“All Concepts are not created equal. That does not, however, mean that there are useless Concepts.”

A few of Musa’s classmates looked his way and sniggered. He responded with two middle fingers and a smile.

“Indeed, some Concepts have broader applications than others, of course, but by their very nature, they are a way for humans to become something… more.”

Musa was unconvinced. As of yet, his Seed of Remembrance had had no tangible effect, and any intangible ones were apparently too weak to be noticed, measured or otherwise detected. He certainly didn’t feel more than human.

As the lecturer droned on in the background, Musa zoned out and looked around his lecture hall. His friends were dotted around the crowd, a consequence of the randomized seating. Luckily, within a week, they’d have to form their strike teams and they could all zone out of lectures as a group. Until then, his dreams of future fame and mass adoration would have to stay within his own head.

“Am I boring you, Mr Mirzadeh?” Fuck.

He thought fast. “Of course not ma’am, I was simply admiring the Academy architecture, this is a beautiful hall.” he said, with an easy smile, “My parents told me so much about this place, it’s a bit surreal to be here in the flesh.”

“Maybe if you focused on what I was saying instead of the ceiling, your test scores would be better.”

His smile lost its mirth at the rebuke, becoming strained, while the rest of the class erupted in laughter at his expense. Traitors. There’s only been one damn test.

Despite it being a quickly thought out excuse, Musa really did think the hall was beautiful. Despite being pretty tall himself, he felt dwarfed. It was designed in the style of an old roman theatre, an ascending semi-circular seating area, focused on a stage at the bottom. Massive fluted columns supported the ceiling, two on either side of the stage and a few more radiating outwards at regular intervals. The walls were a rich ebony with what seemed to be oil lamps lining them. Old-school, but it fit the aesthetic. The high windows were stained, but not in any way he’d seen before, seeming to be actual multicoloured contiguous panes of glass, spilling coloured Sunlight onto the lucky few sitting in the right spots. The ceiling itself was a work of art, a gigantic fresco depicting the moment the Worldshaker ascended and humanity stopped losing the war against the Elvar. He had heard every Academy had one somewhere, but evidently this one wanted to make a statement. He glanced at the few Elvar in attendance.

The bell for next period started chiming, an oddly appealing tinkle that seemed to ring from just outside his, and everyone else’s, ears. Saved by the bell, huh. A rite of passage for future heroes, for sure. He legitimately was embarrassed by his test score however and had begun to suspect he’d only gotten in on account of his last name. Mediocrity strikes but is parried by wealth. Sad state humanity’s in. Despite his esteemed family, Musa knew that he wasn’t among the brightest the world had to offer. He’d promised himself at a very young age that he could lie to the entire world, but never to himself, and that was just the truth of the matter. He couldn’t even get his Seed to work right, the most glaring piece of evidence for plain old favouritism accounting for his acceptance into this Academy.

However, he did appreciate the opportunity the Academy offered, the chance to become the next Gardener and stand next to Mafui’e himself. The dreams of fame came back, him and the Worldshaker, side by side in front of a screaming crowd of groupies and paparazzi, telling them they’d just saved the world again. His parents had kept him out of the limelight as much as is possible within a walled city and thanks to their efforts, no one even knew who he was until they saw his last name, even then not usually believing him on account of his dark African skin compared to their olive Mediterranean. Luckily, money speaks louder than words so he was never mistreated, but instead treated as an oddity, a curious hanger-on to the Mirzadeh family. So, he dreamt of making his own damn name.

Hence his excitement as he stood up and began shuffling out of the hall with the chattering crowd. His next class was CQC and Weaponry and, having given up on academic excellence ages gone, he was beyond excellent at. Turns out not studying gives you plenty of time to practise cool shit.

“Musa! Musa, you dumbass!” He turned and was nearly bowled over by a large blond mass engulfing him. Unfortunately, this was his best friend. He loved him to bits, but the man really had no sense of personal space.

“Dammit Mike, I can’t breathe you fucking gia-“ his words muffled into Mike’s sweater, as the man hugged him. He was fucking laughing!

“You know I always do this because you react this way, right?” Mike said, his laughter breaking each word from the other in a booming staccato.

“Only you would find the same thing funny for the millionth time, you asshole.” Despite his words, his heart was lifted by Mike, a grin on his face, cheeks dimpling as he insulted the man. “Let’s walk faster, maybe this lecturer will let you try to finally beat me at a spar.”

“I didn’t push my way through a crowd to get attacked like this. I was actually gonna ask if you plan to dazzle in class today. Now that we’re done with the mandatory history, I know you’re itching to do the one thing you don’t suck at.” He said with a chuckle. Easy for him to say, he didn’t suck at anything, with a great Seed to boot. They’d grown up together and sparred countless times. At first, he’d won since he’d always been bigger than Musa. Over time, he stopped dominating so thoroughly. Eventually, he started losing. As it stood, Mike himself being a master of the defensive and offensive arts, he’d still only beaten Musa once since he had finished puberty a few years back. Even if he didn’t have a functional Seed, he could outfight anyone his level. And besides, once he bloomed, his Seed was sure to finally do something.

Stolen story; please report.

They walked down the glass hallways, transparent like everything else we could get away with since Integration. The large glass wall looked out over the hill the school was situated on, New London in the distance and the Bulwark even further beyond, stretching across the whole horizon. Rejuvenating Sunlight suffused their bodies, washing away their fatigue and lifting their spirits even further. There was a palpable tension in the air, every student either dreading or looking forward to their first official combat class. He saw the Elvar, in two distinct groups, looking like humans in every way save for their hand-length ears, ending at a point, and if they opened their mouths, their razor-sharp teeth. One of them, short and dark-haired, called out to the duo, “Friends! Please wait for me, I am about to make my excuses to my kin.”

Presumably having made his excuses, Prince Jas Everradiant, of The Secular States of Jas, made his way over to them. He was amazingly honest like that. As far as Musa could tell, it wasn’t an Elvar thing, just a Jas thing. Musa started the assault, “Hey Jas, shouldn’t you be, you know, debriefing your people? You’re about to gain insight into valuable human combat tactics.”

“You wound me my human friend. While I do indeed recognise the strategic importance of the lesson we will receive, my role here is that of a peace offering, an olive branch extended from the lush, verdant hills of Jas to the concrete and glass hills of Eurasia.” Jas responded as Mike flanked and grabbed at him for a hug, but the slippery elf twisted around him, not even pausing his speech.

Jas, being a ward of the Academy while he was on our world, had had every major language on Earth directly implanted into his mind by Internet himself, with his Flower of Communication. Unfortunately, this meant he was insufferably eloquent. After two weeks of trying, Musa and Mike still hadn’t managed to make the elf trip over his words. “After all, those are merely fellow Elvar, my true people, the free brethren of Jas, are an entire world away. Hidden within the night sky.” He was also unnecessarily dramatic. Still, he was a good guy, and the people of Jas had no quarrel with humanity.

They reached the multi-purpose hall, an expansive, mostly empty grey building, much like an airplane hangar. It was open to the Sun on one side, with various targets set up outside, and weaponry of all kinds adorning the wall closest to them, from light machine guns to a German zweihander. An absolute mountain of a man was waiting for them by the weapon buffet, at least 8 feet tall and rippling with corded muscle. Several tattoos circled his forearm, simple bands at first glance. Lemme guess, Flower of Strength? Constitution? Though he may just be a Bud if he’s teaching us first years. His eyes were closed and his hands were clasped behind his back, basking in the midday Sun, seeming lost in its cleansing energy. “Welcome, little shits. I’m sure you’ve been waiting to beat the crap out each other since you’ve arrived and we’ll definitely get to that, so calm your bloodthirsty little minds.” His eyes stayed closed. “But first, I need to see what the base level of combat fitness is in this sorry bunch of rich kids and wimps. Pick a weapon and attack me.”

Musa supposed it was his job to be antagonistic, but he seemed to be trying a bit too hard to goad them into making a reckless move. The rest of the crowd agreed, just looking at each other instead of attacking the giant. “Okay, I tried. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” As he said this, a few of the sharper students stepped back, but they weren’t committed enough.

The unnamed lecturer opened his eyes and bulldozed into the crowd like a steam engine, students not even giving the slightest impediment to his charge and getting flung out of the way when he hit them. On second thought, some kind of movement-based Concept? He was already heading for the wall, reaching for a weapon while the pale, red-haired Hulk rampaged through the massed students. Mike had grabbed the LMG and despite the little power his Seed of Penetration had, managed to bruise the behemoth with its rapid fire. I hope he hasn’t forgotten we’re still all Seeds, none of us are bulletproof yet. Jas, with his Everradiant Seed, was producing a brilliant white light from his palms directly into the lecturer’s face, forcing him to close his eyes as another student tried to restrain him by turning the concrete floor liquid around his feet, making him sink slowly. The man simply smiled. “Good, you get the next stage.”

One of the tattoos audibly snapped, and he grew another two feet, becoming even more ridiculously muscular. He pulled his feet out of the newly solid concrete like it was nothing and didn’t react to Jas’ light any more. Musa looked at the man’s forearm and noted with dismay at least six more bands, presumably supressing his power so he didn’t kill them right off the bat. Okay so we’re obviously not meant to win this fight. How can I impress him? His gut told him to go with a melee weapon, as suicidal as that seemed. Gut, I’ll never forgive you if you get me killed. He picked a short spear and shield, his favourite combo as no one ever expected him to wield a spear one-handed with any sort of skill. He looked up and Jas was lying a few metres away from where he’d last been standing and the titan was closing on Mike.

Mike got some distance and tried to control the terrain, bullets empowered by his Seed to rip up the floor in front of the advancing lecturer but the man was as agile as a cat, avoiding anything that could trip him up. Most of the students were out cold by this point, soaking up the Sun’s healing energy. I see why a wall’s missing now. This must happen quite often. A few stray bullets hit the walking bulldozer and Musa saw why Mike had stopped shooting at him. The bullets halted dead at his skin and just fell to the floor, while a slight red flash lit up the man’s body and he got faster. He reached the unlucky genius and simply touched the gun, and it went shooting off out of Mike’s hands. It broke against the wall with a clatter and Mike stared up at his doom. He got flicked in the head and flew five metres away. There were only a few students left at this point and the man went around mopping up.

Musa, having stayed as far as possible from the man during his fight, had been studying his moves, trying to find a way to hit him without going night-night. It seemed impossible; he was just too fast.

Duck.

Musa ducked instantly, not knowing why, but trusting the voice he’d heard, probably a helpful classmate. As soon as he did, an armbar passed through the space his head had just been, just barely missing him.

Shield.

He pushed the shield out in front on him, just in time to catch a finger headed towards his chest. The shield went shooting straight upwards, off his arm as soon as the hand touched it.

Left.

He went spinning to his left, foiling the lightning fast kick that appeared the moment his shield was flung away. The lecturer let out a huff of frustration. “You’re not bad, kid.” He said before another armband snapped, and Musa’s world went white, then black.