The creaky old wooden door swung open in front of me, leaving me alone in the hallway after Hadrian's gruff words of half-praise. You’d think having someone adjust this fast to losing their eyes would get you a bit of praise, but no. Not from him. That was expected at this school full of fanatics.

As the door opened, my newly heightened senses began painting the room's soundscape for me: a sink dripping steadily, the gritty texture of an unwashed floor, the faint rustle of three beds, and what seemed to be three dressers. Unfortunately, color doesn't make a sound – at least not to my ears yet. There was a window ahead, not entirely airtight, as I could hear the faint whistling of the wind seeping through the edges.

Both roommates were awake; their breathing wasn't the calm, regular sleep rhythm. For some reason, neither of them had acknowledged my presence yet, which suited me just fine, given that I had no intention of starting a conversation.

Walking further into the room, I directed my face toward each of them, giving a silent nod of acknowledgment. I was sure one of them was a woman, but it was hard to confirm solely from passive sounds at my current level of aural mastery. The line between male and female sounds blurred unless they started speaking, which would make it easier to discern. This was just another sign that my control over sound perception still had a long way to go.

"Our first auramancer red robe," a voice broke the silence, high-pitched but undeniably male. "And here I was, thinking the last roommate might be a remnant or exile like us."

His words were welcoming, making me nod in response quickly. I may not have been an exile in the way they meant, but in another sense, I, too, was an outcast.

"Your blindfold is blood-red, you know, why don't you wash it? The smell will agitate poor Layla,"

"No need to tease him, Vance; I like the smell. It's unique; I wonder what sort of rare man just walked into our room," the second voice replied, likely the one I'd identified as possibly female.

"Just like a blood-crazed woman would say," Vance retorted.

"I'm simply a refined connoisseur of all things blood-related," she responded, sounding amused.

As their playful banter continued, I focused on the sounds around me, mapping the room in my mind. It was amazing how much detail I could glean just from listening. Hadrian had said that the blindfold symbolized red initiation, and while washing it was permitted, not wearing it for a prolonged period was an insult to the "great" Ulysses. A great bastard is all he is to me. There had been mention of a mark on me, but not what that meant.

Abusing my new ability to filter sound, I ignored my two roommates and sounded off to find the sink. I turned the knob, accidentally selecting the cold water first, but quickly found the hot water knob and switched it on. Once the water was nearly boiling, I rinsed the blindfold under the tap, scrubbing as much of the blood as possible. Whether there was soap available or not, I had no idea. I wasn't about to ask either.

I found myself growing strangely comfortable with my self-imposed silence. Perhaps it was because it seemed to get under Hadrian's skin increasingly. He had a charming pendant on his cloak the last time my eyes worked; maybe swiping it would anger him further. My hands felt like they had the experience of stealing often. It was odd because I did not remember being a thief, yet it felt familiar. And there was some guideline about it, right? Only steal mana…mana, what? The memories were hazy, the sense of loss growing stronger. Why was that?

Despite my apparent memory troubles, I found real enjoyment came from beginning to focus more within. When you’re no longer worrying about how to project into the outside world, all you can do is look at the one you have within you.

After several more vigorous wrings, I noticed a change in the water's consistency. The subtle difference told me that it must be nearly transparent. If there was any blood remaining, wringing wouldn't eliminate it. My task now was to get rid of as much water as possible.

I needed to figure out how to dry the blindfold quickly. The sun was the only reliable dryer for those without access to magic or wealth. That window would have to be opened for some sun, then. Of course, like the roots from earlier, other unique methods existed. This school could have one, or some aura use could do similar. My ignorance was getting in the way of things, wasn’t it? Anyway, I’d just put the damn blindfold on. A bit of moisture never hurts anyone.

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Silence started to hit the room. The two of them were staring at me now. Did I miss something? Naturally, I tilted my head to the side at both as my answer.

The confusion in the room thickened until the girl, Layla, broke the silence. "Why don't you speak, red robe? We're all fellow red robes here; there is no need to play the silent brooding type. You know, that's not exactly a lady-killer strategy," she teased.

"Layla is always obsessing over others' love lives. Don't worry about her; she's just sulking because she was rejected by-," Vance was cut off abruptly by an indignant Layla.

"Vance, don't you dare!" she exclaimed, and the following sounds suggested she had tackled Vance to the floor. The playful scuffling noises confirmed my suspicions.

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" Vance capitulated. "Back to the question, why are you not speaking? We can't be fooled, you know. We know how to tell if someone is physically incapable of speaking, and you're perfectly able. Those who can't usually have their tongues cut out or a scar on their neck."

I made a writing gesture, and Layla seemed to catch on after a while. She handed me a rough piece of paper. My first attempts at writing were a mess, but I was determined to make it work. I tried to channel my aura into my hands to help, but getting it to the pen was unsuccessful. Instead, I put aura into the tips of my other hand's fingers to trace the paper. It was easy to feel the exact shape and adjust accordingly. After a few more attempts, my words started to feel right.

Putting aura into one hand as I wrote with the other, this system I came up with worked after a bit of practice. Finally, I wrote and passed the paper back to Layla, who was still waiting. By the sound of it, she lifted the paper and started to read.

"Oh, you're like most auramancers here, just more moody and possibly more stubborn," she deduced. "You were forced to follow Ulysses, and the ritual was too traumatic? I hate to break it to you, but ever since your auramancers lost the war, that's how it's always been. They need every potential aura wielder they can find."

Their words confirmed some of my earlier suspicions. I had suspected for a while that not all auramancers were here of their own accord. While Hadrian expedited the process, I decided to come here. However, Vance and Layla weren't aura users themselves. They'd hinted as much, and the powers I was beginning to perceive from them didn't exhibit the white colors of aura. Other powers might have bored a resemblance to aura. However, theirs did not. One power was red, the other purple, a hue I hadn't seen before.

Interrupting my thoughts, they continued their conversation. Their words intrigued me, so I didn't filter them out this time. "Anyway, most of us here have experienced something similar. Particularly amongst the red robes, you won't find much sympathy. I might start looking down on you if you weren't our roommate. Even if I don't, others will soon. Especially since you're a marked one, behaving like this."

Vance chimed in. "I saw when they brought you in from amongst the crowd. You must have heard the murmurs about you being the first new aura user in months. If a sourcer is lucky enough to discover someone who accidentally found aura or has a specific talent for it and isn't using mana, they are brought here, willing or not."

There it was again, the term "marked." Why did they keep using it so cryptically, as if I already knew what it meant? It was maddening. Seeing that I hadn't responded, Layla sighed audibly.

"Fine, be that way. Your blood is stale anyway."

Was that supposed to be an insult? Was stale blood a bad thing?

"Layla, don't be like that. Can you at least write down your name for us?" Vance intervened.

I nodded, and the paper was handed back to me. Using the same method, I wrote down my name smoothly.

“Falond? What a terrible name to be given.” Vance said.

These two sure knew how to get under my skin.

Deciding I had enough for the day, using the soundscape, I found the bed. Channeling aura towards my hands to feel the mattress out, the domain was starting to emerge. Sure enough, I found it. I began to remove the boots I was given some time ago and the stinking socks that accompanied them. This prompted me to rise once more to wash them at the sink.

"At least wash them with the soap that's under the sink. Moody and unhygienic. If it weren't for the smell of blood, I'd have kicked you out already!" Layla retorted.

She’s mentioned blood a lot. If the books I read back when I had the time for such a thing were right, only vampires and halflings like them spoke like that. Now, being able to tell which she was wouldn’t be possible. Most of the telltale signs were visual, something hard to do without functioning eyes. Focusing on her helpful tip, I located the soap and scrubbed my socks and outer clothes.

“There’s a laundry building about a ten-minute walk from here; tomorrow, I’ll show you the way. Finding it on your own like that may take hours.”

That was Vance, a friendly guy, even if he had a rude evaluation of my name. Nodding towards him, I accepted his offer.

“Great, get up early with me tomorrow, about two hours before class, and I’ll easily have time to show you the way.”

Grunting in acknowledgment, I went back to bed and prepared to sleep. Although I had resolved not to talk, it became increasingly apparent that communicating just through body language would not be easy. Still, this was my form of control, and I wouldn't surrender it easily. Stubbornness was a part of who I was. My breathing slowed as I continued to channel aura into my ears passively. As I drifted closer to sleep, I pondered what it would be like when all my senses could passively accept aura like this. Would it change me? Would it be a good thing? Was it even sustainable? The darkness of my world deepened, indicating that a light must have been switched off. The sound suggested it was Vance who had done so. With a final exhale, I surrendered to the world of dreams.