First Time They Met
1983 Words
The countryside gradually surrendered to forests, then hills, until civilisation seemed to dissolve altogether. Mobile reception vanished sometime after midday, followed shortly by every familiar landmark any of them recognised. Conversation quietened as students began looking through the windows, curiosity slowly replacing excitement.
“There,” Benjamin said suddenly.
Evelyn followed his gaze.
For the first time, Blackridge appeared.
It did not resemble a school.
It resembled an estate that had forgotten where history ended and architecture began.
Grey stone towers rose above ancient woodland, connected by sweeping bridges and wings added by different centuries that somehow formed a harmonious whole. Tall gothic windows reflected the afternoon sky like polished glass, while climbing ivy embraced sections of the outer walls as though it had been growing there since the kingdom itself had been young. Beyond the main buildings stretched immaculate gardens, ornamental lakes and distant fields where riders on horseback crossed open countryside beneath rows of ancient oak trees.
Benjamin let out a low whistle.
“..Well.”
Alexander closed his book.
“No photograph does it justice.”
Evelyn could only nod.
She had expected grandeur.
She had not expected Blackridge to feel almost intimidating.
As though the building itself had already decided whether one belonged inside.
The train slowed gradually before disappearing beneath an enormous iron-and-glass station built directly into the grounds of the Institute. Uniformed staff waited along the platform while older students moved with practised confidence, greeting one another after the summer holidays as though returning to a second home.
First-years, by contrast, emerged carrying luggage almost larger than themselves, their expressions shifting rapidly between excitement and barely concealed panic.
Evelyn stepped onto the platform.
The air smelled faintly of rain and old stone.
Everything suddenly felt very real.
A woman wearing deep green academic robes addressed the arriving students, welcoming them to Blackridge before directing the First Course toward the eastern courtyard for registration. Hundreds of children began moving together through archways and across wide cobbled paths bordered by gardens that looked as though they belonged in history books.
Benjamin walked backwards while talking.
Alexander repeatedly reminded him to face forwards before he collided with something expensive.
Evelyn laughed.
Then she heard voices ahead.
Not loud.
Confident.
The crowd seemed to part without anyone asking it to.
She looked up instinctively.
Six students, all approximately their age, stood near the fountain at the centre of the courtyard, evidently waiting for someone. Unlike the bewildered first-years surrounding them, they appeared entirely at ease, as though the Institute already belonged to them.
At the centre stood a dark-haired boy whose posture carried the effortless composure of someone who had never questioned his place in the world.
He was speaking quietly to a girl beside him.
The others listened.
Not because they had to.
Because they chose to.
Benjamin noticed where Evelyn was looking.
“..Well,” he murmured. “I suppose that’s them.”
“Them?”
Alexander’s expression became unreadable.
“The Ashcombes.”
For a brief moment, Evelyn failed to understand why the atmosphere around them had shifted so abruptly. The courtyard remained just as crowded as it had been seconds earlier, voices still echoed beneath the stone archways, and somewhere nearby an older student laughed loudly enough to draw a dozen curious glances. Yet the closer they came to the fountain, the more obvious it became that the flow of people had changed. Students instinctively stepped aside, conversations lowered by a fraction, and those who had already gathered around the registration tables seemed to glance toward the same small group before continuing on their way.
No one had announced their arrival.
No one needed to.
“They’re first-years too?” Evelyn asked quietly.
Alexander nodded.
“So I’ve heard.”
Benjamin leaned closer, lowering his voice with theatrical seriousness.
“My brothers gave me one piece of advice before I left.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“‘If you ever meet an Ashcombe,’” he recited, “‘don’t start a fight unless you’re absolutely certain you’ll win.’”
Evelyn frowned.
“That sounds oddly specific.”
“It apparently came from experience.”
“I don’t suppose they explained.”
“They refused.”
He paused.
“Which somehow made it worse.”
The six students by the fountain were impossible to mistake for anyone else. Even among children dressed in identical uniforms, there existed a confidence that tailoring alone could not create. They were speaking quietly amongst themselves while several older students stopped to greet them in passing, despite the obvious difference in age. The girl standing beside the dark-haired boy accepted the attention with graceful ease, offering polite smiles that never lingered longer than necessary. Another boy — tall, broad-shouldered despite his age — laughed loudly at something one of the others had said before immediately falling silent when the dark-haired boy spoke again.
No one interrupted him.
Not once.
“Which one’s Ashcombe?” Evelyn asked.
Benjamin looked genuinely surprised.
“You can tell?”
“I don’t know.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“I just..”
She searched for the right words.
“..have a feeling.”
Alexander followed her gaze.
“The one in the middle.”
It should not have surprised her.
There was nothing particularly extravagant about him. His uniform was no different from everyone else’s. His dark hair was neatly combed, though not excessively so, and he stood with one hand resting lightly against the stone edge of the fountain as though he had all the time in the world.
Yet there existed something undeniably self-assured in the way he occupied space. Not arrogance — not obviously — but certainty. The kind that could only belong to someone who had spent his entire life being told exactly who he was expected to become.
“That’s Cassien Ashcombe,” Alexander continued quietly. “His father’s the Duke of Ashcombe.”
“And one of the richest men in Europe,” Benjamin added.
“My brother says half the companies in London somehow lead back to his family.”
“My father says that’s impossible.”
“My father says nothing’s impossible if enough money is involved.”
Evelyn studied the boy from across the courtyard. He couldn’t have been much older than herself, perhaps even the same age, yet there was already something unusually composed about him. While the students around him shifted their weight nervously or glanced about in curiosity, Cassien appeared perfectly comfortable beneath the attention he attracted, acknowledging greetings with little more than a nod before returning to his conversation.
It struck Evelyn, rather unexpectedly, that he never seemed to seek attention.
He simply expected it.
“Do you know the others?” she asked.
Alexander nodded toward the elegant girl standing nearest to Cassien.
“Celeste Beaumont.”
“The Beaumonts own..” Benjamin frowned thoughtfully.
“..something enormous.”
“Shipping.”
“Right.”
He pointed discreetly toward another boy, whose hands remained tucked casually inside his blazer pockets.
“Damian Montrose.”
“And the one beside him?”
“Adrian Ashford.”
Benjamin lowered his voice even further.
“My brothers said they’re practically inseparable.”
“The four of them?”
“Mhm.”
“What about the other two?”
Alexander glanced toward the larger boys lingering slightly behind the group.
“I don’t think they’re actually friends.”
“They’re always around, though,” Benjamin replied. “Apparently they follow Ashcombe everywhere.”
“Why?”
Benjamin shrugged.
“Some people mistake proximity to power for power itself.”
Before Evelyn could respond, a clear voice echoed across the courtyard.
“Alexander Harrington.”
All three turned.
An older gentleman wearing dark academic robes approached through the crowd with measured steps, a silver registration ledger tucked beneath one arm.
Alexander straightened immediately.
“Good afternoon, Professor.”
“Harrington.”
The professor inclined his head politely.
“I trust your journey was pleasant.”
“It was, thank you.”
“My regards to your father.”
“I’ll pass them along.”
The exchange lasted no more than twenty seconds, yet Evelyn noticed something curious. The professor’s tone carried unmistakable respect — not merely for Alexander himself, but for the name he bore.
Once the professor had continued on his way, Benjamin let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I’ve known you exactly three hours.”
Alexander closed his eyes briefly.
“..Ben.”
“And already professors recognise you by sight.”
“My father taught here.”
“That explains absolutely nothing.”
“It explains everything.”
Evelyn remained silent.
She was beginning to understand.
Blackridge was unlike any school she had ever imagined. Teachers already knew which families their students came from. Older pupils greeted eleven-year-olds because they recognised surnames. Conversations paused when certain people appeared. Wealth mattered, certainly, but heritage seemed to matter far more.
For the first time since leaving home, an uncomfortable thought settled into her mind.
Perhaps earning a scholarship had simply granted her permission to watch a world that would never truly accept her.
“First Course!”
The announcement echoed across the courtyard.
“Registration begins immediately.”
Students began moving toward the marble staircase leading into the main hall, dragging trunks behind them in an untidy procession. Evelyn reached for the handle of her suitcase, only to discover Benjamin had already picked it up.
“You don’t have to —”
“I know.”
He grinned.
“My mother says good manners cost nothing.”
Alexander looked at him.
“She also says you should stop interrupting people.”
“..She does say that.”
They started toward the entrance together.
Halfway across the courtyard, movement from the opposite direction caught Evelyn’s attention.
Cassien and his companions were approaching the same staircase.
The distance between the two groups closed naturally until only a few feet separated them. Students instinctively shifted aside to allow both groups to pass, though whether out of courtesy or habit Evelyn could not tell.
She kept her eyes forward.
It would have been easy to walk past unnoticed.
It almost happened.
Then Benjamin’s suitcase caught on an uneven cobblestone.
The heavy trunk lurched sideways.
Its metal corner struck another case with a loud crack that echoed through the courtyard.
Books spilled across the stone.
Several students stopped.
Benjamin froze.
“Oh..”
One notebook slid directly to the polished shoes of the boy walking at the centre of the approaching group.
Cassien Ashcombe looked down.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then, without the slightest hint of annoyance, he bent to retrieve the notebook.
His movements were unhurried.
Almost elegant.
He brushed an invisible speck of dust from the dark cover before glancing at the name written neatly across the front page.
Alexander Harrington.
Grey-blue eyes lifted.
The polite expression remained unchanged.
“Harrington.”
It was not a greeting.
Merely an acknowledgement.
Alexander stepped forward.
“Ashcombe.”
Neither boy smiled.
Neither offered a hand.
Around them, the courtyard seemed strangely quieter.
Cassien held the notebook for another second before extending it back toward Alexander with impeccable courtesy.
“I believe this belongs to you.”
Alexander accepted it.
“It does.”
“Then do try not to lose it again.”
The words, on their own, sounded perfectly civil.
Yet something in the faintly amused tone transformed them into something else entirely.
Not quite an insult.
Not quite kindness.
Simply the sort of remark that lingered in one’s thoughts long after the conversation had ended.
Cassien inclined his head once — whether out of respect or habit, Evelyn couldn’t tell — and continued toward the staircase without another word.
Only after he disappeared into the hall did Benjamin finally exhale.
“..Well,” he muttered.
“I think I preferred the rumours.”
- Writer
