Chapter One - The Wet Ones

Despite its size, the room was warm. Nothing like the outside, with its pelting rains and moaning winds. His clothes were still wet; but he felt them beginning to dry off. There was a group of children surrounding the boy, who was becoming dryer by the minute.

They were all gawking and staring and spinning in circles while exclaiming. Their main source of fascination being the floating candles. Or maybe it was the roof, tens of meters above their head. Were it not for the support beams on the high of each wall, one would think there was no roof. As in its place, the night sky, in all its groggy, miserable, british glory.

On the other hand, the group of children were also receivers of stares. The people in the room - who weren't the wet children - were looking at them in interest. Like old prospectors, looking for gold in a pile of rocks. The onlookers consisted of slightly older children, some of which looked at the wet-ones with glazed eyes and a nostalgia filled expression. Others looked on with nonchalance, seemingly uncaring. The rest were either; not looking and instead staring wistfully at the soon-to-be-filled-plates or looking down on the wet-ones with a faint, or very prominent, air of disgust. Well, that was the older children who were sitting at the four long tables situated on the large smooth stone floor.

Other than that, on the raised part of the room, there was another table. No children, just adults; and one very small man. They looked at the wet-ones with a mix of expressions which, for the most part, were positive. Despite all this wonder, the drying boy held his eyelids shut. His breathing slow and rhythmic. He was enjoying the warmth. The disappearance of the cold, he smiled as his bones heated up.

'This is life.'

The boy thought with a soft smile. He let all the tension and exhaustion of the long journey wash away as he decompressed with a cute smile on his face.

He was broken from his comfort by an aged woman holding a scroll. He believed she said her name earlier, but he wasn't listening. After all, at the point when she began her - most likely - well rehearsed introduction, he had been shivering in discomfort. And discomfort was the one thing he could not stand. Anyways, the greying woman began speaking in a voice that was both graining and pleasant on the ears.

"When I call your name, take a seat and place the hat on your head..."

She carried on for a bit, but the boy lost interest and resumed his decompression. Every so often he'd be pulled out of his trance by thunderous applause coming from one of the four tables. But eventually the noise stopped and all was silent, just how he liked it. It was quiet for a while, and despite enjoying the lack of noise, the boy was starting to feel uncomfortable. He peeled his pale eyelids apart and covered them with his hand as he tried his damnest to adjust to the lighting. When he felt it was finally safe to look, he moved his hand away and froze.

He was alone.

There were no children surrounding him. Instead he stood alone, being looked upon by every set of eyes on the room.

"Silias Wallow?"

The old woman with the strange voice spoke. Hearing his name, the boy dragged his gaze towards her. Happy to be looking at anything but the sea of eyes that peering at him.

"...Yes?"

The boy replied, hesitantly.

"In the future, do try to pay attention. Your name was called, sit in the chair and put the hat on your head."

The woman replied as she pinched the bridge of her nose. The boy - Silias - nodded and made for the rickety, three-legged stool. He tried his best to move calmly, but he wasn't used to being stared at. Well, at least by hundreds of people. He arrived at the stool and lifted the hat which adorned its seat. Then, he took his seat and placed the hat upon his head. It covered his eyes, which worked to lessen his nervous fidgeting.

"Hello."

Boomed a voice that reeked of age - and old leather.

"Hello?"

Silias droned back.