red gown and cap appear on me out of nowhere.
I laugh and start walking toward the stage.
"Rio is the first graduate of the Celestial King Elementary School," the voice announces, doing a terrible job of hiding its laughter.
"His favorite activities include building blocks and naptime. He dislikes learning, doing math, and Arsenal fans."
I stop for half a second.
Then the voice continues, louder and brighter.
"Please rise for our star, our valedictorian… RIO!"
The crowd erupts.
All one of them.
Whooping. Hollering. Jumping like they are trying to start a riot. He holds up a handmade sign that reads:
RIO DE JANEIRO!
I stare at it.
"Man, you couldn't think of anything better, Crane?"
Crane smiles, perfectly at ease. "I think it's quite clever, young master."
"Of course you do."
I climb the steps, each one echoing far louder than it should in the empty stadium.
The old man waits for me at the top. He is robed in a black gown far too formal for this farce, a rolled diploma tucked neatly under his arm. He is grinning like a child who just pulled off the world's greatest prank.
"I didn't know you had a graduation ceremony," I say as I approach.
"I had to," he replies easily. "I wanted to give my favorite student a proper send off."
I snort. "I'm your only student."
His grin widens.
"All the more reason to make it special."
He shakes my hand with one hand and places the diploma into the other.
Then I yank him into a hug.
Behind my back, their expressions flicker in the shifting light.
-Prologue End.
It is time for our little bird to take flight.