Temora sat there in the administration hall for what she felt to be the entire morning. In reality, it was only the time it took for the secretary to get ahold of the prodecan, half a beat at most. The chair was uncomfortable and had inadequate padding. Its wood pressed into the lowest point of her thighs. “Why didn't they just pull one of the student desk chairs?” she whispered to herself in the silent room. They were full podleather, all of them. Thick and conforming. She stood from the chair as she refused to cope with the discomfort any further. She preferred to stand anyway.

In the empty room, she stood, staring at the rows of cabinets full of paperwork, student histories, and other records. Many of them were letters of recommendation, a requirement for college admissions. Temora's letters of recommendation were all signed long ago throughout her school years. Due to her father's tenure, she didn't need to go out hunting for them.

Faintly, steps were audible down the hall. She had not heard anyone else come through since the admissions officer left, so they had to be coming to meet her. Turning a quarter in a single step she held her left wrist from behind her back, and straightened her posture. First, the heavy-footed admissions officer trudged through the doorway. “Good, you are still here.” he bellowed as he passed her into the office without making eye contact. Temora maintained her forward gaze “I had no reason to leave sir.”

“Already bailing on us novice?”, the words came from a man with a deep stern voice and a very dark complexion, like roasted coffee. With a stare ahead, much like hers. His head turned to meet her eye to eye. “No. No sir.” Temora winced with concern for her near future. “You can relax novice, I'm here to show you to Falken's study.” he motioned cutting his hand through the air toward the door. That same hand approached her outreached. “Teved Moro, Lecturer Rising 2nd”. She relaxed her stance and clasped his hand firmly “Temora Fayn, Novice 1st”. He released the grip and again motioned toward the door for her to follow.

With the formalities out of the way, the walk to the study was less unsettling than she imagined it would be. They reached the marble stairs that went up to the administrative studies, they were on the fourth floor, so two more flights of stairs. At the top, the stairs emerged into a large, open, and round room with many branching offices along its circumference. The center of the elliptical room itself contained some well-upholstered cloth couches, potted plants, doors, and nothing else; not even paintings.

Their destination was obvious. It was a set of windowless, solid doors adorned with intricate carvings. These carvings depicted light radiating from the source cast over a cityscape and multiple full crescents; the national symbol of Argentis. Around the room, on each pillar, hung the silver-color flag of Argentis and its white full crescent.

“Please wait here, I'll see if they are ready for the interview.” he motioned toward the fine seating at the center of the room she was not going to use. He opened the door, and bowed toward the people inside, half out of her view. There was more than one person there. Of course, there would be. She had imagined up to this point it would be a one-on-one discussion with the prodean, but in retrospect that no longer made sense.

The door opened again and lecturer Moro motioned for her to approach the door. After crossing the doorway she was succumb by a panel of pressuring eyes. They introduced themselves immediately, “Barovin Clandoleka, Professor Rising 2nd”, giving with a clasp to her hand as would be expected for all of them. “Temora Fayn, Novice 1st.” she sheepishly produced from habit. “It's nice to meet you Temora, I'm Shamel Soelle, Merited Professor.”, kindly from a middle-aged man with a stunningly manicured salt-and-pepper beard complete with mustache. “Oh, thank you for your service, sir.” Temora smiled, thankful to have some baseline support during this ambush.

“...and I am Sovelt Falken, Prodean of Admissions here at the Cloudushen College Campus.” he shook her hand with a firm clasp and rapid release. With startling focus, he returned to sit at the desk to begin questioning. “So.” he looked down at the student history paperwork. “You are the daughter of Merited Professor Keyt Fayn, is that correct?” he clarified as he fixed glasses to his face with only two fingers of his left hand.

“That is correct sir.”

“Do you think that entitles you to special treatment at this campus?” the prodean delivered this banter with a face of indecipherable emotion.

“The opposite sir. I expect my actions to be under a high level of scrutiny.”

“That is more true than you know miss Fayn. Given your father's tenure in the colleges and universities, we take extra-ordinary detail in monitoring your actions.” He lifted reams of papers to his desk. “For most students, we require a short written report from their superiors gradly, eight times a year. For you miss Fayn, those reports have been written twice a week since grade one.”

There were no words she could share to express her astonishment. She knew that she was monitored more than her other classmates, and they were not clandestine in their surveillance. It was overt and stressful. Often she was called on by instructors to provide answers to questions in favor of other students. When writing reports after grade eight, she always felt her work was judged harshly compared to her friends, who were the ones who pointed it out to her.

The silence keyed the prodecan to continue. “Merited Professor Soelle was tasked with reading over these eleven-hundred pages of reports.”, as he slapped the top of the stack of papers. “I would like to hear his opinion on these records.” as his gaze moved from the young woman, toward the professor beside him. The salt-and-peppered man in the grey uniform stepped forward. He scanned the room slowly until his eyes met with Temora's, adopting a scholar's cradle.

“I have to say that I am quite impressed with your performance over the duration of your tutelage here at the academe.” The professor reached across the desk to pull at the corner of a seemingly random page of the stack of documents. “Here is a fine example. At the time Instructor Rising 2nd Poljand wrote many glowing reviews of your schoolwork in grades seven and eight. She told us that you ‘were diligent enough’ to ‘keep your work turned in on time’ and ‘regularly corrected mistakes’ made by herself and other nearby students.”

Professor Soelle handed the letter to Temora with the flourish of action that expected it to be read. She skimmed through it quickly, page by page. “These reports were supposed to be short.” she thought as she flipped the pages over. Most of the reports she’d seen were handwritten. This particular document was typeset and seven pages long.

“Today she has given careful consideration to help another student who was struggling with a mathematics problem related to distance and navigation.” That was eight short years ago. She briefly reminisced about that particular event, and the problem associated with it. Everyone in the class had trouble with it because it required a look up table for trigonometric functions. That single problem is the only thing that the class covered that day.

“As you can see miss Fayn, you’ve received that special treatment regardless.” Sovelt, humorously grabbed a paperweight and set it upon the stack of reports while he orbited the desk in search of another object. “The only request made by your father before he left for his duties was to ensure your academic success. I hope that we’ve met his expectations, and yours.”