The third day at Hierrsé wasn’t completely horrible. Just a few scoldings, six red-marks, and a talk with the guidance counselor whose name escaped Taní. One who only sported a single eye color. Weird.

He half-expected Innes to mock him for his cowardice, but all the boy did was shoot him an irritating smirk.

On a scale of one to ten, he’d rate it a passable day.

Taní rushed to join Lavisa for Lavisa, but on his way to the food bar, he sensed something…off. Something from above. An undeniable tug. As if a great specter from above had cast its line and caught him. He stayed the course, his heart set on having another wonderfully one-sided conversation with the princess, yet its hook sank deeper, and his thoughts melted into an incoherent puddle of white noise.

Before he knew, he was back in his dorm. His legs striding without his command. He pierced the window and carefully climbed up the roof until he slipped past the thin set of silver streamers at the Joint’s front.

A beefy aroma dashed Taní’s senses. Floral talt from southern Harusto enriched the comforting stock, the fresh, zesty accent of a peculiar citrus from northern Déqom lingered like a pleasant aftertaste, and…was that a hint of sugar?

The Nimmian stood in the kitchen with his back turned to Taní, drawing out a lump of roast decorated with vegetables.

Instead of questioning him like any ordinary human being would, they ate, laughed, and talked about the day. Taní reminisced about his teachers’ disappointment, though he really only remembered Yedevar’s terrifying lecture. Maybe because he didn’t need to scream to care Taní.

“You know what you need?” Jaster said in between bites.

Taní nearly choked on his response, and after pounding on his chest to assure the bite would go down, answered, “What?”

“You need a good excuse.”

“For what?”

“For when you ditch, Aisenstadt. You can’t just not show up; you need a good lie. Else they’ll know something’s up.”

Taní looked at him, confused. “Wouldn’t me not showing up already tell them that?”

“No no. You need a good excuse. A buncha lies to feed’em so they won’t question you,” Jaster smirked.

“I dunno…”

“Alright, how about this: I don’t show up for a day. What do I do? Tell them I was sick. Not dodgy, right? They want me to get a note from the nurse’s office, so I tell them I’ll do it after class. Go on with the rest of my day, see them the next and tell them I forgot. You know what I do next?”

“Pay off the nurse?” Taní assumed.

“No.” Jaster shoved another forkful in his mouth. “I tell them I’ll go, use the lavatory for a tif, then walk back in. Tell them she’s on break. Do this enough and they’ll get so annoyed they stop asking for notes!” He flicked his fork at him. “Remember, Tan-Tan: Make them so bloody mad they won’t ask for another slip.”

Taní anxiously picked at his food. “Won’t that cause more trouble than it’s worth?”

Jaster smirked. “You sure you’d rather upset master Sanrevelle?”

“W-Well…”

“Great, then that’s all settled.”

Uncertain of how to respond, Taní finished the rest of his meal. He turned his mind elsewhere. Specifically, the facts he had learned in his Juneacão History course. Such as the origins of how the term came to be.

Following the Desolator’s defeat at the hands of Tygenna, the Gaoler, and Architect of the End, warriors and thinkers alike—aligned with the Slumbering Maiden—found themselves blessed with her abilities. Bestowed by none other than Tygenna herself, of course.

King Bastino I—the founder of Coratão—knew not of their true names, but after his discovery of the sky castle of Histell, found in the archival cells a most peculiar record. One that mentioned the sealing of a great evil, and the spontaneous invasion of the Black-Star. Believing themselves to be doomed, the scribe lamented. Longing for the bygone preservers of life to bring stability to their abandoned world.

A fact Taní found rather odd, since Tygenna always watched over them.

He did think it appropriate that their founding king be the one to anoint his soldiers with said title, because if it wasn’t for him, then the ways of the Juneacão would’ve remained dead and forgotten in that old sky castle. Sure, the surrounding nations boasted Juneacão of their own, yet their secondhand methods and codes did not stem directly from those of the old ones.

“Hey, Tan-Tan,” Jaster called, “how’s your House? Like any of them?”

Taní froze. As tempting as admitting his blunder was, he wanted to save himself the embarrassment. Besides, a few white lies never hurt in the end.

“I dunno,” Taní admitted with a bored murmur.

“Have you sat with them yet? Plenty of the fourth-years and up don’t seem to care about sitting with first-years from what I’ve heard,” Jaster said.

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Taní winced.

“Heard even the treasurer is on the nicer side. Might even be the youngest in Academy history to hold the position. She’s really protective of her older brother, though. Thought it’d be the other way around, but…” Jaster shrugged. “Dunno. Quirky in their own way. Just hope those rumors aren’t true.”

“Rumors?” Taní leaned in. “What rumors?”

“You know.” Jaster waved his fork around.

“No, I really don’t.”

The Nimmian glanced at the hallway, almost as if he expected someone to be eavesdropping, but when no one showed, he tapped the prints of his thumbs together.

“I have no idea what that means,” Taní admitted.

“Ah, forget it. Nothing important, anyways.”

Taní read the timepiece in the kitchen. It was the first hour of the afternoon. He still had thirty minutes to kill.

Taní ran through a mental list of his classes. Literature was (unfortunately) the longest at three hours, lasting into the late morn, but the classes that followed? They bordered on thirty minutes to an hour. At least those were fast. He’d hate for them to drag on. Not that them being shorter would prevent him from zoning out.

But as for what he found to be the most draining aspect of school? Sitting, listening, reading, writing notes, zoning out while writing notes, zoning out while zoning out. It didn’t help that Sedd and Art were his last classes; the most demanding of them all.

“Hey, is it true?” Jester’s whisper broke through his thoughts.

Taní turned to him. “What’s true?”

“You know… About your House’s relic. You’ve only got one, right?”

Taní shrugged. “Dunno. No one’s told me anything.”

“Wait, you haven’t seen your House’s vault?”

“I didn’t even know one existed.”

“You should check it out sometime. I really wanna know if it’s true.”

“Well, okay. I don’t know why it matters.” Taní glanced towards the entrance, hesitant. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Jaster said.

“Mind keeping a secret?”

“Sure. Don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Once Taní reassured himself of his relationship with the class-dodging cook, he set his plate down. “My House—when I talked to them, anyways—were really upset about the garden thing. Çzar, I think his name was? He said it took months of planning and that we’d only get by if we filed a request. He was probably crying, but he mumbled something about the school restricting access to our relic. What’s that about?”

Jaster got comfortable in his seat. “Yeah, that’s the part that’s got me curious, too. You see, Taní, every House should have two relics. The founders left them behind to help guide future generations of Juneacão. Y’know, for strife, or writing an unnecessarily long essay. God-stained relics are unique among blood-stained relics, and you know why? Because they don’t deteriorate like the others. They get fat on the blood of their foes.” He kicked his plate off the table to make room for his legs. “If we had weapons blessed by God wandering the countryside, you beat people would use them for evil. That’s why the Academy takes extra measures to keep them safe.”

Taní looked down at his plate. “So, when Çzar said we only had one relic…”

“He probably meant it.” Jaster folded his arms. “House Fadénix is cursed. That’s why they’re always running short. Short on talent, Sedd, SG. Most members try transferring out after their first year. Not that they ever succeed. What with their bad luck.”

“What happened to the other?”

“That’s the thing: There probably isn’t one. House Fadénix lays sole claim to the Helm of Fadénix. Their champion—if there still is one—rarely makes use of it.”

“What does it do?”

Jaster rolled his head to the side. “No idea. Relic details are confidential. Only the champion and Lord knows. It’s whatever. I don’t really care about using them. I just really wanna know if there’s another.”

Taní frowned. “You already sound like you know more than me. How could I help?”

“Because Taní: You’re a Fadenician. The others are probably lying. You know, waiting for a moment to reveal their trump card?”

“What do most people even think it is?”

Jaster clicked his tongue. “A lance she used to kill an old king of Kastel, but I’ve got my doubts considering how terrible of a rider she was. Others say it’s boots that could make one someone walk on air, but that sounds too cool to be true, right?” He nodded to himself. “One of my friends says it’s a ring, but eh. It can be anything, really. I personally don’t care; I just wanna know.”

Taní carefully pondered the matter. Then, once he was ready, he responded. “If House Fadénix did have two relics, where’d the other even go?”

“Don’t know. Probably buried with its owner,” Jaster assumed.

“Do the founders have tombs here?”

“Yeah, right by the doorstep of the labyrinth. There’s just one issue.”

Taní cocked a brow. “What’s that?”

“Fadina Fadénix’s body is missing.”