Chapter 153: The Card I picked
{Elira}
~**^**~
~Monday~
After lunch, the corridors buzzed with chatter as everyone drifted back toward their classrooms.
My friends peeled off to their own, and I slipped into mine, settling into my desk in the last row.
The air was heavy with that post-meal drowsiness, papers rustling lazily, a few halfhearted whispers floating across the room.
Then the door swung open.
Professor Calven strode in, his sharp eyes scanning the class like they always did. But behind him came two older students, each struggling under the weight of something large and square, draped in a thick black cloth.
They set it down at the front of the room with a thud that made the floorboards vibrate.
Instantly, whispers sparked.
"What is that?"
"A chest? No... too light."
"Maybe a test?"
I sat up straighter, unease tightening in my stomach.
Professor Calven didn’t speak at first. He adjusted his cuffs with deliberate calm, letting the silence stretch until every eye was fixed on him. Then he cleared his throat.
"As you are all aware," he began, his voice steady, commanding, "Founders’ Day is nearly upon us. This year’s events will be more demanding than usual. It will not be a day of mere pageantry. Each of you will have a role to play."
The room stilled, as the tension climbed.
Then he gestured toward the covered object. "To that end, you will now select your assignments."
With a flourish, he pulled the cloth away and gasps rippled through the room.
Beneath the glass box, stacked high in uneven piles, were paper cards—brightly colored, some folded neatly, others bent at the corners, a kaleidoscope trapped under glass.
My breath caught. ’Cards?’
"What is this?" someone muttered beside me.
Professor Calven allowed himself a small, knowing smile before explaining. "Each card represents a task or responsibility for the celebration. Different colours equal different roles."
Curiosity spiked immediately as voices began to rise around me.
"But which colour is what?"
"Is blue bad?"
"What if I get stuck with something stupid?"
Then Professor Calven raised a hand, and the room quieted instantly. "That," he said smoothly, "is for you to discover after you have chosen. No one will know what their role entails until all selections are made."
A chorus of groans followed. Someone muttered a protest under their breath, and another laughed nervously.
Professor Calven only chuckled, his smile widening. "Complaints already? Patience, students. Chance favours the bold."
Then he straightened, his voice sharpening like a blade. "I will call names. When you hear yours, step forward and pick a card. That is your fate for Founders’ Day."
The classroom went silent, the weight of his words pressing over us all.
My heart thudded, a nervous rhythm in my chest. ’Please don’t call me first.’
Professor Calven’s gaze swept over the room, sharp and unreadable. Then, with no warning, he called, "Darius Hale."
A tall boy two rows ahead of me froze, then rose to his feet with exaggerated slowness. The whispers started immediately.
"Lucky him, going first..."
"Or unlucky."
"What if he pulls the worst one?"
Darius shot the class a nervous grin before shuffling to the front. His hand hovered over the cards for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration, as though he could divine the meaning through colour alone.
Finally, he reached in and pulled a crimson-red card.
The room leaned forward, holding its breath.
Professor Calven only nodded and simply said, "Good. Next."
He gave nothing away. Darius trudged back to his seat, his face unreadable, though the card shook faintly between his fingers.
"Amara Deylin."
This time, a girl from the far corner jumped, then hurried forward. She bit her lip as she fished through the box, finally snatching a green card.
She clutched it tight, glancing at Darius, who only shrugged helplessly.
Another round of murmurs rippled through the room.
"Red and green... what do they mean?"
"Maybe performance roles?"
"Or combat?"
Professor Calven silenced them with one sharp glance, then called the next name.
"Kellen Vorth."
One by one, students walked to the front, each returning with a different splash of colour—yellow, blue, violet.
The pile in the glass box grew smaller, and the atmosphere in the room shifted from playful curiosity to nervous anticipation.
I sat stiff in my chair, fingers twisted together beneath the desk, each new card pulled, making my stomach knot tighter.
If this was fate deciding, what would mine be?
Then Professor Calven’s gaze lifted again, and the next name rolled off his tongue like a verdict.
"Elira Shaw."
My stomach dropped. Around me, chairs creaked as heads turned toward me. Whispers tickled the back of my neck.
"Elira?"
"The omega is up next..."
"What colour will she get?"
I swallowed hard, pushing up from my seat. My legs felt heavier than they should have, each step to the front of the room echoing too loudly in my ears.
The glass box loomed larger up close, the colours almost blinding under the classroom lights. Red. Green. Blue. Yellow. Violet. My fingers hovered uncertainly over them all.
’It’s just a card,’ I told myself. ’A simple paper and nothing more.’
But my chest ached like the choice carried more weight than I could see.
I finally reached in, my hand trembling, and closed my fingers around one. Slowly, I drew it free.
A deep shade of crimson stared back at me.
The room buzzed instantly.
"Red again?"
"What does that mean?"
"Must be something important..."
I curled the card tight in my hand, heat rushing to my face under the weight of their stares.
Professor Calven’s expression didn’t shift. He only gave a faint nod. "Very well. Return to your seat."
I turned quickly, clutching the crimson card like it might burn through my palm, and forced myself back to my chair.
I could no longer process any thought or hear what my classmates were saying. All I could see was the red.
All I could feel was the strange, heavy thrum in my chest—like this card had just chosen me, not the other way around.