ARCONONOME

THE LIBRARY

Lion’s Breath was an island located in the central seas; a while off the region that represented the mouth of the lion-shaped continent of Therom.

The island, also commonly known as the Holy Island, beheld beauties unfathomable to imagination. With soft golden sands that led to a thick majestic jungle of the purple panicles jycaranda forests. It was said that this Holy Island beheld a treasure of great wonder; forgotten by most of those blessed with breath.

Be as it may, the legends of this sacred place were scattered in fractured bits of information across the Evalend globe, yet as known as it was, the island of Lion’s Breath had remained untouched for three centuries to date; avoided by those so deeply endorsed by their fears.

There happened to be no time to consider fear for Allaana Wincrest; her black hair shone with violet streaks within the gleams of the glare of the present moon, Luthane - the largest of Evalend’s two satellites. The motor-vessel she occupied with three others bounced upon the tides as it sped towards the island. Her crystal blue eyes flaring radiantly the more her destination pulled ever closer into focus as her heart expanded beyond the realms of her thoughts.

Tamoria Rowenstar, seated behind her best-friend, sighed as the pits of her stomach vortexed in such a way that she felt she might throw up; doubting the reasoning behind their journey to Lion’s Breath the ever more nearer they drew. Her red hair whipping behind her whilst her bright green catlike eyes fixated on the back of Allaana. A demon eyed kitten purred as he emerged from her red-cloak; Tamoria stroked his flaming fur as he offered her vibrations of comfort. His name was Pawnick, and he, like the others, seemed far braver than they ought to be, in her opinion.

The motor-vessel slowed as the tides became waves that crashed peacefully upon the approaching shore.

Luciana Athell, the third girl upon the boat, pulled on the leather to slow the carrier down before turning back in the direction of the destination; tying her light ash coloured hair out of her face; her grey eyes glistened with excitement.

Undetected in the depths of the night, the small wooden boat drifted and collided with a soft thud upon the beach of Lion’s Breath.

“Allaana, wait!” Tamoria gasped dramatically but Allaana had already hopped off - Luciana held her breath. Fastening a purple hooded cloak around herself, Allaana turned to face them and chuckled sweetly at their suspense. Luciana uttered a grateful sigh as she followed pursuit. Tamoria, more hesitant, lowered herself slowly on to the sands but Pawnick hopped from her grasp to beat her to it.

Allaana’s hair whipped ever more wildly when a strong yet welcoming breeze as her eyes scanned over the long stretch of shoreline to their sides. She knelt and took a hand full of sand; a warm sensation built up inside her: something comfortable - something right.

Luciana’s gaze was overcome with wonder as she smiled over to Tamoria, who pouted as she picked Pawnick up from the sands; seemingly distrustful still.

“How long was the cycle we have just disrupted?” she asked.

“Close to three hundred years,” said Luciana “Parliot said that no lender has set foot upon this island since the account of Szaltore Helson’s failed siege. The rumours say that the last Niapherian warrior spelt a cursze upon these sands - to set ablaze any heart unworthy that may dare to defile Silvertron’s Holy Secrets by trespassing upon Lion’s Breath.”

None of the lenders of the Evalend world had deemed themselves holy enough to dare the legend; and thus, the golden sands of the island remained without any footprints while the miracles it beheld remained sealed.

“I don’t think dad himself believed it,” Allaana unclenched her first and alchemized another sweet chuckle. "The library should be located within the center of that jungle,” she said; looking on ahead. Allaana bit her lip as she considered the backlash of her next sentence. “I’m sure it will be suitable as a home for a short while…”

"What!" exclaimed both Tamoria and Luciana, both on two completely different spectrums of emotions.

"You're kidding?" Tamoria knew Allaana to come up with some pretty crazy ideas sometimes – sure, daring to come to the library on an island believed to be cursed for the first time in who knows exactly how long was pushing it... but to muster the audacity to stay in the sacred temple in which it beheld... "Allaana, you can't be serious-"

"Are you going to do it?” Luciana cut across her excitedly. “You really think you can unseal the temple?”

Allaana’s smile did not falter, for seeing was believing, even for her. She turned to the jungle; a shadow mostly, besides for the purple bosoms of the jycarandas igniting like tiny spark within the light of the full moon fading of Ava. Without another reason for a doubt, she dashed off to the impending shadows before her. Tamoria and Luciana exchanged two very different wide-eyed expressions before they threw on their own hoods around themselves and, with Pawnick perching himself on top of Tamoria’s red hood, they dashed off afterwards.

Allaana went fearlessly into the thickets before her; after a while of following behind blindly, Tamoria began to draw worried. Allaana could have gone insane for all she truly knew; how things had unfolded as of late could surely have inspired it so.

“Do you even know where we are going?” Tamoria called with Pawnick bopping upon her head.

“I have a hunch,” Allaana called back. She did not feel it a lie, but she had to admit to herself that she had not the faintest idea of what she was doing. It was as if recent occurrences would have her question her reality every so often; as if she was sitting in the backseat of her own body as it went about mechanical functions.

It did not scare her however; for she enjoyed to flow with the questions of life and reality as she had come to know it; doing her best to always allow for a little more space in order to observe things she had come to understand in a different light.

Yet as of late she had caught herself doubting; feeling she may be pushing too hard where it did not matter, and not focussing enough where indeed it was needed. These insecurities stemmed from the pain she had occurred at the recent death of her father:

Parliot Alzaphere Wincrest; High Priest of Dellfelldell and fallen warrior of Silvertron – most honoured is his name.

He died a painful yet beautiful death with a smile in his eyes; fortunate enough to have his last waking memory be the sight of that of his daughter, Allaana.

With silver feathers mysteriously gloating in every direction to finally succumb to the fiercest of fires burning around them and the smell of melt and brimstone thick in the air - Allaana had arrived too late to save Parliot; in his chest a wound from which leaked more than just blood.

But she had arrived in time to hear his last remaining breaths; clinging to his life on the edges of the wounds spawned by the most horrendous of magics. To her he revealed the secret destination of a very important journal.

“Follow the harons, Allaana,” were his final words: “And know I am behind each and every one…”

Evlan... Treus!”

Allaana felt the weight of the journal in the pocket of her cloak as she hopped over an uprooted jycaranda tree; the shadows around her began to thin as the scatter of Luthane’s light increased ever more as it filtered through the canopies above them.

She stopped then abruptly when she found it; Tamoria and Luciana’s trot came to an end behind her and Luciana gasped at its sight: for before them stood the Silvertron Temple; were it not for the panicle shaped bosoms gleaming vibrant purple that emanated from the tall and ancient jycaranda trees seemingly infused and growing from in between its architectural structuring consisting mainly of smooth white marble, the girls may have missed it.

“By the Omnevlions,” said Luciana, allowing the breath she had just caught to escape her. “So that’s it?”

Allaana nodded with a sweet chuckle. “Dad did record that it is indeed sealed by an unseeable lock that will tarnish all but the purest of beings were they to make even the slightest of contact with it.”

“So, then what was the point of all of this!” Tamoria demanded.

Allaana sighed, “Honestly Tammy, I understand your doubts in me; but to doubt yourself…”

Tamoria caught the look in Allaana’s eyes; beyond the bravery and the specks of pain she felt the sincerity of her best friend and sighed. “Apolothanks,” she said. “It’s just been a long journey.”

Allaana nodded with understanding as she turned back to face the temple. Tamoria and Luciana exchanged bewildered glances as Allaana followed the white marble steps laid down before them.

“Didn’t you just say …” Tamoria began, but she stopped this time, for she knew it would be useless. Rather, she groaned inwardly, as she followed after Luciana.

“Dad’s journal says,” Allaana went on. “Three centrevels ago the library was sealed by a Niapherian prince called Aganon in order to protect the library from the likes of the Shade. A pitiful walleon by the name of Szaltore Hellson unleashed an uncontrollable wrath upon our world and crowned himself High Supreamos over all of Evalend and sent an army to infiltrate Silvertron upon his ascension. Once the prime headquarters for the Niapherian, and the library that contained all the secrets of Evalend’s history, the remaining Niapherian were left with no choice but to seal the temple from the outside world. Upon trying to breach the Temple, Szaltore’s army was destroyed.”

Tamoria shuddered as the thought crossed her mind. Her eyes on the high tower of the magnificent glowing temple before her. They finally stopped before a great granite door which sealed their entry. Allaana focussed as Luciana and Tamoria stood back; Pawnick watching curiously from atop her red head. Allaana took the journal from her pocket and glazed light over her eyes; flipping through the book, she stopped at a page upon which Parliot had sketched the exterior of the temple; she found the scribbles of the same runes that were engraved upon the giant door, and then chuckled sweetly after scanning the translations her father had left behind for her. It did not take long before she understood.

This should do," she said, closing the journal and putting it back into her apouche on her side.

Luciana's eyes widened in surprise and Tamoria gasped dramatically when Allaana put her hand upon the cold granite; but nothing happened, other than the fact that beneath Allaana’s hand a warm sensation began with a light vibration. She smiled before her lips departed:

"Onepa Ecalyst Foreth, Aseng!"

The words escaped her tongue like a song being sung. Luciana, who was well versed in spelnamtics, had never heard anything like this one before.

From Allaana's hand emitted a soft golden glow; that filled the gaps and crevices of the ancient glyphs etched in between the granite seal; which now shone like a magnificent beam of brightness into the Evalend darkness.

A sharp but harmonious frequency, much like a harp being pulled, sounded as the massive door began to shake open to reveal its forgotten secrets.

The three girls and the kitten were all blinded for the moment as their feet carried them inside. When they opened their eyes, they found they were indeed within an extravagant sight as a calm frequency vibration began to buzz in their ears; soothing their intensities.

Allaana gasped and Luciana almost broke out crying. Tamoria was speechless at the level of history unfolding right before her very eyes. To have witnessed it performed by her best friend nonetheless had her feeling specifically strange.

For they were all embraced by the most peculiar, soft, pearl-like white energy that filled around, in-between and almost inside them. It was from which the sensational humming emitted. Allaana chuckled sweetly. Luciana was amazed in a world of wonder, but Tamoria was starting to panic.

"What is this!"

"The Naveah," Allaana said calmly. Something inside of her felt the strangest sense of familiarity that was hard for her to grasp at the time. "It's the very thread that connects Evalend to all of the realms. Dad use to say that all late Warriors of Silvertron place fractures of themselves that act as eternal guardians that reside within the Naveah."

The girls took it in as they moved their bodies through the sensations and vibrations.

Luciana gasped and pointed as a great black door appeared before them; upon which golden spirals began from the corners; seemingly suspended within the Naveah; it formed a single golden handle.

“Come forth, Allaana Wincrest.”

Allaana looked over to her friends in surprise; both reflecting their confusion back at her. She thought only for a moment before she nodded. "Stay here." she said.

“No!” Tamoria gasped but Luciana shook her head at her.

Allaana moved over to the door and turned the handle and entered into its blackness. It closed behind her and disappeared before Luciana and Tamoria, who gasped in horror.

Allaana, however. found herself, first in nothing; but then the darkness around her shifted into a bright orange; which burnt like a sunset into a magnificent gold; which illuminated into purples all around her.

I came down to greet her.

She, for a second, could almost not endure the sight of me; but she was a brave one indeed; and her eyes peeled away the more of myself revealed to her.

I appear as a different expression to each and every that would ever lay their eyes on me; as I never appear to myself in the same way twice. In the light of her vision, she saw me as a goddess of sorts, my wings iridescent and flamboyant as a peacock’s whilst my eyes shone as blue fire and my hair curled as golden helixes down my sides. It was by this appearance the truest essences of her soul resembled mine.

"Allaana Wincrest, welcome to the library,"

I did not expect her to reply to me. There was, after all, only so much the physical mind could grasp at times.

“I have come before you to give you this breath:

Long ago, we the Omnevleons ruled supreme upon Evalend and we as a Family stood strong against the forces of the Dyster.

Creation sparked and spread like wild-fire and as time wove; our planet became rich of a world filled with diverse, phenomenal, and perfectly abstract life;

But with every new spark and flare that would ignite upon Evalend grew the potential for the Dyster to spread like an infection.

Came a time where the wants and needs of our beautiful creations strived to overwhelm their love for our world,

And so, it was decided that we shall no longer walk upon our creation as gods; but rather as creations, we may finally uncover what it is that makes it so impossible for love and peace to reside as the fundamental laws of physical existence, without igniting the scourge of the shadows that dare threaten its very truth.

We derived a plan; and to ensure its success we made love with our creation before we departed the forms that solidified us upon Evalend;

What came from this love was a beautiful species the world you live in today call the Niaphere.

For Aodds the Niaphere protected this world with the love that we left for them

and for Aodds they maintained the dire balance of our beloved Evalend.

Unfortunately, most of them were lost at the hands of the Dyster during the last Salvation War.

The Seals of Aganon activated when there was but one Niapherian left to walk Evalend;

The Doors of the Library were then instructed to only open when the last of the Niaphere was ready to return home.

This time is now upon you, Allaana Wincrest.”

From the Evermentia, I pulled the scroll with my sixth wing; untouched as it was since the moment it was scribed.

Unfolding my wing, I presented the scroll of Thielzaphere to Allaana.

Mystified, Allaana came closer. I could see the burning questions that masked her all true knowing self. I smiled; it nearly enlightened her.

"I ..." she tried to find words for her questions; but what was happening before her was far beyond what she was capable of processing. “I'm not sure what any of this means...”

“You must search - deep and far and wide

Do not succumb to fear, or doubt or pride

For the Last of the Niapherian wings has come to grace

The sorrow and pain upon Evalend's face.

When you find Thielzaphere

You will remember – and all will be clear.”

More questions seemed to form inside her and I could have chuckled at her naivety. The confusion behind her eyes became frustration. “I don't know where to begin.”

"We never really do, do we?”

I will deliver the Keys of Destiny to the chosen; within this Library you will find the ancient song book of prophecy – you will not have to look to hard to know your next leap.

Turn that frown upside down,

You have always figured it out before. You will simply do so again.”

It was as far as I could go to help her and I knew our time had come to an end for now. The next words I had chosen wisely and I looked at her deeply with all the love I have.

“Evlan Treus.”

And then I left her.

As I phased out of the physophere of Evalend; Allaana, clutching the silver scroll in her hand, turned to see Tamoria and Luciana; filled with amazement and relief at the sudden reappearance of their friend.

The Naveah changed the setting around them; I made it so they stood at an entrance hall, where I had a bedroom for each of them accompanied with a lavatory. Before them were the steps that led to the onyx doors behind which was found the sacred Library. Next to this door was a golden spiral staircase, which led both deeper down and to the tower as depicted from the outside.

They looked around them before exchanging their impressed glances at the creation in motion.

The pearly cloud-like mist of the Naveah ascended to the ceiling where it remained; echoing its calm buzz; simulating a heavenly ambience throughout.

Allaana, with a tear still frozen in her eye, unrolled the scroll. Inside was a majestic encryption; like a sigil, or a name, which ended with what seemed to be a keyhole within the parchment. She narrowed her eyes in confusion.

She repeated my last words in her brain. She looked down at the parchment and knew what it said without even having to translate it.

She looked up at Tamoria and Luciana, wiping a tear from her eye and sighing sheepishly.

"Where on Evalend am I going to find Thielzaphere?"

It was then at that moment that the great onyx door gave way; Allaana went straight for it as her friends followed behind.

Inside; beyond yet another glaze of stronger silver light, beyond which lay the supremacy of the library. Seemingly suspended in the Naveah itself, it went on for what seemed like forever. Each of the shelves filled to the brim with thick records in variety of forms familiar throughout the entire span of Evalend’s history.

Allaana had no time to wonder where she could possibly begin, for the Naveah already knew what it was she needed. A thick, leathered encased book floated from a distant reach and into her hands. The title of which only clarified upon her gaze: Sonin Fia Evtor. The Songs of Tomorrow.

AZUNIAL

THE LONE-WOLF

Evalend locked into a new year around Samsora; peripherally from where the lenders of Dellfelldell could see he rose upon the first day of its spring from the eos horizon; but from the omniscient perspective of the star himself it was as if the tiny planet so filled with the magnitudes of worlds and experience it beheld, was but a dancing atom with her three moons stumbling in spirals as if twirling in dance behind the pull of his might as he himself danced towards greater aspirations within the cycles of the neverendingness.

Zooming in, however, beyond the curtaining of a window up high of one Galserta’s homing towers, the rays of Samsora touched and danced in between the lids of Chrys’s eyes.

He rubbed at his face as he phased into the waking and groaned as the electronic hordial sounded at that exact moment:

“Rise and Shine Galserta Tiers! Today marks the Asunel of Astraglyph and a brand spanking new term to Evalend’s Bytraoven! Here’s Abana with the horosceptics-”

Chrys groaned and smacked the device from the little tablet to his side. He kicked himself out of bed and made way to basin within his little singlet within Galserta’s Hecatier homing tower.

The Godfordt of Galserta was located at the suon-oes coast of the great Dellfelldell; A provincial coast within the lands known as the Union of Valadene, which made up the face of the Lion of Therom. Dellfelldell was also commonly known as the Lion’s Tooth. Galserta was located at the south-eastern coast of this tooth.

The godfordts were the land masses dedicated to ensuring the preservation and protection of the Evalend world by homing the intense training curriculum known as the Tiers, which were obtained by the means of upgrading within the structures of the Mastria.

For during this aodd of Evalend the scales of balance hang on a mere thinning thread between the fingers of a blind Omnevlion.

In ages as dire as these, it was rare for any lender to be born without a majestic talent or magik emblazoned within their genexes. The mastrias contained a range of facilities dedicated to awakening these gifts; from the honing of skills of veracious weapon masteries to the articulation of the vast dynamics of spelnamtics within the infinite realms of magik that weave through the multi-dimensional lattices of Evalend.

The Galserta Mastria was well reputed during this timeline; in spite of it being one of the smaller Mastrias upon Therom. Home to thousands of Dellfelldellian youth, who were mediated under a fine faculty of talented medioces.

The Asunel of Astraglyph of Evalend’s Bytraoven meant for Chrys that he had grown close to seventeen years within the Godfordt’s confides; never as much as setting a foot beyond the furthest boundary of the Ored Woods.

This year also meant that Chrys was to embark on obtaining his seventh level within the Mastrial Tiers. As a current level six, classified as Hecatier vernacularly, the means of upgrading into the seventh level, known as Aventier, was done by the means of an upgrade-exam.

The idea of the exam in itself was what overwhelmed Chrys enough to kick himself out of bed. He made way to the little basin contained on the side of his bedlet and caught the reflection of his own eyes looking back at him from the mirror above.

The multitudes of colours deep within the bright greens of his eyes never appeared to him the same way twice consistently and it always tricked him into wanting to stare a little bit longer; but usually to the tone of a sigh. Chrys would get lost in the strangeness and lack of balance he perceived in his features as his focus shifted from and into his eyes before he blinked himself back to the world.

He splashed his face with some water before getting dressed in the Galserta Hecatier uniform of reds and blues; tightening the strap of his sword around his side he decided that the only way he would come to ease would be to spend the remainder of the hour before the start of the academical day as he had every day of the Zerachos integration month; in which no classes were held.

The upcoming upgrading exam was set to be held at an unknown location outside of the Galserta bounds. So was the Aventier tradition, in order to begin integrating the lendtiers into the realities they had dedicated their lives towards.

To Chrys, whom had experienced so very little positive occurrences for him to know how to accumulate any sense of excitement, found all the thoughts pertaining to the upcoming exam led nowhere besides for feelings of anticipation beyond nervousness for which he proved little tolerance.

Chrys spent all of his recreational and off time at one of two places if it were not within the confides of his singlet. For training purposes, and for reasons such as needing to decompress, as he did now, his first option still remained the Ored Woods.

Not looking at any of the other lendtiers as they emerged from their own rooms. he sped down the stairs of the housing tower with the same sullen face the others had come to expect from him, and shot into the direction of the orange forest.

Upon reaching the shadows of the tall canopies he drew the Princeton by the means of its bronze hilt he took no time to hesitate as he charged and swung the blade in every direction; slicing through the Ored trees as he went. The trunks toppled like dominoes before they were pulled into the soils to regenerate almost instantly. Chrys persisted at attempting to beat his own personal record; Vensteven ... Octococt... Nanigen... Chrys counted as his velocity increased; swinging viciously and spinning in every direction; not looking behind him as his thoughts emptied out of the edge of his blade. Byarc... Byuni…

He was approaching ever closer; he pushed against his speed and, with one hopeful dive, he spun and swung his blade into the Unbed tree.

It bounced right off and he fell hard to his back.

Dammit, he cussed as he got back to his feet; he shook himself off and retrieved the Princeton off the ground.

It was then he heard the familiar voice, not too far off, approaching close by.

Chrys flung the Princeton into his sheath before hiding himself behind the Unbed tree. The voices came ever louder and closer and with a rustling Sylus made his way into the Unbed clearing.

He was accompanied by two fellow lendtiers that Chrys had come to consider his goons. Idalese Verlorehart and Calusore Sielsone.

Ida was a short, long maroon-haired evlish girl who had light green eyes; whilst Calus was tall and lanky; his long and thick brown hair sticking out in every direction whilst his cold eyes never seemed to change in emotion; he sported an overdeveloped thick beard on his chin which made him seam older than his companions; although he was in actual fact born the soonest.

Chrys had only ever noticed them after they had started hanging out with Sylus not too far into the Academical cycles. It was then that Chrys had recognized their faces amongst those who were brought up and raised along with him, parentless, within the Godfordt bounds.

Chrys remained as still as possible; praying that Sylus would not catch him in this awkward position.

"So, the Politea soldiers are definitely on his side?" Ida asked; sounding uncertain.

"Shhh!" Sylus hissed; looking around furiously; when he was sure no one was around, he looked back at his companions and grinned. "That’s what he said!"

Calus chuckled. "We'll be back in charge of All in no time!" he said; but Ida still seemed unconvinced. Sylus narrowed his eyes at her darkly.

"It's just ... I don't want to get my hopes up-" she started, but Sylus cut across her.

"Don't you dare display your lack of faith now!" he demanded furiously; sending shivers down Chrys's spine. Ida fell silent and nodded, Calus, wide eyed, looked from her to Sylus.

It was then that the great bell rang twice to symbolize that the mastria term had started.

"Shyt!" Sylus exclaimed. "We're late – can't afford another detention on day one!"

They dashed off and Chrys let out a long-exasperated breath; aware that Sylus, like him, had fine-tuned senses; he finally walked out from behind the Unbed tree and gave it a couple of long seconds before he dashed off after them.

Luckily enough the first class of that day happened to be his favourite: Sword Skill and Technique Mastery.

The racket and clanging of colliding swords filled the air as Chrys entered. The classroom was an arena, with a pavilion around it; two boys were duelling with two different shaped swords and Medioce Sanyo stood examining the battle with folded arms and a smile. Chrys had hoped the medioce had not noticed his late coming as he made his way to take a seat at an empty area within the stadium.

Medioce Sanyo turned to him. Sporting a walrus moustache curving off the sides off his face with long grey hair, tied neatly to the back. Although his smile was well hidden behind the thickness of his beard, it was well felt in his presence. He wore a silvertsteele breastplate atop his navy uniform, as usual.

Sir Engelbreght Sanyo had served many regal names of Evalend in his prime; and other than the title of Medioce, he also carried the title of a Knyght.

"Kion ol' wal!" he announced. Chrys froze guiltily in place. "Starting the new term off with our swords out our pants over there?"

Chrys flushed as students around the classroom began to snicker.

"What you laughing at Hellboy!' Sanyo shot at Sylus. "You just barely sat your own ass down!"

Chrys hated Sylus in that moment; it was always easy to hate Sylus.

"Take a seat! We are having preliminary matches in preparation for the big Aventier upgrade-exam comin' up."

Just then a large groan came from the arena and a sword was sent flying in defeat.

"Do not bleed on my floor, Elistrier!" Medioce Sanyo called. "You, Hellboy - draw your sword! You're up!"

Chrys watched as Sylus got up and pulled his silver hilted sword named Fang from the sheath around his waist. Without making his way to the staircase that led into the arena, he walked straight to the railings, turned to Medioce Sanyo, and said:

"It's Hellsun, old man!"

He flipped over the railings and charged at his opponent; who had still been busy catching his breath. The kid looked up at Sylus in horror as the blade came down swinging. Chrys had a flash back to that one time he and Sylus had fought side by side ... when he was pretty sure that Sylus was going to decapitate their bully. The student tried to block but Sylus's momentum knocked him right off his feet. Sylus held the Fang high and Medioce Sanyo gasped.

It was an automatic response more than anything else; and Chrys regretted the moment the spell left his lips and the force erupted out of his palm.

“Kinectos!” was the incantation that he had shouted; the force-erupting spell that Sylus had taught him so many years ago.

Sylus flew hard into the stadium wall. Chrys looked around in horror to find the entire classroom, from Sylus's opponent to Medioce Sanyo, looking at him in sheer confusion.

"What the hell, Kion?" Medioce Sanyo asked; dumbfounded. "That was way uncalled for!"

" Tricectos! came the roar of Sylus.

Chrys flew from his feet by the traction of the spell from the stadium and crashed face first on the arena's ground. Sylus snickered as Chrys instinctively rolled to his feet to draw his own sword.

"This is not your Combative Spelnamtics classroom!" Medioce Sanyo shouted angrily above them. "Stop this utter nonsense at once!”

Instead, Sylus and Chrys were circling each other; an invincible fire burning between them; the threads of destiny unravelling and binding simultaneously from all corners of time. Sylus dived; Chris swung to defend.

Clang!

Both swords collided with the icy blade of Medioce Sanyo's sword; the Glaciour. Both boys dropped their swords in horror as the ice spread off his blade and onto theirs; almost catching on to the skins of their hands.

The ice shattered as the blades fell. Both boys looked up at Medioce Sanyo, whose eyes were furious. He sheathed his sword and turned to Chrys.

"What has gotten into -" he then screeched out in horror; it took a moment for Chrys to see why – Sylus had directed a Fyreovlam fireball to the back of Sanyo’s head; the medioce scrambled furiously as the crowd of onlooking lendtiers jeered in outrage.

Chrys pushed hard into himself and pointed his palm at Hellson quickly; he reached down for all he could muster and again he shouted the incantation for a forceful push. Sylus saw it coming but had no time to react before he was sent flying into the stadium seating sections. Chrys turned back to the medioce to find that he had put the fire out by holding the blade of his icy to his head. His hair scorched; his eyes bewildered; he turned to Sylus, who was already pointing his palm in preparation for another attack, and roared:

"Leave this classroom or face expulsion! You are no longer welcome in Sword Mastery!"

Sylus for a second looked regretful; but Chrys watched as he swallowed it down and summoned his pride. He dusted his uniform off and made his way up some steps to exit the classroom before turning with a spiteful grin aimed at the medioce.

"I wasn’t really planning on returning anyway!" he gloated before slamming the door behind him.

The crowd around the arena broke into strong mutters of bewilderment from the aftershock of the drama that had unfolded so nonsensically before them. Medioce Sanyo called them to silence; blushing at the realization of how silly he had to appear before them.

"Please proceed to the canteen and order a round of shakemilks on my account. Tell any mediator that may ask that I have had to fix my hair due to unforeseen circumstances!"

The class laughed at the humorous Medioce Sanyo and rushed out of the classroom excitedly. With a huff and a sigh, the Medioce turned to Chrys with a concerned look furrowed in his brow.

"You – you're going to suspend me from classes too?"

"I should," said Medioce Sanyo, but then his eyes twinkled. "But don't think I did not notice you sticking up for me there..."

Chrys looked away; the last long minutes of his life felt as if they had occurred out of automation seemingly beyond his control; he noted it as a weakness he would surely have to work on.

"You are my top student, Kion," said the Medioce. "You are welcome back. Hellboy can come once his cooled down too – I have no time to see wasted talent."

"Go get yourself a shakemilk; I cannot handle the smell of this singe!"

Chrys, of course, did not join the rest of the Sword Mastery Hecatiers, but stayed behind in the empty class room after Medioce Sanyo had left to attend to his hair. Deep in thought, Chrys considered the last hour of his life and felt a fool for acting as he did before so many others; worst of all, he was sure that Sylus went off feeling that he had got the better of Chrys. Chrys slapped himself mentally as he waited for the bell to signal the end of the lesson.

Before it rang, however, the electronic intercom to the wall of the classroom sounded:

“All Level Hecatiers please rapport to the main hall.”

It was the voice of Maestrame DeLaw, one of the two heads of the Mastria. Chrys was sure he detected a hint of urgency in her voice. Suspecting accurately that it had to do with the upcoming upgrading exam, he sighed and rolled his eyes at the impending mysteries he could feel beckoning at him.

He was caught in a stream of Hecatiers the moment he left the class room and the crowd rushed to the assembly hall talking amongst themselves with different tones of nervousness and excitement.

The assembly hall of the Mastria was circular in shape as thousands of chairs circled the centre stage. There were three floors upwards as well pertaining the balconies where the senior lendtiers would be seated in light of a full assembly. Upon the ceiling was mosaic of stones forming the Galserta emblem: Three golden swords forming a star within a blue shield.

Chrys ended up sitting next to a couple of familiar faces he was sure he shared more than one class with; a female student with burgundy hair and bright green-emerald eyes exchanged a small awkward glance with him before Medioce Sylvia Webber materialised out of nowhere upon the stage before them.

Chris groaned inwardly. Medioce Webber was his least favourite mediator at Galserta. Sylvia Webber was a strange one; with a bop of pitch-black hair and thick eyeshadow around her large owl-like yellow eyes; her skin so pail that young ones rumoured that she bleached herself; and unlike most medioces, who wore the navy uniform, Medioce Webber was always seen wearing some lacy black dress that covered every inch of her body; with thick heeled boots, wearing cheap silver jewellery around her neck, fingers, and wrists.

"Alright Hecatiers hurry up now, find a seat and come to silence."

The crowd of three hundred Hecatiers fell to silence. Medioce Webber cleared her throat before she unrolled a scroll and read out loud: “The following is your official briefing for the Aventier upgrading exam, and as usual, it calls for an unusual situation.

“As you may or may not have heard by now, the Politea Military has defected from the alliances of the Lion, and are currently planning a country wide coup in the hopes to infiltrate Therom; starting here with Dellfelldell."

There was a murmur in the crowd; students spoke lowly amongst themselves. Chrys thought back to the conversation he had heard earlier that morning between Sylus and his goons; he was sure their gossiping went along the lines of this very topic.

"The Politea Military as you know, has for a long time been a part of the Lion’s Alliance; we now fear they have been swayed by the likes of the enemy."

"All major cities and dominions of Dellfelldell are on high alert and all forces that have made service of the military are accepting any Politea defectors but are ready to execute any traitors that are caught amongst those who attempt on breaching the defenses of the Alliances."

"Your mission will be to guard the sacred heritage sites in the city of Apalorn. You will be divided into formations of fifteen Hecatiers per squad; each formation will be assigned a Thetier commander who will oversee to it that each individual’s performance is assessed."

"Apalorn!" yelled a boy with styled chocolate-brown hair in front of Chrys. "That's the 'City of Chaos'! This is madness!"

There was an uproar in the crowd; Chrys sunk into his seat as the lendtiers around him broke into a fit of chatter. On the stage, Medioce Webber rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Silence."

Ossenweld Garbell

The voice that spoke was loud like thunder; but calm like a light wave that swept upon the sands. The crowd fell silent as Meastre Garbell materialised with a flash of blue next to Medioce Webber.

Ossenweld Garbell; the male Master of the Galserta Mastria, was a majestic, tall, and fat old fellow, who sported a shiny bold head with a greying brown-yellow beard; dressed in the navy satin robes and donning a black cape with the emblem of a master woven into it with gold.

"Bless and Grace upon Asunel, Hecatiers!" He said upon them.

"Blessed Asunel, Meastre Garbell!" most of the crowd echoed back; Chrys never joined in on this chorus.

"I know the tasks before you sound dire and dubious,” spoke the master. “But do not forget where you come from, and how far you have come; this leap will take you closer to your destiny – wherever and whatever that may be. As Galsertians we rise to Evalend’s call!”

The crowd's vibration was lifted by the little words he spoke so powerfully. Chrys could feel the sentiment around him and rolled his eyes as a means of dealing with the awkwardness he felt in light of the frequency.

Meastre Garbell nodded over to Medioce Webber when he felt the tempo of the audience come to calm.

"The Mayor of Apalorn, Amaria the Tridri, has requested of Galserta that we send troops in order to assist the city’s guard with their load whilst they make preparations for a suspected onslaught. We shall thus spend the rest of this revision dantian preparing you Hecatiers for the task at hand. Deployment to Apalorn is scheduled by means of the train upon the first hour of Asduel in one dantian’s time.”

A great sense of mixed emotions became the apparent of the atmosphere; even for Chrys, who could not find the images to imagine what it would be like when he finally set his sights beyond the world he had known all his life.

“As by tradition, we shall host a social of celebration for Hecatier year; this gathering will take place tonight in the Unbed Section of the Ored Woods; consider this your offering for good prosperity for the mission ahead. Take note that as per usual, all illegal substances or enhancers will be banned from the shindig.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Further briefings will be disclosed within the lessons you partake over the course of the next five days. Be well aware that your performance demonstration during your time in the city of Apalorn will determine whether or not you will acquire your tier upgrade. This concludes your current briefing in regards to the Aventier upgrade exam.”

As the crowd around him erupted into more fits of chatter, Chrys felt his chest tighten at all the sense of unfamiliarity seemingly darting towards him from his future ahead.

The conversation he overheard that morning between Sylus and his friends drifted back into his mind. He tried to connect the dots, but could not find it within himself to give Sylus that gratification.

That night, as promised, a gathering took place at the Unbed section of the Ored woods. The night sky was full wonder; the present moon, Luthane, burning bright goldens to silvers as Samsora’s shine ignited her to her fullest. The Ored trees were decorated by the likes of flickering lights and the air was abuzz with excitement and anticipation alike.

The Galserta Mastria hosted a gathering traditionally a week before any outbound upgrade-exam; this was done to motivate the spirits of the lendtiers, but was also secretly held in the tragic event that, were any of the lendtiers to perish on their mission, good food and celebration be some of their last memories.

The feast was filled with decadent wholesome meats and a variety of different mashes along with a few large pints of different coloured juices, laid out on a large table in front of the Unbed tree. Medioce Webber sat next to the buffet table with her face in a big black book. Supervision was her duty for the evening.

Chrys sat at a distant unoccupied table, one of many placed for the celebration, keeping to himself and wondering why he had ever decided to come. His tummy rumbling with hunger, he tried his best to manage enough will to dish for himself but the delicacies being close to Medioce Webber was enough excuse for him to not make any move whatsoever.

He sighed as he glanced around the setting. He spotted Sylus emptying a substance into little flask held by Ida, something alcoholic he assumed. Not too far from them, Chrys caught the eye of another; the same girl who had been seated next to him in the assembly building staring at him with her cheeks stuffed to the brim; chewing on what appeared to be a chicken winglet. The moment their eyes met she gulped; nearly choked and coughed as she disappeared into the crowd.

Sighing, he decided it may be better to go back to his singlet after all.

A plate full of meats and mashes was suddenly placed in front of him; followed by a glass filled with a red juice. Chrys turned to see an olive-skinned girl with puffy cheeks and small tight-lined hazel eyes behind round spectacles with a bush of curly dark-hair. She seemed nervous in the likes of the Lone Wolf but did her best to manage a smile.

Chrys looked back at her with wide eyes; hoping nobody was watching this pitiful scene.

"H-hi," she stuttered; gulping. "I don't know if you know me... My name is Quezen Vencheng; everyone calls me Que!"

She held out her hand; he did not as much as look down to it; instead, he made a movement to escape.

"Wait!" she gasped as he got up. "Um -" she turned and pointed to someone in the crowd. Chrys dared not look. "Nady over there... well she was hoping you would join us?"

When she turned back to Chrys, he had already begun to walk away.

Que turned to her friend, Nady, who gawked at her as if having been smacked across the face. Que pulled a face and shrugged as Nady sighed in defeat.

In order to not disapoint, Que turned to Chrys; who was already a while off by then.

She focussed around Chrys's thighs; his legs and his feet. She felt into the vibrations in the air in which he walked with her telekinesis and then she narrowed her eyes and tightened her focus.

Chrys froze in place; dumbfounded and bewildered.

" Vencheng, what exactly is going on here?"

Medioce Webber broke Que's concentration, and she spun around and faced the medioce with wide guilt-ridden eyes. She began to stutter an excuse when Medioce Webber's own eyes widened to something behind her.

Que spun around just in time and froze the Princeton sword as it flew directly to her face; the very point of it but a few centimetres away from the glass of her spectacles.

"Kion!" Medioce Webber shouted.

Chrys was in front of Que in no time; he grabbed the hilt of his sword and flipped over her agilely; Que spun around yet again to find the Princeton blade inches away from her neck.

Chrys had ensured to take the edge off his blade with a spell before hand; rendering his blade unable to cause damage. Although he had no intent of hurting Quezen, he had planned to convey a proper warning. Yet, as the fury in his eyes died down as they came to the moment, he realised with all the attention this had gathered that perhaps it he may have reacted to impulsively.

He tried to justify it to himself by agreeing that he had acted on behalf of his own dignity; realising that Que had used her some form of telikenitic ability in order to stop him from leaving. Certainly, that counted as violation and a need for him to retaliate?

"Drop your weapon at once, Kion!" Medioce Webber demanded again.

Chrys lowered the Princeton; slapping himself mentally while he was at it.

"Why is it you only attack when backs are turned to you?"

Chrys spun around to see the voice to see the speaker, Sylus; his arms folded. Ida and Calus stood tall and proud behind him a few notches more confident than usual. Chrys narrowed his eyes hatefully – the invisible fire between himself and Sylus reignited.

"Settle down," Medioce Webber called as a large crowd had now gathered to see what all the fuss was about. "Hellsun - mind your own business. Vencheng, Kion, come with me to my office -"

But Sylus drew the Fang from a sheath that Calus held out to him. Medioce Webber gawked at him as he pointed the blade to Chrys threateningly. The crowd intensified in excitement and murmur. Chrys felt his heart beat take control of his instincts…

"Kion and I have a score to settle, Sylvia!"

Sylus roared as charged; Chrys flipped the Princeton in his hand and darted.

They dived, both swords swinging. In the millisecond that the blades collided; I paused all of Evalend for one brief moment.

The Phaeonix looks at me with sparkling fiery golden eyes; chiming a single note of approval and it is decided.

From the fragments of my memories, I call the beloved and feared weapons that had scotched the history of Evalend fervently every time it had touched the world.

The Fyrevere chooses to move to my right.

The Fyrevolt glides to my left.

From the realms of the Fyreverse, beyond the worlds that cycle through time, they point towards the two suspended in space within the physophere of Evalend.

The Phaeonix cries a harmonious melodic chime.

There was a brief moment where both Chrys and Sylus realised that the weight of the blades in their hands had changed drastically as the Fyrevere materialised in Chrys's grasp and the Fyrevolt in Sylus's.

BANG!

It was as if reality itself shook as the atmosphere began to rumble; the entire scene was cocooned within fierce golden light and suddenly both boys were thrown backwards. Sylus plummeted hard into the Unbed tree and bounced face first into the soil; the Fyrevolt falling right beside him.

Chrys, however, was thrown into a table; the Fyrevere piercing right through one of the Ored trees behind him.

I on the other hand, smiled. The absence of the Phaeonix was eminent; and all that remained in the place of her beautiful divinity were the Fang and the Princeton; the first swords of Syluscion Helsoyn and Chrysleon Kion; the elected keys of the 8th Kalikoma of the Sylver Aodd.

BYDUANE

THE FLARESWORDS

Sylvia Webber looked from Chrys to Sylus with eyes that gleamed of sheer horror - or triumph, it was hard to tell as Chrys got back up to his feet and turned to see the Fyrevere properly for the first time.

The ruby-red blade was shaped as a feather or a flame; slitted, the edges shining with subtle gold of deadly sharpness. Several gasps echoed from the crowd of lendtiers as he pulled it out of the Ored tree; which instantly restored the intense amount of missing matter the Fyrevere had demolished. A blinking silver gleamed in his eye and he observed a somewhat misplaced half-moon silver coin seemingly stuck or melted in the centre of the quillon of the golden hilt, the pommel of which was shaped in that of a magnificent bird’s wing; the grip felt of warm steel in Chrys’s grasp.

"Are... are those the Flareswords!?" Que asked; sounding absolutely shocked. Chrys, holding the Fyrevere in his right hand, turned to see Sylus do the exact same. They looked at one another at the same time and then they both looked to see the other's sword.

The Fyrevolt in Sylus's right hand seemed to be identical yet its shape appeared as the other’s exact mirror opposite – as if they fitted together.

What the hell is going on?

It felt as if the whole world was watching; the crowd a noise of crazed chatter. Chrys’s mind throbbed just as much from confusion as his body did from the collision. His grip tightened around the hilt of the Fyrevere.

BOOM!

It came from the tip of Medioce Webber's finger, which emitted a puff of smoke, pointing to the sky. "This gathering is hereby concluded!" she called; it was followed by an instant uproar "Anybody caught standing around here in the next five minutes will be exempt from the Apalorn Exam! Yes – you too Madam Vencheng!”

Chrys and Sylus did not break eye contact as the crowd of lendtiers made their way out; the air thinning in Chrys’s lungs the further away they drew. He was unsure as to what to think or feel, for it was evident that he would be in trouble for partaking in a fight in a moment where peace was meant to be shared – but how would he explain the sudden appearance of the sword in his hand.

He tried to remember what Que had called them,

What did it mean? Where did they come from? Who did they belong to?

Certainly... he stopped the hope as the thought flared inside of him... certainly, this sword could not be… mine ? His eyes shot back to Sylus, whose eyes were gawking in wonder as he examined the Fyrevolt in his own hands.

"Olysos, Salfur P’ra; Exo Octivia…” Medioce Webber mumbled, swirling then twirling her finger before her. With a puff of grey and silver smoke a large black and white specked owl appeared before her; fluttering its wings upon manifestation and circling around the medioce.

This was not the first time Chrys had seen Medioce Webber conjure her formiliar, Octivia, who was a frequent in the classes she mediated. It hooted annoyingly before perching itself on her outstretched arm.

"Go call the Hecatier committee board, and summon both the Masters," she ordered, looking the lively piece of magic in its large yellow eyes. "Tell them to meet me in the staff's boardroom immediately. Hurry, it's utterly urgent!”

The owl puffed into a cloud of silver smoke again and when it cleared it appeared as if the familiar had split itself into eight small versions of itself. They flurried their wings and hooted melodically as they flew off into in the direction of the castle.

"Right then," said Medioce Webber, her expression uncypherable. "Wallans, I'm going to ask you nicely, to remain calm as you hand over those swords to me..."

"Fat chance, Sylvia!" Sylus retaliated; he held the Fyrevolt behind his back in protest. "The gods have beseeched me with it – you know how the legends go!"

Chrys narrowed his eyes at Sylus, for it was as if Sylus knew exactly what was happening. He shook his head; it was as if all of Evalend had gone crazy.

Medioce Webber, seeming furious, held out her hand to Sylus. "Do not call me by my name you arrogant little ..." Sylus gasped as the Fyrevolt flew out of his grasp and into her clutches.

She dropped the hilt almost at once as gasped a painful release; upon the Ored soil the Fyrevolt’s hilt retreated red hot with a sizzle and a zazzle as it simmered back down to gold, releasing a faint spiral of smoke as it did so. Chrys gawked as he looked up to see Medioce Webber's hand throbbing with an intense red glaze. His hand tightened instinctively around the Fyrevere.

What is going on!

"Gineoseus!" she blew on to her hand and waved it in the air and Chrys observed her healing spell ease the tensions on her face. The scorch upon her skin, however, did not heal. Sylus did his best to bite back on laughter as she looked down at the Fyrevolt; clearly frightened by the likes of it. "Very well then," she said. "Bring the swords; do your best not to kill one another along the way."

Medioce Webber walked off in the same direction in which the Hecatiers had exited the clearing. Sylus and Chrys exchanged a quick glance before Sylus darted for his Fyrevolt.

“They’re going to try and take it from us,” he said.

“Come!” Medioce Webber called from up ahead.

Sylus grinned at Chrys, “Although I’d cut them if they tried… what would you do?”

Chrys narrowed his eyes at him and Sylus sneered before turning and walking off into the direction the medioce had gone.

Chrys held out the Fyrevere and took it in for all of its glory; it felt heavy yet comfortable in his grip and, strangely...

"My sword?" he said out loud.

He shook himself back to life. Looking around to see if he could spot the Princeton anywhere, yet somehow feeling that he did not care to much about its disappearance in comparison to the immaculate blade he held by the hilt.

He sighed; his thoughts burning as they touched the ruby-red blade. He then walked off after Sylus. Anxious to get to the bottom of this.

Medioce Webber led them through an open door where the seven other medioces that formed the Hecatier committee board were seated. In the middle sat Meastre Garbell and Maestrame DeLaw, who put her hand to her mouth as she yawned.

The eight pieces of Octivia fluttered into the centre of the room before colliding into one before disappearing in a puff of grey and silver.

The medioces of the committee board consisted of Engelbreght Sanyo, Sidney Austhere and Nina Prince to the left of the Masters and on their right sat Stella C’teller; Esma Vyren and Polyn Pine.

"Ah I should have known!" Medioce Sanyo said, first with a smile. Medioce Webber closed the door behind them and moved to take the empty seat next to him. Medioce Sanyo’s eyes widened then in bewilderment when he suddenly spotted the swords. "What have you wallans ... what are... where did you get those..." His eyes were moving furiously from Flaresword to Flaresword.

"Kion, Hellsun - would you be so kind as to put those swords before you." Medioce Webber instructed.

They did as they were told; putting the Fyrever and Fyrevoltside by side; although they were pointing in opposite directions at this time, as if a mirror was cast between them. It occurred to both Chrys and Sylus that if they were to flip them, it would appear as if they somehow fitted together; somewhat like a puzzle.

Chrys observed as the medioces and masters looked upon the blades and soon very different expressions beseeched every one of them. Meastre Garbell shook his head and licked his lips:

"But it can't be! I thought of it as but a mere legend!"

Medioce Sanyo laughed darkly; “You mean to say the accounts of the great Kindraught but a lie, sire?"

"I must admit," said Maestrame DeLaw, wiping her spectacles to have a closer look; narrowing her small dark brown eyes as every wrinkle on her forehead creased. She frowned. "I have no cooking clue what I am looking at!"

"They certainly do look like the legends describe!" exclaimed Medioce Vyren; a mediator of the social dynamics of the vast variety of Evalend diversity.

Chrys caught the eye of Medioce Prince staring back at him directly, frowning just ever so slightly. He could sense her worry edging their way between the many questions that struggled to formulate inside of him.

"Medioce Sylvia, please tell us what happened, from the beginning ..."

Medioce Webber nodded and began. "I was reading my studies when I was alerted in the vibrations that tension was arising. I found Kion locked by the abilities of Quezen Vencheng; I tried to bring an end to the fire but Chrysleon attacked her," she looked at Meastre Garbell darkly. "It could have been a fatal blow as well, Meastre, and it’s important that it be addressed. Nevertheless, the girl was able to negate the attack, but Sylus over there began to egg Mr Kion on.

“They were about to engage into a battle, when suddenly … It was as if reality itself had exploded! When I opened my eyes, Kion and Hellsun were on the opposite ends of the Unbed section... accompanied by those swords... one each!"

The entire council, save Medioce Prince, gasped at that moment. Her eyes did not move off Chrys. Her thin frown twisted ever so slightly into a dim smile.

"Just as some of legends describe!" Medioce Sanyo declared, looking to the expressions on his fellow medioces’ faces. He himself seemed unable to contain his excitement.

"Wallans," Meastre Garbell spoke. Both Sylus and Chrys met his gaze. He was now fully awake and stood up from his chair. "Do... do you know what these swords are?"

Chrys blinked; feeling slightly silly, he shook his head and said "No."

But Sylus was silent, Chrys looked over to him. There was a certain gleam in his eyes that made Chrys feel uneasy in the pit of his stomach; the smile that crossed his face had Chrys narrow his eyes at him. "They are the Flareswords." he spoke. "Few lenders believe they actually exist - I was among them. I enjoyed myths of them shared between children in the Academia. I believe Chrys got the Fyrevere, and I was gifted the Fyrevolt."

Meastre Garbell scanned the boys with gleams of concern; Chrys felt insecure in light of Sylus’s knowledge; he wished things would come to a point of making sense.

Yet in his heart burned the hope and excitement simultaneously, for all evidence was beginning to point towards....

"We need to confiscate these swords at once!" said Medioce Austhere, the mediator of Lance Mastery. Chrys's stomach dropped; he slapped himself mentally as he considered grabbing the Fyrevere to make a run for it.

"And interfere with the will of the Omnevlions!" Medioce Prince faked a laugh.

"I already tried that," said Medioce Webber. She held out her hand; it was as if her skin had melted into itself.

There was another silence in the room. Chrys could feel hope arising and burning bright in his heart.

"The only lender who can advise us on any of this is Kindraught," said Medioce Sanyo. "We shall need to summon him in order to enlighten us with what steps we need to take now."

"There is absolutely no time for that," said Medioce Webber. "These wallans are scheduled an exam in Apalorn in the matter of a dantian!"

"Certainly, they can't go on an exam now!" said Medioce Austere. Chrys, who did not receive any classes from this particular medioce, was beginning to develop a pungent disliking to him.

"Now that's a bit drastic there," said Medioce Sanyo.

"I agree!” Medioce Prince brought her fist down; throwing fire with her glare towards Medioce Austere. "Maestrame DeLaw, Meastre Garbell, I request you license these wallans their swords and allow them access to their exam. As medioce to both, I can vouch that the skills they have demonstrated in my combative classes will be well needed in the Apalorn missions ahead, and it would be an absolute shame to not allow such talents the fair opportunity of achieving Hecatier – especially in the light of these events unfolding!"

The board fell silent; Chrys hated Medioce Austere even more as he shook his head. Maestrame DeLaw, and Meastre Garbell exchanged a long look before she nodded, and then Meastre Garbell spoke.

"Very well," he said. "Walllans, on the sabbath day of Asunses at the end of this dantian you will be summoned by Sir Sanyo, who will test your abilities with these swords to see if you do indeed qualify for a temporary license; which I will assure to you before you board your train to Apalorn on the following day.

“There is one condition, however, and I will be very stern on this."

Chrys and Sylus looked up at him with mixed expressions; Chrys felt as if he could erupt in flames.

"You two are not allowed to battle on your exam; or anywhere within the Godfordt boundaries. If I should find either of you draw those swords against another lendtier of this Mastria in an act of offence, not only will you be thrown and banished from this Mastria, but I will rain the thunder of a million vaults down upon you. Is this clear and understood?”

Chrys gave one nod; Sylus chuckled with a shrug as he reached for his Fyrevolt.

“I would not dare, Meastre,” he said, but Chrys was sure he could pick up on the hint of sarcasm.

It only dawned upon Chrys when he picked up the Fyrevere... The silver blinked from the hilt; as if winking at him. He could not believe it.

“Masters,” spoke Medioce Webber; her eyes moving between the two boys before her. “May I suggest we ban the swords from class cycles until licensing has been issued?”

Maestrame De Law nodded; her eyes bewildered by all she had learned. “Keep those swords safe in your singlets, wallans. It would cause an uproar amongst the other lendtiers if this were to come out prematurely.”

“The rest of the Hecatiers will spread the word by the second dial of the morning,” Medioce Webber sighed darkly.

Chrys looked down at the magnificent hilt; shaped like a golden wing, he craved nothing more than to hold it in his grasp, so much so that the conversation around him was but noise in the background.

"Get to bed wallans; I'm sure this is a lot to absorb. We will discuss the punishment for disturbing the peace of the gathering and inform you therefore when you have departed." Maestrame DeLaw spoke finally.

They did not think twice. Chrys grabbed at the hilt and closed the door behind them as he followed after Sylus.

"Send a letter to Kindraught at once," Meastre Garbell ordered. "Engelbreght, make sure to record the entire test."

"I believe you all are being unwise," said Medioce Austere. "That is a Hellson! With a Flaresword... what could the Omnevlions possibly be thinking!”

Everybody at the table ignored him; deep in their own thought.

"Do you think they know what destiny awaits them?" Medioce Webber asked over to the Masters.

Meastre Garbell sighed deeply. For a second, he wished that he could go back to the world he so naively had existed in; a world where the Flareswords were but a legend.

Chrys and Sylus unwillingly left the castle together; having not spoken a single word to one another as they swam through the oceans of their own thoughts, only upon reaching the outside did Sylus then turn to Chrys.

"Congratulations Kion," he said with crooked smile. “And good luck.” Without another word he darted in the direction of their homing tower; leaving Chrys completely alone, in the big surrounding darkness of the Galserta grounds, with his Fyrevere sword for the first time.

And for some reason, Chrys did not feel alone, for perhaps the first time.

His grip tightened around the hilt, and then he gave it a swing – swoosh - ­light as a feather.

Before he could stop himself; he was dashing into the direction of the Ored Woods.

Perhaps he would finally be able to make his mark on the Unbed Tree.

Swinging and slashing, the Ored trees went flying in every direction; Chrys was to exhilarated to count as the Fyrevere came inches away from the Unbed tree; he brought the blade to the bark as a flash - it collided; with all intent of going right through.

Yet the magik of the Unbed was a bit stronger than even the Fyrevere at that time.

Chrys was not disappointed however; he was far to stimulated at by his luck - or whatever it was that was going on; the sword felt his most valued treasure instantly.

He turned to make his way back to the castle and sudden gasped.

Jumping backwards and holding the Fyrevere battle-ready; Chrys was facing a four-legged dog-like creature; big in stature; yet it's cold stare was not one of hunger; but rather of respect. In its mouth was a small round cylinder tube; which Chrys recognized as a casing for a scroll.

"What – who are you!" Chrys demanded.

The creature dropped the cylinder from her mouth and looked up at Chrys; there was an intelligence behind her eyes … a strange familiarity.

"I'm as you are, Chrysleon," she said. "A bit of a lone wolf with an odd brandt of destiny."

Chrys had never seen a wolf before; having only ever heard of wyrwolves; of which this creature was a lot smaller than those described.

"A gift," she said. "You will find it useful." She rolled the cylinder closer to him with her snout, then looked up at Chrys almost proudly. "You are most deserving; never forget that!"

She then turned and trotted away; as silent as she had come.

When Chrys finally lowered his defenses when he was sure that he was safe and alone. He reached for the cylinder and opened it; unravelling the scroll; the sigil of black ink faded upon his gaze as a long, broad Fayanate-skin sheath fell from its two dimensional plain.

He picked it up and slid the Fyrevere into it.

It fitted perfectly.

It was dark.

Standing on the top of one of Galserta’s tallest towers was Sylus.

If not for his pail skin, which shone in the darkness like a pearl in the depths of the night, it would have been hard to notice that Sylus was there at all...

“""Olysos, Muar Uam; Exo Svenessen…”

Sylus's formiliar; a big eyed short beaked crow by the name of Svenessen, appeared with a puff of black smoke before Sylus and fluttered face level with his summoner.

"Go to Father," he said. "Tell him it is urgent." Sylus pointed his palm next to the crow. "Nepo Die Eltapore." A vortex spun out in reverse with a strange suckling pull which led to a whirling darkness.

The dark portal. It was a very deep and forbidden Magik in all of Therom; and greatly feared. It had been modified so many times by the ones who made use of it, that over time it had become near impossible to set up perfect barriers and boundaries against it.

Sylus would be imprisoned if caught using such magik. His father himself had told him to use it only ever in extremely urgent situations.

This has to be urgent enough, he thought to himself.

However, Svenessen hesitated.

Sylus pushed fire from his focus and the crow cried an annoying Kraa! before he flew into the depths of the dark portal; Sylus waved it closed and waited anxiously.

Sylus had not seen his father, Sauxuar Salvatore Helsoyn, in over two years. Having left without as much as a farewell before he had set off on another expedition, Sylus found comfort in the gift his father had left behind for him.

The Fang as he had called it; he had used it proudly with his father in mind, for he understood that his father was a busy man; and that current times were especially important in regards to creating a better future for himself and their family.

Sylus received the odd scroll from Sauxuar; written of course in the encrypted script of the Hellsuns; which kept him up to speed of recent unfolding. Instructed to burn these scrolls as soon as they were read, and to never be tempted into replying; Sylus knew that this was a matter that would qualify to disturb Sauxaur; this would certainly contribute to the plight of the Dire Cause:

The Will of the Hellsun and plenty other families through which flowed the brandished bloodt; for it was taught accurately to those born with cursed blood that balance would never be a reality if they, the brandished, were exempt from living a life as equals amongst the rest of Evalend.

Over the span of a very long time, the price demanded for existing had become so obscure between right and wrong that it was rare to find a Hellson who did not become as their outside worlds pushed on to them.

Sylus was not much different; trained by Sauxuar to assist in the infiltration of Dellfelldell; he had grown accustomed to the mask that his fellow students and medioces projected on to him. They were so busy presuming the worst of him that it was easy to get away with it in any case.

After all, it was not uncommon for a Hellson to grow within the Galserta gates and to be inspired towards the Good Fight; the will of the Sword; those who chose to rise and stand against the forces that disrupted the hopes and dreams of living a life of good will and peace in the name of love.

Sylus could never believe in it; nobody had ever proved such a will to him before. The words of his father made much more sense to him.

Sylus spat in annoyance after three hours of waiting without a sign of Sauxaur. The only heat he felt against the strong winds was the Fyrevoltsheathed to his back.

A certain warmth that he had never felt before.

The Galserta halls were filled with the news and rumors surrounding the recent murder of Parliot Wincrest; former high priest of Dellfelldell. It was a horrible death; his daughter was said to have escaped though; so, said the encrypted message Sauxaur had sent to Sylus not to long ago.

Yes; Sylus knew what few people in Evalend had known at that time.

It was his father, Sauxaur Salvatore Hellsun, who had ripped Parliot apart. "Feather for feather."

In his latest latter Sauxaur had revealed yet another account of staggering information; claiming to Sylus that he had finally bent the will of the Politea Military.

This was wonderful news; and it meant great things. Sylus had always believed the stories his father prophesied to him as a young boy:

How one day, they would rise above it all. Above all of the precognition; they can stand on the towers of the highest of palaces, and rule in a world where they were not shunned for the frequencies of their blood.

Sylus was about to give up the wait when the swirling vortex span out in reverse to reveal Sauxaur; hooded against the night and barely visible in front of the shining darkness of the portal; Svenessen on his shoulder, flew back to Sylus and disappeared with a puff of black smoke.

Sylus smirked; he could sense his father was not pleased at all.

"Father!" He started " I missed -"

"Silent, Sylus!" Sauxaur hushed. The portal closed behind him by swirling back into nothingness. "Why have you summoned me here? Do you not know how unsafe it is for me here...? Have I not informed you of recent events!"

This was of course, to be expected, but Sylus had hoped to be received somewhat more warmly. He was, after all, about to reveal the weapon that he imagined would bring great ease to Sauxuar’s strain.

Sylus drew the Fyrevoltfrom his back; it shone for a second as he held it out before him. Sylus looked up to see Sauxaur looking down at the blade with unreadable eyes; his long-plaited beard dangling.

"Where did you get this sword?" There was no emotion in his voice.

"The gods gave it to me!" Sylus laughed; Sauxaur slapped him hard across the face.

"Do not blaspheme before me, child!"

Sylus was taken completely aback; he gulped back his anger and hoped his father did not detect it.

"I don't think you understand, Father," he said. "This sword is the Fyrevolt-"

"It cannot be; the sword was sealed away in the last Salvation War," Sauxaur spat. "This is an outrage; what cry for attention is this, you sly-"

"Father, I swear it upon the iris of S’haivel!"

Sauxuar’s eyes widened as he scanned the furrowed face of his son before him; the cognitive dissonance began to fade; he could see that Sylus was not lying; yet he had felt it from the moment it had been drawn; a fierce frightening frequency that had scorched and awoken sensations close to fear. Against all logic and theory; it looked as legends described, and appeared forged by nothing like the current capabilities of Evalend. It had to indeed be the Fyrevoltsword.

"You have changed Sylus; your skin is paler; your hair is darker and longer… You are beginning to look like a true Hellsun.” Sauxaur said; his tone softening drastically. He looked down at his son with a wide yellow teethed smile and a glint in his electric grey eyes. "You have summoned me here to present to me this sword..."

"Sorry Father, but no," said Sylus. "The sword has bonded with me.” A bewildered expression crossed Sauxuar’s face. “Sylvia Webber had attempted to confiscate it earlier and she was hurt by it." Sylus continued; hoping it would be enough.

Sauxaur looked away resentfully but he held on to the frequency. He began to think. He could easily take the sword from Sylus by overpowering him, he assumed, but this seemed a silly tactic. Instead, his thoughts bent towards undermining Sylus’s intelligence by manipulating his feelings. He was aware that Sylus had a soft spot for him due to the emotional rift he had purposely allowed in his son’s life.

"What took you so long father?" Sylus asked after a minute; his undertone hinting disappointment.

"I wasn’t at the castiel," said Sauxaur “I told you; we are busy planning an invasion, I don’t have time to sit around and do nothing."

Sylus had never been to De Helderzon castiel before although it was spoken of as a home whenever Sauxaur had mentioned it. Only Svenessen was allowed through to the coordinates, and Sylus had always wondered why Sauxaur had not deemed him worthy enough to experience it. He had somehow managed to formulate an idea that Sauxuar was always at this castiel when he was not around Sylus. It occurred to him how childish that was.

Sauxuar sighed at how pathetic Sylus looked whilst holding on to the majesty of the Fyrevolt. It seemed to him almost unnatural. Sylus looked away as he burnt under his father’s scrutiny; searching desperately for what else he could possibly say to inspire more warmth from Sauxuar.

"A wallan of my Tier received the twin at the exact same time as I did," Sylus said after a while.

Sauxuar’s eyes shot at Sylus at the latest revelation, for suddenly it appeared to Sauxuar as if this was a gift from the Levidiel himself.

"Tell me everything of him, at once Sylus!" he demanded before he could stop himself.

Sylus was taken aback; but could feel a power growing inside him suspiciously. Why Sauxaur would want to know everything about Chrys, when he barely asked him anything of himself; was beyond him. But Sauxaur requested information; which meant he was making time. Sylus felt powerful in that moment.

"It's getting late, Father," he said. "Samsora will rise soon; and I fear we don't have that much time to talk."

And there was not much time to plot either, Sauxaur thought. He would have to act quickly.

"Very well, son," Sylus was surprised to hear that his father sounded much kinder and a lot

more sincere. He turned to face Sylus with an almost kind smile. Then he pointed his palm and the swirl of a dark portal vortexed outwards from nothing.

"Come Sylus," he said. "It's about time you see the castiel of your great forefathers..."

As Sauxaur vanished amidst the shiny darkness, Sylus felt a burst of joy. This was proving to be the best day of his young life.

Chrys awoke in his tiny room, his head spinning in from the variety of dreams that had kept him busy in his sleep. He jolted out of bed as soon as he remembered the day ahead; for he would finally be able to wield his Fyrevere again freely.

Even if it meant having to dual Sylus for who knows how long; he kicked himself out of bed and unlocked his weapon locker quickly to reveal the magnificent blade of the Fyrevere from the Fayanate-leather sheath.

The first dantian of the new Mastrial term had been crazy to say the least; word had gotten out amongst the tiers about the happening that had occurred at the Unbed Woods. Chrys could feel the sharpness of speculations and whispers around every corner he went and had made a point to avoid all contact, when necessary, after some had dared to directly ask him if the whispers were true.

Naturally he had ignored them and as of late word in the corridors said that Sylus and Chrys had pulled an elaborate attention seeking prank. Chrys, of course, did not care what others thought as long as he was left alone.

He was startled by a sudden knock on the door

"Kion, ye up?" Came the call of Medioce Sanyo. "You here?"

Chrys tightened his belt before opening the door; he was surprised to see Sylus standing behind him, smirking; the golden hilt of the Fyrevoltvisible over his left shoulder. Chrys found himself to be peculiarly excited to see the blade; and he could tell Sylus was disappointed that the Fyrevere was currently visible. There was something else different in Sylus's electric eyes; but Chrys did not want to linger.

"Ah Kion, good morning young walleon,” Medioce Sanyo said with an excited smile. "Get dressed, go have breakfast, and rapport to my classroom so we can get to testing whether or not you and Hellboy over here are due fit for licensing!"

Chrys rushed from there; throwing on a light shirt, he made sure to grab breakfast offered at the cafeteria building; which was served on the way to the Mastria castle. He gulped down a scrambled egg sandwich; knowing that the energy would be needed.

He got to the classroom at the same time as Sylus; who had been coming from the opposite direction They stood still before the door and shared a quick glance.

"Think you can handle a Phaeonix, Kion?" Sylus grinned.

Chris narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"A what?"

Sylus sneered as he opened the door to the Sword Mastery classroom. Medioce Sanyo nodded at their appearance; tightening a breastplate around himself. He beckoned to both of them to join him in the arena. They stood on opposite sides.

"Right, Hellboy, Kion; blazers off – armors on - draw the Flareswords!"

The Flareswords shone a bright maroon golden the moment Chrys and Sylus drew the sword simultaneously; Medioce Sanyo whistled in admiration.

"The Omnevlions have proved themselves humorous to grant you wallans these swords just as both of you start acting up! Now you both heard what Meastre Garbell has said; let us get through this together wisely and cleanly, and most importantly, with all our limbs still attached to our bodies.

"We will begin with a basic demonstration before we get to the good stuff," he said.

Right, Kion, show me every swing and style you know!"

Chrys and Sylus spent the hour repeating every skill and technique they had ever learned under the careful observation of Medioce Sanyo; swiping and attacking the thin air; Chrys himself was amazed at how fluently the blade flowed with him; and how precisely he was able to flow along with the blade. It was unlike wielding the Princeton; which Chrys could only now notice was not a very comfortable sword at all. It felt almost to Chrys as if his skills and abilities had levelled up overnight. Judging by what Sylus was demonstrating, Chrys was not really surprised to find that the same applied to him.

"Well, that was perfect," remarked Medioce Sanyo; jotting down the feedback from the testing. Chrys was pleased to hear this; Sylus, smiled almost apathetically.

"Right, now, let’s see what happens when we put you wallans up against one another."

Chrys looked at Sylus; who burned the same energy back at him in reflection. With a swing to ready the blade; both wallans began to circle one another. Chrys could read in Sylus's eyes the moment he decided to attack; and Chrys flung the blade to block.

BANG!

From the collision of the blades a reaction formed and enveloped the wallans in a split second; cocooning them in a bright gold that caused Medioce Sanyo to cover his eyes. Both boys were thrown in opposite directions and the light spiraled out into existence; the rumbling of the air settled.

Chrys and Sylus got up to their feet; luckily unarmed. "Well," said Medioce Sanyo with raised eye brows. "That made absolutely no sense."

Sylus shook his head in confusion. The Medioce had a point; based on the information his father had given him earlier, this was the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

"Er, wallans, would you mind doing that again?"

And they did; and the same BANG followed by rumbling happened; and then yet again; and then again. By the fourth time; both boys seemed tired and out of breath, and thoroughly over crashing into the walls.

"Er," Medioce Sanyo seemed out of hope. "Right, can't send you off with swords that don’t quite... um... work?"

Sylus gasped. "Draw your sword old man!" he commanded. "I'll show you this sword works!"

Medioce Sanyo looked at Sylus, apparently unphased by the lack of respect. He nodded and drew the icy blue blade of the Glaciour.

"Right, Hellboy," he announced. "Come at me!"

Sylus smirked but did not hesitate; Chrys held his breath as the Fyrevoltswung -

Clang! And the blade retreated; Chrys sighed in relief. There was no reaction; instead, Sylus danced around Medioce Sanyo; the Fyrevoltbouncing off the Glaciour as Sanyo blocked every strike pro-actively. With one swift movement, he moved aside of a stab from the Fyrevolt, and gave Sylus a smack with the dull side of the edge of his blade.

Sylus toppled forward and groaned in frustration as he landed on the floor. Medioce Sanyo chuckled happily and swiped the air before him coolly.

"That should do!" he spoke. "Right, Kion, you're up! Bring it!"

Chrys's attempt went just as sourly as Sylus's had; but the defeat was nothing to how wonderful it had felt to battle freely with the Fyrevere for the first time, even when the Glaciour pointed down at him to signify that he had lost.

Medioce Sanyo withdrew the Glaciour and sheathed it back to his back. He held out a hand to Chrys; who pushed himself up in-spite the offer.

Sylus watched with a grin; happy that Chrys fared as well as he had.

"That should do," Medioce Sanyo announced again. "I am happy with these results and will rapport all to Meastre Garbell. It appears that you wallans won’t be able battle with these swords even if you tried and therefore there should be no hassles on your exam. Unless you wallans of course want to be flying all over Apalorn in attempt..." the mediator laughed.

Sylus and Chrys were caught in a long and intense gaze again. Medioce Sanyo gulped.

"Right wallans; sheath those swords," he said. "Go grab your lunch kits and go about your days. Your licenses should arrive to you in due time."

Sylus did so and apparently in a hurry; he was out of the area in no time.

"Chrys," Medioce Sanyo spoke. Chrys turned to him to see an almost concerning look glazing the eyes of the Medioce. He had never heard the teacher speak his first name before. "I was wondering ... do you know what all of this means?"

Chrys's brain hurt from trying to make sense of all of it. He was trying his best to accept things as they were; to go with whatever it was that seemed to be flowing. He shook his head in response to the question.

Medioce Sanyo sighed deeply. "Ah my boy, I wish I could tell you without spreading a lie. Legends are obscure; although there are many... I cannot tell you what it is I know because it purely does not count as knowledge." He looked at Chrys. "I do feel however, that I will share this with you. That common legends state that there are one of two fates that fall upon the chosen wielder of a Flaresword.

“Death or Forfeit."

CIXTRIDRI

THE KEYS OF DESTINY

Allaana’s eyes widened and she chuckled sweetly as she finally decoded another segment from the ancient book of prophecy; ‘The Songs of Tomorrow’: a very large hardcover written in many different Evalend languages over a tremendously long span of time.

After wasting days at end, she finally found a chapter completely dedicated to the Sylver Aodd translating plenty of prophecies that had already come to pass and had only recently realized how to translate and calculate the dates in which unfulfilled prophecies were to unfold.

After finishing the last sentence of her latest translation; she read over it a couple of times before silencing her mind finally for a clearer sense.

It read:

Upon the Azste within the Tetranth centrevel of the Byduanth Midascension:

The keys of destiny shall be delivered to the City of Chaos as per a promise by the Elector.

Two brothers who look to opposite ends shall turn to face one another and upon their embrace shall manifest an eruption which shall knock the basket of flowerings from the hands of the maiden.

When the pink rose bleeds for the last time and rots; the path to the forgotten shall ignite as wild fire.

It still made absolutely no sense to her and she sighed in frustration.

"Luciana," she called. Luciana was sitting at a marble desk behind her, her own nose deep in a gigantic manuscript of ancient spelnamtics records. "You know the astrologistics and their symbolizations well, don’t you?"

Luciana nodded with a smile and walked over to Allaana, who showed her the script. "Does this sound or look familiar."

Luciana scanned the translation and then gasped; for in her studies of the different symbology surrounding numbering systems and Evalend astrology, this made almost perfect sense to her.

"Yes! The two brothers facing opposite directions is a symbol for the second day of the second dantian; and the maiden with the basket of flowers is a very common symbol for Astraglyph; the first lucicli!"

They both gasped when they realized this was but two days away.

"What did you guys find?" Tamoria said; feeling the buzz; Pawnick looked up from out her pocket. She marked her spot in the book of saprhix kittens she had been reading before turning all her attention to them.

"Any idea where the City of Chaos is?" Allaana asked.

"That's what they call Apalorn nowadays," Tamoria nodded.

Luciana and Allaana gasped; Tamoria rolled her eyes and smacked her lips at the building suspense. Allaana bit her lip guiltily as she thought it through properly. Then, when she was certain, she turned to face her friends and chuckled guiltily.

“You ‘zels up for another adventure?”

Death or Forfeit

Chrys awoke the next morning with a heart beating fast; the words Medioce Sanyo had spoken had repeated themselves over and over; following him long after the proceedings of his licensing test and deep into his dreams.

They repeated even as Chrys got ready. He examined the hordial to see that the train was due to leave within the next ten minutes. He swore out loud. These dreams were costing him efficiency. He threw on some pants and a shirt; threw the sheathed Fyrevere proudly around his shoulder before he gathered his luggage and stormed out of his room; dashing down the stairs; he found Medioce Prince staring at him again with folded arms.

"Your license Kion; goodness I've been waiting for you for half an hour," she said, handing him yet another envelope. "Don't go losing your sword again."

Chrys nodded; he had almost forgotten; just as he had the day before, to go and collect his new temporary license for his new sword.

"T-thanks," he muttered; pocketing the envelope safely.

Medioce Prince looked at Chrys intensely; her brows furrowed; he could feel her concern.

He never really understood why Nina cared so much for him; he had never done anything to deserve it; yet she was the only one who genuinely seemed to. He just could not quite figure out whether or not he cared about her; or for anyone at all; at least not as much as he had come to care for his new sword. This caused a cognitive diffuse in his brains whenever he thought of it.

He nodded at her, but with intent; to signal to her that, not only was he okay, but he was ready.

She nodded back at him. "Get a move on Chrys; your train leaves in four minutes."

He dashed at his fastest speed and hopped on the train with a minute to spare. The conductor eyed him dirtily as he rang the bell that indicated take-off.

The Galserta train consisted of forty carts of which only ten were being used for the planned trip. Chrys had to walk past plenty of filled compartments to finally get to a space where there was some seating. It was a compartment with eight seats inside where five others currently occupied. Chrys felt absolutely miserable as he stood there for a moment, examining the colorful lenders on the other side of the window. What made matters worse is that Quezen Vencheng was one of the two girls seated in the compartment.

Apalorn was said to be a third of a day’s spin away by the speed of the train. He did not look forward to spending that much time in a small space with so many others.

Yet he knew he had no other choice but to get over himself; as he knew that team-work would be a big factor in light of the upcoming exam, he decided he might as well start at practicing.

Chrys slapped himself mentally to prepare himself as he slid compartment’s door open.

Their chatting about died away the moment they saw him; sensing the thickness in the air; a brunette girl, whose hair was tied in a complex plate that went done to her back, with light hazel doe eyes that sparkled in the light, thought quickly.

"Hi Chrys – I'm not sure we've met yet officially; I'm Nadanae Getrienne Pharon; but don't you dare call me anything other than Nady," said Nady. She smiled warmly as she said it; Chrys nodded at her before he looked away. "Take this seat at the window." she said full heartedly. Chrys was almost sure he could pick up on a note of excitement in her tone.

Que tried her best to not look horrified as she shifted up uncomfortably. Chris only sighed inwardly as he scurried past two pairs of legs; being careful to not make any eye contact, he took the seat. Happy he could gaze outside as the forests from the world beyond swooshed by faster and faster.

"It's going to take twelve dials to get to Apalorn," said Que next to Chrys; pouting at Nady. She was not looking forward to such a long trip with Chrys's heavy energy in her vicinity. She was yet to forgive him for nearly splitting her head in two at the last Hecatier gathering.

"Should we try and talk to him?" whispered a short boy with longish strawberry-blonde hair and deep dark blue eyes, whose name was Tomovotius Elistrier, or as he was most commonly known by, Tomo. Unfortunately, Chrys had heard this; he stiffened. Nady cringed.

"Yo Chrys," said the boy seated next to Tomo. Chrys waited a second and had to gulp down rolling his eyes before turning to the boy. Spiereatore Lancelot Litentide was the name of this tall and handsome lad, although he was commonly referred to only as Spiere. He had an almost natural smolder about him, with kind brown eyes and dark chocolate hair spiked in a mohawk. "You mind interacting with us a bit? It's going to be a long ass journey."

Nady cringed even more at this; almost certain her good friend could have worded it a bit better.

"Er," said Chrys awkwardly. "I can always go and sit somewhere else."

He got up to move but suddenly Spiere and Tomo were protesting; which made him want to leave even more.

"Spierreo didn't mean it like that," said Borrin Alisaleos; the most prominent Level Six in the room. Borrin was a Reptotoid from the genus of Gator; those of which can often be found living close to the swamps in deep jungles when not within the deeps. Borrin's hard scaly skin was a mix of different blues and yellows; he had a big crested face, a long hard snout, and small yellow eyes with black slits for pupils. He smiled a row of endless teeth at Chrys. Chrys had seen Borrin around at the Mastria; he was after all, taller than most lendtiers; he had just never paid any attention to any of their names. "We would love to have you as company. I am Borrin.”

He held out a scaly clawed hand; Chrys looked from Borrin, to Spiere, to Tomo. Nady was on the edge of her seat.

Chrys took the Lizard man's hand, or claw, into his own and gave it a shake. "Chrys."

Nady smiled from ear to ear, delighted with the turn of events.

"So" said Spiere, grinning and pointing to the sheathed sword Chrys had put flat on its side in between of him and the window. "Is that really the Fyrevoltt?"

Chrys met his eyes, and again, sighed inwardly.

"The Fyrevere," he said. "Well, that's what I’ve been told."

"Wow," said Tomo. "I've heard it's one of the most powerful swords in history."

"Same," remarked Nady, when she saw Chrys look over to her she smiled. "Back at my home, we learn about its powers and legends as children... We are thorough believers of the Phaeo-"

At that exact moment the door to their compartment slid open yet again, and suddenly there was another awkward moment as a girl with emerald green eyes and burgundy hair tied in two ponies coming over her shoulders to the front entered brashly.

Chrys recognized her as the girl he had been seated next to when the exam had been announced. The same girl who had gawked at him at the Unbed section right before he had received the Fyrevere.

"Oh, hi Lelloney," said Nady. "You, er, joining us?"

Lelloney seemed to clench her firsts and stiffen a bit.

"If you don't mind," she said with a somewhat restrained and deep voice. "I, uh, just got dropped by my team..."

Chrys could see Que try and signal something to Nady but Nady nodded her head pleasantly.

"Sure, take a seat next to Tomo."

Tomo blushed sheepishly and Lelloney did so. She folded her arms and looked to the ceiling.

Chrys was unsure as to why the air was thick again; he realized that everyone else in the compartment more or less seemed to know each other.

At that moment the little electric intercom in the compartment went off.

"Cart seventeen, rapport to cart two to collect your kits."

Nady got up excitedly; she hurried out the room and her friend followed after her. Chrys waited for it to empty. He would go fetch his in a while, as soon as he had caught a breather.

Lelloney, however, did not leave. Instead, she stayed behind. She was looking him deep in the eyes with stars glistening in hers. It occurred to Chrys that he had seen those eyes plenty times before over the years at Galserta; not just at this moment, or at the Unbed tree…

"Hi Chrys," she said.

"Uh, Hi Lellon-"

"Just Lelie, please," she said. "It's, um, funny you're only learning that now. I've seen you around Galserta ever since I can remember."

It dawned upon Chrys why she seemed so familiar. She had always been one of the children that grew up at Galserta, like he had. A mutual respect formed in that moment for her. She, however, looked rather upset with him for some unknown reason. It was leaving him feeling slightly uncomfortable. He twisted his memory to find any recollection he could to make it better somehow.

"Uh yeah, it's Greenstone, right?"

She blinked at him, and tilted her head to the side. Her gaze softened and her left corner of her lip pulled up almost in a faint smile.

"Yes! Lelloney Lane Greenstone; but just Lelie." She revealed a beautiful crooked smile. Her two front teeth were slightly bent over the other; but the twinkles in her eyes were...

Chrys slapped himself mentally. The tension in the compartment was a lot smoother.

"So, Flareswords and Phaeonixes, hey?" she asked.

Chrys looked down at the Fyrevere; narrowing his eyes.

"I have no clue what everybody is talking about, to be honest," he sighed, amazed at how many words he had just mastered. He looked back at Lelie, she looked completely surprised.

"You mean... you don’t know!?"

The door to the compartment slid open and Nady walked in; her look went from excitement to slight confusion as she looked from Chrys to Lelie.

"Oh," she said. Then she shook her head. "Look here; these are so cool!"

She sat next to Chrys and showed them the apouche that Galserta handed out traditionally upon the first field-exam. A leather squared bag; tightly fit with an adjustable strap, with space for up to three weapon scrolls; a wardrobe scroll and a refrigerate scroll along with a flask and the white Galserta Level Aventier uniform; neatly folded. The others had made their way back and chatted excitedly.

"Best go get ours," Lelie said.

Chrys nodded and followed her out the room. Nady looked after them suspiciously; doubting the excitement she was sure she was starting to feel.

A Thetier of the 12th level by the name of Kosan handed Chrys and Lelie their apouches upon their arrival. Kosan Goagon was a simlender from the monki genus; who were well known their uncanny skills within the spectrum of hand-to-hand combat and their knowledges and focus of the ki-force from within and around their bodies. Kosan himself was muscular and his fur a light gold-brown color, and had big brown eyes that reflected kindly in whichever light they opened; the dimples on his face had him angled in a permanent smile and his long furry tail swaying behind him.

"Chrys Kion, right?" said the Kosan. "There are special instructions in your apouche. Medioce Prince instructed you understand them thoroughly before getting to the city."

Kosan Goagon

Chrys nodded with another inward sigh. He and Lelie headed back to the compartment and Chrys froze when he saw that all five occupants were looking at the Fyrevere; still sheathed against the train wall. Chrys slapped himself mentally for forgetting it and moved over to his seat a little too quickly.

"You should scroll it," said Spiere. Chrys looked back at him in confusion.

"You can carry your weapon by inscribing it into a scroll," said Que at Chrys's confusion. "It's Dwelvish Magik. By using the scrolls of the Dwelves, we can store three dimensional objects in a two-dimensional space five dimensionally."

Tomo unrolled one of his scrolls. Chrys and Lelie both watched with high interests as he loosened his sheath off his back and put the weapon to the paper; it vanished with a blink and a small sigil appeared on the glowing parchment.

"Wow!" Tomo exclaimed with a smile; looking at Spiere. "There's so much space in them!"

Spiere turned to Chrys and laughed at his expression. "You didn't expect to be running all over Dellfelldell with the weight of our weapons spoiling all the fun, yeah?"

Chrys was not sure how he felt about letting the Fyrevere out of his sight. He spent the next five minutes watching them scroll their weapons Most of which had been hidden anyway by some kind of sheathing. They noticed Chrys did not follow pursuit, but they did not say anything.

He opened his apouche to find a little envelope that read:

Chrysleon Kion

Please note that as punishment for disrupting the flow of the last Hecatier gathering; you are hereby been instructed to be teamed with Sylus Hellsun and Quezen Vencheng.

Med. S Webber

Que gasped; Chrys looked up to see she had just read the same news in her own scroll. She handed it over to Nady; who flinched and then smiled.

"Looks like you're with us, Chrysleon," she said, turning to Chrys with a smile.

Lelie stifled at that moment.

"Ah this is horrid!" Que exclaimed. Chrys shot her a nasty look. "No, not you... that Hellson! I bet he is going to force us to team with that stupid Calus and that dirty Ida!"

"They are not as bad as you make out!" Lelie exclaimed suddenly. Everybody turned to her. "Not everyone got fed with the silver spoon, Quezen!"

Que looked flabbergasted; she turned to Nady for assistance.

"Well," Nady said after a second. "With Chrys and Sylus, and possibly Ida and Calus, we already have ten team members ... and we are going to need another five..."

"Can I join you guys?" Lelie blurted out before she could stop herself.

Nady blinked at her; everyone else remained silent. Chrys was not sure how he felt about any of these developments, but somehow, he found that out of everyone in the room, he would have liked to personally be teamed with Lelie the most.

"I don't see why not," Nady smiled. "Besides; I think the whole idea of the field exam is for us to start opening our hearts to the world we live in. We might as well start by opening our hearts to each other."

Chrys ignored the sensation her words had caused him; he looked over to her; light reflecting off her tanned cheeks. There was something very strong in her demeanor, in-spite of her tiny frame.

"T-thank you," Lelie said. Chrys detected the true gratitude in her before she shook herself back to life and her eyes became glossy again.

He hated to admit it, but he could see right through Lelie's walls.

"Yo!" exclaimed Spiere suddenly. "Nobody said anything about ganging up with a Hellson!"

"Agreed," said Borrin; his wide reptilian mouth frowning. "That guy knows nothing of team work”.

Chrys sighed; he made a movement in order to leave to compartment but Nady sat him down with one intense stare.

"Get over it, all of you," she said, ending her gaze on Que; who was wearing the 'I-told-you-so’ glare upon her gaze. "Oh Que, get over it! It's an exam, not a holiday! If we can't get past the simple challenge of getting along, then we have all failed in more compartments than just this exam. Besides, I have some classes with Ida and Calus. They are not as dumb as they look."

He sighed inwardly as he turned to watch more trees he had never seen before speed by through the window of the train. This adventure would prove to be an interesting one. He slapped himself mentally as he thought it.

Chrys felt at that moment less alone than he had ever felt before.

The train finally stopped at Apalorn a little over the first dial of the dim as Samsora’s goodbye cast the sky in purples to golds.

Just as promised; the Keys of Destiny had arrived in the city of chaos.