“Hey. Hey.” said the student tapping my shoulder.

I pivoted to face him.

He was shorter than me. His hair was brown, his eyes a mixture of green and brown. A scar ran down his cheek that would’ve looked thuggish on anyone else. No one, however, was afraid of skinny nerds who were learning how to pretend to have the profession of slinging around spells. His robes were those of a student aide. He was like me, I thought. Poor.

“Your student aide robe isn’t sitting right. Let me fix it for you. We student aides gotta stick together,” said the student matter of factly.

“I suppose you’re right. What’s your name?” I asked, as I swiped my fingers through my unruly hair trying to straighten it. It still wasn’t completely dry.

“Marcus. My student is Helfen Milrich. As far as student aides go, I think I lucked out. He’s sane and good natured. I even get his leftovers sometimes if I ask nicely. Who's your student?”

“Brethslan, that pudgy kid talking to the guy everyone keeps glancing at.”

“Ah, Brethslan Plimor. He comes from a long line of Necromancers, although I heard he’s the rebellious one of the family. Has more to prove, after his brother lucked out and got a research position. Some say he’s a bit unpleasant, but if he’s like his brother he’ll treat you well enough. It’s his mother you got to see. She’s a smoke show. She teaches part time for some of the upper division courses, on ghouls, beauty supplements, and blood contracts.”

“And the person he’s talking to?”

“I would stay away from Silthus Dren at all costs. Try to steer your student away from interacting with him. He’s talented for sure, even more talented than most of the honor students. Would’ve become one of them, if he didn’t kill his last two students' aides.”

“He killed two of his students' aides?” I asked, as a sick feeling overcame my stomach. I wasn’t sure if it was the kung fu mushrooms lingering or if the thought of dying was the cause.

“Well, there’s no proof he did it, but no one goes through two student aides in a single month. First one drowned, and was found in a crevice. The second one fell out a window. Third guys new, and rumor has it people are already gambling how he’s going to die. Once I get some coins, I figure throwing a little silver on him being lit on fire isn’t too bad of a bet.”

“Well, I hope you’re wrong.”

“I do too. So where are you from; do you have a name?”

“Yeah, you can call me Arthur. I’m originally from the area around Nosturdam, I just recently arrived here.”

“Wait, you’re famous!”

“I am?”

“You’re the student aide who managed to lock in a hundred platinum worth of debt, before he even enrolled in the academy. You're so screwed.”

“Look, I’ve already talked to… well, er, he didn’t tell me his name. But I talked to the professor I owe money to and he cut down how much I owe by 75 platinum.”

“And that leaves how much left?”

“25 platinum.”

“My god that is an insurmountable amount. Have you thought about running North and getting lost in the mountains? You’d get to enjoy a couple of nice years eating berries, before any enforcers would find you.” said Marcus.

“What’s it with everyone saying that? I’m going to find a way to pay off my debts.”

Marcus made a quizzical sound, like he didn’t believe me. Or maybe he was questioning the idea of paying back debts in the first place.

“Anyways, are you excited to see what path your student is given?”

“You know, no one has explained the process. What exactly is a path?”

“You don’t know?”

“You seem awfully unprepared for someone facing a life or death situation. Possibly a life, death, or undeath situation if you really muck it up.”

“It’s not that severe. I just owe a little bit of money.”

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“A path dictates what classes you’re assigned for your specialization. There are core classes that everyone takes as well, but who cares about those classes.”

“And which one do you think I’ll get?”

“What path will you get? Student Aides don’t get to get sorted by the sorting shoe. You’ll be put into whatever class your student is assigned. Your student comes from a long line of prestigious necromancers. Odds are that Brethslan will be sorted into Necromancy. Although, nothing is ever guaranteed.

“And how does the sorting shoe decide?”

“Beats me.”

“And your student?”

“It’s a toss up. Helfen’s kind of a mess when it comes to academics and his interests change often. Whatever he gets will be fine with me. No matter what I’ll whip him into shape… Well, almost everything.”

“What was that pause about?”

“It’s nothing. There’s a superstition. I don’t wanna accidently manifest it into reality.”

I could read in between the lines.

“So there’s a path so undesirable, that people don’t even wanna say its name?”

“Not where the shoe can hear. I’m not taking that risk.”

“Huh.” I muttered as I was interrupted by a speaker on the stage where the sorting shoe sat. He looked like a young man in his early twenties, if you squint your eyes a little bit.

“Welcome, young students! Many of you will fail to do anything with your short lifespans fizzling out into mediocrity, some of you will die, and some of you will decide that working as a plumber is a far easier path to take in life. Most of the people in this room are, quite frankly, meaningless nobodies.”

The orator paused for dramatic effect.

“But your fate has yet to be sealed. There is still hope for you doomed souls and damned minds, so make the most of your studies. Do it for your ancestors, if nothing else. Their legacy cannot be forgotten. Their legacy cannot be snuffed out like a candle. Now, line up! Student aides head to the back! It is time for the shoe to make its choices,” yelled the man.

The unspoken rules of a queue were ones that tended to be broken the longer the wait. It wasn’t obvious from a distance, but the unfair cutting and bribing within a line made me wonder if there was a better way to go about this.

Perhaps, the problem lied in the sorting shoe, I surmised. The untying and tying of laces were cumbersome at best. While the shoe was large, occasionally someone with larger feet would have trouble cramming their foot into the shoe.

“Why does it have to be a shoe? A sorting hat would expedite the process. Even sorting socks would be better.” I said to Marcus.

“If that’s even possible. The sorting shoe is an ancient and rich part of the school's tradition. Why’d you want to change that?”

“For the sake of the line and those waiting to be sorted.”

“Next thing that you'll be saying is that we should skip the process all together and let students pick what they’re passionate about. There’s a reason it's done this way, only the shoe knows that reason.”

“I suppose the shoe is indispensable then.”

“Yes. It is absolutely necessary.”

I turned to focus on the shoe, while thinking about hats.

“Pilgram Partham, your cowardice is delectable. I can taste the sweat coming off of your feet and feel the palpitations of your heart. Most excellent. You’re to be assigned into the Artificer Path because you don’t have the heart to face others in battle,” Said the shoe.

“It’s so creepy. There must be a better way.”

“You’d be considered creepy too, if you were over three thousand years old. What is acceptable has changed overtime. The social norms of now are so different from the past.”

“I can’t imagine a talking shoe to ever be normal. Especially when it says stuff like that.”

“You’re being a little too judgemental. Be more open minded.”

“The shoe is more judgemental than me.”

“That’s its job.”

“Yum. Yum. Yum. You’re an egotistical maniac who cares more about his image than anything else. Lorence Blair, you will be placed into the tempter path. Be as bewitching as you think yourself to be. Also, clip your toenails. They’re too long and poke me in just the right way. Ugh.”

“Next! Helfen Milrich make your way to the shoe.”

I perked up. This was Marcus’ student. I looked over at the nervous student aide who was biting his fingernails, nervously. While he was able to hide his nervousness before, now it was on full display.

“My. My. You’re an ambitious one. Those around you see you as a fool, trouncing around not committing to anything. But they know not your scheme. You’re the maestro playing around with their strings. I’ll give it to you. Normally, I choose. But it will be interesting to see where you end up. Just let me get one final sniff of you, Necromancer. Beware students. He’s not the dull idiot act he plays. You are all his dolls.”

Marcus let out a sigh of relief.

“That’ll do. That’ll do.” He said.

Normally, I didn’t find waiting to be that bothersome. I waited on boats, I waited in caverns. But the anticipation or the dread of not knowing, made me want to pace back and forth. There wasn’t enough room for that, so I twiddled with my fingers instead.

The line grew shorter, students dispersing into the crowd.

Then Brethslan walked onto the stage. He looked casual and unafraid for someone about to have his life dictated in front of him. Every waking decision led up to this, I couldn’t have helped but think he was taking it for granted. It was tough, knowing that his messed up noggin would likely determine the fate of my debt being paid off. I needed the Necromancer path.

The boot didn’t speak. The crowd grew anxious.

“He’s going to say something. The boot that is.” reassured Marcus, who cowered beneath the crowd. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, I realized.

“Come on, you stupid boot. Say it already. Tell me what I know that you’re going to say. I’m a necromancer through and through.” Brethslan commanded.

The boot began to vibrate. Gone was his vile personality. Gone was the laughter and joy among the crowd. Even the orator looked nervous.

“Speak. I commanded you to speak! You stupid leather made object!”

“Man-” started the boot. It stopped and shook.

Brethslan’s face went stark white. That was enough. There wasn’t another path started with an M followed by an A followed by an N. The closest you got was mage.

“MANA BATTERY!” roared the boot, before it was engulfed in flames. An insignia burned into Brethslans skin. A harrowing pain shot up my leg, as a similar insignia burned into mine.

“Dammit. We haven't had one of those in six years.” said the orator.