Leo
King’s College seemed like any other school; perhaps a little more grandiose than most, and too sickly with sweaty anticipation. For Leo, it was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the floating city of Plato and its oh-so-brilliant citizens, who imagined themselves as saviours of a dying world. But for the hundred-and-something fresh and nervous smiles that were filing into the great hall it was just a school.
Granted, it had a reputation. King’s College was the best, and only allowed the best in. Only let the best out in one piece. However, just as the clouds separated their city from the Earth’s surface far below, that reputation clouded a much seedier truth.
A truth which Leo was here to find. A truth that had sent Milli to the Hell that lurked below.
Reaching into a pocket by his heart, inside the fold of his jacket, Leo produced a thin device that fit into the palm of his hand. It was a device which connected him to the city, to all the knowledge stored beneath its protective dome; a device that couldn’t give him the answers he was desperately searching for. For the thousandth time today he tapped on it and the screen lit up in photorealistic colours. It was waiting for him.
> Don’t let them take me. I’m scared.
He blacked out the screen and squeezed his eyes shut. Stop thinking about it, you cat! You know what’s coming up and you need to stay in control. No matter how many times you read Milli’s last message, you won’t learn what happened to her and it won’t bring her back. So put the meus away, act normally, and don’t bug up the entrance test.
Stuffing his meus in his pocket, Leo took three deep breaths, just as he had been instructed to do when his anger threatened to consume him. When his eyes shuttered open, he wore a relaxed smile.
The hall was speckled with a rainbow of foreign uniforms. At least, foreign to King’s College. Students stood anxiously in colour-coded clusters, unsure where to go or what to do. Their instructions, delivered via message, had said only to, “Wait in the Great Hall.” There weren’t enough of them to fill the vacuous space—there never would be—so everyone had settled on a position near the centre of the room, between the human-tall screens that stood sentinel on the room’s flanks. Standing before one of the screens was a black-haired girl, with her back as straight as a switch, hands clasped firmly behind her back, and pride oozing off her.
She was alone, just like him.
Was it pity, or a sense of familiarity? Or maybe he wanted to bring her down a level. He didn’t know his feelings anymore. Aside from rage, of course. He had no reason to tell anyone about the entrance test—none of them knew about it as it had never been divulged publicly to the bright-eyed students. Every last one of them believed they’d discovered the impossible after receiving their invitations to King’s College. If Leo said nothing, he would have been the only student prepared for a test. It would have guaranteed his place.
Leo knew it was a mistake to help, but that’s what the school wanted. Competition. Stepping on others in your quest to the heavens. The idea sickened him. Milli would hate him. His feet dragged him across the tiled floor and he placed himself a comfortable distance beside the proud girl.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Leo said, nodding towards the screen.
The black-haired girl considered him sideways and gave a stiff nod. “It most definitely is,” she said. Her voice would have sounded sweet if she hadn’t spoken with the inflection of a synthesiser. She went on, “In fact, to be standing within the same hall that our great President once stood is more than impressive. It is a symbol of our potential. There is no greater opportunity for us to rise up and save our decaying world.”
As if to ram home that arrogant sentiment, a photo of President Li cycled onto the screen. Beside it was a quote: There is no institution nor program that can prepare students for their role in saving our only Earth as thoroughly as Euripides. Elsewhere on the screen—or the notice board, given its usage—were more promotional materials. There were pompous student accolades, vapid praises from other renowned alumni, and monotonal records of the school’s exaggerated contributions to the world. All so enticing; all so normal. All so in need of dismantling.
This is going to be fun, Leo thought, and was unable to hold back a smirk.
“Your name?” he asked.
The girl faced him front on and dipped her head. “Morgan. From Augustus De Morgan.”
“Leo.” He neglected his namesake along with the customary nodding that every Platonian fussed over. To Leo’s amusement, Morgan’s reaction was immediate. Her brows furrowed and her hands fidgeted while clasped behind her back.
The two couldn’t be any less alike. Morgan’s hair was black as dark matter and cut in a perfect bowl around her shoulders, while Leo’s was a chlorine brown, unkempt, and barely under regulation length. She had a long face and dark eyes to match her hair, while Leo’s cheeks were rounder and his chin was pronounced. His eyes were mismatched—the left hazel, the right green. Morgan wore a black, high collared coat with blue accents while Leo’s blazer was a blinding red. And unlike him, there were many others in the hall wearing the same uniform as Morgan. Leo noted that she was not conversing with any of the students from her school.
The only thing we have in common is that we’re different, he thought.
“But don’t you think it’s strange?” Leo continued. He gestured towards the enormous screen. “The promotions, I mean.”
Morgan frowned at the notice board. “I cannot see why they would be. It seems natural for King’s College to wish to exhibit their achievements.”
“But aren’t we supposed to be the next class? That’s why we’re here: we’re waiting to be admitted into King’s College. Why boast to your own students?”
Morgan’s frown deepened, a comically human look at odds with her robotic demeanour. “I am not sure I follow.”
“Look around. Can you see the uniform of King’s College?”
She scanned the hall. “No. In fact, there is nobody from King’s College here at all.”
Leo nodded. “And check this out.”
He tapped on one of the boxes arrayed on the notice board. The box expanded so that it was almost as large as a human and each letter was as tall as Leo’s hand. It read simply, Who will be the next Class Euripides? The emblem of King’s College was beside it: a golden six-pointed fig leaf whose points each fractalled into six more leaves, which fractalled again, on and on until the screen lacked the resolution to display its intricacy. Wreathing the emblem were the words, Aeternitātem per Scientia—from knowledge, eternity.
“Notice something strange about this message?” Leo asked with a grin. He didn’t wait for a response. “It hasn’t been cycling out like the others. It’s like they’re trying to tell us something.”
“Well, that is of great significance,” said Morgan. “To be in Class Euripides is the goal of any student of King’s College. Oh, and if you are trying to deter me from entering Class Euripides so that you may take my place, you are not succeeding.”
Leo clicked his tongue. Great. She’s one of those types that sees everyone else as competition. He rounded on Morgan. “How long have we been here? An hour?”
Morgan pulled her meus out of her pocket and opened the screen. “I arrived here one hour and twenty-nine minutes ago.” She tilted her nose to the heavens. “In fact, I was the first to arrive. The notice board here even greeted me with a special message which said, ‘For those who are quick of thought, opportunity awaits.’”
“Right,” said Leo, now getting real frustrated with this girl that was as dense as a black hole. That message she had mentioned tickled the back of his mind, urging for attention, but he was too fixated on proving his point to give it thought. “And how long has it been since we were supposed to be here?”
“Fifty-seven—no, eight minutes.”
“And we’ve spent that whole time waiting for someone, anyone, to tell us what to do.” Leo leaned in, close enough to be heard with his voice lowered but distant enough to not be rude. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”
Morgan frowned at him. “I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
The corner of Leo’s mouth twitched. “Alright, think of it like this. They’re conspicuously placing all of these promotions before the newest students—who are still in foreign uniforms, of course. They’ve left us in a room where these promotions are the only thing we can interact with. And as part of these promotions,” Leo tapped the notice screen, “they’re telling us that there will be a new Class Euripides.”
“I see,” said Morgan, her eyes narrowing. Clearly she did not!
Leo’s smile slipped entirely. Here he was trying to help this cat while she decrypted his words into whatever programming language her brain functioned in. “Then answer this,” he said, unable to keep his frustration from his voice. “How would a new Class Euripides be selected?”
Morgan put a hand to her chin. “Perhaps some kind of test?”
Finally! But at this rate she might never understand until it’s too late. Leo gestured towards the room. “Exactly. And we have all of these students who haven’t been assigned a class.”
“What, so like, they’re going to give us a test or something?”
Both Morgan and Leo turned to where the new voice sounded from, saw nothing, then looked down. Sitting cross-legged beside the notice board was a short boy with straight black hair tied in a stub at the nape of his neck and near-black thin eyes. His meus was in his hands, held in landscape and with both of his thumbs hovering over the screen. One side of his shirt had come untucked but he paid it no mind.
“That does make sense,” said Morgan, nodding. “A test is an effective way of determining someone’s capabilities. Though whatever subject it may be on, I am confident I will do well.”
“Yeah, thanks,” the sitting boy grumbled. “Just give the box a shake while you’re there.”
“Pardon?” said Morgan.
The sitting boy shrugged. “I didn’t study.”
Morgan straightened up. “May I ask your name?”
Great, here we go again, Leo grumbled. Always formalities. Never a sense of urgency.
“Alan,” said the boy. “Like Alan Turing.”
“I am Morgan, from Augustus De Morgan.”
“I’m Leo.” He waved a hand vaguely. “So as I was saying, a test to see if someone can get into Class Euripides. But what happens if—”
“Woah, is that a fresh Prospect?” Alan cried, pointing.
From the distant entrance, striding towards the miscoloured pack of students, was a tall girl with the longest hair Leo had ever seen: straight and blonde and flowing right down past her hips, and tied back with a tattered strip of blue cloth. But if her hair was an anomaly amongst Platonians, then her garment was an even greater curiosity. She wore the pure white robes known as tabula rasa. It was the clothing that young children wore before being given their primary school’s uniform. It was the mark of a person with no place, of a human that was completely dependent on others.
Sure enough, the room was abuzz with equal parts curiosity and incredulity. If the Prospect had noticed she didn’t show it. A smile was alloyed to her face and her attention was given entirely to the dark and even-taller boy beside her. The two were conversing softly: the tall boy would occasionally point at a display cabinet or a complex piece of architecture, and the white-robed Prospect would nod attentively, drinking in every word.
“Impressive,” said Morgan. “For someone to pass the Ascension test at this age, they must be quite talented.
“Not just that,” said Alan, his meus now abandoned in his lap. “She made it into King’s College, of all places.”
Not yet, Leo thought, annoyed. Then said, “More importantly, if she was talented enough to receive an offer from King’s College, then you have to wonder how Plato only managed to find her in her mid-teens. That’s a little too unlikely, don’t you think?” He settled a stern look onto Alan, but the dark-eyed boy didn’t seem to be listening. So Leo shifted to Morgan whose gaze flicked from Leo back to the Prospect.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Regardless,” Morgan intoned, “there is one correct course of action: it should be our duty to welcome her.”
Though Morgan held her chin high in an attempt to portray confidence and purpose, a nervous twitch in the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Leo couldn’t help but find that amusing. Regardless, she was wrong about approaching the Prospect.
It was all so unsettling. Nobody to greet them, notice boards promoting Class Euripides, an eerily long wait, and now a girl, who by all rights should not have existed, that shows up an hour after everyone else. No matter how Leo juggled these facts around, he could only draw one conclusion: if anyone was going to make it into Class Euripides it would be this Prospect. But then that meant—
Leo didn’t have a chance to complete the thought. Morgan was already marching towards the Prospect and Alan was scrambling up off the floor to catch her.
His fists balling up, Leo stared after them. Idiots. Like jumping into the ocean without testing for toxins.
In a brief moment of clarity, Leo realised he’d lost control of his anger. He unclenched his fists and took a long, deep breath, trying not to think about how tight his collar felt around his neck.
Fine. Go pretend this is a stroll through the sky. I shouldn’t have helped you in the first place.
He turned back to the notice board to close the message he’d opened, and his breath caught. He hadn’t realised before, but there in a fine print, nestled beneath the oversized Class Euripides text, was another message: Let your actions be heard where your voice cannot reach.
Leo let the words roll around in his head. Why was it here? What did it mean? The message’s layout was far too conspicuous to be a simple mistake. It felt intentional, like they wanted someone to tap on this suspiciously placed box and see the suspiciously placed message.
Teeth gritted, he watched the Prospect’s odd procession and Morgan’s attempt to intercept, to meddle in things she refused to understand. This wasn’t right. It was only meant to be a test. So why was this message here? Why allow a Prospect to take the entrance test? What was King’s College planning? He had to warn them that something was amiss before—
Before the same thing happens to them as what happened to Milli, he concluded.
His decision made, Leo jogged over and trailed Morgan, and together their footsteps echoed through the hall.
The robotic girl managed to intercept the Prospect and the tall boy before they could reach the gawking pack of students. The new arrivals both stopped and looked down at her, to which Morgan responded with a bob of her head.
“Greetings, Prospect,” she said stiffly. “On behalf of everyone present, I would like to welcome you to King’s College, the finest secondary school in all of Plato.” She touched her fingers to her sternum. “My name is Morgan, from Augustus De Morgan.”
The Prospect’s smile broadened. With her hands clasped before her, she bowed until she was almost horizontal. Her hair slipped off her back and settled onto the tiled floor. “My name is Lumia,” she said. Leo had the impression she was singing her words.
Lumia straightened up suddenly, her expression a perfect display of concern, right down to the tension around her crystal blue eyes and the hand resting lightly on her lips. “Oh,” she chimed, then spun around to the taller boy and whispered in his ear. The tall boy, who remained a step behind Lumia, whispered something back. Lumia smiled, turned back to Morgan, smoothed out her tabula rasa, and clasped her hands before her.
“My name is taken from a fruit,” Lumia said serenely.
Alan covered his mouth and stifled a laugh. Morgan looked completely dumbfounded. The tall boy dipped his shaved head and concerned himself with his shoes—he didn’t exactly hide his blushing cheeks. Leo, who was standing to the side, was amused by the display. As far as he could tell, a single honest expression was yet to cross the Prospect’s face, though it might have been the subtle bleariness in her eyes which gave that impression.
Seamlessly, Lumia turned to her companion. “But where have my manners gone? This wonderful young man is—”
To everyone’s shock, the tall boy snapped to attention and threw them a rigid salute, fist over heart. “Raphael, Student of, ah, King’s College,” he corrected himself.
Again, Alan stifled a laugh. Lumia’s smile faltered for a moment. Leo felt second hand embarrassment. Raphael, noticing all this, dropped his hand and let it hang awkwardly by his side.
“Yes, Raphael,” the girl with long hair said, resuming her explanation. “We met at the door and, recognising that I was a Prospect, he offered so kindly to act as a guide.”
Morgan gave a nod and turned to Raphael. “I understand. You were previously a student of a military school.” She gestured towards his brown, high collared coat and the golden emblem emblazoned on his chest.
“Ah, yeah,” Raphael stuttered, his thick black brows furrowed.
“Okay,” said Morgan, nodding.
Raphael nodded also.
Oh, for the love of knowledge.
Leo cleared his throat and everyone turned his way. “So as I was saying earlier, it’s likely that we’re going to be taking an entrance test soon.”
“Ugh, this again,” said Alan, throwing a hand up in exasperation.
Leo rounded on him. “Yes, this again.” He readdressed Lumia. “Did they tell you anything about this test?”
Lumia’s head tilted to the side. “I am sorry, but I only today left quarantine. I am afraid that you would know a great deal more than me.”
They didn’t tell her either? Leo pondered. Then what exactly is going on?
“Please do not mind him,” Morgan interjected. “He has been rather persistent about there being a test for admission into Class Euripides. Personally, I believe the idea to be ridiculous. If there were a test then it would make sense for the school to inform us, would it not? Otherwise we would not be able to study for it.”
Leo gritted his teeth. Stupid. Dense. Damaged. Robot.
“Yeah,” said Alan. “It kind of makes no sense that they’d give us one test to determine something that important.”
“Apologies,” Lumia chimed. “But what is Class Euripides?”
Morgan’s eyes lit up and she stepped forward, her hand resting lightly on her sternum. “Please, allow me to explain.” For the first time, her tone became more animated, though her cadence was still somewhat off. “Class Euripides is not just a class, it is an opportunity! Calling the program ‘advanced’ would be like calling a correlation a causation. Only the brightest are accepted into Class Euripides, and everyone who has passed has gone on to make enormous contributions to Plato.”
“That sounds wonderful,” replied Lumia.
“It’s really not,” Leo said tartly. Morgan’s head whipped around and she stared lasers at him. Leo ignored her. “Only three classes have ever passed in the one hundred and fifty years that the program has been running. But does anyone know what happened to the students who couldn’t pass?”
They all exchanged confused looks, save for Raphael who was staring off to the side trying not to be noticed. Leo couldn’t tell if it was his question that made them uncomfortable or him. Whatever. He had their attention, and not just them but also a crowd of onlookers who had gathered to gawk at Lumia. Their eyes were on him now. He raised his voice.
“We never hear about the students who failed Class Euripides. Are they all keeping their time in Class Euripides a secret, has nobody else been able to make the cut, or maybe—”
“Alan! Is that you?”
Leo threw his head back in exasperation as a short girl bounced towards them, fixing her hazel eyes on Alan. She had a mass of redditsh-brown frizzy hair that was held back with a red patterned headband. Her blue blazer bared the same emblem as Alan’s, and she wore a grey skirt that was rolled up just above her knees. She flashed a toothy grin.
“I barely recognised you with your hair tied back and, er,” the girl with the red headband looked Alan up and down, “your uniform not a complete mess. Improvement, I guess?” She shrugged.
Alan scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you got accepted?”
“You know, lots of stuff happened”
Seriously? Leo grumbled. Can you two just go somewhere else and talk? This is important.
“Hey.” The headband girl narrowed her eyes at Alan. “Where were you this whole time?”
Alan glanced around the room, like a lab rat caught in a maze. Then he pointed towards the notice screen. “Over there.”
The headband girl leaned in, and Alan avoided eye contact. “Were you avoiding me?”
“No,” said Alan. The headband girl kept glaring. Then Alan faced her and threw his hands up in indignance. “I wasn’t!”
Unable to handle this any longer, Leo detached from the group and started pacing. They’re socialising. Why are they socialising? They don’t want to listen. They don’t even want to think. Do they even care?
The headband girl grinned at Lumia. “You’re a Prospect, right? You’re so pretty!”
Lumia beamed back. “My thanks. You’re rather beautiful yourself.”
“Pfft, I wish. I’m Tock.” She threw her arms wide. “How are you finding Plato? It’s pretty amazing up here, right?”
“It is!” Lumia exclaimed. “There’s so much sunlight, so much to see. I was even given one of these.” She rifled through the folds in her tabula rasa and from it pulled a meus. She held it aloft with both hands, as though presenting some remarkable find. When she spoke next there was a rhythm to her words.
“It’s quite amazing that everyone has their own device,
And the services provided seek only to entice!
I’m simply astounded by such a marvellous design:
An interactive screen that rests within this palm of mine.
You can find what you seek with a few words and a short look,
And it’s so much more efficient than cataloguing books.
Though in truth it’s taken me some time to grow accustomed
To the unfamiliar layout and various functions.”
Once her speech had concluded, Lumia remained in that presenting pose and beamed at Tock. The shorter girl, however, stared at the meus with her jaw slack.
Alan scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, we know,” he said dryly. “Everyone has one, even children. You need them to access everything around here.”
“Of course,” Lumia said, her brows furrowed but her smile never fading. “Even children.”
She’s not going to last, Leo decided. Look how excited she is to be here. She tries not to show it, but she loves it. Plato will break her, just like—he cut that thought off knowing that if he pursued it, he’d only find misery. We need to be thinking this through. The whole scenario is suspicious. There was a message on the notice board that was definitely important. What if there are more clues? What if the test has already begun and we’re being assessed on—I don’t know—whether we actually find the whole thing suspicious?
Standing off to the side, Morgan glowered as she observed the conversation. Drawing herself up, she stepped forward and placed herself between Tock and Lumia. “Tock, was it? May I ask where that name is from.”
“Oh, you know,” Tock replied, fidgeting with her headband. “I found it on the ground and thought I’d keep it.”
Frowning, Morgan said, “I see. I noticed also that your skirt is well above regulation.”
“Nah, it just came up a little because I’ve been walking all day. Look.” She tugged on the sides of the skirt and dragged it down, but even so the hem barely reached her knees. She raised her hands to present her handiwork.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, which Tock met with her own frosty glare. They remained like that for a few seconds before Morgan conceded with a huff. “And Alan,” she said, turning on him. “Your shirt is untucked. That is clearly outside of regulation.”
Alan looked down at his shirt, then looked back up and shrugged. “You’re not in charge here.”
Leo zoned it out. His pacing grew more erratic and his anger curdled. They’re so innocent. They’ve never seen how messed up things can get around here. Just follow the rules and everything will be fine—that’s how they think Plato works. Idiots! Milli never thought like that. She was brighter than all of them, and they threw her right off the Edge regardless. That could be them next.
“Take a look at Raphael,” Morgan said, gesticulating. “He wears his uniform proudly, shaves his head as is advised, and never so much as complains about it.”
As Morgan spoke, Raphael slowly shuffled away until he was hiding behind Lumia. For her part, Lumia watched with a nervous smile.
“Why do you care?” spat Alan. “We’re not even going to be wearing this uniform for long.”
“Why?” cried Morgan. “Because if we do not improve ourselves, if we are no better than those arrogant fools who left Earth in this sorry state hundreds of years ago, then we will have no chance of saving it.”
Leo came to a sudden halt and watched Morgan. His mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes wide, he stared at a girl with the same starry-eyed optimism, the same fiery tenacity that he had not seen in a long year. His hand settled on the pocket by his heart, upon his meus.
It could be her next.
His hands balling into fists, Leo bellowed into the room with abandon. “Listen, all of you!”
The four students and one Prospect all stopped and stared at him aghast. Not only them, but every student in the hall had gone silent and gave him that same stare, like he had gone irrational. Maybe he had. He no longer cared; he no longer gave a damn about decorum and all these ridiculous formalities. This was important. Their lives were at stake.
“There will be a test, and you will need to pass to be accepted into King’s College.”
Morgan rounded on him, scowling. “Leo, for the last time, there has been no mention of a test taking place. If you are so certain, do you want to explain how you know about this test?”
“Because I knew a student who used to go here. She was the one who told me, even though it was against the rules.” Milli hadn’t told him about the strange hints, however. That didn’t matter. They needed to know.
Morgan lowered her chin and glared upwards at him. “‘Knew.’ ‘Used to.’ And what exactly happened to this student?”
Leo opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. He knew he should tell them—it was the quickest way to get them to believe—but not now, not while the wounds were still so fresh. Idiot. Robot. Why did you have to start using your head now, of all times?
“Alright, then check this out.” Leo pulled out his meus. The screen lit up as soon as its front-facing camera recognised his face, and Milli’s final message flared onto the screen. His mouth twisting, Leo swiped it away and searched his mailbox. “You all received the mail from King’s College telling us to be here, right? The ‘acceptance’ message?” he added in a sarcastic tone.
“Leo, please,” whispered Lumia.
Her plea went beneath him. “Here, let me read it to you. ‘Congratulations, student. You have been invited to attend King’s College on the ninth of January.’” The emphasis was his own. Leo held his meus aloft. “See, they don’t actually tell us that we’ve been enrolled, they just tell us to be here today. That’s it!”
A murmur ran through the hall, concern and confusion taking hold. Morgan, however, put a hand to her chin and remained perfectly calm.
“Even so,” she said, “that does not mean there will be a test today. Besides, we already took a number of tests to be accepted into King’s College. Why would the school bother to bring us all the way out here only to throw a pop quiz at us and potentially send us back?”
Frustratingly, the talking grew louder as people seemed more receptive to Morgan’s rational ideas. That’s what they didn’t understand: King’s College was not rational.
“Because that’s the way this school is,” said Leo, raising his voice to compete with the crowd. “They don’t want to pass all students, they only want the best. And they have this bugged up view of what it means to be the best: if you fail a test, you don’t belong here or anywhere else on Plato!
“But here’s the really choked up part.” Leo drifted away from the crowd so that he could hoard all the attention for himself. “If you do really bad on this test, like completely mess it up, they don’t just reject your application, they Descend you.”
The murmurs rose a little higher. Whether in fear or derision, Leo didn’t care. He had their attention, now he needed their agreement—truth be an outlier.
“See, that’s exactly how this school is. You fail a test, you get expelled. You can’t keep up with work, you get expelled. You do anything they don’t like and you get a ticket straight to Hell.”
The room fell silent. As Leo glanced from face to face, he realised they had all stopped watching him and were fixated on Lumia. Only she looked at Leo. Her face was as blank as her robe, and somehow that hurt Leo more than any scowl or pained expression could.
Oh.
He had just called the Prospect’s former home Hell. And every Platonian knew it wasn’t only the choked up environment that made it that way.
Seconds ticked by in painful silence until the quiet Raphael stepped forward with his face set grimly.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” he said, his voice deep and grave.
Leo turned away and clutched the meus by his heart. “Guess you’ll have to learn the hard way,” he muttered.
Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps someone had decided to mock Leo at that moment, but Leo’s meus began to buzz in his hand. Then Raphael’s rang in a lower tone, and Morgan’s a plucking violin, and Lumia’s and Alan’s and Tock’s and everyone else’s, high and low, bells and drums, until the hall was filled with the rallying cries of a hundred different calls that rose into a single, terrifying roar.