AKI:
Master Ekolise stood before our much-reduced group early on the first day of Spring. The pitter-patter of heavy rain echoed quietly in the large dining hall. All were present—forty-three out of the hundred-and-twenty we started with a cycle of seasons ago. Not even the Leaves were given leave to abscond our introduction into the second year.
“Good day,” the olive-skinned master began. Dark clouds peaked through the tall windows behind him as if in disagreement. “First, let me congratulate you all for reaching your second cycle here at The Academy. It is by no means a minor accomplishment, and doubly so since most of you have an inkling of how dangerous your stay here will be hereafter. Now, I trust you have all had your fill?” The clinking of eating utensils hitting plates and the thunks of half-empty mugs hitting tables rang out in answer. “Good.”
A diminutive Root emerged from a side door leading to the servant quarters, a state of papers in hand. Methodically, he approached each of us, asked for our names, leafed through the documents, and handed us our sheets.
“On your personalized sheets,” Ekolise said, “you will find a comprehensive list of the classes available to you along with their respective schedules, locations, and recommended reading materials. Your marks have been attuned to allow or block entry to these classes. I insist you avoid sneaking into any you’ve not qualified for. Attendance is voluntary. Second-cycle classes are not segregated by dorms, and several masters will be present to accommodate the larger number of students. My fellow Masters and I serve two purposes— to provide personal guidance in the practical application of the Art and to address whatever queries you’ve extracted from any lingering ignorance the cornucopia of reading material has not cured you of. Instead of examinations, your admittance to the third cycle has one requirement—survival.”
Ekolise fell quiet in acknowledgment of the students’ eagerness to peruse their sheets. Excited exclamations and hushed discussions quickly filled the room. I looked at my list, finding, as expected, various classes for Alchemical and Auger Arts.
Dako stood abruptly, a spark of triumph in his eyes. “I got it!”
I smiled. “Of course you did. Besides having already been told so, your harmony is on par with most Seculors of House Grono.”
Dako grinned back at me. “But I more than passed, Aki. In one cycle, I learned enough to merit specialization.”
“Sit down, you oaf.” Sil crumpled her sheet into a tight ball.
“Come now, Sil,” I said. “It’s not like you were planning to be anything but a dual Vapor. Why are you sulking?”
Sil's frown deepened. “Easy for you to say.”
Dako settled back into his seat, his jubilant expression marred by a touch of guilt. Despite his desire to appease Sil's discontent, his overwhelming joy proved difficult to suppress. “Aki’s right. What need have you of another Art? Only the weaker godlings try to diversify their abilities. When you have the gift of inserting Meaning, there is little point to pursuing anything else.”
Sil averted her gaze, her tight lips hinting at a secret or admission that would silence Dako and me. Instead, she spat a hot rebuke at Dako. “Then consider yourself weak.”
“Harsh,” Wiltos said. He’d begun to keep us company since our first cycle ended—like us, he’d chosen to stay rather than return home, the thought of facing his family after the loss of his sister too daunting.
Dako held up his hands, leaning back as though dodging a blow. “I meant nothing by it, Sil. And remember,”—he held up his sheet and waved a hand up and down the list—“no matter what it says here, my choices are set. And like you, there’s little I can do about it.”
Sil sighed. “I know, I know. Ignore me. It’s just—”
“I trust you’ve all had enough time to confirm what you already knew.” Ekolise’s accented voice muzzled all but the soft drumming of the rain. “Let us get back to more important matters. There will be two factors determining your survival.
“Firstly, you will need coin. Your stay here is no longer free. The cost of your education itself is deferred to the day you graduate, where you will be asked to settle the balance. Until then, you must pay The Academy for room and board at the end of every moon cycle. Anyone who fails to do so on time will be compelled to provide an indentured service to The Academy. Be warned, ninety-nine of every hundred die before accomplishing their allocated task. I suggest you swiftly accumulate enough to cover the cost of living at the start of every moon cycle and then limit the capital you spend to whatever surplus you manage to scrounge together.
“There are many ways to earn coin. Almost all are open to you, so long as they are earned legitimately and not borrowed, stolen, or provided for by another. You may undertake missions listed by The Academy, engage in hunts for the city's Research Institute, participate in Colosseum battles, create and sell Alchemical tonics or Aedificator contraptions, find work in the enforcers' division of the Admin Institute, or various other viable means. Your options are many.
“Besides coin, you will need strength. Whatever wing of the RAW Institutes you aspire to join upon graduating, you must survive trials of combat. Six rules govern these bouts. Firstly, no challenge can occur between students from different years unless authorized by a master and accepted by the younger of the two combatants. Secondly, all students must fulfill one offered and one accepted challenge per lunar cycle, meaning you are obliged to participate in two bouts every month—further to this rule, you may only refuse two challenges per month. Thirdly, battles between members of the same faction do not contribute to your monthly quota, nor do they count toward your official record. Four—” Several hands rose, prompting Ekolise to pause. The master motioned for them to lower their hands. “I will explain factions shortly. Now, the fourth rule stipulates that all bouts are limited to mundane weapons. If you wish to use sensus-made or matrix-infused weapons, you must fund or create said weapon yourself. Five, you may surrender, but so too may your opponent refuse your surrender. Lastly, if your ratio of wins to losses falls below three to one for more than three battles, you will be charged a year's tuition plus an additional year for every subsequent loss. A victory will reset your ratio, but the incurred debt will remain. Note that these costs will not be deferred and must be paid at the end of the lunar cycle.
“Now, factions. Though all your predecessors—and you yourselves soon enough—tend to assign specifics to the concept, your faction simply includes any student you are unwilling to kill. This will be assessed by the ancient soul Lorail had long ago infused into The Academy’s battle arenas. Do not try to trick the being. You will fail. I doubt you’d succeed where Auger Masters have failed.
“Finally, regarding assigned rooms. This dormitory has, as of now, been designated a second-cycle dormitory. Two changes accompany this reassignment. You may, upon request, change the Aedificator matrixes to enlarge or combine several rooms into one living courter, meaning cohabitation is now permissible. Also, all second-cycle dorms are open to all second-cycle students, given space is available and the required request has been made. Alternatively, and if you are skilled enough to amass sufficient wealth, you may rent one of the houses near the market district.
“That is all.”
***
“Must the world wake with you, Dako?” Sil said, walking into the common room we’d configured into the center of our newly conjoined apartments moments after me and Wiltos, her hair still damp. She rubbed at her eyes, though we all knew she’d bathed, and the process had doubtlessly washed away her drowsiness.
“You ought to thank me,” Dako said, lounging on the desk chair he’d dragged from his room. “I’ll be saving you days worth of time by year’s end.”
Sil ran a flameless Ignis matrix over her head, drying and straightening her hair. “You’ll turn me into a sleep-deprived, mumbling idiot by week's end if you persist.”
Wiltos shrugged. “Sleep is overrated.”
Dako slapped the much smaller boy on the shoulder. “Listen to him. Besides Aki, who still shies away from confronting your ideas as often as I’d like, he is the smartest.”
“Bouts,” I said, sitting between Dako and Wiltos.
“Bouts,” they echoed in unison, their smiles fading.
I swallowed. “They’ll come for me today.”
“For us both,” Wiltos said.
Dako nodded. “Neither of you have anything to fear.”
I glanced up at him, surprised. Dako wasn’t one to lie. Lying was a trait common to House Lorail; Dako was a Bainan; House Bainan hated House Lorail; Dako hated House Lorail.
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“They’ll send Froxil,” he said to me. “Trust me, he is not your match. You could beat him with your arms and legs bound.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Sil ducked back into her room and returned, dragging her chair behind her. “I agree, but can he do so without resorting to Duros Arts?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Depends how prepared he is for my Auger Arts.”
“He won’t be,” Dako said.
“And me?” Wiltos asked.
“Everyone in our cycle who cared about Hunder doesn’t care enough to trouble you. Besides, now that you’re with us, none will dare.”
Wiltos nodded, though the contemplative look in his eyes showed he wasn’t entirely assured.
***
They were waiting for me in the courtyard. Vignil was at the head of their group, Froxil, Edon, and the rest of his posse arrayed behind him. The man himself was straight-faced. Calm. Bored. Almost like he was clairvoyant, and everything was proceeding as he’d envisioned. His confidence chilled me.
“The time has come,” Vignal said. He placed a hand on Froxil’s back and beckoned him forward.
Froxil stepped up to me, his fists beating against each other. “I, Froxil kin Yabiskus, challenge you, Aki au Farian. Do you accept?”
A moment of silence enveloped us. Dako’s hand gripped my shoulder. I breathed in deeply. Sil stepped up beside me, her arm brushing against mine. Even Wiltos, who shook with fear and seemed on the precipice of flight, had enough in him to glare back at the group of godlings. My pride, Dako’s confidence, Sil’s support, and Wiltos’ bravery hardened my resolve.
“Let’s be done with this,” Vignil said.
“Must we?” I asked.
“We must.”
“For an act so small and so unintentional?”
“For the sanctity of my station.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I suggest you do not.” Vignil indicated over his shoulder. “Samiel here is ready to offer you the second challenge.” The rat-faced Leaf leaned out of the small crowd and waved to me, all smiles. “And if you refuse him, you’ll find yourself facing me with no avenue of escape. Trust that making me challenge the likes of you will earn you an apt reward.”
“Careful, Brother,” Dako said. “You’re sounding suspiciously like a Lorail.”
A flash of anger rippled across the surface of Vignil’s face. “Brother or not, Leaf candidate or not, insult me again, and you will die this day. Our father would forgive me once he’s told about how gravely you offended me.”
I looked up at Dako. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
He leaned in close, his voice soft. “Better I face him than you.”
“I will not have you fight my battles.” I turned back to Vignil, who, to my surprise, only stood a few fingers taller than me. “And if I so happen to defeat Froxil?”
“A fight does not end when one party’s probing attack with a spare weapon fails,” Vignil said. Froxil’s smile dimmed at being referred to that way but was soon revitalized by the prospect of authoring my demise.
“Well then,” I said, “I might just as well break this spare weapon of yours and take it out of our battle entirely.” I turned to Froxil. “I, Aki au Farian, accept your challenge.”
The dueling courts bustled with activity, buzzing with cheers, boos, deaths, and celebrations. A chance to settle rivalries and play games of power had driven many students here before breakfast. The opportunity to assess their competitors and enjoy a show of blood drove in more. All thirty-six platforms were in use, the spaces between them packed with hollering and hooting spectators. Amid the crowd of students, servants ran to and fro, organizing battles, clearing the dead off the platforms, or rushing the injured to the infirmary. Froxil approached one of the organizers. Dako told me it was his duty as the challenger to request a dueling court.
We followed Froxil to a corner platform. The others merged with the surrounding crowd of onlookers. The Seculor boy and I joined the queue as a fresh duel commenced. Two pairs of students stood ahead of us.
“In three fights, you die,” Froxil jeered, his voice giddy with anticipation.
I kept my gaze fixed on the two combatants on stage. One was a short and sinewy Root, maybe a Bark or Heartwood, though unlikely; obedience was more ingrained in them—having more intimately witnessed the might and vindictiveness of godlings, few had the heart to oppose them. His opponent was a statuesque woman, long-limbed and with dainty facial features. A Tripler, if I had to guess. She stood a head taller than him. Most godlings were taller than commoners, but their extremes exaggerated the contrast. The Root appeared undeterred by the difference, his focus consumed by the Tripler.
He lost. She was Auger. I knew because the boy lifted his sword the moment the duel began, but instead of raising it to attack, he stood, poised to slit his own throat.
“Yield or die,” the girl said. In my eyes, she was no longer pretty, this sister of mine—or, more likely, niece. Only ugliness remained as she reveled in invading the man’s soul and turning him into a grudging puppet.
A tear trickled down the boy's cheek, the fight in him broken. Sobs escaped him when he uttered his submission. I gritted my teeth when she forced the boy to kneel and kiss the ground.
The next two combatants were both godlings. One carried an oversized hammer chiseled with Aedificator matrixes. How he had obtained the funds and time to craft such a weapon was beyond me, but he had. The other boy, a Zephyr, his hair and clothes fluttering under a wind no one else suffered, carried a pair of wicked twin swords, though both were mundane. The godlings were evenly matched for a time, but ultimately, the Zephyr severed the fingers gripping the colossal hammer, disarming his Telum adversary. The larger boy surrendered the moment he lost grasp of his weapon. I doubt the Zephyr would’ve acknowledged his resignation if his opponent was a Root. But then again, he was of House Manar; he might’ve.
The third match was between a reluctant Root and an excited Alchemist. A single bite from the venomous fangs the godling had adopted reduced the Root to her knees. She died soon after. Horribly. Her screams sang a lengthy song of agony only the soul could interpret. All the while, the Alchemist studied his victim, noting the effects of his work.
Our turn came. Not a speck of worry stained my thoughts. Anger ruled. My gaze lingered on the lifeless body of the unfortunate girl as a servant dragged her away to whatever abyss The Academy threw its countless dead into. Someone nudged me from behind. I glanced back, and one of the godlings next in line nodded toward the stage. I looked. Froxil stood in the arena, waiting, a smug smile adorning his face. I hadn't noticed him leave my side. Seething, I stepped forward and took my place.
The servant dropped the flag to commence the duel. Froxil didn’t hesitate. He pounced at me. Without moving a finger, I did the same.
Dako was wrong; Froxil had prepared. My sensus hit an impregnable barrier. A glimmer of metal caught my eye, hidden beneath his collar. I was forced to dodge before I got a good look at the defensive trinket.
Reflexes honed through countless practice sessions with Dako had me react without thought. My mind entered a trance. I deflected his strike and retaliated. He stumbled back. An opportunity, thought the killer in me, the warrior I’d honed into a weapon, into a transient persona who wielded a honed instinct for battle. I pressed onwards, my attacks flowing into each other, refusing Froxil a reprieve. He stumbled back some more, balance faltered, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to regain control. I threw a punch at his unprotected chest. All the correct muscles synergized, from those controlling the twist of my feet and hips to those snapping my arm forward. The joint and fingers of my arm hardened. Bone covered my knuckles in a protective casing.
I connected.
Froxil stared at me. I stared back. My eyes trailed down to see my arm buried in his chest. I pulled it back, sliding past pulverized flesh and scraping past broken bones. He staggered but remained on his feet. Blank faces stared at me through the bloody cavity I’d made.
A roar of a hundred voices erupted. Roots cheered. They took pleasure in witnessing the demise of a godling. So did most godlings. Those outside our dorms thought of me as one of their own. If they knew I was merely a Heartwood…
Froxil crumpled, his eyes vacant.
I scanned the crowd. My friends stood beside my enemies. Dako's lips were pressed into a line of worry. Sil was shaking her head. Wiltos stared wide-eyed. Vignil observed me with a calculating gaze, his mind working behind his impassive exterior. Samiel, with his unsettling smile, regarded me as if I were a fascinating specimen he yearned to experiment on. Edon watched me as if I were a stranger.
I ran.
My feet pounded against the ground as I raced toward the safety of the dorms, jostling past the crowd. Scenes blurred past me; I was augmenting my legs without thought, without effort, and despite the restrictions of my mark. Finally, I reached the solace of my room and slammed the door shut behind me. Time seemed to warp as I caught my breath.
A knock came at my door.
“Aki?” It was Dako. “Aki, can I come in?”
I did not respond. The door creaked open. I sat on the edge of my bed, fragmented thoughts consuming my mind. One stood out.
“They know,” I said.
“They do.” Dako sat down beside me.
“What am I to do?”
“Pay the price.”
I looked at him, a flicker of anger igniting within me. The worry I had seen in Dako's eyes was gone. That angered me more. “You’ve counted me dead, haven't you? You think me weak? You think they can stop me?”
“Aki,” he said, his tone soft. Understanding. Aggravating. “You did not run away from them.”
Suddenly, my anger was gone. No, not gone, just redirected toward its rightful place: Myself. I’d run. I’d run like the fearful little Mud rat I was. I’m still useless, I thought. Still his son. Still—
“What did you do?” Dako asked, breaking me out of my self-recrimination. It wasn’t an accusation.
“What do you mean?”
Dako nodded at my bloody arm. “What did you do?”
I splayed and then curled my fingers, flakes of brown-red cracking and floating off my hand. The blood had dried quickly. How much time has passed?
“I killed Froxil,” I said
“What is he?”
“A miscreant?” I tried.
“What is he? What is his father? What is his father’s father?”
I saw where he was going and said, “Froxil is a godling. A Seculor.”
“How did you kill him?”
Memories of the battle flashed before my eyes. “Swiftly.”
“And so, who exactly did you run from?”
“I ran from Vignil.”
“No, Aki, you didn’t. What did you run from? I was watching you. Whose face caused you to run?”
“Edon’s,” I whispered. “He looked at me like…”
“Yes. So, what did you run from?”
“I ran from becoming the very thing I hate.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I’d dealt with it?”
“No,” Dako said. “You thought you had banished it, but this fear cannot be so easily dismissed—shouldn’t be so easily dismissed. You have embarked on a journey to claim your freedom, and freedom always exacts a price. This fear, my friend, is one of the costs you must bear, for gaining power always brings the chance for corruption. Have you not wondered why so many of our kin are the way they are? Hard as it is to believe, there was a time when Vignil was my friend. More than that, he was… not who he is today. He was… better. Kinder. Power took that from him, and he is less for it. We—you and Sil and I, and even Wiltos, maybe even Malorey and Illora—seek the same power, just for different reasons. We must be careful as we tread our paths because it is easy to fall into the sweetness of power, of freedom, so deep as to leave ours and enter another’s, strip from them what we ourselves seek. Do not fall, Aki. Please. If not for you, then for me. I do not wish to bear another loss, to make another friend an enemy.”
I nodded mutely, the glassy shine of my friend’s eyes pulling me back to sanity. He was right. Not entirely, for I was not seeking freedom as much as I was seeking revenge, but he was right. It seemed my pride was not enough to eclipse everything else I was. Nor was my fear. Not with Dako at my back. Not with the weight of the silent promise I’d just made.