The Empty Mirror

Danielle

With a gaze that defied the very prudence of intellectuals, she turned to me and let out a "Hello" that danced in the air, light as a feather carried by the wind.

"Hello…" was my laconic echo.

"I thought you would not honour me with your words, for your face was the portrait of the gravest solemnity." And indeed it was, although her figure was submerged in an ocean of disdain.

Removing her spectacles with the indifference of one who wears them without need, she addressed me: "Welcome to this threshold, could you tell me your name?"

After a moment of silence, my response emerged dry and sharp: "Giselle."

With a touch of courtesy, she continued, "It seems the threads of fate have woven us into the same bed. I trust our company will be pleasant, as I do not detect in you the shadow of folly."

"What is your name?" I dared to inquire with a hint of audacity.

"Danielle is my name," she replied, "but I beg you to set aside personal matters, Boy, for your Don Juan visage is evident," she retorted with a coldness capable of freezing the very rays of the sun.

"Boy? Such an appellation does not flatter my ear," I responded with a hostility born of wounded pride, being mistaken for a man, as my femininity is a source of my honour.

"What do you say... Mmm, Giselle?" she articulated, startled, and in an instant, as if a cosmic design revealed itself before us, her words disintegrated like an ancient worn-out record, and my simple name seemed to plunge her into profound bewilderment.

"Are you, by any chance, a novice in this consecrated place?" I asked, trying to dispel my confusion and sweeten the tone of our dialogue.

"No," she replied with a clarity that sliced through the air like a Toledo steel blade, "the allocation of quarters is not left to chance. It is organised with wisdom to foster better acclimatisation. I have been here nearly two months, and I am witness to it," she murmured, anticipating my question.

"I see," I continued, "and how long does one wait to ascend to the rank of knight?"

"Such a wait is as variable as the flow of a river," she declared, wrapping her words in a mantle of prudence. "The usual span is a year, though not all pursue that end. There are those with loftier aspirations who seek the diaconate, though such a distinction is granted only after having borne the sword and the coat of arms of a knight."

The rooms are the very image of the gloom and sobriety that characterise the ancient academy. Situated in stone barracks that rise like impregnable bastions, these chambers mirror the institution's inexorable and rigorous nature. Upon crossing the threshold of one of these rooms, the visitor encounters a stark and sombre space. The bare stone walls are dimly illuminated by flickering torches, casting wandering shadows on the worn flagstone floor. The climate, frigid and damp, is saturated with the aroma of mould and moss. The furnishings are sparse and primitive. At the heart of the chamber lies a crude wooden bed, covered with a coarse and tattered sheet. At the foot of the bed, a wooden chest serves as the sole repository for the students' meagre personal belongings.

Against one of the walls stands a small wooden desk, flanked by an equally rough-hewn chair. Upon the table, an iron candlestick provides a dim light for study or labour during the long evening hours. On the opposite wall, a solid wooden wardrobe stands. The wardrobe, austere and unadorned, offers a place for clothing and possessions. The only note of colour in the room comes from the heavy curtains hanging from the small windows. The drapes, woven from a coarse and sombre cloth, barely allow any external light to filter through, plunging the room into darkness even in broad daylight. Despite their Spartan and dreary appearance, these chambers are cherished sanctuaries for the pupils of Underworld Academy, who treasure them as safe havens amidst the darkness and dangers lurking in every corner of the cloister.

"I understand, are we then roommates, or is my perception deceiving me?" I asked warily.

"That remains to be seen; there is no certainty. Lend an ear, for it is merely rumours that run among the intrepid, those of us who interpret the whispers of the clerics. But it appears that great confusion reigns both within and around Underworld Academy, or should I say, throughout all the dioceses. It is a disquiet that has spread over the past weeks, with some ceremonies being postponed, others brought forward, and for some time now, the organisation of the college has lacked proper coordination. The priests are anxious, though the reason is unknown to us," she explained with a gravity that filled the air, reclining on the desk and occupying the opposite chair.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Is my arrival at this barracks the result of a premeditated choice?" I inquired, full of curiosity.

"Indeed, in your case, the selection ceremony has been delayed by several hours, so the novices have been gathered in this wing of rooms to wait and restore order," she continued with a discretion that underscored the seriousness of the matter.

"Could you... could you enlighten me about the welcome ceremony?" I pressed on, disregarding the insistence on waiting, despite having just taken possession of the room.

"No, hmm... You see, it is a matter not revealed to newcomers, but I will divulge the essentials. It is a ceremony where each new aspirant is assigned to one of two houses within the college, whose names I cannot utter. This wing, for instance, belongs to one of them; they are rivals, yes, but both are the heart of Underworld Academy. It is not a matter of life and death, but be prepared to shed blood in that supernatural rite," she enlightened me about my query, and then, raising her hand in an open gesture, she showed me her palm. Something was missing from her hand, but I could not discern what it was, so she simply lowered her hand without further indication.

"Is one house more nefarious than the other?" I asked, fearful of my fate.

"Not exactly, it does not depend on you or the clerics, but on your own soul. But whichever house you are assigned to, you must defend it with ardour and bravery. We shall see if you return to this room or if you are assigned to another in the rival house. I have seen many assigned to the other and become my adversaries. To date, no one has remained here; when I arrived, this room lay vacant. In this house, in this faction, we pride ourselves on being superior to the rival, and I hope you return," she said with a smile, gazing at the torches illuminating the room.

"How are the rooms assigned? Could you inform me?" I asked, eager to gather all pertinent information.

"Of course, listen carefully. You are here because the ceremony has been delayed, an unusual occurrence until recently. It is recruitment time, and this has coincided with the turmoil in the diocese. But once you are summoned to the rite, you will be assigned a house, a faction, and you must either return or, if not, proceed to a new barracks that will be indicated to you. The selection is made in such a way that roommates are of the same gender to avoid discord. However, sometimes cohabitation between a man and a woman occurs, and you can imagine the consequences. But I warn you, if you return, there will be nothing improper between us; I have no interest in being reprimanded for such transgressions. When I joined, we witnessed an execution for the dishonour a man and a woman brought upon the college with their lascivious acts, and they were severely impaled. It is also necessary to mention that, although the rooms are designed for two faction allies, sometimes more are accommodated in a single room, resulting in overcrowding, which is more common in the rival house," she concluded, providing me with a kind explanation.

"For what reason were those unfortunate ones condemned to impalement at Underworld Academy?" I inquired, overwhelmed by the constant threat of brutality.

"Because such an act is abominable in the eyes of the clerics and before the sacred faith in the Almighty. It is forbidden to indulge in carnal pleasures, especially of a sexual nature. The preferred punishment for such offences is impalement. Likewise, when I was called to the place known as Mummy Bridge, many were impaled, but for cowardice," she declared with a hint of disdain.

"I too received a summons to Mummy Bridge, but my question tends to inquire, what is the cause that leads them to find joy in the impalement of others?" I continued, maintaining composure and respect.

"Good heavens, what a surprise! As for your question, I have no certainty. It is not as if it were a necessity or an eternal rite, but it is carried out for mere delight. The ordinary punishment would be to banish them, denying them perpetual return, but the prelates have deemed impalement as the fitting penalty. I imagine it contributes to their spiritual progress, though my conviction is not firm. Perhaps it acts as an offering of wisdom on their hidden paths. Do not ponder it further, and remember that we are all the valiant," she exclaimed with fervour. And as she concluded, the majestic sound of a trumpet echoed through the fortress walls, as if the very heavens were about to collapse, the trumpets sounded six times.

Danielle interrupted the trance with a laconic "Go, the time for your ceremony has come."

"But, but... my knowledge of the faith in God is scant," I replied, overwhelmed by anxiety.

"Do not fret about that; religious erudition is not necessary at this moment. Remember that most of us come from rural areas; this is a ceremony to assess your humanity. Go now and place your faith in God," she urged, ushering me out with a gesture of her hand.

We paraded from the adjacent quarters, advancing like meek lambs to the slaughter in a sombre procession. The corridors, shrouded in darkness, were barely pierced by the flickering torchlight, until, after a while, we arrived at a sanctuary, an imposing and ominous edifice that stands as a monolith to the darkness and grandeur of Underworld Academy. Erected in a solid and unadorned style, the sanctuary is steeped in an ominous and sacred atmosphere that inspires both reverence and dread, saturated with the intoxicating aroma of incense and myrrh. The ashen stone walls rise to the vault in arches and buttresses, creating an impression of magnificence and solidity. Carved into the granite are grotesque figures of wolves and serpents lurking from the shadows, their stony eyes fixed on the rite being performed at the heart of the sanctuary. At the centre of the hall lies an elevated platform, surrounded by tiered benches where the seasoned disciples watch the ceremony with grave and expectant faces.

The platform is covered by a canopy of velvet blacker than the night itself, adorned with gold embroidery tracing symbols of sombre sanctity. In the centre of the platform, an iron cauldron, black as jet, burns with flames that seem to spring from the very bowels of hell, casting a pale and flickering glow over the scene. Beside the cauldron stands a bishop clad in ebony and silver robes, his face veiled behind a leather mask bearing dark and arcane signs. Next to him, a priest with a pointed hat holds a black dagger with a sombre reverence, ready to perform the ritual cuts that will release the power contained within the cauldron. Flanking the cauldron, two deacons stand in silent guard, their black habits billowing in the sinister wind that sweeps through the sanctuary. The stone pavement is adorned with a labyrinth of black mosaics, winding around the cauldron like serpents in a dance of death. The walls are draped with dark tapestries depicting scenes of bloody battles and gloomy rituals, weaving an oppressive and sombre atmosphere.

We, the gathered, stood in marching formation, under the scrutinising gaze of those who had already crossed this threshold, being led by the priests who, wielding leather whips, ordered the columns of supposed faithful. At that moment, the bishop emerged from the tumult with the swiftness of a serpent, ascending to the high ceilings of the hall as if he were a worm slithering among the corpses of the fallen, and proclaimed: "Welcome to Underworld Academy, where this auspicious ceremony is held to discern to which house, to which faction you belong, you who are blessed by the will of the god of Devolution. Magnified be his name forever, who grants us the vision to unravel the truth of the cosmos and lead humanity to the pinnacle of advancement. Blessed be the devotees, we, his offspring, shall commence the selection rite, in which each neophyte shall surrender themselves to the path of the Demon or the Werewolf. We wish the noblest of rewards to those who embark on their journey towards knighthood, to uphold the word and faith. So be it."