Disclaimer: Quenya and Sindarin are languages created by Tolkien. I decided to use them because they're cool^

—————

Mikyla's eyes widen as she enters the classroom, everything about it screaming mysticism and obscurity. No wonder Sam didn't like the atmosphere and he was right about the ancient language. At first glance, it looked like something from a different dimension.

"Lil' lore de' darthien" An oldish Noble snaps a stick against the weird writing on the chalkboars at the front of the class. "Open your books and please turn to page 394 of Lil' lore de' darthien"

"Lil' lore de' darthien" Mikyla mumbles to herself before being pulled to a desk by Sam. She had never heard of it before but for some strange reason, it flowed off the tongue like a sledge on a winter's day. It just felt so natural and what was even weirder was that the words 'The Lore of Elves' sprung to mind.

"Now class," The teacher whacks the chalkboard once again. "As you know, today is the day of Initiation. The day you choose your first slave."

A series of 'yes's' and 'alright's' whisper excitedly between desks before the teacher whacks the chalkboard issuing for silence.

"I understand that you are excited but I cannot stress enough that the contracts must be made without mistakes. Quenya is still a little difficult to grasp for most of you but there is no room for error. Words have power and if a contract is not performed properly then it is possible that you may forfeit your Drow."

"Yeah..." Sam leans in to whisper to Mikyla. "Words like elg'caress am I right?"

Before Mikyla could comprehend what he said, Sam had fallen to the floor and a thin wooden stick was rolling beside him. A small red dot had been stamped across his forehead and he was out cold. So much for saying he was going to pay attention in lesson...

"Dosst shar zhah pholor vacation jhal dosst norrs zhah working phor draeval!"

Mikyla gulps but at the same time almost finds it hard not to laugh. The more 'Quenya' she seemed to hear, the easier it seemed to pick up. Could it be due to the memories of the Mikael before her or was it just a natural talent the Nobles had? Whatever it was, Mikyla dared not say anything unless she wanted a bruise on her forehead to accompany the one stretched across her nose. Instead, she focused her gaze downward to find an ancient tome as if it appeared by magic.

As a Drow, Mikyla always believes the Nobles would have the best of everything - the latest gadgets and technology. The tome before her, however, was the exact opposite. It looked older than civilization itself and it's cover was hanging off it's hinges yet it had an aura about it that compelled Mikyla to hold a deep respect for it.

A small jolt of electricity tingled through Milyla's fingers as she brushed a gentle hand over the cover and just for a second she thought she saw the world more clearly. Colours became more vivid and it was if she could sense the hum of the earth itself. Focusing back on task, Mikyla peeled back the olden pages, surprised out how intact the content was within, and quickly flicked to the stated page.

"N'corda." Mikyla breathed as she brushed her fingers over the golden inked subtitle. 'Contract' was the word that sprung to mind - as if the book itself had whispered it in her ear.

"Yes. Exactly!" The teacher claps Mikyla on the back causing her to jump in her seat. She hadn't even sensed the Noble move since throwing her stick yet here she was at the back of the class, her breathing as calm and steady as the waters on a lake. "Well done Mikael. It looks as if at least someone has prepared for this day."

"Well... what do you expect? His father is the leading manufacturer of The Mark, of course he's going to have a talent for Quenya." A Noble sitting at the row of desks in front of a Mikyla mutters.

"Yeah, I know right." A different Noble beside the first one snorts in agreement. "It's a shame that his talent is wasted though. There's a rumour that he's a Dreglover."

Mikyla hangs her head in shame. Shame, not because of spite emanating from the row ahead but because she allowed it to get to her. She didn't mean to stand out, she wanted to maintain a relatively low cover until she got the hang of the Noble thing, however, she didn't exactly expect to meet the same enmity she faced as a Drow.

Envy wasn't uncommon in the outskirts, in fact, it was one of the most prominent emotions lugged aside self-pity and resentment. The further you got into the outskirts the stronger the animosity was but although it was hard to escape the negative sentiment, it was the same emotions that bounded everyone together, the same emotions that created the strong conviviality that all the Drows shared as one. Nonetheless, it was still difficult to accept this, especially for those who lived practically on the border.

Mikyla could still remember the hostility some of the lesser Drows used to show her and it could only make her wonder what the lives of the high-class Drows were like. The high class wasn't anything fancy though. Mikyla was considered a middle-class Drow in her previous life but all you had to be was a single child and have a working parent to be classed as that. Most Drows we're middle class, including Sade, but there were always extremities - Drows with seven of eight children as well as childless couples who both had steady incomes.

"Ok class! That's enough." The teacher had quickly retrieved her stick and resumed her whacking on the chalkboard. "It is true that talent is wasted on Dreglovers but I'm sure Mikael will grow out of his morbid curiosity in time."

Mikyla nodded as all eyes faced her. She didn't agree but she had to keep her act up."

"On the other hand, all Elves have natural talent for Quenya. If you can speak Sindarin then you can speak Quenya. Some people even pick up words that I haven't even taught." The teacher shoots a look in Sam's direction who is now snoring, splayed across the ground. "Yet even the most illiterate of Nobles can still form a contract. We have an hour before the initiation. I would encourage you to memorise the formalities before then."

§§§§§§§§§§

Zil natha sil'in lueth fellow darthirii, usstan swariy ulu sslig'ne dos ji nindel dos xal dro natha dro xuileb ssinssrin. Wun exchange, usstan humbly require dosst servitude m'rstirans lueth mal'rak. Ori'gato nindol p'obon tlu udossta rin'ov valbylis n'corda.

Mikyla scratched her head as she tried to decipher her rather untidy handwriting scrawled across her arm. It was only at the last minute that the teacher said that they would have to leave the books in the classroom 'as per usual' and with Mikyla's handwriting usual being illegible at the best, her arm now looked like an octopus had exploded causing her skin to almost darken as black as her skin was when she was a Drow.

No matter how many timed Mikyla repeated it, she couldn't seem to get it into her head. What's more was that she couldn't understand it at all. She knew it had something to do with contracts and servitude but other than that, the words seemed so coarse and fixated - nothing like the other Quenya she had learned. It didn't help that everyone pushed each other down the spiral staircase causing the writing on Mikyla's arm to smudge even more but, before she knew it, Mikyla was ushered into the school courtyard to be met by none other than the most rotten person in school.

The principal she always hated.

Everything had been set up beforehand and by the time Mikyla realised all the Nobles were lining up to face the Drows stacked like dominos, the principal had already initiated the Initiation speech. Mikyla tried to scramble into line as unnoticeable as a sore thumb could be as the principle addressed the same speech he had been giving for years but just as she was about to make her first success as a Noble, Life decided to throw her a lemon.

"As a firstborn and only child of the prestigious Fëanor household, Mikael Fëanor has the liberty of the first pick."

Stunned, Mikyla shuffles forward awkwardly after an ushering from the pack of Nobles she had tried to squeeze into like a sardine. She could feel the glares of all the Drows before her and she remembered how much she hated the Nobles whenever they initiated those freshly marked. The initiation was a private event but Mikyla always watched from the safety of her classroom whenever they did it, year on, year out. Mikyla knew the whole school would be watching her from the youngest Drows peeking through a window to the oldest Drows who had already been initiated into a household. Each stare accompanied by wavelengths of hate. Each glare filled to the brim with the wishes of demise.

Trying her best to control her wobbling knees, Mikyla steps onto the podium the principal occupied taking the entire view of the courtyard into account. Drows upon Drows lined up and down, side by side, each one grown up too fast, each one exposed to the cruelties of the world too soon. Mikyla wished they could see themselves - see the army before her. Perhaps it would fill them with strenfth or perhaps it would crush them knowing that their childhood was now nothing but a memory. She couldn't do anything about it though. She could only choose.

"Young master Mikael Fëanor, which Drow to you wish to bestow upon the luxury of servitude to the most high and prestigious Fëanor household?"

Mikyla licked her lips as she scanned the crowd briefly one last time. These were her friends. Her community. Her family. They were the ones she had grown up with, fought with, cried with. But she could only choose one. One she knew she had to pick.

"I, Mikael Fëanor, choose Lavender. The Fëanor household chooses Lavender Weyn."

----------

Word Count for Chapter 13: 1705
Total Word Count: 19268

Authors Note:

Hope you liked the UNEDITED chapter 13! Don't forget to press on those magical stars to light up Mikyla's future path and leave a comment telling me what you like so far or what you don't like. Thanks for reading so far.

Happy reading
~ Dracollavenore