The last day with her mentor before enrolling into Brutus Saint’s Academy came and went as if in a movie fast-forwarded by a commercial-addicted toddler. Mary tried to memorise everything Bromman tried to teach her as well as she could, but the crash course she received was almost brutal. There wasn’t enough time to prepare her physically, he said, but that was no reason for her to be unprepared mentally as well.
She was told how to sense danger, or rather - consciously recognise the symptoms of her unconsciousness doing it for her. She knew the ‘safety procedures’ for various emergencies, most of which focused on getting towards or far away from the largest group of bystanders in sight (which didn’t seem particularly heroic to Mary’s taste). She learned about other types of heroes and prophecies, but those seemed to flee her mind as fast as they entered - and Bromman said that almost everyone and their cat used different classification systems anyway - even Key mixed them.
Finally, and most importantly, he advised her on the choices she would make in the academy.
“First thing, you need to find a party. Usually, those are groups of three or five people, although the academy won’t outright disallow other numbers. Each party is lead by a Chosen One, which is the Adolescent Division of the Heroes Department’s ‘type A’ equivalent in Academy classification, but it is mostly customary as well. You want to find one that isn’t too shiny in any way - those tend to make your life way harder than it’s necessary or worth. You’re a type C hero, which someone in their genius roughly translated as a Vague One, and the buzzing fly by your side makes it hard to miss. Don’t try to hide it - contrary to what it may seem, most people aren’t that blind. Also, you want to be able to trust your friends, and the same goes the other way - you’ll probably end up hiding some secrets in the end, but that’s no reason to add another one to the list. Oh, and a lot of others will probably have different… pets... - it is considered rude to comment on most of them, so the best shot is not to do it at all, since the social rules are always changing and it’s too bothersome to keep up to date with them.”
The next day, Mary’s head was still dizzy from everything she’d learned swirling in her head, which wasn’t good. They were almost there - she could already make out the overgrown, skyscraper-high, dark walls that would seem out of place anywhere, and a piece of a city in the exact middle of nowhere was no different.
Well, about that… The ’city’ wasn’t like any other she’d seen. Tall skyscrapers were mixed with single-family houses in a seemingly random manner. The skyscrapers must have been hundreds of floors high - but the walls surrounding the academy towered over them nonetheless. The academy seemed to be placed on this city’s edge on purpose - its main gate opened not towards the somehow lively centre, but the barren desert. Or maybe it was the other way around - maybe it was the academy that was here first.
A few minutes later, she was able to grasp more details - the city seemed not only random but actually chaotic - from what she could tell, some of the tallest buildings were actually burned-out husks, with steel wires sticking out of them at strange angles. Others were much more alive, covered with giant advertisements flashing all kinds of bright colours like the largest disco imaginable.
And the walls of the academy weren’t as even as she initially thought. Something was jutting out of their battlements. Something large, irregular… and moving...
“Bromman, what are those...,” Mary trailed off.
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“They’re spikes,” he answered, apparently expecting the question. “These walls have seen more than a single siege, and most of them weren’t what you’d call conventional warfare either. You’ll see more than one beast’s remains when we get closer and far more before you finish your degree. You may even place a few of them there yourself.”
“Are they… moving?”
He sighed. “Most of the stuff you’ll fight won’t simply die just because you kill it. Or chop it to pieces. Or impale it on the spike.”
She swallowed audibly and asked no further questions until they reached the wall. But they weren’t heading to the gate - Bromman turned left, and kept driving.
“Um, shouldn’t we go that way?” Mary asked.
Her mentor shook his head. “We have one more thing to do. Once you get in, they won't let you out that easily.”
She frowned. “Wait, why wouldn’t they? Will I be a prisoner there?”
Bromman sighed. “No, but the formal procedures will take hours, and we don’t have that much time left together - we’re pushing it far as it is.”
He pulled over next to a smaller gate, close to the intangible city boundary. This entrance didn’t seem to be used too much - but dozens of people seemed to live there. From the car, Mary counted a couple of tents, an empty metal barrel with a fire burning inside, and a few torn blankets scattered here and there. Bromman came out and motioned for her to follow, which she reluctantly did. These people didn't seem to be the academy’s students - at least Mary hoped they weren’t. She didn’t want to become like them - mostly, smell like them. Surprisingly, she had met worse ones in the past, but it definitely wasn’t roses either.
“Hello, boss,” said one of the men, rising from his ‘bed’. With a dark hood covering his face in shadows, scarred hands, and a large, thick sword that served shifts as a walking stick, the man in front of her looked funny and scary at the same time. The others didn’t seem to care, but Mary noticed that their hands casually moved to the hilts of their weapons. The way some of them looked at her sent cold shivers down her spine. “Do you have any extra change to spare for us, boss?”
Instead of answering, Bromman took out a particularly large coin, which shone gently in a rainbow of colours, including black. Mary didn’t think it was possible for something to shine black before, but the effect was surprisingly pleasant to her eyes. The beggar snatched the coin out of the air, and Mary almost jumped. The motion tossed the man’s hood off, allowing her to see the insides. She didn’t expect him to be so young - he could have been younger than her.
“This,” Bromman pointed at her, “is Mary Susan Oceanwalker. She’s my new apprentice. Mary, this is Arthur Quillich.”
The man nodded respectfully and looked at her with bright, piercing eyes that didn’t belong to this dirty face, nor to the patched hood’s shadow. She could feel the weight they bore, one rarely seen in teenagers. What happened to this… man? Boy? No, not a boy, not any longer. A man. He raised the sword to her in a parade salute, with a strange dignity she had before only read about. Yet on the way down, he relaxed his hand and let it all but fall to the ground.
“Don’t worry, boss. We’ll keep an eye on her,” he said.
Mary didn’t know what to say. “Um… thanks.”
After a second or two, she noticed that Bromman was already moving back to the car, and she hurried after him. Only there did she muster the will to ask, “Who was that?”
“Those,” said her mentor, “were heroes. Both triumphators and the conquered, forgotten by those they once protected. They know only war, and once they won, there was no way for them to go back to the past.”
He twisted the key, and the engine waking from its sleep filled the silence with its gentle roar, carefully as if not to ruin the moment. “They should help you if no one else will. I know Arthur, and he’s a man of his word. But remember - you need to go to him directly. They may be broken, but they’re still dangerous.”
Mary didn’t know what to say, so the car drove to the academy’s main entrance in as much silence as was possible in a tired car.