“For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.”
~ Ecclesiastes 1:18
ACT I
Chapter I
(8 years ago)
Year 2046
The bodies lay in front of him. His hands were covered in blood. The groans of the dying brought the crows, pecking away at the dead and dying. Flies already swarmed the bodies, feasting on the fresh meat. He hadn’t wanted this, but it happened nonetheless. He didn’t know what happened, but he caused it. Out of rage. Out of spite. Out of madness.
Interrupting the crows’ feast, he walked out into the street. One of the dying had his arms raised to the sky, posing as he died. A crow pecked his eye, and slowly pulled it out. The man’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He had no way to scream, as his larynx lay upon his chest. The crows had ripped it out leisurely, savoring the flavor of the man’s vocal chords. Slowly, the man's life ended, soul taken to whichever realm he had ended up in. His arms fell, and he took his last breath. He breathed a breath of sadness, knowing his family would be on its own now. He had failed them, he didn’t keep his promise of being safe. A tear formed in his eye, and though he passed away, the tear drew down his cheek as death's embrace wrapped him in its icy clasp.
As he continued his walk, he noticed the shadows rising from the bodies. The figure stole the shadows, and continued on his way. It wasn’t right, but he did nothing to stop him—for it was himself.
Realization dawned and reality shifted. The voice of one such gone called out.
“Get up!”
How could he possibly get up, for he was already standing? Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit him. The bile came spurting out his throat. It landed, splashing on the street, mixing with blood to create a brown thick liquid. It was a dreadful color.
“Up I say, you’ve got your inter—”
The ringing in his head cut the sound off. The ringing was loud, loud enough for someone to scream in agony from the unrelenting, neverending, high pitched sound that seemed to go on forever. He heard the wind whisper something, but it was unreadable. Incomprehensible.
Bubbly foam started to form in the cop’s mouth, much to his dismay. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, yet the world seemed to work against him. Much against his favor.
Once again, reality shifted. In his house once more, he stood at his parents door. The presence of something awful, radiating death and despair beyond. He didn’t want to open the door, for he knew that inside was something beyond horrific.
A single tear, much like the tear of the dead man butchered at his very hands, slid down his cheek as he grasped the door handle, imprinting his bloody handprint upon it. Slowly, he opened the door, to what seemed to be—
“What the—”
Garret gave Yoki a giant raspberry on his stomach.
Yoki laughed drowsily, shoving his father away from him. "Dad, stop!"
Thank god. It was just a nightmare. Again.
“Yoki, I told you two hours ago to get ready for your Academy interview,” his mother said.
"Up, Yoki!" his father said, yanking him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. The large, burly man wiped some of the drool on his son's face away with the edge of his sleeve.
"Go easy on him, Garrett," Yoki's mother admonished, ruffling the boy's hair. "Can't you see he was having a bad dream again?”
"I'll give him something real to worry about if he's late to his interview," Garrett said with a small, good natured grin.
As Yoki was let back onto the ground, he signed inwardly.
“Enough wasting time Yoki, you ought to be on your way already to your interview by now. Hurry and get ready, you can’t mess up today. You’re off to a drowsily start.” Stephaine spoke demandingly, contrary to the gentle grin on her face.
“I’m sorry, I was up all night studying Mom. I must’ve fallen asleep last night and slept through my alarm this morning.” Going to his dresser, he put on his clothes he prepared the previous night.
“That’s no excuse for a man, Yoki. You have to be responsible for things, otherwise the Academy will kick your ass.” Garett said, glancing at his watch. It read half-past seven. “I’ve gotta go to the station honey, I’ll see you tonight. Yoki, I expect to hear how everything went tonight so do well. I know you’re ready. You can do it son.” With that, his father exited the room after giving his mother a departing, passionate kiss.
If only I could be cut some slack sometimes, I wouldn’t feel so pressured always. All this work is catching up to me. Almost three all nighters in a row has taken its toll, I’m exhausted. Can I please just get some rest after this?
Yoki continued his thinking as he got ready, thinking back on everything. It all started that chaotic day, almost nine years ago.
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When Yoki was six, an event at school changed his life forever. An old storage room on the ground floor caught fire due to faulty wiring. The flames spread quickly, and soon they threatened the first floor where Yoki’s kindergarten classroom was. He could feel the heat intensifying, and the thick black smoke started to fill the room.
Panic erupted. The other kids screamed and cried, and even the teacher froze, staring straight ahead, paralyzed by fear. She had practiced fire drills, but this real-life emergency was overwhelming.
Yoki felt a strange calmness settle over him. He knew he had to act. “Quick!” he commanded, his voice steady. “Grab some wet paper towels and cover your noses and mouths. We need to stay low and head out the door to the right, into the hallway.”
“I’m scared,” one of his classmates whimpered.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Ms. Bos? She’ll tell us what to do,” another asked, eyes wide with fear.
“She’s coming with us. Right, Ms. Bos?” Yoki’s voice seemed to snap the teacher out of her stupor. “Yes, class,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. “We’re going to do as Yoki said. Out the door to the right and into the hallway.”
“Single file line,” Yoki said. “Everyone stay calm and follow me.”
The fire had become ferocious by the time they left the classroom. Yoki could hear it crackling all around him and tried his hardest to keep a brave face. Several students were coughing from the smoke that was everywhere now. He knew that the other kids would stay calm if he did—and if he seemed scared, they’d get scared too.
In the end, they all made it out safely—or so they thought.
Ms. Bos started to count the heads of the students. “Twenty-three, that can’t be right.” She recounted but ended up with the same result. “Who’s missing?” She called out, panicking. There were twenty-four kids in the class.
“Ms. Bos, Rachael went to the bathroom before we left,” stated a boy named Tony, quite oblivious to the severity of the situation.
Ms. Bos’s face went pale. “Oh no. . .” she whispered, her gaze falling upon the blazing school. Her eyes were watery, and suddenly she burst into tears. “It’s all my fault! I forgot to count you guys before we left the classroom!”
Yoki didn’t know Rachael very well, but she had talked to him on a few occasions. She was polite and confident, and many boys in the class had a crush on her. Yoki didn’t have to think twice before sprinting back towards the school. He wouldn’t let someone die. He had to try because it was the right thing to do.
He heard his teacher yell behind him, along with the chorus of a few other teachers and upperclassmen outside. He ignored them and rushed inside. Fire was everywhere, the smoke thick and suffocating.
Yoki sprinted to the girls’ bathroom, running at speeds that seemed impossible for a child his age. Rounding the corner into the bathroom, he saw Rachael passed out on the floor. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Just as he started to go, he noticed another girl slumped on the floor. He picked her up and hauled her onto his other shoulder. Taking one last breath, he sprinted to the outer door.
Stolen novel; please report.
The hallway was covered in smoke so thick he could hardly see. The smoke was so dense that if he hadn’t been holding his breath, he surely would have passed out by now. Still, he gradually made his way to the door he had come in from.
Just as he reached the door, the ceiling collapsed in front of him.
He dove, and time seemed to slow. Right above him was death, its hand out, ready to snatch his life away at a moment's notice. Each second seemed to tick by like an eternity, the dive to the outside world a journey of its own. Yoki closed his eyes, waiting to feel the pressure of the ceiling crush him. But he never felt it. Opening his eyes, he lay on the ground just outside the school door, both girls safely on his back. He had done it. He had saved their lives.
Both girls’ faces were covered in ash, but they seemed unhurt otherwise. Once the ambulances and firemen arrived at the school, they cleared the two girls as not injured, except for inhaling a lot of smoke. Some said it was a miracle. Others said it was sheer luck. In reality, it was Yoki’s courage that had saved their lives.
After that incident, Yoki’s father intensified his training. He would take Yoki to random places and leave him there, expecting him to survive and find his way back home on his own. Yoki was also given special missions and tasks to do: tracking down strangers without being seen, pickpocketing those on the busy streets of the city, and returning what he stole after snapping pictures as proof. These odd, demanding jobs were designed to challenge him in ways no child should have to face.
His father was testing him, that much was obvious. He knew Yoki was smart—genius even—but no seven year old should be as capable as Yoki was. One night, after Yoki came home from a mission, he overheard his father discussing his future with his mother. He heard his father say, "We know what the best option would be for Yoki—" but his mother interrupted.
"I don't want to think about that now."
They both knew Yoki would have a good shot at getting into the most renowned school in the world: The Academy. But the thought of sending him there was both thrilling and terrifying.
Years later, they finally told Yoki about it, and his journey toward becoming something extraordinary truly began.
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As his mother left the room after nit-picking Yoki’s every flaw in proper appearance, Yoki was finally ready to go. He put on his favorite newsboy cap, the one he wore almost everywhere he went. He had found the hat in the attic, and when his mother saw it for the first time, she smiled, saying he looked like her father. That was the only time he ever heard his mother speak of her father.
“Mom, I’m about to head off,” Yoki yelled as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing a banana before he headed off.
“Okay sweetie, make sure you’re safe as you go. They said the interview’s exams could be anywhere from two to seven hours, so call me when you’re done. I’ll start getting food ready while you are on your way back home. Fingers crossed!” With a final kiss on the cheek he headed off to The Academy’s nearest testing site.
Yoki knew something was off as soon as he stepped outside. The air seemed denser, and the typical sounds of Boston were deadly quiet. No cars were going down the streets, for it was completely empty at every intersection he passed.
Where was the morning rush hour?
Walking down Salem Street, he didn’t see a single person.
Very odd.
Where were the store owners and the tourists? Where was dog-walker Sally? Didn’t she walk Salem street every day at 7:30 sharp? He pulled out his phone. The time read 7:43.
“Shit.”
Yoki forgot about the oddly deserted Salem Street and started running to his destination. He now was focused on finding the building where his interview was at. He received a picture of a sketchy looking house the day before, with a single message on the back of the photo saying, “Examination Site.”
The Academy was well known throughout the world for its outstanding courses and programs, having some of the world’s most renowned people graduate from The Academy. The location of The Academy was unknown, the government keeping it disclosed from the public. The school ran off taxpayer money like a public school, except it received a much, much larger allotment. The exact quantity of it was unknown, but some say it was estimated to be around sixty million to seven hundred billion. Quite the wide margin, but you can’t pinpoint an exact number when you don’t know anything about the actual school; it was cloudy with mystery. Nearly nothing was known about it besides the alumni, and those who graduated spoke nothing of it. When interviewed, they said “that infomration is disclosed” with a stone cold face. Though, Yoki knew things about The Academy that many people didn’t know: it was a school that taught the lost arts—magick.
Yesterday, Yoki spent the day scouting Eastern Boston for the examination site but hadn’t found it. That left the entire Western side of Boston today, and he had only two remaining minutes to find it. He looked at his watch.
Scratch that, I have forty-six seconds.
His dad had shown him the spot where his own exam was held, yesterday. It was twice the size of the building he was looking for and was now being used as a clothing shop. It was also in London, not Boston.
“Zzzzz, zzzzz, zzzzz,” his phone chuckled. That was the alarm for 7:45. Damn, he’s going to be late. Not good, especially for an interview with the world’s most prestigious university. Deep breath Yoki, deep breath.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure moving into an alleyway. No, five figures. One seemed to be struggling about, but he couldn’t make out why. His instinct told him something was wrong, and that he needed to check this out. He jogged to the alleyway and peeked around the corner.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. There in the alleyway, stood four muscular men, harassing someone on the ground. Looking closely, Yoki saw that it was a young woman, not past her twenties. Seriously? First people he had seen all day and this is what he sees first?
Yoki strolled down the alley, letting his thoughts gather as he approached them. Those were four grown men, and he needed to take them on in order to save the woman. He couldn’t just leave her, that wasn’t in his character. No, he’d teach these bastards the face of karma, of justice. He knew he could probably take them, easily even. He started to get a rush of dopamine at the thought of taking on four of them at once. Outnumbered four to one, and they were almost twice his size. He loved these odds. His adrenaline started to kick.
Yoki flew down the alleyway at an incredible pace. One man saw him coming, but it was too late. Yoki struck him in the eye with his fist, and realizing he was still holding onto his leftover banana peel, he shoved it down the thug’s throat. By now, the three other thugs had noticed him. The thug on top of the woman had an expression of surprise and confusion, but regained his composure once he realized Yoki was only a child. The thug shouted an order to one of the other thugs. “Kill the damn kid, and Jeff too. The damn idiot couldn’t even take out a ki—”
Yoki's pocket knife plunged its way into the thug’s left eye, leaving the thug screaming in agony. “Kill that fucking bastard now!”
Nice throw, Yoki.
The thug choking on the banana passed out, and his comrades, or now enemies, rushed towards him. One was so ugly, Yoki almost gagged. He had an ugly scar running down his face, with his eyes practically bulging out of his head. Along with a nasty burn scar on his face, Yoki was holding back the urge to gag. Yoki named him Ugly Number One.
Choking down his bile, Yoki snapped out a kick for the closest thug’s groin, but the thug caught his leg and flung Yoki towards the other charging thug, Ugly Number Two. Ugly Number Two was missing both ears, and his face was shaped like that of a pumpkin.
These people looked like goddamn corpses! What the actual hell!
Ugly Number Two caught Yoki and punched him in the gut, making Yoki lose his breath. While he heaved on the ground, Ugly Number One started kicking him along with Ugly Number Two. Yoki sprung up, knocking his head into Ugly Number One’s nose, and clapped both of his hands in front of Ugly Number Two.
Yoki had begun martial arts training from his dad at the age of three. At age five he was as proficient as a 6th Dan Black Belt. At age eight, he was taught a move by his dad that stunned the opponent for a minimal time, using a faint amount of sphaeram (or as the ignorant call it, mana). You clap in a higly specific manner in front of their face—and making sure they are watching in order to fufill the sunderglyph (fools would call it a spell)—they would be stunned for around two seconds. It was called Echo Statsis according to his father, and the sunderglyph only exerted five sphaeram units—but only after fufilling the sunderglyph’s conditions. Most sunderglyph’s required conditions in order to cast them from the rift. Not much at all, though he wasn’t quite sure of his current sphaeram capacity. Two seconds was more then enough for him to destroy this nasty thug. Yoki whispered a silent thanks to his father who he loved firecly.
Yoki grabbed Ugly Number One by the head and flipped him using his own momentum. Now standing, Yoki shot out a quick jab into Ugly Number two’s face, still stunned. As Yoki jabbed, he took the opportunity to sweep out the thug’s feet, causing him to fall. With all four thugs now on the ground, now was his best chance to get out of there. Yoki ran, snatching the weeping woman from the ground and slinging her across his back. He dashed out of the alleyway as fast as possible.
A man in a pale gray suit grabbed his arm as he turned the corner.
“Took you long enough,” he sighed. “You passed the first test.”
“Huh?”
The woman jumped lightly off of Yoki’s back. She was no longer crying. Her face was enchanting. Gorgeous, beautiful, no word could describe her. She was stern faced, framed by short, severe bangs. She possessed the lightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. They were so light blue they would seem white from afar. When she looked at him, it seemed as if she was peering into his soul.
“Your Academy testing session has begun,” she said, voice teasing. “You did well. You clearly have potential. But you’ll have to do better than that in order to make it in. That trick you pulled won’t work against a trained Tearing.”
Tearings were sphaeram users he remembered, mind flaring back to the past when his father would lecture him about the magick system’s intricate workings. His thinking was disrupted when the four hoodlums filed out of the alley one by one. They looked completely different now that they weren’t making over-the-top thuggish expressions.
“Congrats,” the man Yoki had stabbed in the eye said to him. “You did well. Don’t get overly cocky though.” He waved his hand over his eye and when Yoki saw it again, it was back to normal. Completely back to normal—fully healed! Such ease with regenerative magick!
The four bowed simultaneously and walked off in seperate directions.
“They work for us,” the man said, drawing Yoki’s attention back to him. “I’m Greenfield.” He was tall and lanky, and paled in comparison to Indigo. His face was long, seemingly stuck in a permanent snear.
“And I’m Indigo,” the goddess of a woman said.
“Together, we run The Academy’s elite entrance exams. We make sure that only the best and the brightest are allowed in.”
“My dad said I was the smartest kid he’d ever met,” Yoki said stubbornly. “He couldn’t believe I could do what I did at my age.”
“That might be true,” Indigo said, “But there are always people higher up on the food chain, prodigies among prodigies. Genuiuses among geniuses.”
“Way, way smarter.” Greenfield said, seemingly irritated. He glanced at his watch, his foot starting to tap-tap-tap on the ground. “Your magick is pathetic. That move in The Academy would make you a laughing stock. That is one of the most basic sunderglphs around, hardly usable by any true Tearing in a fight. It isn’t strong enough per spaeram output against anything above a Sentinel.”
Sentinel was the second highest on the Tearing ranks Yoki remembered. He knew the nine ranks by heart. Initiate, Sentinel, Enchanter, Warden, Mystagouge, Archon, Sovereign, Ascendant, and finally, Eclipse.
“Okay,” Yoki said, disappointed. He’d wanted to impress them, even if it was unknowingly, but they seemed unfazed by his showing of sphaeram.
“Your next examination will begin shortly. Don’t be late.”
“What—“
But they were dissolving into points of light—teleporting somewhere. Yoki gawked. Where they were going, he wasn’t sure. But, he was beyond impressed, realizing the power of what trained Tearings possessed. He craved more knowledge and understanding of it. He was fasinated with it all, the sunderglyphs and the ranks. He knew there was so much more comlpexity to magick than that, but his father had only given him the basic info, saying he ought to learn the rest himself.
Coming back to reality from his thoughts, he became aware that he was still stuck in downtown Boston, and there was still no one else on the streets. It was creepy, ominous even. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he wasn’t in Boston at all.