#huntbrookisle

She walks through the halls with a sense of purpose. The sweater she wore drops down around her shoulders and Zena doesn’t bother fixing the sleeves. 

A group of other students scoff at her as she walks by. Emotion mages, clad in uniforms with bits of pinks to designate which kind of magic they did. 

Zena hears bits of whispers as she passes. “...storm mage” “..lowly blacksmith” “...no one of import.”

She clenches her fists at her sides, trying to ignore them. Zena barely notices as they extend a foot into her path, attempting to trip her. “Fucking emotion mages. So entitled,” she whispers through grit teeth. She scowls and stops on the foot, hearing bones crunch under the heel of her boot. “Whoops.”

The girl who tried to step on crumbles to the floor, gripping her foot as she cries out.

“What the hell? Do you have any idea who we are?” one of the emotion mages shout at her. Zena can feel waves of their magic radiating off of them as she continues walking without looking back.