Helena glanced around the area, studying the different tables and noted several faces. “Who are these people?”

“Eh—you could call them recruiters, passersby, and observers.” Booker said with a glance at a particular table in the back right. It had two empty tables next to it, making it the only table that no one wanted to sit next to. At the table sat Talim and Ben, talking to each other with small grins on their faces. They noticed Helena looking and Talim waved with a broad smile.

“Who are they?” Helena asked, studying Talim without acknowledgment. He shrugged and returned back to his conversation with Ben.

Booker chuckled lowly but waited for the butler that just exited the back kitchen to set a glass of water and some kind of milk in front of them before answering. “You’re quite receptive, little lass. I guess that’s a reason for the Boss’ interest.” He shifted and glared at the table in the back right. “Those fellas are the Dim Order.”

“Dim Order?” Helena questioned. Taking a sip of her milk, she was shocked to find how thirsty and hungry she truly was. The liquid was thick and pleasantly coated her tongue as it flowed down her throat.

“There are eight orders, in accordance to colors and each under one of the Eight Primes. The colors are Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Turquoise, Blue, Purple, and the Boss’ new faction, White.” He took another sip at his drink. “Most Primes send lower end members for recruitment as you can see around us, but the Dim Order … they’re considered the weakest Faction. So they like having higher end members choose who enters their Pride. That’s what they call their fold.”

“Pride,” Helena repeated softly as she stared at the two. “I assume their Prime is known as, Phantasm?”

Booker shifted uncomfortably and Helena felt his heart skip a few beats. “How’d you know that?”

“I encountered those two a little while ago.” She took another sip of her drink. “Do you know them?”

Booker’s composure was back as he shrugged. “I know most everyone in each faction.”

That was a rather obscure answer. Why not say yes or no? She put it in the back of her mind as she listened to the rest of his explanation. “You’re right, Phantasm’s their Prime. He’s truly dangerous, spontaneous, and quite often calms his boredom with merciless games; the Boss has some kind of grudge against him.”

Taking another sip of her drink, she set it down and asked. “And the other colors?”

“If you want to know about all the factions then we can start with Red, Cassandra’s Faction.” His eyes shifted to two teenage girls that sat at the table to Booker’s back, talking quietly among themselves.

At Booker’s words, they sniffed and leaned closer to each other. They were twins, but could easily be told apart by the scars on their faces and arms. They wore plain red dresses and shining crimson hard sole shoes.

“The Red Prime’s sect is known for their … passion. In fact, they call their sect Paroxysm. As I said, their boss is Cassandra.” Lowering his voice and head, he said. “She’s a violent woman, but she does truly love her recruits, sometimes a bit too much. She’s explosive with her emotions and is the third longest living Prime, as of the current seats, at the age of twenty-eight.”

“Then Primes have a high mortality rate?” Helena asked.

“There are only two ways to become a Prime and the main means is by killing the previous Prime of a Faction.” Helena nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Then there’s the Orange Group.” His eyes shifted to a table with the most people around it. Several people, two female and five males, were talking earnestly between each other. Helena found that each one of them seemed to have severe wounds.

“Never trust that group,” Booker warned levelly. “They call themselves Peace Makers. Mean to say, they do a fantastic job at keeping order in their own ranks. Their group is fairly small but filled with powerful espers. Their leader, Colin, is adamant about loyalty and stresses it in his group. Their motto is: Trust each other and no one else.”

Perplexed, Helena asked. “How do they recruit new members?”

“Well, truthfully, they only take people Colin can intimidate and, by that, meet his expectations. Meaning, he only goes after those he can blackmail, but that doesn’t mean he takes weaklings.” Booker said lowly. “That makes them all the more dangerous.

“Then there’s the yellow faction, Banana Glee,” Booker said with a glance at the table nearest the kitchen. There were three boys jovially eating their food while joking and talking about past experiences. “They may seem like they’re having a good time, but it can shift in an instant.”

They both sat and watched them for a moment as a butler brought Helena her food. Two pieces of buttered bread, a side dish of blueberries, slices of cheese Helena didn’t recognize and a strange type of meat. The butler took a set of silver wear off his tray and placed it neatly on a napkin left of the plate. He placed another napkin to the right side. Finished, the butler exited back toward the kitchen.

“Dig in!” Booker exclaimed with a grin.

Her stomach growled, but she first placed the right napkin across her lap and then began to cut the food into bite-sized pieces. An approving voice from the table a little beside Helena commented. “You have even more Western etiquette than Kara, a Noble’s manner!” She’d been waiting for his initiation.

Helena sensed a single person at the table. Placing the fork and knife on her napkin by her plate, she turned her head to greet the man. “Salutations.” Helena greeted, folding her hands across her lap while staring at the strangers light blue irises.

“Likewise.” The man said with a slight, but curt bow in his chair.

Helena noted his legs were crossed and he wore a sharp black evening suit. His polished brown burgundy shoes hadn’t a single scuff and his formal white tie was perfectly situated around his neck. The silver glint of an Augnecian style watch glinted underneath the slightly protruding white sleeve of his undershirt and a white encrusted diamond cane rested on the table beside him. He had closely trimmed black hair that showed no widow’s peak. His broad rectangular face fit his chiseled nose nicely. He was broad and muscular, filling out his suit well.

However, the most prominent article that caught Helena’s trained eyes was a broad platinum ring that faceted a type two-a diamond that Helena knew was precisely twenty-two carats; its pinkish hue glinting in the white overhead light. The Felorne family ring, signifying its Head, but why is Rephenald Felorne at a WITCH Base?

Peter’s earlier conversation popped into mind. WITCH is funded by parts of the Great Houses. So, the Felorne’s are a supporter. The Vandred and Felorne families were on speaking terms when I was kidnapped, but I doubt I’ll receive any help from this man. Even if I’m rescued, he’ll feign total ignorance. “Head Rephenald Felorne, I’m truly astonished to find your esteemed presence at a WITCH Base.” Helena bowed slightly in her chair with her left hand across her stomach.

Rephenald seemed slightly taken aback, but a wide grin spread across his face. “Stimulating.” He mused while studying her appearance. Helena noticed Booker’s slight discomfort as he stayed silent across the table. “Judging by the gesture, I assume you’re of higher birth and a part of a prominent Noble House, most likely a Great House.” He studied her for a few more seconds before his smile peaked. “Yes, I can see it now. WITCH seems to have changed your cheeks slightly, but you bear a remarkable resemblance to Head Elis and Lady Vesla Vandred.” Helena bowed again, acknowledging his statement.

“I don’t believe your House is a part of the WITCH project.” He ruminated. “Then again, I had no idea your House produced more than a single prominent heir.”

Helena didn’t let her shock show, but this was truly eye-opening. My parents kept my birth a secret from the other Great Houses, for what purpose? Her life suddenly made so much more sense.

“What is your name, child?” Rephenald asked.

“Helena.” She replied.

“Quite the powerful name for a Vandred to be given and a great responsibility, I’m curious if you’ll be able to live up to its expectation.” He mused thoughtfully for a moment, before saying. “I’ll have to speak with the President about your appearance. In fact, since he’s here … I might as well proceed there now.”

Helena quickly scooted off the chair as ladylike as she could manage and waited for Rephenald to rise. Lifting from his seat and grasping his cane, he gave Helena a slight nod. “Lady Helena, I take my leave.” Helena curtsied as he moved past her. Undoubtedly he’ll find out Drake’s WITCH’s contact. What will he do when he finds out I’ve been kidnapped? He’ll most likely laugh and continue about his business. He has no obligation in helping me and would likely enjoy the sibling betrayal, it’s dotted throughout House history.

Booker lifted from his seat and offered her the chair again, but this time he seemed pale. Helena took her seat once again and he scooted her in. Sitting back down, he stared at her for a few moments with scrupulous eyes. With a dry throat, he said. “I had no idea you knew Head Rephenald Felorne.”

“I don’t,” Helena stated as she prepared to eat again, “I merely recognize his position.”

“You’re a Vandred though, right? Of the Main House?”

“Yes,” Helena stated simply. “I’m the second in line to the Head.” At least, as far as I know, I am. With this latest incident, who knows, I may have more siblings. However, I need to concentrate on the present.

Helena’s attention was distracted as a commotion arose from across the room. A Banana Glee member had thrown their food across a butler’s face. The boy yelled. “I don’t think this is what I ordered, is it?”

“I’m sorry sir. I’ll fix this right away.” The butler said apologetically as he hurriedly cleaned up the mess and several more attendants stopped to help. He’s frightened for his life; it must be a dangerous occupation.

“Yeah, you better.” Another of the Banana Glee members said with a threatening glare that was filled with disgust.

“Hey, peels. Keep it down!” One of the female Peace Maker’s yelled.

“What did you call us!” The third Banana Glee member exclaimed.

“You know … peels ... like a banana or are you too daft to catch my witticism.” The woman replied with a high pitched laugh accompanied by the rest of her table.

“Say it to my face, cripple!” The third Banana Glee yelled.

A low and gruff tone from across the room Helena recognized said, “I’m trying to eat.” Helena followed the sound to a burly dark skinned man that was hiding behind a few other tables in the back right of the room. He was alone and his eyes weren’t even lifted from his plate. It’s that Major from the Green Faction. I thought he was leaving? He still wore southern clothing, but the shirt’s color had changed to a button-up blue shirt.

She was surprised to find both the Banana Glee and Peace Makers return to their own conversation with hushed tones, but angry glares were thrown at the man. A Major must be a big deal.

“Ah—he’s one of the Green Assembly’s, Suppressors,” Booker said softly. “And that one is a Major, so yeah … he’s the highest ranking SOP in the room, including myself.” Helena wanted to ask him his ranking but decided to let him continue. “Their leader’s name is Brock, the leader of the largest Faction in WITCH. He doesn’t really govern his Faction and lets them do whatever they want. Each of them fights each other to get stronger in hopes of killing their own Prime, survival of the fittest.”

The lifestyle sent chills down Helena’s spine. How can someone live like that? Well … I guess it’s more like the style of a Noble. You never know which day would be your last. “Does their Prime alternate often?”

Booker snorted, which caused a few eyes to turn to him, but they quickly returned to their own tables. “Oh—no! In fact, he’s the oldest Prime, almost in history, forty-eight. He’s never lost and has an extremely dangerous ability, even the Boss’ cautious of him, but let’s continue.

“Then there’s the turquoise assembly, also known as Shimmering Fiend. They’re the second largest Faction.” Brook narrowed his eyes. “Their leader Sevilla is a cruel and heartless woman. I’ve never met her, but from what I’ve heard, she’s quite the sadist.” Helena sensed a small twinge in his heart’s rhythm, it was a peculiar skip. She hadn’t sensed anything like it. It wasn’t like he was lying, but something else.

His eyes glanced over at the closest table of people sitting next to the Dim Order. A single man and woman, they weren’t talking or looking around. They were staring at the table in front of them with sullen expressions, cups meant for tea on their table.

“I hear they never smile unless they’re committing an act of torture,” Brook whispered with disgust. Helena’s brows furrowed as the same twinge shifted in his heart. She kept it to herself as she sat quietly eating her food as Brook talked. What are these twinges? Maybe they have something to do with his ability? She stared down at her mostly finished plate. The meal truly is good.

“Finally, there’s the Blue Cluster. Their leader’s name is Eizea.” Helena set down her utensils at her name. Oh … but, of course, Eizea would be a part of WITCH. It makes sense that she’s a Prime. Booker leaned back and stared at the table in the center of the room. The table had a single man and woman. They seemed to have perfect eating etiquette as they talked. Helena knew these two had been watching her closely since Rephenald’s exchange.

They were dressed in the Noble fashion of the west, a style she was well accustomed to. The woman had faded green eyes, a long face, slightly curved nose, and large lips. Her medium length sturdy bright blonde hair seemed dyed from black as her roots indicated and worn straight, but flared outward at its end.

She was wearing a blue satin dual-layer cut sleeve dress with an open curved neck showing gleaming emeralds and her large curves. The dress shifted colors from dark blue to faded white in the center and back to its previous darker sheen at the hem.

Light blue heels situated around her delicate feet, and a single emerald toe ring was worn around her left middle toe. Her right hand was bare but had an emerald inlaid bracelet on her wrist. Two opal rings sat on her left hand's index and ring finger.

The man had shining black hair that was combed to the right side. Thin eyebrows, a pencil nose, thin lips, and smooth skin hinted that he could have been born from the southwestern areas of Elesveeve, Deity territory. He wore a silk black collared button-up undershirt and a black tie that was neatly positioned but was mostly covered by a dark gray wool Paletot overcoat. The overcoat had long sleeves that ended at his wrists. Its collar was flared outward and had a long V-shaped cut. It had no breast pockets, but two pockets on both sides near his stomach. His silk black pants were closely fitted to his legs and black hard soled shoes were polished, reflecting the overhead lights.

“You’ll probably get the most pressure from those two,” Brook mumbled. “They’re a gold-collared bunch, well pretend Nobles. They like to pride themselves on being great, but it’s only their leader that’s a true Noble of a Great House.” His eyes glanced at the table Rephenald had been sitting at and Helena finished his sentence.

“Their leader is Eizea Felorne. I’m well acquainted with her profile.” Drake had done an extensive course on the Primary Houses but had focused greatly on the Felorne Clan. Eizea was the next in line to the Felorne Head position. She was nineteen years of age, tall, had black hair like her father, light green-eyed like her mother, and dangerously powerful. Drake had said she was arrogantly blind when it came to her own mistakes. That she blamed everything on anything besides herself and she was very obsessive. She’d been told Eizea’s ability was to manipulate gravity, a Gravitokinetic. Helena picked up her cup and took a taste.

“Yeah, now that they know you’re an actual Noble … they’ll push fairly hard. So, be prepared when they corner you and try to convince you to join their coven.”

Helena thought deeply for a moment, setting down her cup and staring at the remains of her food. “Then I presume that I’m not a full initiate into Kara’s fold?”

“Well—you see it’s kind of the initiate’s choice to pick a side to fight for.”

“Fight?” Helena questioned, her eyes darting up to lock with Booker’s glasses.

“Well—most initiates don’t get the full run around like you are,” Booker whispered while clearing his throat. “Usually an initiate would join the first person who showed interest. WITCH is a dangerous place like that and it’s rare for a Faction Leader to take interest in a new Esper. Also—you see—you kind of got shot up a few levels.”

“I jumped up a few levels?” Helena asked with a frown. I was right to assume that I advanced past normal WITCH initiation.

“You see, your first test was to determine if you could become a part of WITCH. The second, however...”

Helena cut him off. “Was to determine my eligibility for the SSOP program, correct?”

Booker almost leaped out of his seat before hurriedly moving closer to Helena and several eyes shifted her way. “N—no, where did you hear about that? That’s a top secret, even in WITCH.”

Helena hummed and cocked her head to the side. So, I still have to go through more tests to be considered a part of this SSOP program. Then what is this contest for? Just to be considered a part of these Factions?

When Helena didn’t answer, Booker sat back with a sigh. “Anyways, this contest is to determine your eligibility to the SOP membership—with style, a spot in the different color sects, you choose.”

“What about the SOP initiation program?” Helena asked.

“Well—that’s the unorthodox thing. Kara got special permission from the President himself to skip you by SOP training and throw you straight into this year’s contestant lineup—even past the initiation ceremony.”

Helena narrowed her eyes as they returned to her food. So, I’ve jumped several stages to take part in some kind of competition and competition means losers. With WITCH’s standard methods, I guess failure is death. She scanned the room’s eating guests and this time paid close attention to their scars. Did they receive those wounds during a competition like this? Will it be a mission-based test or death matches with other contestants? Maybe even against already active SOP members.

“I can’t tell you about the competition itself as it changes all the time, but I can warn you that you have two days before deadlines hit and twelve hours after that to fully prepare, including picking a side.” They’re forcing me in with quite the deadline.

“Most of the contestants have been personally training for two to three years for this … so be ready for a heavy fight, but they are still novices compared to SOP veterans. They come from the streets of Genesis.” Judging from Ben and Talim’s ability as SOP, these contestants should have a decent grasp of their capacities. More than me it seems, especially considering what I’ve seen Kara accomplish.

“Not only that but over the next two days, you’ll be cornered by the Prime’s recruiters. As I said, Eizea’s group will be relentless, which actually is a good thing. It means that most the other Leaders won’t be interested in fighting both Kara and Eizea for you.”

“No, I doubt those two will approach me, but I think you’re partially correct,” Helena said with confidence as she looked over at Eizea’s representatives. They were finishing their food and leaving the cafeteria quietly.

Booker lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Helena watched their exit with little interest. “I assume they’ll contact Eizea as soon as possible and Eizea will come to meet me in person.”

“Are you sure?” Booker asked skeptically. “The Primes are a very busy bunch. Even Kara couldn’t be here because she has duties as a leader of a Faction.”

“We’ll have to see,” Helena replied absently. There was no doubt in her mind. Eizea will personally come and speak with me and I expect at least one other Prime to make an appearance. With how Booker’s painting their rivalry and what I know so far about Kara’s faction. They will definitely be interested in me, enough to come personally and try to convince me into joining them. The true question is … what I’ll do?