Julian and Liam are best friends who enjoy being active and would rather not think about the seemingly impossible task about a university that they can both get into.
Imagine their surprise when they get a letter in the mail from Harris-Logan University, a small liberal arts university that hardly anyone's heard of, save the owner of a little Swiss Tea House on the artsy side of town. Even more peculiar--Liam, newer to the athletic, has been noticing a new level of artistry in biking, which co
There was only the sound of air, ebbing and flowing from a hollow all about Darius.
Darius had his eyes closed, his arms lax beside him. He honed into his breathing, feeling his chest rising and falling, the cold stinging his throat. A slight waft brushed against him, the water on his skin chilling in response. He tried to focus on quiet, searching for the space that made no sound, which he thought he could find up here—where the expectant air buzzed silently, the rough, damp platform poked at his feet, the leaves mindfully quiet in the breeze.
“Just breathe,”he whispered into his clasped hands, hoping that was enough to silence that which felt too loud and unceasing: his thoughts.
Darius drew breath, shaking his arms free as he shuddered. He knew that it was against the rules to be out here after hours, while the rest of the students were asleep.It would probably be wise to turn back, He thought to himself,to go back down and to just go back to bed, and try again in the morning. He would be up here tomorrow around midday, anyhow. But who knows if I’ll be able to complete it then? He felt the tug inside of him to do it now, to commit while he still had the chance. A slight wind had begun to pick up.
“Focus…” he thought aloud, barely audible above the sound of his mouth parting. His chest drew breath even more pronouncedly. He often spoke aloud when he had trouble shutting away his thoughts, even for the smallest amount of time. He had long since admitted to himself that his inner voice had brought him, along with great invention, a great inability to develop the good thoughts he had uncovered.
His breathing grew deeper even still, his lungs ballooning in his chest. The sound of his breath had become foreign; as if it had sidestepped from his chest and, instead, faced him, reverent, strong, and, wonderfully, gentle. Darius, familiar with this abandonment, smiled; he extend his arms outwards from his sides, embracing the wind that swept around him.
Hello, Father, he thought in confidence. It’s good to hear from you again.
He further lifted his arms until they were straight above him, bouncing up onto his toes. Then, just as rapidly, he swung them down, past his knees bending heavily on the press. His arms came through over his head, a slightly translucent trail following the path of his fingertips. His vision followed his hands as they stopped nearly directly overhead, his body leaping upwards into the night sky. His arms moved again, bringing them perpendicular to his shoulders. He lifted himself into the air, locking his muscles through to his toes. His eyes flew open like broken levies, set fire to an electric blue--blue that saw stars, marked lights as meteorites, the concrete structure at the opposite edge of the pool, the water rushing to greet him.
And Darius saw it all in an instant.
“Professor!” Darius burst into Dr. Harris’s room that same night, his back only moderately dry, his shirt sticking to his chest. “I’ve found one!”
Dr. Harris bounded up from his bed in surprise, half-awake. “Hmmf?!”
“I found another arcanist!”