Lumia

A poor girl sobbed at her desk. A young man argued with his friend. Some students played games with each other by the lights of their devices. And Morgan—bless her fragile heart—stumbled around aimlessly in the dark. Lumia witnessed it all unfold from atop the stage. Smiling.

What else could she do? Well, plenty of things, but given how out of control the situation had become she doubted she could recompose such a panic-stricken class. Already some of the students had tried to draw the curtains apart, only to find that they were false—less practical and more art. So in their frustration, or perhaps on a dare, they decided they would tear the fabric from its upholsters. This prompted Morgan to rush on over, waving her arms frantically, hopelessly.

To make matters worse, three of her five new friends were missing and nobody was interested in finding replacements. Only Morgan remained—and Raphael, who had decided to remain at his desk to answer questions, rather than do as Morgan bid him. Raphael had shown remarkable persuasion earlier. When he stepped in to assist Morgan he was, well, a little terrifying. But now, glued to his desk? Dull. Detached. Dissatisfying. Overall, ineffective.

Maybe I should say something, she considered. Though at this point it might have been no more fertile that a seed planted in stone.

It had been abundantly clear to Lumia, right from the moment that the test had been announced, that the meaning of it all was not to determine admission. They’d already done so many assessments to enter this school; why bother throwing another obstacle at them at all? The inconvenience, the logistics; it all served no mission! Furthermore—and she recalled each letter of their makeshift law as clear as glass—at no point had they ever been informed on how they could pass. They had only been told how they would fail, and fail they would!

Only a month had passed since Lumia had been granted entrance to this wonderful and absurd city. Ascension was what they called it, and she had to bite her tongue not to scoff at a word so haughty! Regardless, her entrance had involved far more rigorous testing than this little game. Aside from the excess of questions meant to break all but the most exceptional, there was a glut of psychological, physiological, virological, and phrenological criteria which Lumia had been required to meet. Judging from her experiences, this test seemed less like those intended to measure her intellect and almost exactly like those intended to test her demeanor.

In truth, that disappointed Lumia. The difficulty of her entrance tests had suggested to her that Platonians were a brilliant bunch. She figured those requirements had been a minimum, a threshold which one must surpass to be accepted into the lowest floors of this heavenly spire. Lumia’s surprise had been palpable when she was informed that she had been admitted into the most prestigious of educational facilities—elevated to the mountain’s summit, so to speak. And though some of the questions given in this test were absurd, some which the students struggled with were so… beneath her. All of this implied a greater and simpler truth: that the purpose of this test was not to slash and burn, but to sift the gold from the pyrite, to weed out albatross and rat alike.

Rat. That was what she had called Leo, had labelled him to animate him. Oh, and reanimate he did. That husk of a man had elevated the class to a higher and brighter land, then dragged it into the depths of the curdling oceans.

This is probably my fault, she wavered. I should not have encouraged him. It was clear he was quite disturbed, and my actions only helped to normalise him, socialise him, and spread his fears like a disease. Now all of this—

A boy ran across the room, sounding a war cry. At the last moment he leapt up and threw a flying kick at the shelter which protected his device. The impact made him stop too suddenly. He spun and crashed onto the floor with a pained grunt. Lumia was struggling really hard to keep her smile from slipping.

Okay, this has gone on for long enough. Time to get tough.

Well, she wasn’t actually planning on doing anything tough, she just liked the phrase. Earlier, Lumia had figured that she would let the test play out as it may. Morgan had managed to convince the class to follow her lead, and Lumia didn’t want to interfere! But now everything had gone awry, so it was time to stop watching and to start acting.

She closed her eyes and pried at a few tendrils of memory—map, dot, hall, room, stage. It was there, somewhere. Just over an hour ago, as they were watching the Principal’s speech, Alan’s device had shown a map of sorts and Lumia had partially committed it to memory. She only needed the right invocation to—ah!

The stage beckons; I’m part of the show

At my side does the first star follow

When the audience calls I enter from the flank

While the second stands aloof at the back

They shout, “A star is born; the lights are yours”

To center stage the third star draws

But once my eyes pry open I’ve lost the stars I seek

So I’ll search in the skies and check beneath my—

Lumia looked down, and as she shifted her slippered foot aside she could see it, dull as the clouded moon yet brilliant as the sun: a shaft of light pouring through a gap in the floorboards.

Feet!

Grinning, she dropped to her knees and felt around for, well, anything: a latch, a crack, something with which to pry the floor open. Then her finger slipped into a divot and she knew she had struck water! Lumia angled herself to better lever the gap and, with all her might, yanked upwards.

Ouch.

She fell onto her backside. Her finger had slipped out of the divot and had scratched on its way out, leaving it raw and stinging. Giving her hand a shake, she stood and sought out an alternative means of opening the latch. It took her only a moment to locate it: a frazzled girl running back and forth across the room with her device held out in front of her, light issuing forth to flash a meagre warning at anyone it passed over.

Lumia’s heart sank at the sight of her. I think she needs a break.

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And so Lumia finally made her move. She approached Morgan—chased her around the room, more like—then tapped her on the shoulder. Morgan whirled around and cast her light on Lumia’s face, blinding the blue-eyed girl and making her squint. Realising what she had done, Morgan lowered her device and Lumia blinked away the white spots in her vision. Morgan said nothing, made no hand signs, or did anything at all. Rather, she stared at Lumia, and in the ambience and flashes of electronic lights Lumia met her gaze—met the eyes of a broken soldier, freshly returned from the bloodshed. That really saddened Lumia, and it affirmed more certainly that she needed to act, that she needed to save this brilliant girl from the madness.

Some rules are made to help, while others are engineered to harm, she considered.

Lumia wore her most comforting smile and then, without waiting for permission, clasped Morgan’s hand in her own. The harrowed girl flinched the moment they made contact and tried to rip her hand away. Lumia didn’t give her a chance, letting her hands flow around Morgan’s like water such that they stay gripped to hers. Lumia stepped in closer, staring affectionately into the scared girl’s eyes.

“Morgan, you have done so well,” she began, lacing her words with as much love and care as she could manage. Yes, she had broken rule zero, but if ever there were a time to break a rule, it was now. She pressed on. “You have led your crew through turbulent waters, stood boldly at the helm as the waves crashed against your ship, and fended off the monstrosities that rose from the deep, managing it all with such a brave face.”

The girl’s expression softened a little, and Lumia knew it was time to lower the blade. She donned a forlorned and distant gaze, as though lamenting the aftermath of a once-proud vessel that now lay about them in pieces.

“But no ship can survive a storm too fierce. I’m sorry, but it was never meant to be.”

Morgan’s expression shifted again: heat, frustration, self-loathing.

Lumia fixed Morgan with a heated gaze. “However, when a ship is broken we do not surrender to the whims of the ocean. Our failures will show us where the errors wiled within in our notions. When day breaks, new opportunities arise. We must seize it to claim our prize!” Lumia squeezed Morgan’s hand more firmly. Morgan’s frown deepened, which was not a good sign, but it was too late for Lumia to reverse course. “There may be another way! It is only a hunch, but I can show you: a place where the light shines through the darkness. Come, I’ll show you.”

Laughter and cries clashed all about them. Seconds passed—long, tender seconds—as the two girls, both brilliant and broken in their own ways, held each others’ gazes; two estranged expressions connected through the clasping of hands. The connection broke—Morgan drew her hand from Lumia’s pleading grasp and looked away, down to where the unnatural light of her device illuminated nothing. Her mouth contorted into a miserable frown.

Lumia understood that expression before she could put it into words. She felt her lips growing taut and her hands, still frozen in front of her where they had been clasping Morgan’s hands, now tensing up from her desire to slap this girl silly.

Oh, no, you’re not crying on me! You’re better than the rest of the rabble, so you don’t get to be miserable today. Not so long as I have a say.

Seizing the initiative, Lumia swept behind Morgan and placed a hand on her back, gently prompting her forward. “Come on, let’s go.”

The shorter girl glanced back at Lumia with a disgruntled look, then dug her heels in. Frustrated, Lumia pushed a little more forcefully but Morgan wouldn’t budge. Not, difficult-to-move-because-she-was-deadweight, but rather Morgan didn’t move at all. Having enough of this drama, Lumia planted both hands on Morgan’s back and leaned her whole weight onto the shorter girl. Finally Morgan took a step. One. Singular.

She’s so solid; I can barely get her to hustle. And, oh goodness! Is that muscle? These Platonians are just impossible.

With a sigh, Morgan eventually relented and allowed Lumia to guide her to the trap door. When they reached their approximate destination, Lumia gestured to Morgan to put out the light and Morgan pressed her device to her stomach. She squatted and motioned for Morgan to join her on the floor.

Lumia pointed at it. “See?”

But Morgan glanced up at Lumia, seeming confused. So Lumia covered the gap in the floor with one hand and removed it again. Morgan stared at it, now more confused.

Hope lies right before your eyes, and you still cannot see it? Are you daft or simply wish not to succeed?

So Lumia covered it again. “No light,” she said. Then she removed her hand and let the shaft trickle through. “Light!”

This time Morgan snapped up and her shock was plain as grey. Grinning, Lumia took her hand—Morgan flinched again but didn’t snatch it away—and guided it toward the divot.

“And I believe you can open it from here,” Lumia clarified.

Morgan nodded and stared down at her hand, the wheels plainly turning in her mind. She then looked up again at Lumia and made a series of gestures: she mimed prying something open, then pointed at Lumia, then threw her hands up in an exaggerated shrug. Why didn’t you open it?

“You see, it’s the silliest thing. I tried to open it myself but,” Lumia leaned in and whispered, “I’m not very strong.” She scrunched up her mouth in embarrassment.

Morgan narrowed her eyes, then shook her head in disappointment.

Silly, depressing girl, Lumia grumbled. At least laugh so I don’t feel like such a fool, you muscle-monster.

Putting on a reflexive smile, Lumia encouraged, “Come on, let’s see what’s down there.”

Nodding, Morgan passed her device off to Lumia who angled it towards the hatch. Morgan positioned herself in a squat, squeezed her finger into the divot, then with a grunt heaved skyward. The hatch gave way effortlessly, flying back so violently that it bounced on its hinges and slapped shut again. Morgan’s eyes shifted between the hatch and Lumia, seemingly dazed.

Knowing what was coming, the taller girl grinned in the hopes it would smooth things over. “Amazing, you’re so strong!”

Of course it didn’t work. Morgan scowled, doing absolutely nothing to hide her discontent. She slammed open the hatch with one hand then thrust the other hand in Lumia’s direction to demand her device be given back, to which Lumia complied. Growling quietly, Morgan flashed the light down into the darkness.

Lumia gingerly peered over the hole, ensuring to keep her body positioned far back so that nothing short of an intentional shove would cause her to fall in. It didn’t prevent a feeling of nausea sweeping over her, unfortunately. The floor below was bland concrete and there were a number of pillars from which shadows sprung away from them, shifting lively as Morgan’s hand jittered. Even in the torchlight Lumia could easily make out the ambient blue glow which permeated into every corner, breathing light into places that ought not to be seen.

Morgan angled the device and revealed a ladder that converged onto the floor below. Without hesitating, she leapt onto the ladder and descended. Lumia’s eyes bulged as she disappeared and her legs began to tremble. She was alone. At the top of the hole. With no way to go but down.

I have nobody to blame but myself, she thought, attempting to galvanise her resolve. I wanted this. I can’t back out now. I can’t leave Morgan on her own; who knows if her wits will stay sound.

Taking a deep breath, Lumia rolled herself onto her stomach then swung her legs over the hole. She edged back slowly, carefully, feeling each edge with her feet. She lowered one leg and quested for a rung. Then her foot made purchase and she let out a heavy sigh of relief. Gathering her wits, she lowered herself tentatively, refusing to look down, one rung at a time, one rung at a time, one rung at a—

Her foot bumped into something both hard and soft and she let out a yelp. In her fright she lost grip on the ladder and dropped in a heart-stopping rush. She didn’t get far, however, as her fall was broken by a shoulder, then an arched back. She sloughed off her makeshift cushion and collapsed onto the ground, her body uninjured but her heart pounding wildly.

Catching her breath, Lumia lurched off the ground and stared up at her saviour’s back. It took a moment to register that Morgan was standing right in front of the ladder, glued to the ground, unflinching. And that Lumia had both bumped into her on the way down and subsequently fallen on top of her.

“Oh, Morgan, I’m so sorry,” she rattled. “I wasn’t looking—I was so absorbed in my footing—”

But Morgan didn’t even acknowledge Lumia’s existence. She stared, as though possessed, at a point in the distance to where her light shined ominously. Buried between discarded stage props, and connected umbilically to the darkness via cable, was a desk exactly like those in the testing room. Its monitor gave a timer, a countdown:

> 22:36