The banquet hall was like something out of a dream—vast and grand, with candles floating high above our heads, their flames dancing and flickering like little stars in the sky. The vaulted ceiling stretched far above us, painted to look like a swirling, stormy night, the clouds moving as if alive. The air was charged with excitement, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the Sorting. I couldn't deny I was nervous, too, but it wasn't just because of where I'd end up. It was the whole feeling of being here, of being watched, and the pressure to figure out where I belonged.
George was leading the way, his usual confidence evident in the way he carried himself. It was like the world bent to him. He was already calling attention to himself, waving and shouting to his brothers at the far end of the hall.
"Gabe! Isaac! Meet my friends!" His voice boomed across the room like he was the king of it all. I could feel my cheeks flush as the eyes around me turned, but George was unfazed.
He pointed at me with that same grin, as if he owned the room. "This is Evan—like chosen-boy Evan." A few people at the table chuckled, and I awkwardly raised a hand in greeting. I felt my discomfort deepen. Why did he have to make it sound so dramatic?
"And this is Jaime," George said, gesturing to her. I turned to look at Jaime as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable under the sudden onslaught of attention. It was clear she didn't want this. She wasn't used to being in the spotlight like George. Her eyes darted anywhere but at the people staring at her. I couldn't help but feel bad for her.
"And this is Ophelia," George added. He didn't seem as enthusiastic about this introduction. His tone changed slightly, almost as if he were treading on delicate ground. I shot Ophelia a quick glance. She didn't seem phased at all by the attention, but I could tell there was something there—something I didn't fully understand yet.
As George continued introducing us, I noticed two older boys sitting farther down the table. Their gazes were locked on Jaime. I'd never seen them before, but the way they looked at her wasn't curious. It wasn't a glance of someone trying to get to know her. It was calculating, like they were trying to figure out a puzzle. My stomach tightened. Something about the way they were staring at her didn't sit right with me.
"Why are those guys over there staring at Jaime like that?" I asked, nudging George. I could see the discomfort in Jaime's expression. She was trying to ignore them, but it was clear it wasn't working.
George followed my gaze and immediately scowled. Without missing a beat, he grabbed something off the table—maybe a roll or a piece of fruit—and threw it in their direction. "Noah! Danny! Knock it off! You're embarrassing me while I'm standing here with my new friends." His voice was sharp, authoritative, like he was used to commanding attention. I was surprised by how easily he did it.
The two older boys, Noah and Danny, barely flinched. They exchanged a brief glance, then turned back to their plates as if nothing had happened. But the damage was already done. Jaime's shoulders relaxed slightly, but I could tell she was still uneasy. I couldn't blame her. Those guys didn't look like the type to leave her alone anytime soon. I made a mental note to keep an eye on them.
Finally, the Sorting ceremony began. I could feel my nerves spiking again as the first names were called. The students walked toward the front, sitting on the stool and waiting as the Mirror of Deliberation—well, the Sorting Hat, but it felt so much more like a mirror to me—made its decision. One by one, students were sorted into Mortivane, Dreadmoore, Greymor, and Umryss. My thoughts swirled as I watched each student head to their designated table. The uncertainty was gnawing at me.
Ophelia's name was called first, and she moved to the front with a kind of grace that I couldn't help but admire. I watched as she sat down, Professor Hughes placing the hat—mirror—on her head. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seconds stretched on. I could tell that Ophelia didn't seem to be struggling with this. She was calm, composed. The Mirror of Deliberation finally spoke aloud: "Greymor."
The Greymor table burst into applause. Students cheered, clapping for Ophelia as she joined them. Her smile was bright, and for a moment, I thought maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe it wouldn't be as terrifying as I had imagined. But deep down, I was still afraid of what was coming. I didn't know where I'd end up, and I couldn't help the gnawing anxiety building in my chest.
The Sorting continued. Mortivane, Dreadmoore, Greymor, and then Umryss. Each house got its cheers, but I wasn't paying much attention anymore. I was too lost in my own thoughts. I didn't want to end up in Umryss. The rumors about that house made my stomach turn. But, maybe that was the point. The house fit its members' secrets and ambitions. If I had to go there, I wouldn't survive the pressure. But I couldn't let myself think about it too much. I had to focus on what was happening in front of me.
And then, it happened. The Mirror of Deliberation called my name. "Evan Stevens."
I froze. It was like the world stopped. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I stood up, but my legs felt like they were made of jelly. I took a step forward, then another, my steps slow and deliberate as if walking too quickly would make me trip. The closer I got to the front, the more my heart raced. What if I didn't belong anywhere? What if I didn't fit in? What if—
The Mirror of Deliberation was already waiting for me. I climbed onto the stool, my knees trembling. Professor Hughes placed the mirror on my head, and everything else faded. The world fell silent. The only thing I could hear was the voice of the mirror, speaking softly in my head.
"Mmmm, interesting," it said, its voice thoughtful, almost like it was weighing something. "You've got a lot of qualities. A thirst for knowledge, an openness to people. But there's something else, isn't there? Something deeper."
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. My mind raced, and I clutched the edges of the stool. "Please, don't put me in Umryss. Anywhere but there."
The mirror paused for a moment, as if considering me, its thoughts moving like a slow river. "Hmm... You don't want to be in Umryss? Well, you could do well there. You have a sharp mind, a knack for reading people. It could suit you."
"No," I thought with more resolve now. "Anywhere but there."
The mirror chuckled softly, its tone teasing. "As you wish."
In an instant, the Mirror of Deliberation flashed brightly, and the name of my house was revealed in bold letters.
"Greymor!" it boomed, filling the hall with its resounding declaration.
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. Relief flooded through me like a cool wave. Greymor. I was in Greymor. I hadn't ended up in Umryss, and that was enough. The Greymor table erupted into cheers, their applause filling the hall as I stood and rushed to join them, a huge grin breaking across my face. I didn't even care about the stares or whispers as I sat down. I belonged. For the first time in a long while, the uncertainty slipped away.
As I sat down next to Ophelia, the next name was called. Jaime's. I turned to look at her, my heart racing again. She stood up, hesitant but determined. She walked with slow, careful steps to the front, her eyes scanning the room like she was looking for something. Maybe reassurance. Maybe a familiar face.
The mirror was placed on her head. There was a long moment of silence. I watched her closely, her expression shifting. Her eyes closed briefly, and I could almost see the internal battle she was having. She wasn't saying anything aloud, but I could tell she was arguing with the mirror. Something about this felt off. This wasn't like the other students. No one else seemed to hesitate like this.
I couldn't look away. The mirror seemed to be taking longer with her than anyone else. What was going on?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Mirror of Deliberation spoke. Its voice was almost begrudging, like it wasn't entirely convinced. "Dreadmoore."
The hall erupted into applause, but it didn't seem like Jaime was happy about it. She stood up slowly, her face unreadable, as she walked toward the Dreadmoore table. The cheers from the Dreadmoore students were loud, welcoming her with open arms, but Jaime's steps were slow, almost mechanical.
I turned to Ophelia, unable to mask the concern in my voice concern in my voice. "Would this have a negative impact on our relationship with her?" I asked quietly, though I wasn't sure if she would know the answer.
Ophelia shrugged, her eyes thoughtful as she considered the question. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice calm. "You'd probably have to ask George. He's the expert on all things friendship."
I didn't find her answer reassuring, but there wasn't much else I could do. I watched Jaime settle at her new table, her face still unreadable.
Jaime
As I approached the Mirror of Deliberation, my stomach twisted into knots. It loomed tall and imposing, its gilded frame etched with ancient runes that seemed to shimmer with life. The reflective surface swirled with silver mist, as though it were alive and waiting for me.
When I stepped in front of it, the mist parted, and my reflection stared back at me—but it wasn't just me. My reflection's eyes glinted with a sharp intelligence I wasn't sure I possessed, and its expression seemed to shift in time with my thoughts. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
"Jaime Stevens," the mirror's voice echoed in my head. It was soft yet commanding, neither male nor female, but undeniably ancient. "Step closer. Let us see what lies beneath."
I hesitated for a split second before moving closer. The surface rippled as though it were water, and suddenly, images began to play across the glass. They weren't just random—they were scenes from my life. I saw myself hiding from bullies at school, standing up to a teacher who'd been unfair, and quietly comforting a crying stranger in a park. The memories blurred together, a cascade of moments revealing who I was—or who I had been.
You are clever, the mirror intoned, and adaptable. You seek understanding but guard your heart fiercely. Greymor or Umbryss would nurture these traits well.
No, I thought immediately. Not Umbryss. Anywhere but there.
The mirror shimmered, its surface swirling again as though it were sifting through my thoughts. You reject Umbryss, yet it calls to you. Your ambition, your cunning—they would thrive there.
It's not just about me, I thought back, my mental voice rising with urgency. Evan… Lee wouldn't trust me near him if I were placed in Umbryss. And I can't live like that. I need to be somewhere I can prove I'm more than a strategist or a schemer. Please, not Umbryss.
The mirror seemed to sigh, the sound reverberating in my chest. You would also fit in Greymor, it mused. Bravery tempered with wit. Resourceful and loyal. You would rise to meet every challenge.
Greymor feels wrong too, I argued silently. I don't want to be in Evan's shadow, constantly compared to him or Ophelia. I need a place where I can stand on my own.
The mirror grew quiet for a moment. My reflection tilted its head, studying me with a piercing gaze that felt uncomfortably intimate. You fear obscurity yet crave independence, it finally said. You are brave but not reckless, clever but not manipulative. Dreadmoore would suit you well.
The name sent a jolt through me. Dreadmoore: the house of independence, of those who walked their own path. It wasn't flashy or celebrated like Greymor or infamous like Umbryss, but it was respected for its resilience and quiet strength.
Dreadmoore feels right, I thought with conviction. I can be myself there.
"Very well," the mirror said, its voice tinged with reluctant approval. "If that is your wish…"
The swirling mist in the glass solidified into bold crimson letters: DREADMOORE.
The announcement echoed through the hall, and the Dreadmoore table erupted into cheers. As I stepped away from the mirror, I felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. I glanced toward the Greymor table, where Evan, Ophelia, and George sat together. Evan's expression was hard to read, but I could tell he was watching me closely. Ophelia whispered something to him, her face thoughtful.
The students at the Dreadmoore table greeted me warmly, their smiles genuine. A girl with vibrant red curls waved me over and said, "Welcome to Dreadmoore! I'm Lily. You'll love it here."
"Thanks," I said, forcing a small smile. Her friendliness eased some of the tension in my chest, though I couldn't help but glance back at my friends at Greymor.