Chapter Text
POV: Bronte
Bronte Sospeso looked forward to school after the break purely for the reason that he could leave his wretched house.
No more feelings of being watched, no more breathing quietly and praying that his parents’ harsh gaze didn’t land on him—at Foxfire, he had classes to love and hate and complain about; care and feel for something other than his family.
Bronte’s sister, Pitseleh, had been a bit apprehensive on her first day at Foxfire, but the next day she was sticking her face into Bronte’s room and pestering, “Are you ready yet? I’m going to eat breakfast with my new friends. Your cape looks fine , man, let’s leave !”
How Pitseleh had managed to make friends on her first day when Bronte had been struggling to do the same for four years was beyond him.
Bronte gave his green Level Four cape brooch one final adjustment, and then hurried over to the Leapmaster where Pitseleh stood waiting.
“Foxfire!” Pitseleh said to the Leapmaster, watching its hundreds of glittering crystals whirl until one cast a beam of light in front of them.
Bronte stepped into the light, and then they were in front of Foxfire.
The glass pyramid shone in the morning light, as beautiful and imposing as ever. To the side, the gold and silver Elite Level towers snaked around each other. Prodigies in a rainbow of uniforms flooded the path into Foxfire.
Bronte checked his schedule for his Morning Session, cringing inside when he saw it was Physical Education. He wasn’t bad at it, per se; it was more the way he couldn’t stop himself from comparing himself to his classmates. There was always some sort of competition, in the games themselves and the very principle of Phys. Ed.
In the changing room, Bronte slipped into his green gym tunic and pants. He walked out, jolting as a boy in a white tunic cackled loudly.
Standing in the middle of the amphitheater was Coach Trefoil, who stood with his arms folded, sporting the orange cape that all Mentors wore.
He said in a booming voice, “Welcome to Physical Education, prodigies. Most of you know the whole spiel, but for you Level Ones, here it is: In Physical Education, we will learn about the various skills that all elves can do—channeling, telekinesis, levitation, etcetera—and we will strengthen them.”
The prodigies murmured amongst themselves. Bronte fidgeted with the edge of his cape.
Coach Trefoil continued, “Since it’s day one, I will try to get a picture of all of your skill levels via a friendly game of Base Quest…” Bronte spaced out as Trefoil rambled on about the rules that he had learned a hundred times. “No special abilities allowed, only skills. I’ll number you off.”
A mind-numbingly long time later, Coach Trefoil dismissed them to gather into teams. Bronte held up four fingers. His eyes landed on a handsome blonde boy and a girl with dark skin and hair in chin-length twists, both holding up four fingers. Both of them were dressed in the white uniforms of Level Six.
The boy waved at Bronte, and Bronte walked up to them.
“Welcome to the Awesomest Team Ever,” the pale boy announced with a certainty that made Bronte want to agree with him.
Small gold hoops ringed their way up his ears, some wide, some thin. One part of Bronte thought he looked cool, and the other part internally chided him for not being in the dress code.
“Name pending,” the girl added. “My name’s Raina, Raina Endal. The strange one is Fintan,” she said, jerking a thumb towards her companion.
Fintan looked at Bronte with a strange intensity in his sky blue eyes. “That’s Fintan Pyren . Who are you?”
The question felt more existential than Fintan probably intended. Bronte averted his eyes. “Bronte. Sospeso.” The last word felt sour on his tongue, like saying his surname would somehow summon his uptight parents.
The crowd of prodigies started moving, and Bronte walked alongside Raina and Fintan. Outside, a meadow of long golden grass covered the land, changing gradually into a forest of spindly trees.
Fintan looked Bronte up and down as they walked. “Level Four, huh? Have you manifested yet?”
Bronte shook his head. “Nope. My father says that late manifesting runs in the family.”
“You’re hardly late,” said Raina matter-of-factly. “I didn’t manifest until the last half of Level Five.”
“And you’re a…?” Bronte asked.
“Pyrokinetic,” replied Fintan. “Both of us.”
“Oh, wow,” Bronte said. “That’s something.”
Pyrokinesis was one of those abilities like Mesmers or Chargers—it was powerful, and it was respected, but it had a certain aura of fear that came with the name. Bronte wasn’t sure if he’d want to be a Pyrokinetic. He’d like to feel powerful, for once.
Fintan flashed a smile. “I wouldn’t wish it any other way.”
The horde of students stopped in the midst of the more forested area. A group of blue-and-orange-dressed kids wandered over to Bronte’s team.
“Are you guys group four?” a short Level Two asked in a small voice.
Fintan smiled, tilting his head. “Why yes, we are. I assume you’re our opponents?”
“Yeah,” the girl replied, voice tinged with nervousness. “Do you guys want to pick your base first?”
Fintan glanced at Raina and Bronte, who both nodded.
“Give us a moment to discuss our pick.” Fintan pulled both of them into a huddle.
Raina whispered, “I’m thinking we pick that boulder by the pond. There’s less entry points, because nobody wants to get their tunic wet.”
Bronte nodded his agreement.
Fintan clapped him on the back, turning to face the petite leader of the other team. “We’ll take the boulder by the pond.”
The girl nodded. “Okay. We’ll take the big tree across the meadow. You guys quest first because you picked first. Game starts when we reach our base!”
“It’s gonna be hard to get past the clearing,” said Raina as the other team scurried away to their base. “It’s way too easy to get tagged out in the open.”
Fintan said, “True. Let’s split up through the woods. Bronte and I can go right, you go left.”
Raina gave him a mock salute and started to make her way through the bushes.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Fintan said. And then he was sprinting through the underbrush, and Bronte found himself scrambling to catch up.
Bronte saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye. “Fintan, we have company!”
Fintan followed Bronte’s line of sight to the black-haired boy that pursued them. “Oh, shit!”
Fintan picked up speed that Bronte struggled to match.
Bronte swore he could feel the Level Three breathing down his neck. His legs ached with effort, and he was absolutely going to get tagged, and—
The air around him suddenly turned somehow solid, pushing him out of reach of his pursuer and tangling him in a nearby tree’s branches.
“What the…” Bronte trailed off as he saw an out-of-breath Fintan run at a breakneck pace towards the base.
Bronte watched him in disbelief. Had he really just been lifted by someone else’s telekinesis?
After a moment, the novelty wore off and he realized that he was stuck in a tree. He wiggled around, trying to free himself but only succeeding in getting himself more tangled in the winding branches of the tree.
A whoop sounded from further up the field, signalling to Bronte that Fintan had been able to get to their base. A heartbeat later, Fintan made a crashing entrance back to where Bronte remained stuck in the tree.
He bent over for a moment, catching his breath. “Need a hand, Bronte?”
“Yeah, maybe. I was actually thinking I could stay in this tree for another few hours,” Bronte said sarcastically.
“Okay, funny guy. Let me get you down.”
Fintan poised his hands towards Bronte, brow furrowing with concentration. The first push succeeded in freeing Bronte’s arms, but left him dangling from the tree precariously by one leg.
“SHIT.” Fintan dove to catch Bronte just in time, crumpling under his weight but cushioning his fall marginally.
Bronte complained, “Ow.”
“Talk about ow, you just fell on me!” Fintan exclaimed.
“Yeah, from the tree you put me in!” Bronte retorted, no real edge to his words.
Fintan stood up and offered Bronte a hand, which he accepted gratefully.
“How about I make it up to you by letting you eat lunch with me tomorrow?” Fintan offered, walking back in the direction of the building.
“Oh. Sure.” Bronte was surprised by the offer.
Fintan laughed. He had a great laugh. “Great.”
In the locker room, Bronte changed back into his regular uniform as quickly as possible. Fintan, on the other hand, seemed to relish being shirtless—and Bronte kind of understood why. He found himself staring at Fintan’s lean, muscled form.
Fintan caught his eye and smiled wryly. “Enjoying the view?”
“What? No—I mean—put a shirt on, man!” Bronte said defensively, scrambling to button up his vest. Fintan’s cackle echoed as Bronte exited the locker room, face burning with embarrassment.
Bronte stared at the ground as he walked to Study Hall, mind spinning. Who even was this Fintan guy? How was he so brazen, getting Bronte stuck in a tree, falling on him, and still managing to come out looking good?
And, worst of all, why was Bronte looking forward to eating lunch with him tomorrow?