Chapter 8
America is positively going to puke as they walk through the temple, towards the mess hall. She briefly glances in the direction of Wong’s chambers, wondering if she had time to just run and grab it.
They continued walking and America sinks further into herself.
“Wong had a meeting with the Sanctum guardians,” Stephen says somewhat lowly as they cross the stone training pad. It's almost a whisper. America has to quicken her pace to walk right next to him.
She glanced up and frowned. There was worry etched on his face again. The crows feet deepened around his eyes.
He rose a brow and met America’s inquisitive eyes. “If something happens to me, go back to Earth 838. To Christine.”
America gulped, her feet stopped moving and her palms began to sweat. Fear crawled up the back of her spine. “Why?”
Stephen had stopped an arms length ahead of her, standing with his side to her. He scanned the area briefly before finding her eyes again. “There may be something coming.”
Fear tangoed with frustration in the pit of her chest. “Isn't that what I'm training to do? To fight instead of run?”
Stephen let out a tiny sigh through his nostrils. In another life, maybe he could've prevented her getting so caught up in their world. He could send her to school like a normal kid and she wouldn't have to worry about all this existential doom shit. He softened his face. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”
It doesn't dissipate the concern that's pinched her features. “Are you hiding something?”
Yes.
Stephen’s guts knotted and the third eye sent another ache through his skull. He didn't want to tell her yet. Not everything. He couldn't quiet stomach if she reacted poorly. No, he needed her to be thinking clearly if this ended in a fight.
He inched towards her enough to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her into an embrace. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist. “Pretend like you're giving me a hug.”
“I am giving you a hug,” she murmured into his robes, the annoyance in her tone not lost on him.
“Act sincere.” He grumbled, glancing around Kamar-Taj. While the halls were empty, he still felt eyes on them. He leaned towards the top of her head and whispered, “The temple may not be safe for you anymore.”
America shuttered and clenched the fabric on his cloak. Tears lined the base of her eyes.
“We have a plan to draw out the zealots but you need to go to the Sanctum if fighting starts, am I understood?” The cloak had started coccooning around her.
“Am I just supposed to act normal until then?” She had a break in her voice. America felt his arms tighten slightly around her, the cloak had almost covered her legs.
“Preferably. I'm going to let go now, okay kid?” He waited for her to release before dropping his arms. Her face was red and blotchy around the eyes.
She huffed and wiped her face, trailing behind Stephen as they made their way towards the mess hall. America collected herself, sniffling one last time before Stephen opened the doors.
She could do this. She could fake it.
The messhall was a large space with four long tables that stretched nearly wall to wall. Benches lined each side.
As far as students went, there were twenty pupils that stayed at Kamar-Taj full time. A few masters kept their old rooms and those that didn't often visited for lunch regardless.
It was a time where many sorcerers were together, visiting with one another. Some where a bit more boisterous than the others, and bellowed in laughter. Some read while sipping soup. Others practiced casting small spells between one another.
In total, that particular day, there were roughly forty sorcerers in attendance.
Against the far wall was a smaller table for food. Large pots of soup and baskets of bread covered the surface, along with plates and utensils. Faded tapestries dangled from the ceiling.
America swallowed at the lump in her throat before following Stephen towards the food. Act natural. Be casual. She uneasily shifted between the aisles, catching a few blank stares.
Be chill. Be chill. Be chill. Stephen offered her a bowl and a spoon, which she gingerly accepted and gave a small smile in return. He had given her a slightly pointed look before ladling soup into his own bowl.
Steam rolled off the surface. America felt lightheaded. Like the world was eerily quiet in the same way it is when it’s about to rain. She swallowed against the tighteness in her throat, ladling broth and chunks of meat into her bowl.
She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention as she surveyed the bread roll selection. Golden rolls mixed with sweet dark oat bread rolls in a mouthwatering assortment. Typically, it wouldn't be uncommon for America to take three or four rolls for herself, but her stomach was clenching.
Her fingers curled around one before finding where Stephen had gone to. He was making his way to a clear spot on the bench, against the wall but close to the window.
“Hey America!” a voice called from the sea of lighthearted conversation. Rintrah had soup dribbling down the side of his fur under his mouth. He was possibly the closest to a friend at Kamar-Taj. “You okay? You look kind of sick.”
America was horrifically aware of the attention on her. She felt a bit of sweat accumulate on her brow line. Please don't be a zealot. “I think I'm just hungry,” she offered, giving a smile afterwards.
Rintrah smiled easily back at her. “Well eat up then. Make sure to drink water today too. We don't need you passing out again.”
Sometimes America wasn't sure if Rintrah was her friend or just overly friendly. She nodded and scoffed playfully before finding her spot beside Stephen. He was characteristically stiff sitting at the table, silently eating his soup.
America glanced around the room, searching and scanning for something that gave off bad-guy-vibes. She leaned into Stephen. “Where’s Wong?”
He silently glanced around the room, a frown deepening on his face. There was a beat of silence before chunks of door and bits of wall flung towards them. A body flew through the air, their arms and legs outstretched until they hit the back wall and fell with another loud thud, tearing a tapestry on his descent down.
The conversation had stopped. Many socerers were now on their feet, expecting something to come barreling through the human sized hole. The door hung partially off it's hinges on either side.
Before America could tell what was happening, sorcerers were being thrown across the table. Bowls went shattering on the floor and benches tipped heavily over. Golden chains came shooting across like streamers at a birthday party.
Stephen pushed the table on it's side, bending and coaxing America down by putting his hands on her shoulders.
“Was this part of the plan?” America asks. A bowl splintered into shards of glass a few inches from her head.
Stephen grimaced and peaked over the edge of the table. “Can't say it was. Portal back to the sanctum, I’ll clear a path for you.”
“Wait what?” before Stephen could clarify, he was on his feet and conjuring symbols around his arms. “Stephen!” America whispered roughly, watching as he hit classmates with walls of magic.
She took a breath before coming to a stand and starting to run towards the door. One of her classmates fought a master in front of her. The master conjured a shield but it wasn't enough. He went flying backwards and into the window.
America screamed and quickly looked out of the hole in the glass, seeing the robes pool around sprinkles of glass. Blood seeped out from under the master’s head.
She ground her teeth together and yelled, feeling a surge of energy erupt as a star shape came exploding from her knuckles. Her fist struck his chest, sending him flying into tables.
America continued forward, towards the door, where she could hopefully conjure a portal in the hall. Her foot landed on the step before the room began shifting around her.
The walls, the floors, the ceiling, even the people broke into geometric fragments of themselves.
America continued towards the door, despite the floor now moving in the opposite direction. She glanced around the room as their faces disappeared and left only her reflection.
Her hair was messy. Curls curtained around her face. The collar of her t-shirt was slightly loose.
She let out a pent up sigh and closed her eyes, lifting her hand to try and conjure a portal.
Sparks began to fly around and reflect back to her until she was seeing the comforting steps to the New York Sanctum. She stepped forward only to fall through.
She felt water rushing through her clothes, pressing coldly against her skin as she continued to fall-- no, to be pulled down.
Down.
Down.
Further down until everything darkened around her.
She gasped for air, or to scream before hitting the pavement. A tight pain shot through knees and the meaty part of her palms as tiny pebbles embedded themselves into her skin. Beads of red grew on her hands.
America groaned, coming to her feet and assessing her surroundings. She recognized the buildings outside of the temple but they were folded over one another like someone had peeled part of the earth and it was curling upwards.
She closed her eyes, feeling her heart hammer against her chest and knowing she needed to calm down before she’d be able to get out of here.
America lifted her hand and the crease between her eyebrows deepened.
She started to feel the pins and needles of energy in the tips of her fingers and just as she began to move her hands, something pinned them together. America’s wrists were bound by golden sparks. She followed the chain with her eyes until they reached a face she recognized.
Wordlessly, America gapped at him. His green robes were nearly identical but he kept his hair short in this universe.
Karl Mordor pulled against the chain of energy, drawing America closer and closer.