Page 29 of The Amber Sunburst

“Zeno, you beautiful bastard, that’s brilliant. I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

“He’s like a parakeet,” Eudoxos scoffs. “Who knows if we’ll get his eyes off that thing now.”

He lets their chatter fall into the background to focus on his mess of a hair-helmet, but then he feels a tingle at the nape of his neck like someone’s looking. He knows who it is right away. There’s nothing more intense, he’s coming to learn, than a stare from Kallias.

When they make eye contact, Kallias smirks at his disheveled morning state.

Alexander sticks his tongue out like a five-year-old—he might want Kallias to think he’s cool, but that doesn’t mean he has to act mature—and Kallias rolls his eyes and looks down, back to his book.

It’s a different book from the one he had last night. A quick reader, then. Smart and pretty?

Kallias doesn’t engage again, so Alexander turns back to his reflection. His hair looks fine. The ‘purposefully untamed’ bits are a little less purposeful than intended, but whatever.

Once breakfast—eggs that were somehow both too runny and too stiff—is finally over, they leave the dining hall to head to class.

“History first,” Eudoxos says. “Get ready to be bored out of your mind.”

“Odds on him falling asleep?” Zeno asks Eudoxos.

Alexander laughs and answers for him. “Oh, very high. I’m not one for… learning.”

Eudoxos sizes him up. “Makes sense.”

They cross the lawn to a little amphitheater. It’s surrounded by columns that hold up a circular roof.

“Why’s the class size so small?” he whispers to Zeno.

“You take classes with your cohort, which are capped at twenty members.”

“And the cohort is…”

“Everyone who lives on our floor. Our age group, basically.”

Eudoxos leads them to the second row of the four-row amphitheater. Alexander doesn’t get the chance to see who else is in the class before the teacher pulls a rod and the curtains shut between the columns. Even in the dark, though, the flash of golden hair in the back shines bright.

Images of the Republic still under construction light up on a white screen—probably courtesy of one of those pre-Fall projectors Alexander’s read about—and he tries to focus. Knowing the history of this place will certainly give him some insight into how to leave it.

He opens his notebook, cracks his knuckles, and starts scribbling.

When the curtains reopen and mid-morning light soaks into the amphitheater, Alexander is truly in a horrible mood.

Their history teacher, an ancient, tired man, rasped out facts and figures for the entire two hours of class, almost reciting the textbook verbatim.

Alexander didn’t fall asleep, but it was a close thing.

He face plants into his desk once the teacher exits the classroom. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced in my life,” he groans. None of his peers move to leave, so he figures all of their classes will take place here.

“Told you,” he hears Eudoxos say above him.

Then someone (definitely Zeno) shakes him violently by the shoulder. “Wake up, wake up!”

Alexander lets his tongue loll like he’s dead, and Zeno gasps. “Oh, Forms. He’s lost to the world.”

Zeno and Eudoxos make up some stupid chants to the Forms about his hair and how they hope there are mirrors for him in the afterlife, and Alexander stays limp on the table even after he starts laughing.

He only opens his eyes when he hears someone scoff nearby.

An unremarkable boy with chestnut hair, a horse-ish face, and beady eyes observes them with scorn.