Chapter 9: The Truth

Mastala fixes Ateek a stern gaze, or at least ramps up the intensity of the stern gaze that she was already employing. For a moment—just long enough that he notice it—the ambient background noise of the building goes dead silent.

The vice principal continues to regard you for several seconds before speaking again. "I am aware of the relationship between you and our headmistress, and I am also aware that some topics are difficult to broach between family members, which is why I am telling you this now: you are not welcome here." she says changing her tone from a happy one to more serious tone

"Huh, what's that suppo-"

"I'm not finished yet! just know that I'm looking out for you! there are a bunch of Mylokas who had make you out as their breakfast the moment they see you in the morning." she says.

"If this is about something that happened the last time I was here, it wasn't my fault, and I also don't remember ever being here." Ateek replies.

"..... What the fuck are you talking about?" she says

Mastala continues as though there had been no interruption. "I am not trying to insult you. I am trying to prepare you for what you are likely to face over the next several months. Your fellow students will all have faced hatred from humanity before coming here, and now they have been asked to accept you. It will not be easy for them, and you should not expect them to take to you immediately, nor should you feel resentment when this becomes apparent. You understand, I hope?"

Ateek nods again. The woman seems to be very serious on the topic, and it is extremely mindful of the fact that she can do magic, which means she is neither a Walokas or a Mylokas.

Mastala at least appears satisfied with this. She turns away and starts skipping like a little child, walking back up the staircase. Ateek follows her.

The entrance hall is lit by an array of gas lamps, sending a warm light over the wooden floors and paneled walls. At various intervals, portraits take up considerable sections of the wall, showcasing what appear to be figures from the history of different species: there's a lot of fur and a considerable reliance on black capes.

Ateek turns his attention back to where he is going as he reached the top of the stairs. There are doors lining the corridor he was walking along, some of which are ajar. It might be his imagination, but it seems that several of them twitch slightly, as though whoever—or whatever—is behind them is trying to get a better look as he passes by.