AWAKENING

ANGEL: ONE MILLION

…

| Winged Varsity Angels HQ. Las Vegas, Nevada.

| 9:26 AM.

| Pearl’s Room.

Pearl’s father would always tell her that the hardest part of any day was waking up for it, but when he said that, he didn’t mean it like physically waking up from sleep. He meant a more spiritual, convoluted kind of waking up, stemming from the soul of an individual rather than the opening of their eyes. The feeling of laying in bed, on a time limit, dreading the idea of having to force yourself into a predetermined flow for hours at a time that you likely couldn’t change; getting through that was what he meant, and through the soul would you find the power to do so.

Gathering the strength to fight for your world was what made that struggle so worth it to Pearl’s father, and Pearl herself had learned to cherish that sentiment for as long as she drew breath. It was a code that she lived by both personally and professionally, and a code she taught to every single person that worked under her as well. That, despite the undeniably positive nature of the message, was quite ironic considering Corallo was assigned to actually wake her up in the morning.

Do everything in your power to make the world a better place. That was the code of the Winged Varsity Angels.

Pearl’s morning routine would always be the same, barring some minuscule changes in her wake-up process to help keep it from being too repetitive or too intricate. Waking up, brushing her teeth, doing her hair—which Corallo always helped her with—and spending at least twenty minutes to an hour at a computer assigning tasks to the employees that worked under her.

From then on, it was alerts at any time they came in, paperwork she’d put off until the day after its delivery, and watching her butler, well, butler his way around the requests of different individuals with an efficiency and grace that only he could make look easy. Heck, Pearl was the Winged Varsity's Acting Captain, and she still wondered how he did it so well.

March 9th, 2021. In comparison to the earth that sat a universe across from them—March 9th, 871–that was the date set using their time instead of the more traditional quadratic formula. This was for the sake of not getting anyone confused between the time zones of separate universes, so that by 10:20 AM, Pearl’s docket was full of whatever she needed to do today to keep the workflow chugging and stock prices bumping without pause.

She hated the intricacies of their business ventures, though; that was for the team of secretaries, accountants, and tax inspectors who she specifically hired for that purpose. Why send it to her? So she could send it back down directly? But it had to go up so that it could reach her in the first place, which defeated the purpose of just sending it to the secretaries, accountants, and tax inspectors while they were closer in margin to the people receiving them.

She hired someone for that too! Multiple people, actually!

Nevertheless, Pearl scrolled her emails, clicking random buttons on the side of her mouse while reading along with whatever she saw that she deemed important. It was usually just questions from those who worked under her and requests that she could pass on to different teams of interest—Infantry and Calvary for militaristic measures, Bio-Nuclear and Chemical for scientific means, Recovery Aid Forces for humanitarian relief, and all of the subsidiaries that sat within those same departments.

Not much was calling for her to give an immediate response, but nothing was so unimportant that she could skip it without passing it on. For once, everything was actually worth reading today, and thanks to a cup of coffee that sat comfortably in a coaster to her right, her volume in scrolling and well-thought out responses picked up a considerable pace the further down she went.

Everything she read was directly assigned in her name, and when all the specific stuff was passed down to those who specialized in it, a message came along that had actually hit her email a week prior to Pearl seeing it. It was from her little sister Dreida, who upon the Acting Captain registering that that was indeed her who sent it, plastered a smile on the face of her big sibling that only grew wider once she opened it. But despite that smile, Pearl was confused. An email? Dreida…had her number. Why didn’t she just text her?

Oh. She did. Sixteen times, in fact. Pearl set a reminder to turn off Work Mode after the day was done.

This email, like most other things that her sister would send her, was “bedazzled” in a way that not even someone with the name “Pearl” could stomach without cringing. She didn’t know if Dreida had some latent programming ability or something, but the background of the email was a faded pink-purple, with a text font so “Dreida-ish” that her sister was certain she either learned how to do it in secret, or paid far too much money to access considering the animated stars falling from the sky along with it. The stars didn’t mean anything, but it was clearly something Dreida would do.

If she was going out of her way to buy digital trinkets that she could flex through emails, at least she was getting paid well enough to bounce back from her financial decisions by Riley. Pearl kept the Rabbit Torjin and his crew on her mind enough to regularly email in for a check-up, and made sure to thank him for taking that Half-Torjin with the dagger off their hands last week. “It’s no problem. We’ve got it from here.” Was all she got back after a paragraph of praise, and yeah, it wasn’t much, but she honestly would have been worried it wasn’t Riley responding if it wasn’t monotone enough to where his voice practically came through the text.

The hardiness in his tone was just one of the many relics that brought her back to when they were dating—it reminded her of a time in which Riley was more optimistic and heartfelt than stoic and prideful. Pearl wished that he could go back to being that optimist from all those years ago, but understood why he couldn’t afford to anymore.

She was the first person he told about what happened in Nimbus Rose. As soon as they had come back from the biggest opportunity of their lives, Riley’s home was burnt to the ground. He disappeared for a year after that, and only showed back up to introduce his little band of freedom fighters and give the name of the people who took everything away from him.

Even after what Riley described as the worst moment in his entire life, he was able to find people who all fought for the same cause as him. Heck, one of them was someone that Riley and Pearl have known for years, and the other was Pearl’s sister, so she wasn’t that surprised. But despite that, Pearl’s mind couldn’t track back from the way he carried himself back then. How everyone did, actually, back with the crew she used to run with. It got her really thinking. How long has it been? She remembered in detail what tore them apart, but that love was still there, right? It had to be.

Were they really “torn apart” in the first place? Or were they just victims of circumstance? A group of nine Battlemages who traveled the world at the behest of her old captain—a man who passed down the position of Acting Captain to Pearl, and once sat in that same chair that she was sitting in now.

That man’s name was Belleck Faire, and three years ago, he was the seraphim of the Winged Varsity Angels.

…

| Three Years Ago.

| 3:19 PM.

| Nimbus Rose Village. Riley’s Childhood Home.

“You’re overthinkin’ it, kiddo. If it’s too bombastic and over-the-top, then it won’t sound like you.” Zolin instructed Riley, pointing around at all the accessories on his letter. Whatever…this was, came off much less like a composed boyfriend being romantic, and more like a scrambled newcomer trying too hard. “Ya’ gotta keep it simple so it comes across easier.”

“But wouldn’t that be boring?” Riley pouted in response.

“You’re the one flyin’ her a letter instead of texting her back! Don’t stress out over a few words on a page, Ri. Just be yourself.”

Riley sat beside his father on the highest balcony of their three-floor home, its interior in the midst of a major renovation at the hands of his mother and their in-village construction team. His dad, Zolin Virtruso, was the first of his family to be made aware of a girl his son had been spending time with, hanging out with her during and after school, and even skipping one time specifically to see her.

Today, though, was special. Riley went straight into school and came straight home without interruption, and not even five minutes after returning did he get a text from this girl, asking him on a date. Judging by the fact that his father had teared up from the thought of his flesh and blood finding love, there was no doubt in Riley’s mind that this girl was the one in a string of “one’s” that never seemed to really work out in the past.

He was throwing together a proper response that wouldn’t be “boring” in his eyes, deciding against texting her and instead opting to fly her a letter for dramatic effect. His dad couldn’t believe him, but then again, this was the same son of his who had grown up with his heart on his sleeve and a more romantic nature to his personality than the rest of his siblings—so, despite what he believed to be a rather unnecessary attempt at further wooing someone who was already into him, Zolin helped Riley put the letter together and sent it by owl to wherever this girl lived.

“You seem pleased with the result. A boy becoming a young man.” Zolin chuckled as he nudged Riley in his side. “That said, you haven’t been as transparent with me about this girl as I’d hoped.”

“What do you mean?” His son would inquire.

“Well, for starters, all I know about her is that you go to the same school, share two classes and a lunch period, and she and Xavier share a Battle Agent who just so happens to be the WVA’s head honcho. Big stuff, yeah, but I’m gonna need to know something more…I don’t know, namely?” Zolin asked of his boy.

Riley scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I already told you her name, dad.”

“…You did?”

“Wh-huff-yes! It’s Pearl. Her name is Pearl.”

…

Hi.

I don’t even really know how to start this, but I doubt the start of a letter this important really matters in the grand scheme of things.

You really don’t know how incredible you are.

How kind, how intelligent, how thoughtful, how talented.

You’ve taught me so much in such a short time, and you’ve been there for me in times where even though I knew I wasn’t alone, I still felt that way. You were there.

In a way that I wish I knew how to put into less words, my answer is yes. I’d love to go out with you today.

Is it okay if I tell you I love you this quickly?

-Riley

…

its fine. You coulda just texted me though, dummy

i'll find us a spot and we’ll go get ourselves into some trouble. i have to bring my BA though, so i hope you don’t mind a plus one. or two, if xavier comes along

and dont worry about it. we can take it slow, and im more than willing to lead us on if you still need time to adjust

i love you

-Pearl

p.s: i know damn well you didn’t write this by yourself, mister “c in english.” 🩵

…

Riley couldn’t think of a single instance in his transitioning period where he actually enjoyed wearing a binder. It was tight, strapping, and suffocating at times, but necessary for the sake of making him feel like himself past what testosterone pills and patches could do for him. That said, he was completely aware of the injection method as well, but Riley…was afraid of needles. So, he stuck to the method which left him most comfortable, and did so while his mother helped with his binder along with him taking the second of two pills on his schedule today.

“Do I need anything else?” The boy inquired.

“Do you think you need anything else?” Redra asked back. Riley didn’t anticipate that question, but his mother did, even while occupied with a full house renovation. She spoke once more after a short pause, looking her son over.

“You have your phone and your wallet, so essential stuff is covered. You should probably take your pills too just in case, since I don’t know how long you’ll be out for.” She delivered a tiny nudge to her son’s side with her elbow after speaking. “Any gifts you may or may not have gotten her?”

“It’s…weird. But, yeah, I got her a gift.” Riley seemed bashful in his admittance.

“Best not be anything illegal, Ri.” Redra playfully warned him.

“It’s a blindfold, mom.”

“….Why?”

A deafening silence filled the air, soon interrupted by a dramatic gasp from Riley’s mother.

“Riley!” She’d exclaim, causing her son to begin stammering and waving his hands with flushed cheeks.

“Nonono, mom, it’s not—“

“If your siblings find out, that’s gonna get brought up at dinner forever.”

If Pearl could see Riley’s face right now, she wouldn’t be able to tell him apart from a fire hydrant. Alas, he shook off the cobwebs and rolled his eyes once his bearings came back. Thank the Spirits that his siblings wouldn’t be home for a while. Karla especially.

“It’s for her powers. Nothing…like that.” He’d explain. While his mother was glad that Riley wasn’t getting up to anything “unethical”, she wondered just how complex this girl's magic was if she needed to blind herself for the sake of using it properly.

“Sensory deprivation as a magic enhancer?” She’d ask. Riley responded with an affirming nod. “I really don’t wanna have to explain how it works mom, we’ll be here forever if I do.”

“No need, no need! I’m not worried about that. All I want is for my son to come home safe, and when he does, I wanna hear about everything that he and this girl got up to while they were out there, showing the world what they were made of.” Redra cupped her son’s cheeks with her hands, allowing her thumbs to massage along their surface while she pressed a kiss to his forehead. To think that this was her child, someone who had never let anything stop him and was finally being rewarded for his due diligence with such a connection. “I’m so proud of you, Riley. I always have been, and that’s never going to change.” She told him.

It was enough to make her cry, and Riley saw it coming before the tears even welled up. He laughed and hugged her tight, doing so while giving a glance towards his father who leant against a nearby doorway behind them. This was between a mother and her son, and after helping the kid write such a corny letter, Zolin knew that he had done enough to justify keeping himself out of their moment.

Once Riley walked out of that door, it was up to him. Date or not, all his parents could ever ask for was for him to protect that little boy they raised into a man. Was he still working on it? Yeah. But he wasn’t going to be alone. They’d be with him every step of the way–and so would Xavier, judging by the fact that he was actually waiting for Riley out on his front porch. He dangled a leg off the railing and looked back at the other boy, grinning happily.

“You’re actually coming with?” Riley asked his Shark friend.

“Of course I am! Mr. Faire’s my Battle Agent too, you know. If I impress him while we’re out there, I’ll get bumped up to an B+ in Field Operations.” Xavier informed.

“I thought you were a straight A student, Xavier.”

“Getting caught up in a home-made lab for a week and losing track of time does something to your grades.” He admitted, shrugging without an inch of shame and getting a tiny laugh out of Riley. The boys took their first steps into Nimbus Rose’s shopping district, having just left the housing center and eyeing the entrance as it opened up into markets and stalls. They weren’t going to buy anything as both Torjin’s had prepared for this trip just hours prior, and with it came an infallible confidence that only seemed to grow stronger in each other’s presence.

They passed through the shopping district and out towards the front gate, having called over two guards to open it up and wish them well on their journey. Neither Xavier nor Riley had any clue as to how long they’d be gone for, but if push came to shove, they had each other. They had Pearl. They had Belleck. The world was their oyster from the moment they stepped over that white line at the gates center, and both boys were more than ready to show it what they were made of. Riley Virtruso waved goodbye to his home, and Xavier Calisco left right along with him.

…

| The Present.

| 10:46 AM.

| Corallo’s Classroom. Just Under Pearl’s Office.

Sifting through his textbook and proof-reading his lesson in real time, Corallo counted up in ‘mississippi’s’ knowing he had at least a minute before these kids started zoning out. Good thing he had a passable memory, as when he got to page 126 of the book and overlooked his students, the Fox Torjin began to recite what he had spent the past hour teaching with a new set of words. Well, it was more like an expository, but it was clearly something he was passionate enough about to remember so well.

“By the time all of you had been born, there was a very real chance that everything we’ve talked about today had been categorized as ancient history. Depending on where you stand, a hundred years could be considered a really long time, or no time at all, but to come to a conclusion that legitimizes both arguments, you’d have to take into account everything that we’ve documented about the Silent Zen so far.”

His lesson for the day was like any other that he’d give these kids. It was interactive, opinionated, and entertaining in a way that made them almost forget that they were learning something in a classroom. Corallo was using this topic of discussion as an excuse to dump a bunch of history onto his students, basing their interest off the question of if the reign of the Silent Zen had blurred the lines between taking your time, and racing through life. What had their rule over earth done to change the average person’s perception of time? And how did that affect the next generation of society?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“You’d have to look at their merits as if you don’t already know them, and recontextualize their actions in a way that makes sense on both sides of the curve.” Corallo began. “Has that much time really passed since they were put to the sword? Or did the effects of their rule make it seem as though no time had passed at all?”

A hand was raised from the third row back.

“Takichi?” Rallo picked him out.

One of the Torjin’s more reserved students, who, despite his quiet nature, had a track record that put most of his classmates to shame. Takichi was one of only three Sentinels in his twelve student class, and out of those three, he was the only Druid. Someone who carried around two longswords had devoted most of his talents to healing those he worked with, and with a majority of his recent missions coming back with a 98% success rate, it was no wonder most of his colleagues turned to him when he chose to speak up.

“Is it true that the Silent Zen were always evil?” He’d ask. “Like you said, they didn’t get in the way of the conflicts that came up between humanity, but they’d do what they did for the sake of preserving the planet at large.”

“That depends on your interpretation of the word “evil”, Mr. Saoto.” Corallo replied, turning to his chalkboard and scribbling down the points his student had made. “Do you consider them evil for not assisting us during say, the Black Plague? Or do you consider them benevolent for stepping in when the Great Depression put thousands out of work? Contextualizing those points you’ve made with the passage of time as our basis is what will allow us to make more progress as we continue learning.”

Another thing that made Corallo a good teacher was the fact that he’d always keep his students wondering about their questions. He was less about giving them a single, definitive answer to their queries and was more interested in allowing them to find their own conclusions that helped them shape their own opinions. It was his job to prepare them for what awaited outside this room, so he considered it taboo to jut his thoughts and feelings onto them without any consideration of another side. Takichi was only one of the many examples he had of this, but the girl sitting next to him seemed much more dead-set on what she could consider through her professor's words.

“It's not like their motive was a one-track mindset. Maybe they had something else they weren’t telling people before they bit the dust.”

Kassara Iban. She was nobody special in terms of performance or ranking, but was good enough to pass and quite talented with a minigun. Corallo loved that girl's work ethic, but was a tad concerned at the idea of her swapping from a Slayer Juggernaut to a Magistrate Juggernaut next semester as she had once inquired of him. Magic bullets were not something he was equipped to deal with. And from a minigun, no less? How does she even carry that thing?

“Do we know if they could even talk to us? Was a link like that ever established?” Takichi asked his fellow student, leaning his head on his desk with a small shift in the way he sat.

“We don’t, which is exactly my point.” Kassara leant back in her own chair and shrugged, its plastic groaning against her pressured weight. “There’s nothing stopping us from assuming that their benevolence or malice, whichever way you look at it, was just a front for them to keep something more important under wraps from humanity. Besides, how much of the truth do you really think they’d tell if time was passing differently because of their rule?”

Both Vollands traded reasonings and brought a smile to their teacher's face in the process, prompting Corallo to turn and begin jotting down more bullet points about their topic of discussion.

“Allow me to bring us back into an objective viewpoint with the Silent Zen, strictly off the facts we can confirm are set in stone.” He’d begin. “They were a trio of deities who existed on a plane higher than humanity itself, and ruled over multiple facets of existence uncontested for one million years of human history. That was, until the Six Heroes arrived from nowhere and revealed the truth of their malevolent rule. Can anyone tell me who the Six Heroes were by name?”

Not expecting a question to come so quickly, Takichi and Kassara were both caught off guard and rose their hands in tandem. Corallo laughed at their sudden jolt and turned his gaze towards a third student who was rocking in her chair with her feet up on her desk.

“Lio?” He’d put her on the spot.

“Sure.” She replied. “Vietro Garmedia, Cross Saliphere, Motley Osiris, Amelia Novastar, Glast-341, and Dastilia Koribashi.”

“And how exactly did they bring down the SZN?”

“By activating the Encrypted Brake on their Astral Weapons, to utilize the full potential of their “god-given” weapons.”

Lio Iris wasn’t a bad kid, but had a real mean streak of centering her attention onto things that weren’t relevant to the class. Her teacher recognized these behavioral patterns in some of his other students, and came to the conclusion that it may have just been ADHD. So, he provided the girl with a Rubix Cube and gradually watched her soar, her interest in his lessons growing at a methodical rate, while her mood and admiration for the class picked up in droves as well.

Now, Corallo was no doctor, but recognized immediately that she focused better with something in her hands, no matter how much she may have tried to hide it or how long the line of progression went for. Especially considering her role as a Magistrate Sentinel, it would often fall to her to carry her fellow students on her back—sometimes literally. Getting Lio to focus up from time to time was paramount, and through his whims had he found a way to help her move onto that path.

These kids knew their stuff, had been paying good attention to everything Corallo said, and were more than ready to move on in this course. All that was left was to put a staple on the things they spoke about, and the Fox Torjin couldn’t think of a better way to do so than the last question he planned on asking them.

“What are the Six Heroes “officially” named according to the textbook we are sourcing from in this lesson?” He asked in a wide range. Almost the entire class piped in to give the same answer.

“The Seraphim of Winged Varsity.”

“And who are we?”

“The Winged Varsity Angels.”

…

| 100 Years Ago.

| 11:51 PM.

| The Silent Zen’s Domain.

“Get up…get up!” Cross ordered himself. “Vietro! Hold on!”

The lessons that his leader placed upon him made sense now. Everything Cross was told had meaning. Their lives, their position, their duty, it all made him feel something, and in that moment, where he once couldn’t understand the drawn out lectures and long, quiet walks, did he realize that it wasn’t about the power they had, or the glory it brought. It was about them, as people, and how the last of the Silent Zen was about to take them away from him. Cross couldn’t let that happen.

Amelia Novastar was cradled in her leader's arms, looking up at the crashing starlight and falling skies that couldn’t drown out his cries no matter the volume. “This isn’t happening.” Vietro thought as he held her. “Why her? Why couldn’t it have been me?” But she shushed him. She shushed him, ran a bloodied hand over his cheek, and watched as a golden arrow plunged into his spine, lamenting that their love would never find its chance to blossom further. But it didn’t go through. Cross made sure it didn’t. Not him too.

“CROSS!” Glast shouted in grief, having to be held back by Dastilia and Motley both.

Who else but him would take such a hit for their leader? Who else but Cross would do something so selfless for Vietro? Who else would allow their life to be taken for the man who gave up his life for the universe and beyond? The truth was, nobody else would. Nobody else could. They were fighting for the future, after all—for what they had, and for what they wanted to see grow. There was a whole new world out there waiting for them, and once the Silent Zen were dead and gone, they would have the right to explore it as they dreamed.

But Cross? Cross was fighting for what stood in front of him, behind him, and around him. The now. The present. The chance to give those important to him the future in his vein, and cherish what it offers at the cost of not being there to see it. He didn’t care, though. Not in the slightest. An arrow was jabbed straight through his chest, and with a smile, Cross made one last request.

“…Live.”

…

“As stated,” Another voice spoke. “Your vessels will awaken with your souls and memories intact, under the assumption that you lose your lives against the Silent Zen. Where they are and how they will awaken is out of our control—all you must know is that they are completely hollow bodies made up of 50% natural DNA, and 50% pure magic energy. Oh, and on a footnote about the memory thing; there’s no guarantee you’ll keep all of them when you wake up. But that’s a bridge for you to cross when you get there. Now, go. Save humanity.”

…

| 96 Years Later.

Whence I woke, a peering light flashed before my eyes. I thought, for a moment, that it didn’t work. I believed for a second that our contingency had fallen flat—that we really and truly failed humanity, despite our efforts. But I accepted it, in the second that passed. I thought of that failure and the accomplishments that led to it, and came to terms with the idea that even though our efforts had come and gone in vain, I would reunite with my allies amongst the clouds and stars of a brighter tomorrow.

But it was nothing like that. Instead, it was a bunch of drills, digging out my vessel into the world above. That light was nothing more than the sun shining through, and I rose my hand to block its rays from my eyes. Near the bottom of my peripheral vision stood an oil-covered and gear turning woman, shouting orders behind her back to her subordinates as they pulled me from my slumber into the coating light of the outside world. Where was I? Why’d my vessel wake up underground? Did they know who I was, perchance?

“I’ll set ‘em down! Close the gap in case there’s anything down there!” The woman barked, having personally taken the waking vessel in her hands and dragging them out of the underground. Her men honed in on what was still an open wound in the earth, and worked in tandem to seal it back using dirt-painted tarps and magic sealant courtesy of their Auspices.

From the number of individuals surrounding the area and the drills and contractors that laid out their workspace, it could be gauged that this was an excavation effort starting from the entrance of a mineshaft and digging down into its interior. Whatever these people had found down there—boxes of minerals and gems aside—nothing they had pulled up from an off-mentioned two-hundred and fifty feet underground had their attention like Cross did.

Now, granted, he wasn’t entirely conscious yet, but he was able to gaze at the sun and the sky without his eyes needing to squint to make it possible. His look shifted over to the woman who dragged him up from the mine, and she grinned at the sight of the guy still breathing.

“There ya’ are.” She belted out behind a Scottish accent. “Do you have any idea where you are, sir?”

“…No.” Cross admitted. The girl was starting to get worried.

“Do you have any idea who you are?”

“No.” He answered again.

“Oh dear. Well…Let me catch you up to speed. How about we start with introductions? For our sake personally, and my sake legally.”

That made Cross laugh. It was the first joke from the first voice he had heard in almost a century, and whoever this girl was, the fact that she was willing to make such light of something dire showed itself as a positive while a chunk of his memory was missing. But he remembered his name. In that moment, he remembered his name.

“…Cross.” He said.

“Ooo! Fancy stuff, there. Jasmine. Jasmine Viatolo.”

…

| 1:17 PM.

| February 9th, 864. / February 9th, 2014.

| Orias Corp. HQ. An Industrial High-Rise In Bonnyrigg, Scotland.

Jasmine had a reputation amongst her crew of engineers for being the most focused and no-nonsense worker out of all of them; she would often be the one to organize their contracts, and gauged how they progressed before reporting it to her superiors. Realistically, she didn’t have the jurisdiction to take charge in such a way—especially considering the kinds of people she would answer to—but this was the same woman who had such a brilliant mind that she was able to manufacture a completely new type of magic; one that had only been tested twice to insurmountable success. Her reputation alone for achieving something once thought unthinkable gave her that kind of rein to pull in, and though she wasn’t complaining, it wasn’t like everything she got didn’t come at a price.

Though such promise got her both the praise of Orias Corp’s Head Administrator and a five dollar raise, the expectations put onto her as a result of her impressive feat were bumped up like a stock price, which gave her pause to uphold her duty to the point where it became less about work as a career, and more about work as her personality. That was the kind of work ethic that put Jasmine Viatolo at the top of her game, and even more so to the point where she was considered for a spot amongst the Battlemage Committee despite being quite vocal about the negatives of her newfound publicity.

The BMC though, as they were often called for convenience sake, were a rather evengeliac group of folk. Not evengeliac in the religious sense, but evengeliac in a different way. A way, specifically, that Jasmine felt needed a few changes before she’d ever even consider taking up such an important spot. Alas, as someone who was deemed so important that she was given the luxury of a room inside Orias’s office building instead of a cubicle, she often felt so high above those she congregated with that she couldn’t find the chance to express these thoughts to anyone who’d listen. Her reputation, clearly, didn’t help much either.

Until she met Cross. Somebody with no obligation to Orias Corp. besides being a guy she dug out of a mineshaft earlier that week. To her, that was a relief.

“In all honesty, Jasmine,” The Bear Torjin began. “I don’t really know what to say to you. I’ve only been “alive” for three days–all this stuff about the BMC and the politics surrounding them isn’t something I believe I can give my two cents on just yet.”

Cross was speaking from the comfort of a cushioned chair, rocking back and forth in the padded seat with a blanket over his shoulders and cocoa in his hands. Jasmine paid for it, didn’t mind paying for it, but was going to remind Cross every chance she got that when he eventually found a way to make some Ronin, he was duly obligated to pay her back. Jazz, on the other hand, wasn’t drinking anything herself despite the weather calling for something to warm her soul, and instead leant over the windowsill of her room with a pipe dangling off her index finger that she rose to her mouth to take a quick, zen-inducing hit of. Cross took note of the fact that ever since she got promoted, her smoking habit had started to pick up in frequency. He was rather concerned, as most of her peers would be if they found out Jasmine smoked in the first place.

“I don’t need you to try and contribute, C.” She replied as the pipe left from between her lips. “All I need is someone to listen, and you seem real good at that. The BMC…They’re…”

“Hold on.” Cross stopped her. He shimmied himself out from under his blanket and stood up with a final sip of his cocoa for good measure. Putting the cup down, the man would saunter over to Jasmine and turn his back to her window, leaning against it and standing beside her while she got lost in her thoughts. The toll of her new position was starting to show itself to the only person she thought could understand her, and Cross felt that the best way to remedy such a specific kind of pressure, was to do the same thing for her that she told him to do when he returned to the land of the living; take it slow.

“You’ve been rambling to me without any direction since we started talking. Don’t overwhelm yourself. Start from what it is you want me to hear.” The full blood told her. Jasmine’s ears–specifically the bunny ears that came from being Half-Torjin–gave a small, understanding wiggle in line with the fact that Jazz had actually put her pipe down to take in the cool, outside air instead of cigarette smoke. In the month that’s passed since she got promoted, she forgot what it felt like. What it made her feel like. She could actually hear herself think for once.

“...The BMC–The Battlemage Committee–are the single most powerful government force that exists in our society today.” A bit of “pre-promoted” Jasmine was starting to come out in the way she spoke. “Studies have shown that in a line of ten people who live in the modern day, at least six of those ten are either established Battlemages, or Battlemages in training. The best of the best in this hypothetical group of ten are contacted by the BMC, and are told that they have been selected and put into a ballot with a list of other Battlemages to vye for a position of power.”

Now Cross was picking up what she was putting down. Just earlier, Jasmine was ranting and raving about how the Battlemage Committee needed a complete reset, but now? She was leading into what it was she wanted to say instead. It reminded Cross of…of…someone. He couldn’t exactly remember who.

“This leads us into our society's mission structure. Every mission that a Licensed Battlemage takes is graded through gemstones and numbers–for some reason–and each gem represents two things; how dangerous a mission is, and how much Ronin you’ll get paid for completing it.” Jazz continued. “From least to most on that spectrum, it goes Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, and Emerald, all numbered from one to three in their own respective ranks. This means, for example, that a Bronze-1 mission is the least dangerous operation you can take with the least amount of pay, while an Emerald-3 mission would be the most dangerous possible with the most amount of pay as well.”

If there was one thing that couldn’t be taken away from the BMC, their sense of organization was second to none in how to run things within the world they lived in.

“Most Battlemage’s would agree that taking Silver-3 to Gold-1 missions is the best for longevity, but if you want to get noticed? Anything Platinum-1 or above will put your name on the map.” Jasmine relayed. “Battlemages themselves are ranked the exact same way, too, just without the numbers.”

From here on, Cross was going to start asking some questions. These were to keep the conversation flowing well for Jasmine’s sake, but also because his own curiosity was starting to pique the further she got into this rant of hers.

“You said those who are contacted by the BMC are put in some kind of ballot, right?” He’d ask her to start.

“Mhm.” Jasmine replied.

“What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s less of a ballot, and more of a competition.” While continuing to explain, Jasmine pulled back from the windowsill and went across the room to put out her pipe in a small holder.

“A hundred Battlemages are put on a list, and their positions on that list fluctuate depending on multiple factors–mission performance, reported behaviors, schooling, other random stuff, etcetera–at the end of every five years, the top six on that list of a hundred are invited to take a spot on the Battlemage Committee, but if anybody declines, they go further down the ranks until they find enough people to fill all six spots.”

Cross could only wonder why it was called a “ballot” when it wasn’t that at all. Probably for marketing.

“Three of those six take up the title of Saint Bishop, two of the six are given the title of Grand Marshal, and the last of the six, all the way up at the top and just underneath the owner of the BMC themselves, is dubbed “Lord Emperor.” Publicly, these chosen six are referred to as the Vice Cavaliers, and are singlehandedly–well, fourteen-handedly–responsible for every major decision and event that happens in Battlemage society. Their leader, whoever they are, is titled the Immortal Captain. A little tone-deaf, if you ask me. And that’s the problem. That’s why there needs to be a change.” Jazz finished her expository rambling and turned at the sound of a knock coming to her door. Five knocks. She knew who that was.

“Come in!” She called to them, watching the doorknob be twisted and pushed open with a small creek. A Greystar-Volland with a small slip of paper in his hand entered the room—who else but Jazz’s boss would walk right up to Cross in all his moody, broody glory and hand him something that could potentially change his life, or in his case, start it?

“Excuse me, Jasmine. I don’t mean to interrupt.” He gave his apology to a shrug in response, closing the door gently behind him. Jazz didn’t mind, especially knowing that he wasn’t one to waste time like that. “Now, Cross, I’m not gonna beat around the bush. You’ve shown us quite a bit of promise in your journey so far, and in just three days, we’ve been more than impressed with what you’re capable of...Orias Corp. could really use someone like you–fresh in the world, and with potential to the moon. This may seem sudden, but I'd like to offer you a certain position on our team.” Volkart said.

“I’m…no scientist, sir.” Cross replied through an awkward chuckle.

“No, but you can fight, so you know what I’m offering. The choice is yours.”

…

My lack of memories kept me from finding any familiarity in my own latent prowess. Volkart saw something in me that I didn’t understand, and even with the tutelage of the best Battle Agents Orias could afford, I felt like I was the only one out of the loop as to what made me so special. This “feeling” I couldn’t recognize–it was akin to Jasmine's former ramblings, as she felt that I was the only person she could confide in for her post-promotion troubles. I wasn’t bound by any connections or obligations like she was. Hell, that lasted even after I got hired.

Now, I had been made out to return the same sentiment, doing so as I trained under my teachers, and reforged my identity day by day. Slowly, I was starting to feel like myself again, and memories aside, I saw what it was that they saw in me thereafter. I was doing so well, in fact, that in just one year I had acquired the credentials to gain my own License as an officially sanctioned Battlemage. But in that moment, when it was celebrated, it didn’t…feel right.

Despite knowing exactly who I was, the moment I got my license, I went right back to square one. Nothing was coming to me as naturally as it once did, and picking up a gun turned into a chore when a year ago, it was second nature. I had always preferred to fight at a range, so I was given a number of rifles from fully automatic, to marksman, and so forth, but none of those weapons ever compared to a sniper.

The patience, the discipline, the sound of your breath being held and the squeeze of that trigger; using a sniper rifle forced me to learn at the highest possible level I could achieve, and at first, I thought that my contempt for the weapon was a result of the passage of time. Just a case of not feeling it anymore, I concluded. That perhaps, it was time for a change. But then all my memories came back.

A year after awakening in a new body, made for my soul, all of my memories came flooding back to me. As you may expect, Jasmine… promptly lost her shit upon finding out that my sharing of a name with one of the six heroes wasn’t a coincidence. Alas, she swore on her life not to tell anyone of my identity, and came up with a fake surname for me as I still hadn’t had one even while I was licensed. Garrison. From that day onward, I was Cross Garrison. It started off as a placeholder, but I liked it so much that I decided to keep it on me for real. Let me tell you, it was much, much better than what I had a hundred years ago.

But this is about the woman who gave me that name, for Jasmine still had yet to elaborate on her vision for the BMC, and the changes that she felt needed to be made for it to flourish. Knowing her, she was more than likely to take whatever chance she got to talk my ear off, and what better time to do so than on a Platinum-1 mission that took us all the way from Scotland to a different planet entirely?

Jazz went out of her way to put me in contention for a mission that would take us to Pluto; humanity's designated treasure hunting hot-spot, far off in the known solar system. Specifically, we were to recover one of the Six Heroes’ long lost weapons, which had recently been discovered to still be intact and was the second of the two that Earth’s people had found after we made the Silent Zen eat dirt a century ago. These weapons that we once wielded are called Astral Weapons, and which one did she want me to get so badly? Mine, from a century ago, which I only found out right before we were sent off was a sniper rifle. So that’s where I get it from.