A Human Projectile

  Visual chaos. That was the only way to describe it.

  Flashes of light bombarded me from every angle. Neon purple, toxic green, blinding white. I wasn't floating; I was falling. I was falling up, down, and sideways all at the same time. I was upside down, inside out, and spinning like a top.

  I saw a tunnel of light rushing past as if I were strapped to a cannonball.

  "AAAAAAH!" I screamed, my voice lost in the space between spaces. "BRAKES! WHERE ARE THE BRAKES ON THIS THING?!"

  In the distance, a hole in the chaos appeared. An opening.

  Through the blur, I saw a stone hall. And standing there, calm as a statue, was the Gnome. He was looking at his fingers, counting down.

  "Three..."

  The floor was rushing towards me at a speed that looked fatal.

  "Two..."

  I tried to brace myself, to find any leverage in the nothingness, but there was nothing to push against.

  "One..."

  I shot into the new world like a human projectile.

  "WHOAAA!"

  I flew.

  For a brief, deceptive moment, there was a sensation of gliding. I caught a glimpse of immense high vaults, chandeliers with floating candles, and statues looking down on the ant-sized students below.

  And then gravity took its revenge.

  My feet hit the ground, but my upper body missed the memo. My legs buckled, my knees hit the marble, and I turned into an uncontrolled, tumbling ball of limbs, clothing, and panic.

  I rolled. Once. Twice. Three times.

  The world was a blur of gray floor tiles and startled cries from bystanders. My bag flew off somewhere to my left. My boots scraped across the stone with a sound that went through marrow and bone. SKRIEEEEEK.

  Finally, I came to a halt.

  I slid on my stomach, like a starfish on dry land, skidding to a stop right in front of the massive Arrival Gate.

  "Ouch... ow... ugh..."

  I lay still for a second. My face was pressed against the cold, smooth floor. It smelled of floor wax and... sulfur?

  I tried to lift my head. The world was still spinning, as if I had just stepped off a carousel that had gone five times too fast.

  "Braking is optional, apparently!" I groaned to the floor.

  "Well. There's that."

  The voice was dry, bored, and came from behind me.

  I turned around with difficulty, sitting back on my knees.

  The Gnome was leaning nonchalantly against the gate frame, his welding goggles now over his eyes, checking his giant pocket watch.

  "Flying object flying from the Human Plains. Arrival time: Right on schedule. Execution: A scraping pass. Points deducted for style."

  "Points deducted?!" I wanted to stand up and lecture him on safety protocols, but my legs felt like jelly. "I almost died!"

  "Almost doesn't count in Aeridor, princess," the Gnome grinned, showing yellow, crooked teeth. "Welcome to school."

  I opened my mouth to snap back, but my equilibrium decided to go on strike.

  I tried to stand up...

  Bad idea...

  My right foot hooked behind my left boot. I stumbled forward, flailing my arms in the air like a windmill in a storm, desperately grasping for something—anything—to hold onto.

  There was no wall. There was no railing.

  But there was someone.

  My blurry, panicked vision registered only details at eye level.

  A pair of boots.

  Not just any boots. These were black leather, polished so perfectly I could see my own terrified reflection in them. Silver buckles, inlaid with dark gems that drank the light. The hem of trousers made of a fabric that looked like spun shadow.

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  I had no time to stop. I had no time to warn him.

  Gravity, that cruel mistress, pulled me mercilessly forward.

  "Look ou—!"

  WHAM!

  It wasn't a soft bump. It was a tackle.

  I slammed into the owner of the expensive boots with my full weight plus the velocity of my fall.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath. A sound of pure surprise and... disgust?

  "ARGH!"

  We went down. Hard.

  I felt a sturdy body beneath me break my fall. We smacked against the marble floor. My hands shot out to catch myself and landed on a chest. A chest clad in fine velvet, but hard as steel underneath.

  Silence.

  Deadly, painful silence filled the hall.

  Even the murmur of the hundreds of other students seemed to cut off instantly, as if someone had pulled the plug on reality.

  I was lying on top of him.

  My face was buried in his coat. I smelled something. Not sweat. Not fear. He smelled like cold ash. Like ozone right before a lightning strike. It was a scent that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

  I pushed myself up slowly.

  "Ow..." I mumbled. "Sorry, I..."

  I opened my eyes.

  And I looked straight into the abyss.

  Our faces were inches apart.

  I expected to see an angry teacher. Or a clumsy student.

  But this... this was different.

  His skin was pale, almost like porcelain, but hard. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. Black hair with a dark blue sheen fell messily over his forehead from the fall.

  But it was the eyes that froze the breath in my lungs.

  They weren't brown. Not blue. Not green like mine.

  They were purple.

  A deep, royal, unnatural purple. And the pupils...

  My heart skipped a beat.

  The pupils were vertical. Narrow black slits that contracted as he looked at me. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or a predator assessing prey.

  "GET OFF!"

  The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a power that vibrated through my bones.

  Before I could move, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Not a push. A blast of force.

  With brute strength, I was thrown off him. I flew sideways, rolled onto my back, and landed ungracefully on my butt a few meters away.

  "Ouch!" I cried indignantly, rubbing my tailbone. "You could have just asked me to move!"

  He was already standing. He rose from the floor in one fluid motion, as if gravity were a suggestion to him rather than a law.

  He was tall. He towered over me, a silhouette of black and silver against the light of the chandeliers.

  And he was angry.

  Not just annoyed. He looked as if he had just been pushed into a sewer.

  He patted his shoulder where my hand had been. There was nothing there—no dust, no dirt—but he wiped it with maniacal precision.

  "IDIOT!" he barked. "Watch where you're walking!"

  Around us, the crowd recoiled. I saw Elves looking away, whispering. Dwarves stopped working. Everyone kept their distance, forming a circle of emptiness around us.

  "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"

  I was still sitting on the floor. The dizziness was fading, replaced by shame. My face felt hot. I hated making scenes. I hated being the center of attention like this.

  I held up a hand, an apologetic gesture.

  "S-sorry!" I stammered, trying to gather my dignity. I scrambled to my feet, my knees still wobbly. "It's my first time through a warp... the landing was abrupt."

  I took a step towards him, reaching out instinctively to maybe smooth the crease in his coat I had caused. A peace offering.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

  "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

  He stepped back as if I were a leper.

  He raised his hand. The air around him changed. The hairs on my arms stood up. A dark, purple glow began to curl around his fingers, like smoke moving against the wind.

  He pointed at my hands. My hands, which were indeed a bit dusty from the floor.

  "With your filthy hands..." he hissed. His voice was a low, dangerous growl.

  He didn't look at me like a person. He looked at me like a stain on his pristine existence.

  "...inferior being."

  Time seemed to stop.

  The words hung in the air between us.

  Inferior being.

  Something inside me went cold.

  The shame vanished. The embarrassment evaporated.

  In their place came a familiar heat. The same heat I felt when the merchant called me a bastard. The same heat I felt when the Bishop called me a witch.

  It was the heat of injustice.

  Who does he think he is?

  I looked at him. Standing there, looking down his perfect nose at me. Judging me. Not for what I did, but for what I was.

  My hands stopped trembling. I straightened my back. I might be smaller. I might be wearing muddy boots and travel clothes while he wore silk and velvet. But I was the daughter of a King. (Even if he banished me).

  I tilted my chin up.

  "Excuse me?" I said. My voice wasn't hoarse anymore. It was ice cold. "Inferior?"

  I saw his eyes widen slightly. He had expected me to shrink. To cry. To run away.

  He hadn't expected me to talk back.

  I looked him straight in those vertical pupils.

  "Says the guy," I began, letting my gaze slide slowly from his head to his feet and back again, mimicking his look of disdain, "who lets himself get bowled over by a girl."

  The silence in the hall became absolute.

  I heard someone gasp.

  The boy's face changed color. The pale skin turned a blotchy red. The purple aura around his hand flared up, more aggressive now.

  "YOU..." he began, his voice trembling with pure indignation.

  He took a step forward.

  I took a step forward.

  I felt the magic itching in my fingertips. Let him come. I didn't care if he was a demon or a god. No one looked at me like that. No one.

  "Okay, okay! Enough romance!"

  A blur of motion. The Gnome jumped literally between us, landing with a heavy thud of his boots. He spread his arms wide.

  "Save it for the honeymoon, lovebirds!"

  The boy—Demian—recoiled as if the Gnome had infected him too. His purple aura vanished, replaced by pure revulsion.

  "Romance?!" he sputtered. He looked at me like I was a fungus. "With that?"

  The Gnome ignored him and clapped his hands loudly.

  "Move along! Everyone!" he shouted to the crowd. "Gather in the Central Hall! The Headmaster hates waiting, and I hate overtime!"

  The spell was broken. The crowd began to move, streaming towards the exit, whispering and pointing at us.

  The boy with the purple eyes straightened his jacket one last time. He cast me a final glance. A glance that promised: You will pay for this.

  Then he turned with a dramatic sweep of his cloak and strode away. His boots clicked rhythmically and authoritatively on the marble.

  I was left alone, my chest heaving.

  I watched him go.

  Inferior being.

  The words echoed in my mind.

  "Enemy number one established," I whispered to myself.

  I balled my fists. My green eyes glowed softly in the dim light of the hall.

  "You just made a big mistake, pretty boy," I thought. "I'm going to make you eat those words."