Land of Heathens

Chapter 2 - The Examination Hall

Morning arrived too quickly for Navir. Sleep had barely touched him, Arisha’s whispered warning from the night before still throbbed in his mind like an unfinished threat: “Not again.” The weight of those words followed him into school, clinging to him more tightly than the anxiety of exams.

The classroom was already alive with quiet tension when he walked in. Sunlight pooled across desks, illuminating open textbooks, restless fingers, and nervous breaths. Even the familiar scent of chalk and warm wood felt sharper today.

Navir leaned onto his desk, elbows braced on the wooden surface, pulling a mildly large history textbook from his backpack. He forced his focus on the printed lines, though his mind kept drifting.

Across from him, Mehrak tapped his pen rhythmically, the sharp clicks echoing his impatience. “Honestly,” he muttered, rubbing his bald head, “none of this makes sense. How could General Kurt Albrecht take down a whole capital in four months? Four! Entire lineages, gone.”

Nimi leaned over her desk, her silver-black hair glowing in the strip of sun cutting across the room. “It wasn’t strength alone,” she said quietly, flipping a page. “He used our traditions against us. The laws, the ceremonies… everything sacred became a weapon. We were outmaneuvered by our own rules.”

Navir inhaled slowly. “And the stories they taught us? They leave out the failures. Maybe that’s why it feels impossible to understand.”

Behind them, Ardavan let out a dry laugh. “Relax. We’re the last students who care about this stuff. If anyone can pass, it’s us.”

Nimi didn’t smile. “It’s tragic. Every time I study this chapter, it feels like I’m choking on the dust of our ancestors.”

“We study to survive,” Mehrak replied softly. “To stop it from happening again.”

Navir nodded, but something strange caught his eye.

At the far end of the room sat Baasit, the dullest student in class, never cared, never stayed awake long enough to learn anything. Yet now… he was hunched intensely over his notebook. His pen moved rapidly, lines slashing across the page with unnatural precision. No pauses. No hesitation.

Navir frowned. “Do you see that?”

Nimi followed his gaze and blinked. “That’s… Baasit. And he’s… studying?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Finals will humble you,” Mehrak chuckled, but even his voice wavered.

Navir couldn’t shake the strange chill crawling up his spine. Something about Baasit’s rigid posture, the silent determination in his movements, it felt too controlled, almost rehearsed.

Curiosity outweighed caution.

Navir stood and approached him. “Hey… you really are focused today. What are you working on?”

His pen froze mid-stroke… his head tilted slightly.

He didn’t respond.

He didn’t even acknowledge him.

He stood, his movement slow and deliberate. His chair scraped loudly as he walked away without a word. He moved deliberately to the farthest corner of the hall, leaving his previous seat as if he’d been contaminated by the conversation.

But as he turned,

Navir saw it.

A faint, translucent crescent-moon mark at the back of Baasit’s neck. It gleamed softly, briefly, before fading back into near invisibility.

Nimi and Mehrak were too focused on Baasit’s sudden departure to notice anything unusual. “He’s… leaving?” Nimi whispered, brows furrowed.

Navir’s breath faltered.

“Did you see that?” he whispered, but neither had noticed.

Baasit sat calmly composed in his new seat, posture refusing the existence of the room. Whatever Navir had seen, he knew it hadn’t been a trick of the light.

Something was changing.

And Baasit was at the center of it.

Before he could dwell on it further, footsteps echoed through the corridor. Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Solari, entered with an unusually grim expression, followed by an attendant carrying a thick stack of exam papers. Nervous whispers died instantly.

“Settle down,” Mr. Solari commanded. His voice trembled, not with fear, but with restraint, raising his voice over the soft flutter of pages turning and the low murmurs of students muttering their last-minute memorisations. “This year’s finals will include an additional nationwide scholarship examination. Top 10 performers will earn full sponsorship to study abroad.”

A shockwave rippled through the room: gasps, shifting chairs, muttering students.

Mehrak groaned. “More pressure? On finals week?”

Nimi swallowed hard, her eyes wide. “This… changes everything.”

Mr. Solari continued, “Exam packets will be distributed now. Begin immediately.”

Silence thickened as papers landed on desks.

When Navir looked down at his question sheet, his mind went blank. Completely empty. Words dissolved the moment he tried to focus. His heart pounded, the room shrinking around him.

He glanced sideways.

Nimi’s lips were parted in disbelief, confusion clouding her eyes.

Mehrak rubbed his head in slow circles, muttering, “What, who set such questions…?”

Around them, the murmurs grew, low, scattered, nervous. But the clock had started ticking.

“Begin,” Mr. Solari announced.

Pens scratched. Nails tapped. Sweat gathered along temples. The classroom, moments ago filled with hushed tension, now felt like a boiling chamber of fear.

Navir swallowed hard and forced his hand to move, anything to break the paralysis.

But something made him look up.

Baasit.

His pen flew across the page in quick, precise strokes, no hesitation, no confusion. His posture was rigid, mechanical, almost unnatural. Then, without lifting his head, Baasit’s eyes shifted sideways.

Cold. Acknowledging. Warning.

Then his gaze slid back to his paper as if nothing had happened.

Navir’s pulse spiked.