1 Watching

It had been her eyes. Those cold, uncaring blue eyes bore into his own almost hungrily, and Wyll was afraid. The girl staring at him from up in the stands was beautiful, a standout amongst the crowd. He didn't know her; he couldn't have known her. Yet there she was, staring at him.

Her hair was short, cut very cleanly in a bob, and her uniform was crisp as all the others sat with her. She was fidgeting and biting her lip, her body language screaming that she was nervous. It was clear she had not finished her duel yet and was anxiously awaiting her turn. Her eyes could not fool him, however. They were calm and collected as they gazed over him, almost with a spark of humor dancing within them. It was almost like those piercing eyes didn't belong in her head. Worst of all, those eyes felt as if they knew him. Those ugly, laughing eyes knew everything about him. He hated them. They reminded him of another pair of eyes. Eyes that dug into him much the same way as hers. Always curious, always digging for answers. She entranced him with her gaze and disgusted him to his core.

The call of the announcer snapped him back, and he refocused. Right. He was in the arena. The sandy arena spread out before him, ringed by seats full of the entire student body. Far above the students, the dean of the school and various teachers sat with the announcers' booth next to them.

"Welcome one, welcome all! As you all know, these battles are the official exhibition matches for the new students brought into the St. Matheus Military Academy!" The handsome announcer yelled out, his voice echoing across the arena. "I am acting as your announcer for today's matches as our Secretary has called out sick! My name is Thaddeus Carmine, and I am the student council president of St. Matheus!"

Wyll stood on the arena sidelines listening absentmindedly, rolling his eyes when the almighty President called out his name. This school was full of people like him, the prissy rich folk. He loathed them, every last one. Thaddeus Carmine, he hated especially. That perfect smile, the short blonde hair perfectly styled atop his head. And worst of all, those damned brown eyes. Somehow, the eyes of Carmine bothered them more than the girl's icy blue ones still digging into the back of his skull.

The President's eyes looked down on everyone in that room in every sense of the word. They knew they were on top of it all and loved drinking in the envy seeping from all the awe-struck faces in the crowd below. To distract himself from the President's ongoing droning speech, he put his long hair into a ponytail to get it out of his eyes. He had always liked growing his hair long, despite what his father had always said—girlish this, girlish that. The man had never liked anything he'd done, though he still missed him now that he was gone. Scoffing slightly at the memory, he started stretching while the President reached the tail end of that pompous rambling. 

"-and glory to the name of St. Matheus! Now, without further ado, we will begin! For the first entrance exam exhibition match of the day, we have Wyll Lovefield vs. Nicholas Carmine! Use of willpower is allowed, of course. Both competitors have already chosen their weapons and will begin combat on my mark." 

Wyll let a smirk spread across his face as he heard the name of his competition. He hefted his favored weapon, which his father had spent nearly forever drilling him on using. His dad gave it to him near his passing after he deemed him worthy enough to wield it. The meteor hammer's brass weight glinted in the overhead lights as he stepped out into the arena from the sidelines. The twine felt like an old friend in his hands, constantly reminding him of the many years of rope burn it had inflicted on him. He gazed across the area, over at his opponent.

The boy he stared at looked like a Carmine: the same blonde hair and pompous, irritating eyes. Though, when he looked at Nicolas Carmine, he saw something lacking in his older brother: naivety. That nasty glimmer of hope was present in his vision. He could already tell when he looked at the boy, and he hated it. The boy in front of Wyll was a fool. 

Nicolas Carmine hefted his combat knife as he stood at attention. "Well met, fellow student. My name is Nicolas Carmine, and I'm honored to be your opponent today." His voice was bright as he stuck out a hand, sending a wave of nausea through Wyll.

Wyll glared at him. "Get that hand away from me, Carmine."

Wyll had heard all about Nicolas Carmine. There wasn't a soul who hadn't. Ever since he had crossed the academy threshold, that was the only name he had heard. The famous Carmine, a willpower combat prodigy....and the first Aligned in the Carmine family in centuries. Wyll hated him and that blessed life he lived. Even the celestial beings above chose him to be a vessel of power. It disgusted him so severely that he almost wanted to vomit. If he would hear about this pompous prick for the entirety of his school life, he at least wanted to see that famed 'power of the Aligned' everyone at the school kept droning about. The power of a constellation in human shape, he had to see it first-hand.

Nicolas frowned and looked as if he was about to respond but was interrupted by his older brother's announcement.

"Both competitors stand ready! 3...2...1...BEGIN!"

As soon as the words were spoken, the cheery smile hardened. Nicolas sprinted for him, knife at the ready. His eyes were blazing with intensity, driving him towards seeking victory—a victory he would not achieve. The crowd roared and cheered as the noble son sprinted for Wyll.

Wyll's hammer arched overhead, the weight catching Nicolas in the side. Nicolas winced, rolling with the blow and backing away from Wyll. The crowd let out a collective wince, and Wyll raced after him, swinging out with his hammer again. 

Nicolas jumped over the swing, continuing to back up. Wyll sneered at him as he backed away. His gaze had no calculation or plan, which amused him. As the hammer twirled back toward him, Wyll let his willpower flare through the twine before shooting the hammer back out. This time, Nicolas moved forward suddenly, knocking the metal weight aside and grasping the twine.

As the fool gripped his weapon and yanked at it to disarm him, Wyll focused on the twine. Throughout his life, his father had always pushed him to follow one constellation to draw on for power. After all, it was the only constellation that worked best with his style—the Master of Traps, the Forest's Grand Machination, the Constellation of the Forest, Lynx. Wyll took to Lynx very nicely, and his sneer widened as he felt the yank run along the twine. 

Thorny vines sprung from under Nicolas's hand, wrapping around it tightly. Nicolas yelped, and Wyll knew he felt the vines' barbs digging into his skin. People in the crowd cheered, though it was flatter than their initial cheer. The Carmine yanked his hand back, tearing open a series of awful wounds along it. Nicolas's cursing and clutching at his leaking wound made Wyll laugh a bit. 

His hammer lashed out, this time lower and aiming for the legs. Nicolas tried to dodge the sweep, but the pain made his attempt laughably clumsy. The rope looped around his leg, and another cry of pain sounded as the barbed vines sprung from it and dug into his leg. Wyll snickered and yanked his hammer back, sending the noble son sprawling into the sand and ripping open a new wound in his leg.

Wyll calmly swung the hammer over his shoulder and stood over where Nicolas Carmine lay, clutching at his leg wound. The crowd had stopped cheering, now watching in stunned silence. He stared down at him, his smirk painted clearly on his face. 

"This was almost too easy, Carmine." Wyll spat at the boy lying on the ground. "Aren't you supposed to be a prodigy?"

Nicolas glared up at him, and Wyll could sense the boy's willpower flare. He calmly took a few steps back as the flare of power built up further.

'What power would he call upon?' He couldn't help but be curious. Something grand and noble, most likely. Nicholas stood up, albeit weakly, and the crowd cheered again.

Rolling his eyes, he readied his hammer and took a couple more steps back. 

Nicholas tossed his knife to the side and pointed at Wyll.

And then there was a sweet smell. It wafted through the air, swimming across his nose. It was calming and joyous. Wyll knew which constellation had chosen the uppity noble, making him almost want to groan in annoyance—the Winds of Spring, the Bird of Paradise, Apus. He knew he had disliked Nicholas Carmine, but as their constellations were opposed, it made even more sense that his hatred was so intense. If his constellation willed it, he might as well embrace it.

Blood roared in his veins, and his hammer lashed out.

Nicholas caught his hammer with his body, wincing as it smacked into his chest, and flicked his hand out. The smell intensified, sweeping up into a sweet gale. The gale knocked Wyll off balance, sending him rolling. Choking on the sweet aroma, Wyll focused on his hammer again. The rope writhed, springing to life and sending the brass end hammer into Nicholas's wounded leg.

He cried out in pain, but the gale only got stronger. Wyll whipped the hammer back, twirling it around his shoulder. The gale was so strong that he had to use even more willpower to swing his hammer around.

Nicolas closed the distance, kicking Wyll in the chest. It was hilariously weak, but the strong gale gave enough force to knock Wyll away. He flew backward and landed on the ground, whipping his hammer out. Nicholas dodged it and clenched his fist to will the gale around Wyll. The sound intensified, whipping around in his ears.

His hair was wrenched free from his ponytail as the sweet scent overpowered him in a nauseating tornado, and his hammer flew out of his grasp, clanging into the sand behind Nicholas. The crowd hollered and cheered as Nicholas stood, pressing the gale inwards harder.

"Surrender!" The noble called to Wyll, his words only enraging him further.

Wyll looked up at Nicholas, at those damn eyes looking down on him.

"You'll have to kill me first, rich boy!"

His veins bulged, and with a great effort, his willpower surged into the ground. 

The gale pressed in further, and Wyll's ears screamed with pain, with a wet, warm liquid trickling down them. 

"Please just give up! I don't want to hurt you any more than I have!" Nicholas shouted over the wind.

"Oh, shut up already!"

His willpower burst, and a starburst of bright green moss grew under Nicholas's feet. The noble, surprised, tried to take a step back. The moss, however, was too slippery.

Nicholas slipped on the wet moss, falling backward and slamming his head hard onto the heavy brass weight of the discarded meteor hammer behind him. The crowd cheers die to silence as the noble second son of the Carmine family passes out cold on the sandy floor.

The sweet gale died, and everything became still.

Thaddeus clears his throat. "Well. What an exciting match to kick off this day of exhibition! Our victor for this bout is Wyll Lovefield!"

Will groans and stands up, taking another look at Nicholas's passed-out body on the sand. He sneered before he wobbled over to the sidelines.

'Aligned, my ass...What a joke.'

As he reached the sidelines, he felt the gaze on the back of his neck. Instinctively, he gazed up. There were those eyes again, those same bright, infuriating eyes. Her stare was different now, however. It was full of great pride, almost as if he'd pleased those two judging marbles that didn't match her face.

All at once, the nervousness of her body language stopped. She turned towards him fully and shot him a wink. He quickly broke the stare and rushed off to find the medical staff. Wyll felt her eyes follow him as he ducked into the arena's interior.