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I sat on a stool in the corner of the room, leaning forward with my hair hanging over the front
of my face. Behind me, a guardian named Lionel held a tattooist's needle to the back of my
neck. I'd known him the whole time I'd been at the Academy, but I'd never realized he was
trained to draw molnija marks.
Before he started, he had a murmured conversation with my mother and Alberta.
"She won't have a promise mark," he said. "She hasn't graduated."
"It happens," said Alberta. "She made the kills. Do the molnijas, and she'll get the promise mark
later."
Considering the pain I regularly put myself through, I didn't expect the tattoos to hurt as much
as they did. But I bit my lip and stayed silent as Lionel made the marks. The process seemed to
go on forever. When he finished, he produced a couple of mirrors, and with some maneuvering,
I was able to see the back of my neck. Two tiny black marks sat there, side by side, against my
reddened and sensitive skin. Molnija meant "lightning" in Russian, and that's what the jagged
shape was meant to symbolize. Two marks. One for Isaiah, one for Elena.
Once I'd seen them, he bandaged them up and gave me some instructions about caring for them
while they healed. Most of it I missed, but I figured I could ask again later. I was still kind of
shocked by it all.
After that, all the gathered guardians came up to me one by one. They each gave me some sort
of sign of affection—a hug, a kiss on the cheek—and kind words.
"Welcome to the ranks," said Alberta, her weathered face gentle as she pulled me into a tight
embrace.
Dimitri didn't say anything when his turn came, but as always, his eyes spoke legions. Pride and
tenderness filled his expression, and I swallowed back tears. He rested one hand gently on my
cheek, nodded, and walked away.