Ra'ise was the season of temperate. The cool of spring transitioning into summer creates a backdrop of green turning greener. Rolling coloured leaves that fade and turned between bright and dull were littered across the landscape. The trees on the roadsides of Aleynonlia rustled as a warm, conductive breeze blew through. The market was selling off the last of their spring products and were stocking up on ra'ise produce.

“Thanks for helping me, Four-Chan,” Shichi said. Bundled under his right arm were a bunch of two-by-fours. Over his left shoulder sat bag of grains.

Beside him, Four walked with a basket of grocery. “It's Fornerlia Chantervalica,” she reminded him as they left the market . “It's not a very hard name to remember.”

His classmate had a wicked dress sense. Her hair was dyed a shade of pink-dancing-purple, tied haphazardly into a long pony tail. Her dark green corset was unlike any style he knew of in the world, wrapped by a short shoulder frilled shawl snapped together with a four leaf clover clip and a sheer mesh covering the high of her chest. Her bustled skirt was split into shades of onyx and seaweed, ragging translucent edges lining the sides that split at her knees. Black leggings and dark boots hugged her legs, and her two gunblades were sheathed at her shin while tied with balance at her thighs. Shjacky had once described the fashion as 'gothic', something apparently quite common in the northern territories of Tinderland.

Even on the streets, her manner of dress drew curious stares which she paid no mind to. Normally, Shichi would be uncomfortable having drawn unwanted attention, due to his family's infamy. But when he was with his classmates, even his oddness seemed a perfect fit, as if it was how it always should be and had and will.

He noted, “Your name has eight syllables. That's too long. Six should be the maximum. Seven, if you're pushing it.”

“You're just saying that because you're number Seven.”

“Well, you're number Four. So Four-Chan fits you. It's the universe's way of telling you to accept that.”

“You're one to talk about accepting names.”

He went quiet, though they continued walking. He could feel her questioning stare burning a laser gaze through the side of his head.

Four sighed, “I'm sorry about bringing that up. My wit gets the better of me some times.”

“What?” He snapped out of his trance. “No, no. It's fine. Honestly, I should stop taking this so seriously. It's really just a name.”

“You know, there's a song. The Heart of Tales. In it, the lyrics says,” she cleared her throat and sang. “For when life wanes, choices be made~ In death times, it's a life's mine~!”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffed, “It means the best of life comes from the worst of times. Honestly, we have art classes. Don't you study it?”

“I thought we were just suppose to make sculptures and splash paints, not learn from them.”

She sighed again. “You're brutes, you know that? The lot of you. Honestly, how am I expected to spread the glory of rock and roll to the world with you block heads roaming around?”

“You don't,” he replied laughing. “Just give up and go back to the classics.”

“Classics are boring! We must advance the art of... arts!” They walked by an empty bench which she unabashedly jumped onto. One hand raised in the air and groceries in the other, she exclaimed, “We, the voices of the new age shall not be held back by this pleb's manner of thinking! The poets, the singers, the musicians, the... actors! We shall join together and create a new world, filled with the greatest art of every generation!”

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“You're just babbling now. You lost the thread.”

“No I did not!”

“You're better with music. Oration is not really in your repertoire.”

“I. Am. A. Bard!” She punctuated. “I can do any form of art I please.”

A man in light armour approached them. “Excuse me?”

The pair turned to the newcomer who was not there alone. He had a female partner, both wearing the uniform of the city guard, the polished set of light armour over suits of dark blue.

“Yes?” Four asked.

The female guard explained, “I'm sorry, but you are disturbing the peace right now.”

Four reached to the badge clipped behind her belt and presented it, showing the metal crest of the academy and her full name below. “I'm a Spellblade with the school.”

“Yes...” the male guard replied. “That may be so, but it does not mean you are exempt from the laws of the day to day.”

Four gave a whine and jumped off the bench. The guards thanked them for their cooperation and went on their way.

She spat. “Well, so much for that.”

Shichi laughed. He gave a heave and readjusted his grain sack and wood. “Let's go, Four-Chan. I'll treat you to lunch for helping me with the groceries.”

“I thought we were bringing these stuff back?”

“Yeah. There's a leak in the house, hence the wood. And the food, well, they are food, so they should be eaten. I'm cooking today.”

“You cook?”

“I'm going to make some egg on rice with sauce. Traditional Nugohs dish.”

“Sounds boring.”

For the hour of their walk, they chatted about their day and school. At one point, they discussed their epitaphs, something which occasionally came up when the class gathered for one reason or another. But as so many times before, the conversation there went nowhere. Even by the time they reached and left the walls into the outer district, they had not come up with any new theories on their epitaphs. The conversation slowly turned into that of upcoming theatres and fairs instead, finally landing on the upcoming tourney.

He asked her, “How's the training going?”

“Not really great. My parents refused to let me train near the house, so I have to go to the outskirts of back to school for the space.” She let out a dejected sigh. “I spend half my training time walking from place to place.”

“You could be a little more 'rock and roll' about this. 'Rebel against the establishment,' as you would say.”

She deflected the answer with a wave and nervous chuckle. “Hah! Anyway, this tourney is going to be gearing exciting. First Class C large enough to take part in both the groups of five and six. You think we'd get the gold?”

“Not likely. There's dozens of teams, including those from Rubicum's Spellblade Academy. Not to mention those teams of adult Spellblades, including former graduates and a couple of Ryukenshins.”

“I say we can take 'em!”

The conversation lasted just a few more minutes before they reached his home, a small one story wooden house sided by rows of other houses on the outer ring before the farming outskirts. It had a view of the farmlands and the plains beyond, leading far into a flat and clean horizons of clear skies. Behind them, the walls of the city stood as guards for the inner city. He opened the door for her and set the bag of grains at the side to prop open the entranceway wide.

“Head on in,” he instructed. “I'll just put these woods at the back.”

“Sure,” Four replied. “Are your parents home?”

“Yeah. They should be.”

“They're mister and missus Katai, right?”

“Yup. Just don't greet them as uncle and auntie. They say it makes them feel old.”

“They are old.”

“You're old.”

“Young, and fabulous!” She twirled.

He chortled a laugh. “Katai,” he reinforced.

She looked at him quizzically. “I'm wondering why you changed your name back to Katayagi, even though your family have been trying to distance yourself from it for so long. Katayagi to Katai. They must have removed a letter every generation. Pretty drastic, if you asked me.”

He sighed and looked solemnly over the plains. “I want to think there's a way for me to redeem the name. If I could do it, my family won't have to live with the burden of it any more. Also...” He looked to her with a cheeky smile. “I don't want to die being remembered as Suho Katayagi's ancestor. I want to be me. Shichi Katayagi, whatever I am.”

She returned him an understanding smile and without another word, he carried the planks around the corner between the alley of the homes as Four went inside. He felt bad, always feeling down whenever issues of his name was brought up. He made a mental note to not overthink it and to try and smile more as he sat the planks down amongst other tools of repair he had gathered.

“Katayagi?”

He turned around at the voice. Something hit the side of his head and a flash of yellow ran across his vision as his magic shell took the brunt of the impact, though the remaining force still sent him stumbling and leaning against the wall. He saw blood and tasted stars.

“Woah!” another voice, female, sounded. “He's not down yet?”

“He's a mage,” the original rough toned male said. “They've got that shell thing. Hit him again.”

He tried to stand up, legs wobbling as his head rang. He ran a current of energy through his magic circuits for a spell but felt another blow to the back of his head as things went black.