GETTING FITTED FOR A UNIFORM didn’t take much time at all, and after talking to Cyrus, it was comfortingly normal. As he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking how boring an all-green uniform looked, Fort could hear his father again in the back of his mind.
Wow, you really make that color come alive, Fort! Watch out, because that uniform is going to be considered high fashion when you’re done with it.
“What do you think?” Cyrus said, startling Fort out of his daydream.
“Oh, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “At least I won’t stand out this way.”
The mess hall wasn’t too far, which was good, because though Fort’s new shoes did seem to fit, they also rubbed his feet uncomfortably. Hopefully they just needed to be broken in.
But between the uniform and the constant presence of soldiers everywhere, Fort was starting to worry that this whole school of magic was going to involve less spellcasting and more boot camp. Hopefully they’d be too busy learning magic to run fourteen miles with a hundred-pound backpack.
When they entered the mess hall, Cyrus sped up, practically yanking Fort off his feet to pull him toward the food line at one side of the room. The rest of the cafeteria was empty, with long tables filling most of the room. “We’re early,” Cyrus said. “Enjoy it while you can. Healers are always late to lunch, and the mess usually runs out of everything good.”
“Great,” Fort said, surveying the choices as bored-looking soldiers slowly stuck spoons into large trays of what looked like brown glop. “Is that . . . the good stuff?”
Cyrus laughed. “That’s the chili. You probably want to avoid that for a few days. You’re going to have a hard enough time making friends without causing air pollution. The chicken fingers are always the first thing to go, so I’d grab at least a few now, since you’ll never see them again.”
Fort did as Cyrus suggested, taking some french fries as well, and then chose water over milk, the only two drink options. Cyrus did the same, then started to lead Fort to the table nearest the food line, only to stop abruptly and switch to the table closest to the door.
The choice made Fort even more nervous as he began to hear voices in the hallway. “Was something wrong with that first table?”
Cyrus took a bite of a chicken finger. “Not wrong necessarily. But you’ll get hurt less at this one.”
“Less?” Fort asked, almost choking on a fry. Before Cyrus could answer, though, a group of soldiers entered the cafeteria, all armed, and spread out along the walls. Behind them, the source of the voices appeared as a bunch of kids all around Fort’s age came into the mess, some shoving each other, others chatting loudly, all seeming like they had way too much energy.
“Everyone gets lessons in the mornings,” Cyrus whispered to him as each kid turned to stare at Fort as they walked past. “Since the Destruction students haven’t had their combat drills yet, lunches can get a little loud.”
Combat drills? But Dr. Opps had said they weren’t going to do any fighting, just make weapons for actual soldiers to use.
A trio of blond boys all slowed down as they passed Fort’s table, then stopped to stare at him. “You’re the new Band-Aid?” one of them asked.
“His name is Fort,” Cyrus answered brightly, and Fort dropped his head into his hands.
“No one asked you, future turd,” a second one said, placing his palm down on the metal table. His hand began to glow, and Cyrus immediately lifted his tray into the air, but Fort didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. His tray began to sizzle, turning white-hot with heat, and he yelped as it burned his hands. His food slowly blackened, and a burning smell wafted through the mess.
“Hey!” Fort shouted, leaping out of his seat. “What did you do that for?”
Behind him, the soldiers began to shift nervously, and a few of the soldiers across the way even raised their weapons. But the blond boy in front of Fort just smirked at the soldiers, then turned back to Fort. “I hear you weren’t born on Discovery Day. Can you even cast a spell?”
Fort took a deep breath, not wanting to get kicked out of another school for fighting. “I can,” he said slowly, deliberately unclenching his fists. “And I’m sure I’ll get better at it . . . as I learn more.”
The three boys looked at each other, then laughed.
“Great,” a third blond boy said. “Just what we need, an underpowered nurse.”
“Nurses actually do most of the work in hospitals,” Cyrus pointed out. “Many of them know just as much about medicine as doctors do, and—”
“Do you ever say anything worthwhile?” the first blond boy said to Cyrus, then turned back to Fort. “What, you’ve got something to say?”
Fort could feel his heart beating in his ears and he took a step closer, clenching his teeth, before a hand nervously tapped his shoulder. “No altercations outside of training,” said one of the soldiers, sounding more anxious than Fort felt.
The second blond boy looked up at the soldier with a slow smile, his hands starting to glow, and the soldier backed away. Apparently even the guards couldn’t intimidate the Destruction kids.
“They won’t stop us,” the boy whispered to Fort as fire played over his fingers. “We’re too important . . . and they’re afraid. Why don’t I show you why?”