Excerpt from the lost memoirs of Anaya

I was a foolish girl worrying about foolish things....days at the Academy are remembered with fondness now.

I told myself I don't like that place—and I didn't in the beginning—but it ended up growing its vines around my heart.

There are days I feel as if nothing is beneath my skin except the Void. No flesh, no bones, no heart, no guts, just cold oblivion. Perhaps I feel sorry for myself, and rightfully so. In the end, it doesn't matter what is or is not inside my heart, nor what I feel. The Crucible of Blood melted the core of my being until...until whatever I am now, remained. Cold iron, steel, and alamarium are my closest kin now.

Are these words cast upon the Void?

The Wastes were cruelly named, there is life here. More hidden perhaps; underground life of shadows yes, but life nonetheless.

My first year was largely uneventful. It began with all of the students swearing an oath to Lodestar and The Breaker Academy. Exams of cerebral and mostly physical nature marked its ending.

The average year at the Academy started in the eighth month of Citar. From there it continued the next year until rock rain(around the middle of the fifth month - Sardon when our classes stopped). After this, all of us students needed to work together, to compare notes and consolidate knowledge gathered over the academic year while classes were held. These preparations lasted from the second half of Sardon until the middle of the next month- Lapul. Exams lasted from the second half of Lapul until the end of Taz(the seventh month). The next academic year would then start again anew in Citar.

I don't know why I bothered keeping the calendar and noting which month or year it is. Void's breath, I could've invented my own. Perhaps I needed a sense of normalcy, at least a thread of it. While I lack the proclivity to indulge it, my sense(if I can call it that) of retrospection increased greatly ever since I started writing all this.

The clouded corridors of memories are made of blazing embers, they burn me, they burn, and yet I walk them and feed on the torment of my bereavement. I will feast on it forever. I will.......

I broke my old quill pen. It took me days to compose myself and continue writing this. I must be cold. I will be colder than a long-forgotten grave.

Despite portraying itself as a confident, untouchable institution with a heart of rock, the Academy was in fact desperate. The ''gift'' of the goddess was fickle, growing thin over centuries, and the place wanted its students to succeed. Many failed exams were transferred to the next year, and if less than half of the exams are passed; only then the student is expelled.

It was a practical system based on the needs of humanity; the needs of my beloved Lodestar.

To me, physical trials were obviously inconsequential although my grades were never allowed to reveal this. The Academy rated us with marks from one to five. One was called ''insufficient,'' and it means you failed. Two was ''sufficient'' and represented the most barely passable grade. Three meant ''good,'' four was ''very good.'' Lastly, five meant ''excellent'' and it was, of course, the best grade one could covetise. I was mostly ''very good'' with few ''excellent'' marks sneaked here and there when it came to wrestling, spear and discus throw, lifting partly loaded carts, weightlifting stones, long jump, running, and many other such corporeal demands I considered nonsense at the time. It is a rating system I'm using to rate the combat readiness of many in my ever-expanding army. At first, I taught few how to properly hold steel and fight—later they taught future teachers. This way my knowledge spread like wildfire.

Perhaps the strangest, most useless physical effort of all that I can remember was familiar vaulting where we would balance on one leg or arm, stand upright, throw ourselves off the saddle or assume ridiculous body poses on four or six-legged galloping beasts...Theia's tits...despite my many decades, I may not look like a grandmother but I certainly reminisce and write as one.

There were days, mentally and physically draining at the time but now they feel to have been fulfilling in the end. Older students had an internal joke, we would say: ''this place is called The Breaker Academy because it was meant to break us.'' Memory is a strange thing. I wonder...how much can I trust it now. One often only focuses on the best and worst moments in life.

At the time I did not understand why, but during my studies, the blight of insomnia decided to ease its steel claws upon my mind and there were a few nights per week half spent in oblivion. This ended up working to my advantage since the Academy's library was accessible for studying at night in the weeks prior and during exams(besides staying open all the time throughout the last two days of each week). Once I pretended to fall asleep there which earned me a scalding or two. It was necessary to kill any potential for awkward glances or questions that I couldn't answer at the time, even to myself. I honestly believed the Academy taught us much useless knowledge, in any case, sleepless nights were utilized to their full extent, therefore, making me an excellent student in all matters scholarly.

Goddess...it all feels so trivial now. I should be careful not to damage the parchment, my resources are ever so sparse.

A part of me wished to feel guilty about my unfair blessings however ''one must use the tools presented or they may rust away;'' or some such, I'm unsure about how the saying went, my...father...told that to me so long ago...The ''might'' in me never felt wrong, this was and is a part of me, a part of who I am. If one was born with strong arms or powerful legs would he or she feel guilty about their very limbs? That is how I saw it then and that is how I see it even now.

I missed the simplest comforts of home(to this very day there are moments I still do). During those first months at the Academy, at night I missed my bed so much, but most of all I missed my parents. Mother's hug, listening to my father's carving and smoothening of crystals, creating exquisite wonders...Sol's light. I'd gladly cut my hand off for that hug or those sounds of home. Things I've always thought were granted to me by life as if by some divine right, things that were never given a second thought now dominate the primeval stem of my mind.

Long ago I pondered how perhaps truly Blessed were those untouched by the curse of the goddess. Throughout the years of my studies, I kept a certain bitterness in me fostered by the idea of how I did not choose the ''gift,'' nor to tread that Genesis path in life.

I did not like the Academy and even in my later years of study I continued to resent the place, nevertheless, some of the sweetest moments of my life arose there, within its honeycombed heart, before the calamitous fate befell on all my kind.

End of excerpt

***

Year one

The first-year students are in the Great Chamber standing in front of Acrona's colossus, with even a few white-toga-draped senators and brown-clad Brothers and Sisters from probably each temple, sitting in attendance.

All of us ''fledglings'' wear downy, dark-green, linen long coats—with the lining of slippery lambswool—and pleated breeches of the same color. Our long-sleeved shirt is made of finely woven wool and it is a lighter green with that stylized phoenix embossed above the left breast, now covered with an unbuttoned below-the-knee coat. The phoenix looks like the tiny version of the one seen on the facade's banners, with one-half gray and the other violet and there is a delicate black outline around it. Both sleeves of the tightly woven coat feature the same insignia.

Facing us all from a dais, Chairwoman Zaria utters the words of our oath and we all repeat them while our echoing voices travel to the furthest reaches of the large, every-shade-of-red, sky-dome:

''I will never bring shame upon myself nor will I abandon the comrade at whose side I stand, but I will fight and serve our city and our Academy, alone or supported by many. I will not leave my valley diminished in any way but greater and better than when I received it. I will obey the Senate and submit to the established laws and all others which the people shall harmoniously enact. If anyone tries to overthrow the constitution or disobeys it, I will not permit him but will come to its defense, alone or with the support of all. I will honor the religion of my ancestors. Let the Supreme Goddess with her first daughter Goddess Theia and her second daughter Goddess Acrona be my witness.''

***

Moments before dawn the sound that punches our ears and wakes us is agony with rage intertwined. It boggles the mind that such a small creature can be so loud. The hairless familiar is smaller than an average dog, with tiny horns encircling the top of its smooth head. Each morning the tiny demon is placed near the entrance of the dormitory, and each morning it screeches with impossible punctuality. I despise the thing with the passion of a thousand Sols.

After making the bed we move to the shower caverns. Academy puts great focus on discipline and cleanliness. The water always flows from eye-sized holes, falling continuously. Like a small indoor waterfall, it never stops flowing. It is akin to the frost of an early, late-autumn morning.

Weeks have passed since the oath ceremony and yet there are still a few girls that hesitate. And so, we were all given a choice, wash or don't eat in the morning. Some take it, but I suspect in less than a week or two more none will.

I go toward the very nippy flow.

Cold bites my skin, initially it is a great shock for my body but then it gets easier. If only slightly. Small holes on the ground to the side drain the outpouring of water. I've read that some villas and Lodestar's biggest bathhouses have water warmed with coal—supposedly even the floor is warm. With the Academy's wealth and influence, they could arrange for us to have an occasional warm bath though I suspect we may never feel such obscene opulence.

The caretakers said we need to shower every day, with hair needing to be washed three or four times a week. Once per ten days and occasional combing are more than enough to keep the hair clean, anything more is just a waste of time.

As the frost bites my bones like a starving bear I try to focus and think of home. My mom would prepare a nice warm bath for me a few times each quarter of the month; obviously, I should leave such luxurious thoughts to the realm of dreams.

Every ten days or so, each of us got a bar of lye soap, scented with hyacinth. The soap has an earthy and sweet floral smell to it like a rich garden after the rain. Although visually unappealing, I can't fault its nice fragrance.

Caretaker Vitellia, an elderly woman wearing her usual woolen indigo surcoat over her white tunic, states her usual displeasure at the hesitation shown by some girls. ''Girls, those that don't wash don't get to eat for the day.'' Today her tone killed more than a few protesting voices.

During my weeks here I've realized a little better how this place operates. Caretaker Vitellia is one of the numerous caretakers that keep the Academy from collapsing in on itself. The woman with metallic rings in her long hair—the one I skillfully decided to call Rings—is really called Katerina Varro. She is the right and also left-hand woman for Caretaker Vitellia and would occasionally throw one or two...encouraging words at us. When she comes to the shower caverns instead of Vitellia we all embrace that gelid water like it's a mother's hug.

They don't beat us, but the methods used here can—just like this water—get under your skin.

This morning, just like the ones before, for about the first ten rapid breaths I panic and think how I couldn't possibly stand the water as cold as the Void's kiss. Still, I'm even less keen on standing out or going hungry. Was tempted many times, though. Goddess...I still am.

***

In general, classrooms seem to follow the same layout.

Rising levels of semicircular seats around the podium in the middle. The shape of the classroom is similar to that of a small theatre. Rows of ascending slightly curved long narrow-looking sinewy tables are all carved from the guts of the cliff and broken only through the middle of the classroom, making room for the rising passageway. The classroom is richly lit with the brisk pale blue light of fully-charged Cobalts. This one could comfortably fit around ninety students, making twenty-five of us seem scattered. I like it that way—more elbow space is always welcome.

Even though several weeks have passed since my first coming here, almost all of us are still sort of strangers to each other. I don't know how else to explain it.

Our murmurs and whispers die as the bottom left door of the classroom opens and swiftly closes to let in an unassuming-looking man wearing an unfastened long black woolen coat with a high collar, over a brown fitted cotehardie with silver buttons down the front. That is adorable, the buttons are shaped into tiny owls.

The Grandmaster of Cartography and Bearing walks with confidence, although I notice a slight slouch on his shoulders. He is a slender man in his lower fifties with a short, neatly trimmed, and sort of thinnish brown-black beard, with only a few gray lines. The grandmaster's eyes appear intelligent and slightly snake-like. His eyebrows are scarce, having the density of a dead forest. After giving us all a polite nod and placing a book he was carrying on the table, he rummages through its drawers for a bit.

I pull a wax tablet out of my satchel. The Academy provided us all with a sturdy—velvety blue with a touch of purple—satchel made of wool felt with a flap over the top and a shoulder strap. I think the thing is stitched to be waterproof although it seems a tiny bit doubtful that rain will fall on us through the cliff-tall ceiling above.

Since parchment is as dear as a consul's ransom, that is to say, wicked-expensive, it is mostly used for making books—not something they would let us use to scribble some dribble during lectures. Wax tablets are quite handy yet simple things—they are wooden tablets covered with a layer of wax so that you could take notes by scratching into them with a pointed golden stylus. I like erasing things from them, this is where the spatula-like arse of the stylus comes in handy. Linked loosely in two places with a simple rope, the thin stonewood blocks always come in pairs since one of them also serves as a sort of cover-tablet, and to me, they look like a cute wooden notebook when closed.

The wax tablets are small and classes long—lasting almost an hour each—so I keep most of the stuff between my ears. Oh, we were given some parchment but that is only to be used to transcribe the most ''critical'' of notes. All the text I have on mine back in the dormitory is written in tiny letters.

''How is everyone?'' The grandmaster's head swivels from side to side.

No one answers. Before he entered, the classroom was a large tree filled with trilling sparrows but now all our tongues seem to have been misplaced somewhere.

''Ah well, it was rhetorical anyway.'' His gaze travels across all of us. ''My name is Decius Hadrianus and my task is to teach you all about the face of the world.''

Grandmaster Hadrianus unrolls a large, slightly stained map of Equiya and attaches it to a stonewood board. ''Can anybody tell me what this is?'' He has an annoying habit of sucking his teeth after every time he asks a question, rhetorical or not.

''It looks like a short dog bone.'' That brings out a few chuckles. The remark came from a grinning boy, sitting in the distant upper parts of the classroom, whose smugness melted away after the grandmaster's icy gaze fell upon him. I think the boy's name is Jax or Jayson, I always confuse those two names since the name ''Jayson'' is fairly popular.

''Not quite.'' The grandmaster is clearly not amused. ''It is of course the map of our world. Can anybody tell me where are we on the map?'' Again ending the question with that irking sound.

''We are close to the northernmost part of Eastern Equiya.'' A brown-haired...flower-girl calmly states. She is sitting in the front row of the lower seating area, directly in front of the lecture floor.

''Correct. What is your name?''

''Zuri Anemone.'' I like her last name. Anemone is a winsome dark purple flower, one of my mom's favorites. I did not talk to Zuri much, but there's time aplenty.

''Now tell me Zuri—hope you don't mind me using your first name—do you know the name of our canyon?''

''The Scar Canyon,'' Zuri answers without a shred of doubt in her pleasant-sounding voice.

Grandmaster Hadrianus pulls out a stick and drags it a bit across the top of a large eastern landmass taking up a good part of the map. He is teaching us formal names that rarely anyone uses. Our Valley is surrounded by the Wastes and I haven't heard anyone ever say: ''The Scar Canyon,'' it is just known to everyone as ''the canyon.'' My father told me there are a few temporary mining settlements scattered here and there across the Wastes since it would be pointless to build something lasting in such a place. There are also some temporary outposts in the upper third expanse of the Wastes, north of the long undulating Icauna river. ''Exactly.'' Grandmaster SnakeEyes goes on. ''To someone on the ground, it may seem our canyon stretches north to south but in reality, it is a jagged line going from north to south-east.'' One of us having a brain seems to have energized the old man. Although...The letters on the map seem to be easily discernible.

Crap. I almost slam my forehead as the realization dawns. Sometimes it's so easy to forget, the rest of them do not have my eyes. The rest of them do not have my eyes—I repeat the thought to punish myself. I take a deep breath through my nose to try and calm my mind a bit.

''For many days of flight, on even the fastest of Winged, The Crown of the World dominates the landscape, far to the west,'' the grandmaster lectures. The stick slides north to south in a long line. I've read this mundane scroll that compared the massive mountain range to a spine of the world itself. I think I like the word crown better.

After talking some more about mountains, rivers, and other features of the East, he proceeds to drone about Middle Equiya which is the middle part of the ''small dog bone.'' I don't really see it, though. Anyway, although a vast region in its own right, Middle Equiya, also known as Arcadia, is a few times narrower than the landmasses conjoining its sides.

Western Equiya or more commonly: Dontium, is roughly similar in shape and size to the eastern part—it appears so empty when compared to the regions of the East.

His stick moves around the entire Equiya, basically everywhere where land isn't. ''The unrelenting ocean Alldora,'' the stick then slides north of Arcadia. ''Gives birth to two seas. North Sea,'' even I'm better with names than that. The pointer rod jumps south of Arcadia. ''And of course the South Sea.''

Grandmaster Decius Hadrianus returns the narrow stick back, somewhere behind the greenish-brown board, and spreads his arms. ''Alas, a thousand most detailed maps can't show you the true splendor of the world. Nevertheless, during your later years you will expand upon the whole we learn here and see beyond the Valley.'' Jealousy? He sounded and looked a little envious as he said that. Well if it's to his liking he can go and live in the Wastes for all I care, but me...I'm not going.

***

''Children. Children,'' she grabs our attention and silences a group of three whispering girls. ''Now, most of you already know this, probably, but we will have a refresher. What do we call this?'' She pulls out a fist-sized red crystal. Thirteen girls and twelve boys in the classroom sit still as statues, almost ignoring our teacher. I scratch the side of my head while my right knee rapidly jiggles up and down to an unknown rhythm. ''Well, don't all raise your hands at once.''

Crystallology Grandmaster Penelope Arden is a gorgeous woman of about thirty-five. She has the clever eyes of an eagle—that doesn't make sense, hmmm...well, there is something hawkish but pretty about her hazel yellow eyes. She is tall and slender and moves her figure gracefully with an effortless gait of a cat.

Classroom eighty-eight is quite similar to the one we had cartography and bearing in, with some slight variations. Grandmaster Penelope's desk looks like an obelisk lying on its side. No! It looks more like one of those blocky water towers Aleera and I saw while flying to this place, but placed on its side. The ceiling here has special nooks which hold scores of fully-charged Cobalts. Combined with a series of well-placed crystal lamps, there wasn't just reading light, there was a crisp full-might-of-the-best-spring-day type of light in the classroom.

Grandmaster Penelope Arden proceeds to look at some list placed on her long desk. ''Lana. Lana Furia.''

''Crimson.'' The girl with bright yellow hair and pale brown eyes answers. Lana sits far behind me and to the left, in the distant upper part of the classroom.

''Next time raise your hand, silly child.'' The last two words were muttered but the sound carries well in this space and I'm sure all could hear her, easily enough. ''All of you,'' the grandmaster raises her clear confident voice a little bit while addressing us. ''Will communicate with me or I might triple your time spent here.'' I don't like this. She smiles now. The evil grin doesn't suit her pretty face at all. ''If none of you wish to answer my next question we will be here until this Crimson turns to shiny dust. Oh, and it's a fresh one.'' Grandmaster Arden then pulls out a blue crystal from somewhere behind her desk and gently places it on top. She clears her throat. ''Now. What...do we call this little shiny.'' Her long delicate fingers almost completely cover the Cobalt, obscuring most of its light, as she grips it with her right hand. The last uttering coming from the grandmaster was said with a hissing whisper—kinda like a praying mantis might whisper to anything smaller than it.

Akin to long-pent-up arrows, twenty-five arms shot up for the sky. We all raise our hands. Every single one of us.

She repeats the process with Lilac, Amber, and Viridian and all of us are quite enthusiastic to oblige and answer each question.

''Crystals come in different shapes and there are no two that are exactly the same,'' Grandmaster Penelope Arden continues. ''Ordinary crystals can be broken into smaller parts but it is very difficult to do. If they come in a cluster or as twins then it is easier to cut them separate without shattering. Smaller the piece being cut is, greater the chance the crystal will break and crumble into crystal dust. The cutting process must be done while they are empty of living light. Now, besides light, how else are crystals used?''

''Money.'' Some tallish boy, sitting near the dead center of the classroom, speaks without even bothering to raise his hand.

''Good, Horatius,'' she nods at the boy. ''Through a painstaking process, hex is made. What else?''

''Weapons,'' I say.

''Using crystal in the making of weapons is possible but extremely expensive and in the end, not very practical way to use them.'' Her eyes stare through the back of my skull. ''Also, raise your hand before answering. You can't all speak willy-nilly, it would be pandemonium.''

I'll just not bother anymore.

''Crystalcrafting is a difficult process,'' Grandmaster Penelope climbs upwards to the middle of the classroom's benches and stands in our midst. ''Crystal is chipped with a special chisel or cut with wire made of strong metal, all the while being empty of light. If it still has light in it then there is a much bigger chance of the crystal cracking and crumbling away into dust. The room where the process occurs has to be shielded from any sunlight. Smaller pieces of the once bigger crystal can be further shaped and charged with light and...perhaps even used in the Genesis process.''

She continues with her many questions, testing the limits of what we know. Learning the basics about crystals is an early autumn breeze and a waste of time for me considering my father's profession. But, ''arrogance is an ugly tunic to wear,'' as my mom would say. I look our teacher straight in her comely ''eagle'' eye and absorb her words like a sponge. I bet my father could make a really wicked-nice crystal sword.

***

It has been almost a month since I last saw Aleera and Nibbles. The twenty-five of us are standing in the middle of a gymnasium built on a high, flat-topped butte, overlooking the Academy's monumental facade.

During my very first days, I expected the deep insides of the Academy to be filled with stifling air but I did a little exploring and learned that this place is more complicated than it first seems.

At lower levels of the cliff, to the north and south of the facade, there are tunnel-like openings that pick up cooler air which then travels through an intricate network of tunnels and passages. And I do mean intricate.

All those great shiny chambers deep inside the cliff are getting a neverending flow of rich, invigoratingly fresh air, through many, many, long and sometimes very narrow tunnels connecting to them. These tunnels, which often bend and curve, then continue to join the vast network of even wider tunnels that, in the end, fuse with the enormous, main inclined shaft. The diagrams I saw were a mole's dream typa thing—like the roots of an old tree turned upside down. This large inclined shaft; or maybe I should call it a giant chimney-thing...anyway, the giant chimney-inclined-shaft-thing ends in a Maw. It is a large gaping circular opening, located on the higher level of the cliff—very high up around the middle part.

The rocky lungs are maintained and kept clean by a busy army of Gray-made familiars—small, diligent, flying creatures, some no bigger than insects. Must be a pain to clean after Aegis disappears.

In conclusion...Hmmm...I should sometimes try and use that word when I want to sound all official and smart-like in front of the grandmasters. Conclusion. Conclusion. So...in conclusion, the exceptional architecture of the many tunnels keeps the air inside the cliff always bracing.

It turned out that the design of the goddess is not to be questioned for a reason.

My classmates and I continue to stand in poor order, our backs turned at the facade, while the Grandmaster of Physical Education inspects us—with an expression of a henpecking grandmother looking at half-rotten vegetables on display in one of the shabbier plaza markets. I'm having problems standing perfectly still. The gymnasium tunic feels rough on my skin. On more than a few occasions, I had to resist the urge to adjust it.

Eventually, after insulting us all for about the time it took my class to climb all the way up here, he notices me. Of course, he does.

''My goddess,'' he looks at me like I'm a turd. ''Half of your weight must just be hair.''

The hair of girl students is required to be worn in a bun, braid, ponytail, and so on, during our labors in the gymnasium or while running. The boys have it cropped short although I've seen older male students having more freedom in this regard. I had tied mine behind in a wavy mess of Sol-colored strands with bangs reaching my eyebrows. I assume he is being overly dramatic with his words to establish dominance over our group. Or maybe he's just an ass. I should ponder on this.

His eyes sweep our line and again annoyingly land on me. ''Holy ancestors, we may tolerate girls having long hair but that doesn't mean to never cut it.'' He stares some of us in the eye before continuing. ''It makes me sick to look at you all. Useless dustbags,'' his voice almost drops to a whisper making the last few words somehow sting more.

Grandmaster Vidar looked like a veteran soldier—or at least how I imagine a veteran soldier—with a couple of straight and deep scars burrowing his left hand, wide shoulders, and a spear upright bearing. Maybe he does have a spear in him alright. I smile a little, but in a hidden, subtle sort of way—I don't need his flamboyant attention on me again.

The grandmaster also had a receding hairline and a thick brown beard. Apparently, his big fuzzy beard was perfectly suited for all physical activities. Hypocritical piece of--

''But that is part of the job,'' he continues cheerfully, interrupting my happy thoughts. ''To slowly cut and polish you so that maybe one day what remains is a person worthy of this place.'' He throws his big arms toward the core campus in the distance behind my back for dramatic effect. The nest-beard bastard doesn't yell yet his voice is grating and the words get to me since he speaks with such annoying conviction. Grandmaster Vidar regarded all of us like one might regard puke or a piece of trash on the street.

He is about two times taller than me but I'm fairly certain I could find a way to reach and snap his thick neck. Sure, it would get me chained and thrown off the northern end of the canyon at the foaming water and jagged rocks far below, but that seems like a small punishment compared to potential satisfaction. Knowing that I could, will have to satisfy me for now.

...''I did ask him but''...whispers continue to come from my left. The voices were Lana Furia's, the girl with the pale brown eyes, and that of her close companion, Ariana Cassian. She is a tall girl with a long torso, fastidious type, always tidy. Not a speck of dirt on her or her dormitory's bed⁠—but who notices things like that. I'm slightly jealous of her impeccably styled ink-black hair⁠. Ariana is one, but looks two years older than me, really. Both of them giggle about something.

Grandmaster Vidar suddenly halts pacing, he even stops insulting us. I think he...I think he stopped breathing too. He tilts his big blocky head a little and just looks at the girls with cold eyes that seem to struggle to stay in their eye sockets. ''You all must forgive me. I am a creature of weak, feeble mind.'' Like a stage performer who has done his act a thousand times, he seems more bored than angry and unnaturally nods at us while speaking. The nods are somehow artificial, with contrivance in each movement. ''We'll do a tiny bit of running but in the main courtyard, down below.''

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

With great zeal in each step, Grandmaster Vidar starts dashing toward the exit. ''Hippity-hop. Those that don't keep up, don't get to eat tomorrow and lose library privileges for a week!''

In the course of my very first months at the Academy, the large rectangular yards of sand, framed by covered porticos of the Academy's many gymnasiums, are each student's second home. During our physical classes there or while continuously running the long outer courtyard with that giant green statue of Teshub Lartia in the middle; the cushy coats, dark-green breeches, and snugly, almost knee-high, leathery chestnut-brown tall boots, are all supplanted, and we are made to wear blue double-stitched woolen tunics with sturdy heavy-soled hobnailed sandals. The strong tunic ends just above the knees with the excess cloth being draped over the cord belt.

I like the fresh air and the feeling of the pale sun on my skin.

We carry heavy weights, pull wagons, swim in one of the many smaller canals, and mostly: we wrestle—a nerve-wracking activity for some such as me. I can proudly say that not a single bone was broken since I'm a gentle little bird. One shoulder was dislocated but this was not by my design—one of the boys did it to another because they're morons.

***

The Hall was a place where all the students and grandmasters ate. It is a roughly rectangular room about three times as long as it was wide, and, as one might expect, following the common theme of this place, the Hall was cloud-scrapingly high. The massive canteen—I sometimes prefer to call it canteen—is a smelly chamber divided into sections for younger and older students. The older students often regard us with curiosity. Like a cat regards a mouse sort of curiosity. The grandmasters had their own separate tables, in the highest reaches of the Hall. Besides winding staircases, their area was accessible through the unseen corridors only they and the caretakers used. Never saw, or went all the way up there, only heard about it.

Scores of lamps, fixed on long iron chains—each containing mostly shining Cobalts while fewer have Ambers and fewer still possess a couple of beautiful Viridians whose glowing emerald light is thrown into the shining pile—all combined to provide a pleasing, almost sumptuous light that is easily good enough for reading.

On the walls, a plenitude of handsomely decorated tapestries feature circles with crudely depicted images of familiars inside them.

Red and black banners, with strange symbols on them, decorate the walls at the bird's-view level of the Hall's uppermost reaches; while at lower levels, midnight-black and blue, chunky thick-knit banners are hanging down from balconies. Some of them seem to have been made by combining different sections of cloth, stained with barely visible brownish-black blots. I never liked banners placed indoors. They are as still as statues. I almost want to jump and punch them, make the fabric come alive and ripple like waves.

Long cascades of swaying dusky-green drapes are placed at even intervals to give an illusion of openness or to decorate the commodious enclosure. The splendid drapes are securely attached to the wall with a thigh-thick hepatizon rod which seems incredibly wasteful. Maybe it's a steel bar coated with something to make it look like hepatizon. A silver-gray alamarium holdback, shaped to resemble a braided rope, hugs the curtains open, framing lengthy elegant curves while every other pair of the luscious cloth, lining the distant walls of the Hall, is tied around the middle with arm-thick, golden-black cords that end in dark-blue linen tassels. The hem of every drape is trimmed with a yellow stripe—without exception, the ample fabric of each has a mellow sheen, like some of my mother's best woolen tunics do. The ones used for ''special'' occasions, that she never wears.

Carvings in the form of tall arched windows are sculpted into pale red stone.

Thrown across the space all around me are many cavities holding statues of people and animals I don't recognize. Above and around me, there are very wide balconies where mostly older students eat. With annoying regularity over the past few months, more than a few of them would sometimes snicker and stare at us from above. There is plenty of room for all the present at the ground level but I can understand the appeal of being high up.

Lightly armored red-cloaked guards stand near almost every door and passage, they are generally scattered throughout the vast space of the Hall, some inconspicuously near the corners while others are quite the opposite and would occasionally patrol between the long tables and all the students. I'm not sure, but it seems this patrolling is concentrated on the ground level where most of the younger students are. Based on the way they move, some are mayhap partly made of stone—I still hadn't decided. As one might expect, most guards are large and imposing, wearing their faces all stern-like, of someone who ate only boiled cabbage for a month; their disquieting presence stops any chance of discord before it even begins. Female soldiers don't slack behind in this regard and I wonder if all the members of the Crimson Guard went to the same school of grimacing faces and disapproving looks.

I stand in the serving line and move sideways grabbing plates, utensils, and so on until finally my tray is stacked with appetizing and slightly salty-smelling food.

Today is a special day. Breakfast of rice, boiled eggs, a small chunk of smoked sausage, and two pieces of white bread—made of fine flour.

Nice. Today there is even a full cup of milk.

I can't deny, the meal looks rich and seems filling. Different from the usual artificial tasteless garbage or worse. There are a few unfortunate days each week when rough, smokey gray, pitted iron pots, taller than me, are used for boiling water with meat and vegetables inside to produce some yellowish soup that I hate. Honestly whoever was first who came up with the idea of putting meat in boiling water should be Thrown. The meat turns gray and the taste gets bleached out of it. These dungeons increased my appetite somewhat and in the past few months, there were a handful of days when I was much more hungry than ever before.

I move on with my tray to sit and feast.

Our class sits at a long stone-carved table with thirteen girls on one side and most of the boys on the other. It is one of many such tables in the Hall, those largely unused are left bare. The naked red-pink stone of ours is hidden and the table is entirely covered with the largest tablecloth I have ever seen. It is made of wool, in splendorous glossy satin weave and dyed honey-yellow of wheat—just about to be harvested. How in Allmother's name do they wash it?

The table has room for more than sixty students, making us scatter into smaller groups. Why do we do that? Most groupings have three members. Why not four or two? Well...there is one group of four boys. Maybe I'm just looking for patterns, or maybe four is a crowd.

Chewing, slurping, swallowing, the incessant clanking of plates on trays and utensils on plates, bubbling pots, talking, and sometimes laughter, all rumbled about the Hall like fat flies. I did not find most of these noises particularly melodic and the manipulation of my hearing sensitivity got its fair deal of exercise in this large—seemingly made for a big hamlet of hundreds—canteen alone. And footsteps...the accursed sound of footsteps was a constant whether you were sitting and eating or standing in line.

One of the four boys, grouped around the middle of our table, throws a piece of bread at another one to his left. All four of them laugh about something. They've been at it for a while.

Well played ninnies. I scratch my right eyebrow. There are two members of the Crimson Guard approaching our table. Soon, all twenty-five of us become dead quiet.

''Since you waste food, you and your friends must not be hungry.'' The guard that spoke has a handsome face but there is a mean-looking stance about him. I've only seen him on very few occasions. He probably enjoys having authority a bit too much. I hate people like that.

The one on his right throws a small grin at us, holding his spear like it's a whip that he can't wait to use. ''They do seem a bit too plump to me,'' Grin says.

''Well...'' the Handsome-Face pauses almost mockingly, pretending to think deeply about something. He spends some decent time staring at the boy—I think the offender's name is Peter, but I'm not sure...besides Michael I've avoided talking to the other boys. ''We can't have that. We just can't.'' After Peter looks to the side, the guard then glowers at the other three boys and each of them can't hold his gaze for long, except for one boy with dark blue eyes sitting in the middle.

Grin leans down to whisper something in the bread-throwing boy's ear. Like an owl on a mouse, I focus my hearing on Peter and Grin. ''Throw food again and we'll feed you rat poop in the Guts.'' He claps the boy's shoulder two times before leaving, making him flinch a little each time.

The two guards take away all four trays of mostly unfinished food.

Four really is a crowd. I slowly exhale an Alldora winds worth of air.

''I thought they'll take everything,'' Hebe says. She is sitting to my left and appears quite relieved. Her appetite is always strong and healthy, contradicting the skinny frame she has.

''The day is still young,'' I tell her. ''My appetite is lost.'' I put my last slice of cloud-white bread, untouched, on Hebe's tray.

''Thank you.''

I need to be careful and finish my tray spotless. On a few occasions, Hebe noted how little I eat. By now she knows it is futile to argue and not take the food out of concern toward me. I appreciate her easygoing nature. My mom would have shoved the plate down my throat.

I look around me. Everyone always seems hungry and thirsty.

Spiced ale and wine were not allowed in the Hall, or Academy grounds in general, but I could still occasionally smell it on some of the grandmasters and caretakers—I won't comment on some of the guards. Now, true is true, none of those few dared drink enough for it to be perceptible but this was of little comfort to my poor little button nose—Mom always said it was a small, rounded, ''button-like little thing'' with a tender slope. To think I could ever miss her teeth-grinding remarks...I should think of something else before my mood goes down the well.

My eyes land on two bronze-heads flanking the arched grand entrance to the Hall. We were told the plethora of red-cloaked, spear-wielding guards are only here to impose ''order, peace, and safety,'' yet instead I have a feeling of being surrounded by jailers.

''Are they really necessary?'' I ask Michael who is sitting on my right—he is the only boy on the girl's side of the table.

Oh! Hebe and I met a boy. Michael Aquillia. Perhaps it is more accurate to say Hebe met him. At first, she thought of him as cute but it turned out he also has a keen mind and is a little too interested in games honoring Theia, especially chariot racing.

Brown eyes with hair beautifully matching eye color, he is...decent-looking.

From what I can tell, Michael is sharp-witted and occasionally gets some teasing for spending too much time with Hebe and me. At two years younger than Hebe he is one of the youngest students in our class. He only truly speaks with one or two other boys.

''We'll talk later, about it.'' Based on Michael's forced smile, evasive eyes, and tightness in his voice, I deduce he is uncomfortable, so I drop it and the three of us talk about something else as I try to finish my meal.

While many senators have most of their villas in the city, or high up, carved out of the face of the cliff; the Academy wasn't slacking behind. Although lacking luxury, reaching about half the height of the facade, there were many carved rectangular spaces, platforms really, located both south and north of it. The one I'm on now is a good deal south of the facade, with enough room for even the largest of Winged to land. A few luscious purple and gray plants decorated the corners here and there, while very widely-spaced, mostly empty benches are placed near the walls.

Getting here took us considerable running and plodding over a stair and a few since there are no air-transport familiars operating for most of the students. The running was fun at first but after a time it became annoying, yet the air was still rich and crisp even in the deepest of tunnels—I think this made it easier for Hebe and Michael to keep going. Of course, I had to exaggerate my breathlessness toward the end of our trek.

With a well-lit spider's web of narrowish ascending tunnels and wide corridors, I'm starting to wonder if the Academy perhaps uses more crystals than Lodestar itself.

There are large common areas deep within the Academy that are far more accessible and richly furnished, but the pleasant wind and this view are, without question, worth the hassle of coming here.

I throw a long look at the mostly jagged landscape far below. My eyes devour the captivating sight of the Valley, filling the stretching abyss down and beyond us. Even though the height was always a constant in my life, my bone marrow thrills with excitement, but I hide it well and try to give a torpid exterior, unaffected by the magnificent view. I tilt my head a little. Eyes focus, focus...I can see the trickle of smoke coming from the Forge, far below. There is even an area not that far from the facade, designated for saddlemakers. That profession is sometimes overlooked, with people not realizing how important it is. Nearly every saddle has to be custom-made, with the addition of reinforced stitching, regular maintenance, and repairs, all being mandatory, especially for winged crystalborn. Rich breakfast in the Hall being a dead giveaway, today was Ninthday. Our classes last from Firstday to Eighthday with the remaining two days being unshackled for students to use as they saw fit. The majority spent their free time using the Academy's many facilities. Especially loved are gymnasiums and pools, with even a relatively small theatre and a little arena down there, all logged seemingly randomly in the jumble of rocky hills and knolls—roughly shaped into fists, spears, and all other erratic formations that only nature can devise. Michael told me the Academy even has catacombs, south of the ridiculously large facade. Like all of this is not enough, there are temples dedicated to each Daughter and to Allmother, don't remember where exactly, though. To be nice, I pretended to listen with great interest when he described those temples since he seems to have an affinity toward religion. Ignoring a garden or two, this area of the Valley was not the most kind to plant life but there are occasional black shrubs and bushes with even a few purple ones dotting the landscape. Even my eyes struggle to see those. Need to practice more.

This place seems like a miniature city which might be understandable since it is more practical to produce the basic necessities near one's base of operations. Not good. Half a cliff is clamping upon my head. I'm proficient at hiding the discomfort, but it is an effort to do so. My fingers instinctively rake through my hair.

I look to my left. Despite being a year younger than me, Micheal seems to almost annoyingly know everything Hebe and I ask him about the Academy. He wanted to show us this place and from the way he behaved, I suspect he wanted a nice private spot to talk.

Based on Hebe's glint of wonder and Michael's look of appreciation I'd say they seem absolutely awed. Michael looks at me and seems slightly disappointed. The three of us decided to come close to the secluded corner of the platform. My fingers tap one after the other across the thick stony railing.

''It's a little chilly.'' Hebe slides a right hand across her long coat.

Out of my sleeve, I pull out the cozy woolen hat that my mom knitted and put my other hand on Hebe's shoulder to grab her attention. I prefer to wear it inside my sleeve because I don't like how it stands out in my pocket. ''Here.''

She takes it almost immediately. ''Thank you. You good though?'' Hebe moves the delicate-pink hat back toward me.

I wave my hand, nod at her in confirmation, and then look hard at Michael. My patience is low as my dislike of stairs is high. ''I don't mean to be mean but---''

Raven-black horse—whose wings bristle with long feathers of matching color—lands further away from us, near the central area of the ample space. The rider, a well-dressed elderly man with a long white beard, hops off the crystalborn with surprising agility and goes on with his business. The regal beast suddenly turns and starts sprinting. It spreads its mighty wings and jumps over the railing with great ease into the canyon below. I look at the Winged for a few heartbeats as it gracefully flies away. The thing looked as if stolen from the night.

''Anyway...The ring is yours, chariot rider.'' I say after the interruption.

Finally, Michael feels comfortable enough to talk.

''For centuries, the Academy had problems with oppression and order. Novices would often be jarred by older generations, and classes would have their petty bickerings between them, creating strife and bad blood. Disastrous for future teamwork and morale. Long ago, it was thought this makes for better Breakers, better soldiers...men, and women 'as hard as a fully-charged crystal,' as my grandmother would put it. Experience showed if students are left unchecked to govern their internal strife, discord grows faster than Violet-made saplings. With incidents pilling and often being ignored, it all culminated with the massacre decades prior, and drastic changes were made.''

It feels as though he's trying to talk like an adult. Even his voice got a certain rougher edge to it.

''Before, at the end of the fifth year, students would perform Genesis and create their own crystalborn. The sixth and seventh years were always meant to be specialization years based on the produced crystalborn. Since familiars grow up fully in about two years it doesn't take much time to distinguish Grey from a Black Breaker, while Violet's plant familiars were immediately apparent. The system was changed since the event.''

Michael looks to the side at the vista. His throat moves like he just swallowed half an apple. ''I can't be sure if it was a century ago or many decades ago, since there is no public record available to most, but once there was a student who was incessantly harassed by his classmates. The story goes his father was a coal miner, way down at the southern end of the canyon. He died during this student's seventh and final year. Others called this student 'dirty' and 'soiled' or something absurd like that and after years of harassment, he has done something horrific in the closing months of his studies. Despite some of his familiars not being fully grown, they were still formidable beasts, and one day he used them as his sword, on students and grandmasters.''

Hebe's face loses almost all color until it becomes paler than the hat I've given her. ''No one would do such a thing.''

He has my full attention and I don't wish to interrupt him, so I say nothing, spurring him to continue.

Michael sighs and lowers his voice a bit. ''So...before he was stopped, the boy...No. He was probably an adult at the time of the incident.'' He corrects himself, still avoiding eye contact. ''So, this young man killed dozens of students and a few grandmasters. Now grandmasters are difficult enough to replace but those with the gift are even more so. The Senate was in an uproar. New rules were made. New people put in place. The entire leadership of the Academy was eviscerated,'' his mouth twitched and his nose crinkled a little, after which he clears his throat, ''I meant to say changed, people and rules of this place changed. Order and discipline were increased with no tolerance for harassment. The incident was also deeply damaging to the Academy's prestige and reputation. This is partly the reason Black Breakers are allowed to have only three familiars.''

''How do you know all this?'' I ask.

He finally looks at me and just shrugs. ''Before leaving home my mother told me to learn whatever I can about the Academy.''

The silence that follows is annoying to me and long. I do not like the look in their eyes, I do not like this growing feeling of unease in my chest. A distraction is needed.

Snake-quick, I flick my arm to grab ''Hebe's'' hat and then whip the end of it at her chest.

''Ow!'' is her eloquent response. ''Ann that hurt.''

I start to walk slowly backward. ''If any of you can catch me they get to keep it.'' I twirl the hat on one finger, then turn and bolt back inside.

Hebe begins to chase me but my laughter is all she will catch. ''You only said that cuz you're faster than me!''

I glance behind me for a flash and see Micheal leaning on the railing with both arms, looking at the vista in the direction where that black horse disappeared.

It's getting late. Must be night. Not that it matters from deep inside this tomb. I saunter down the lonely corridor, moving away from the library and toward the dormitory.

Michael's history lesson unnerved me; can't lie. I did a little reading about the history and creed of this place.

If a student is about to be expelled from the Academy then he would have to walk in a procession manner, wearing an all-white robe, between all the students and grandmasters. Also, his family and neighbors are required to be present. It is a humiliating process that is probably meant to serve as a deterrent against anything that may displease or soil the Academy's honor. Turns out this stuff is common knowledge. Shows how much I know.

Over its long history The Breaker Academy tried whipping, beating, and other forms of punishment for insubordination but after a lot of bloody trial and error it turns out public humiliation and being shunned by all around you is far more effective. A legion of column-tall guards helps too. It even often gets to a point where students are wary of what they say and who they talk to. My theory, anyway.

To make matters more unnerving for all of us, what may or may not get you expelled isn't exactly known, it varies greatly and it is that unknown which makes it more difficult to bend or twist the rules. Students don't know where the line is, which cannot be crossed. It is a clever way of using opacity.

People are so strange; you can threaten to peel our skin or to beat us half to death and still there will always be some who choose to ignore the rules, but threaten with public humiliation and expulsion from the community and all will honor the rules as if the goddess herself wrote them.

***

It has always been an unnerving moment for the entire Valley. Most people tended to huddle up inside and pray. Today is the day rock rain strikes. Twenty-first of Sardon, the end of spring and beginning of autumn.

The three of us stand south of the impressive edifice of the facade, on one of the many stout Winged-high balconies dotting the face of the eastern cliff; prepared to watch the macabre spectacle. Unlike the landing platform, this balcony was very private and rather small with barely enough room for Hebe, Michael, and me to stand next to each other shoulder to shoulder.

''It will hold,'' Hebe notes while looking up. I'm standing in the middle and she is on my right. Again, the spectacular view is a masterwork from the artist called nature but today all the attention is on the up, not down.

''It will hold.'' Michael and I repeat the popular maxim in a quiet chorus.

The most unnerving part is that there is no lightning, no roar of thunder announcing what is to come. That quiet before it starts is what gets under the heart of many. At least that's how I've heard my grandfather put it.

Mother never allowed me to watch and would sometimes even lock me, unsuccessfully, in my room to stop me from going to the roof.

Three conjoined epic domes of power are formed, with the middle one being far above Sol—so far above. Together they cover the entire canyon and from my understanding a decent-sized area beyond it. Semi-transparent blue haze is all that protects our homes from becoming rubble.

The specially-chosen priests and a select few, guard the secret of how exactly the Aegis operates but it is known large Cobalts are involved and that the Academy plays a critical role in obtaining it. Punishments for trying to uncover more about this topic are draconian and so I lacked any particular desire to learn more.

Michael can't stop twiddling his fingers and Hebe swallows hard, with annoying regularity. I can't say there is not a tiny sense of dread in me. But, it's more that I don't like this annual event than fear it. Yet I can't resist the grim spectacle. Why do we want to look at things that give us unease?

Curiosity? Distraction? Or something more morbid. I'll debate that with myself tonight while trying to fall asleep.

It begins.

Plumes of blue haze ripple, a few at first and then many soon after, until the pretty blue shield is swarmed with ''the tears of the goddess.'' I consider it a silly and overdramatic expression but some scholars theorized how this regular event is a reminder for humanity to be more pious or something. Rock rain is so punctual that Lodestar uses it to fix the time on its big water chronos.

Each impact spot is marked by concentric circles which radiate outwards. The waves, if I can call them that, have a slightly darker shade of blue haze to them. Resembling a large lake's pristine surface being overwhelmed by a hailstorm from a cruel darkening sky. Except that Aegis can never be overwhelmed. The entire surface of the mighty shield receives merciless hammerblows, the rocks beyond count slam it again and again, sparing no spot, giving no respite, making the pale blue light pulsate and spread in a pattern of growing rings that mix and fuse—as far as the eye can see.

The monster is hitting the gates with all its strength. The distant deep roiling sound is thrumming with a symphony that echoes throughout the Valley. Infinity of Void's vicious drummers play a dreadful-violent cadence to produce a sound that I can only describe as a distant deep stomach growling of some ravenous, Alldora-sized creature. Try as I might, my ears struggle to make the sound clearer or much stronger.

Like blood droplets across the skin, swarming hordes of crushed and pulverized rocks slide and roll across Aegis until most of the dusty junk and small lumpy broken stones finally fall well beyond the limits of the canyon itself. Forming entire hills purely made out of piled gray substance.

The recent prime brightness of midday clouds gave way to twilight in the Valley. Our new skies are akin to glass smeared with fine dust and rubble.

Due to the cursed jutting rock of the cliff, I can't see Sol—although this didn't stop me from leaning on the carved balustrade and throwing more than a few glances northwards. Sol's shine is always stronger with diminishing light.

The thrumming slowly disappears and Aegis, the grandest of bulwarks, is soon to follow. The once pale blue slowly fades away. Sad. Why does that make me sad? Dust will soon blanket the Valley in a vile cough-inducing shroud forcing those unfortunate enough to be outside to wear wetted scarfs over their noses and mouths until the dust settles. If you're really desperate you can pee on a piece of cloth or a cloak. I've read about such things happening in the Wastes. My mom did not enjoy me mentioning that at dinner once, years ago. Not one bit.

We should move inside before such a need arises, but my eyes keep looking up as if willing Aegis to reappear. I then look north for let's say a second time.

My thoughts fly the fastest flight back to Lodestar. Gray Breakers and their crystalborn will take weeks to fully clean all the plazas and other public spaces. I've heard of some familiars with large tongues that can pick up and consume the dust and tiny pebbles from the streets or roofs, a most unsavory meal which later must be regurgitated at proper water channels flowing northwards.

Someone's hand on my right shoulder snaps me away from my reflections. ''Ann?'' Hebe asks. ''We should go.''

Michael is already a few steps ahead of us looking back at me. ''All good?''

I nod at them while giving a reassuring tiny smile. ''Just thinking of home, as always.''

We walk away from the balcony, deeper inside the cliff and Michael closes the door at the soon-approaching gray miasma behind.

Screw the goddess and her ''tears.'' Glory to Aegis.

***

It is the middle of Taz now. I flounce my way through the main courtyard to train spear stances, as well as some stratagems on how to properly attack using it, with Hebe and Zuri. Goddess knows why is that important. Dressed in their indigo and white livery, caretakers walked to and fro across the sprawling courtyard. The imposing every-shade-of-green statue of Teshub Lartia, Academy's first chairman, rose from the center of it like a giant. It was flanked by distant fountains, their basins adorned with beautiful sculptures of beasts and all sorts of other crystalborn.

I told my friends to wait for me at one of the gymnasiums while I make a plea at the secretary's office. I wished to see my parents again. It was to no avail. Hebe probably knew this outcome but had no heart to tell me. My overall good behavior was partly due to the imaginary reward this might bring. I'm an idiot. Despite finishing all the exams even before the end of Lapul, it was still not enough.

Months had passed with philosophical dribble sprinkled with sermonizing theology for ''good'' measure and I did not complain. Reading dreary works of probably stone-old, leaden-sky-gray philosophers and long-dipped grandmasters. Works that often had to be deciphered because of the annoying jargon none living today uses. I had to scour books in search of meanings and phrases to better understand other books. And. I. Did. Not. Complain. Just a few days spent with my family can't be such a mad request. Apparently, it is.

Tests of physical nature were nothing to me. Frustratingly I had to restrain myself and my results are only slightly above average.

When it came to intellectual endeavors, there was no need to hold back. During exam months the Academy's leviathan library was always open, day and night, and this is where my insomnia came in handy. I got a few weird looks from the night-shift librarians and caretakers but I liked going there at night. It wasn't quieter than during the day, it couldn't be, but it somehow felt as if it was. There wasn't much else to do but read old volumes and spend time with Hebe and Michael. Even after my exams were done I continued to devour books, hunting for myths and long-forgotten legends, albeit with a lessened ferocity so as to not arouse any suspicion.

I thought about additionally pretending to struggle in my studies by transferring some subjects to the next year but I hindered myself enough already as it is.

I carry with me a black sack of rough spun wool filled with gymnasium clothes. Before I thought I would get lost in this maze-like place but previously strange hills and tall rock formations now serve as guideposts. I'm unnerved by how quickly I've grown accustomed to navigating this place. It will never be my true home, though.

Crossing the river-channel towards spear-wielding guards, I notice that the sea-serpent Aquatic that Aleera told me about is still there, wiggling in the murky deep. Scary thing practically lives there. Part of me screams to release myself, to run and jump, but I keep my stormy pace contained, all nice and normal, that of a student in a rush.

I look up at the glorious bright blur of spilled ruddy paint, ruling the sky. Obviously, unrelenting—little—physical tortures were omnipresent—well...they were little so far, from my perspective anyway. Nevertheless, the feeling of subtle soreness became my state of being for most of this school year. Also, I must note a sense of admiration for my classmates. Yes, they complain, a lot, however, there is always a sense of stubborn continuation no matter the struggles our bodies are put through. In the end, they always pick their sandals up and look ahead; in defiance of twinges, aches, or whatever other stings the Academy throws at us.

After a few thousand steps I reach the gymnasium on top of what I decided to call a mini-moss rock structure. I really need to work on that name. There are a few gymnasiums on ground level but this particular one is very high up and provides a good view of Sol. I suspect it's an insignificant red dot to many yet it is a beacon of home to my eyes.

I thought we were doing spears. Hebe and Zuri were sparing with stonewood swords. Maybe warming up?

I reach to clasp both of their wrists. ''Swords?''

Hebe simply shrugs. ''A little bit.''

''Better change or they might nag about it.'' Zuri nods at the few members of the Crimson Guard patrolling the flat roof around us.

For a little while, I change clothes, stashing my coat and the rest of the garments in the changing room. The dark-green coat has a handy inner pocket on the left side, which I use for my adorable fibula. I keep thinking how someone will steal it.

I slip on my sandals, secure them tightly around my feet and tie my hair back in a long red tail.

In no time I'm back out on the palaestra, grabbing a greenish-brown bastard sword from the weapons rack. For about the time it takes Grandmaster Vidar to insult our entire class, the three of us do some stances and what I can only describe as tepid, sort of mock fights. I don't need both hands to wield it but mother's fear is rooted in me, I guess—details, always.

Zuri is nimble with the spear, proficient with the sword, and the best archer in our class. We mostly focused on the basics of archery and in my view, she seemed years ahead of most of us. I'm decent with arrows; however, I...once broke a supposedly very expensive purple-black bow and do not wish to dwell on it further.

As far as I know, Zuri passed all her exams on time but I assume she wishes to help Hebe. Also, despite having places of leisure, the Academy is carved towards students constantly honing their bodies or sharpening their minds through reading. Maybe Zuri finally got bored of reading. Can relate to that.

The flower girl stops disemboweling air with her sword. ''I don't understand why we need to know this nonsense.'' I like her. ''In a true fight, you can kick a boy between the legs, and he is done.''

''What do you mean?'' I ask, making the two of them stare at me.

Zuri waves her arm. ''Never mind that.''

Swoosh! Thunk!

I turn my head at the source of those sounds. In another half of the gymnasium, there are six girl students, all of whom are three or more years older than me, practicing the harpoon throw. The barbed missile, resembling a spear, is attached to a long rope and thrown by hand. My palms got a little tingly simply from watching them. Harpoons are used only when Harvesting a Wraith that can fly. It is only done in desperation and avoided like Void's kiss. Not only that but, mostly ordinary soldiers throw harpoons in an actual Winged Harvesting, while Black Breakers stay safely behind them.

Zuri stares at me for a few breaths, narrowing her eyes a tiny bit and giving me the faintest of smiles. ''Let's make this interesting. Hebe and I will attack you at the same time.''

''That seems...that's hardly fair.'' Hebe is obviously tired, her breathing, labored, her grip on the sword's handle, lessened.

Again, Zuri just looks at me for a few moments. ''Yes, to us.''

I instinctively inhale and open my mouth to ask her what does she mean, but Zuri just turns away to grab a spear from the weapons rack and then places herself at some distance from Hebe and me.

''Hebe, take a spear and move opposite of me, attack at the same time in tandem.'' There is an imperious edge to Zuri's voice which I find unappealing.

''This does not sit well with me. We should finish for today.'' Hebe moves toward a barrel of water, placed behind the weapons rack and in the long, covered portico, next to one of the columns.

''Ann is this a problem?'' Zuri asks.

So; apparently I did not hinder myself enough after all. This is good...in a way. Now I know I need to be even more unnoticeable. Either that or this girl simply sees too much.

If I protest too harshly it might seem suspicious but despite that, if I trash them both upon these sands that might make even the guards, located on the flat roof around us, raise an eyebrow or two—not to mention those older students in the distance. And I can't act clumsy since Zuri will know I'm holding back.

''No problem at all. It could be fun.'' I nod a little at Zuri, smile a little to reassure Hebe, and move to take a spear for myself. Hebe splashed cold water all over her face and now it's dripping like sweat all over her tunic.

The blades we use to practice with are never sharpened. Heavy-on-the-wrist stonewood swords and dulled steel or alamarium blades, of every variety, occupy the copious weapons rack. Daggers, broadswords, axes, polearms, bastard swords, bladed tonfas, a strange two-bladed sword, rapiers, two greatswords, light maces, two uchigatana, four sai capped with a small ball on each tip, nice-looking slightly curved single-edged alamarium falchions, six kukris(that look like recurved oversized daggers), two large adult-tall tridents, four gisarmes, two sleek naginatas with no crossguard, two ax-spear hybrid-looking things(I think they're called halberds), and as might be expected, standing like soldiers at attention, a row of nine spears—five with angular and four with leaf-shaped spearheads. Like a missing tooth, one spear is gone from the rack, taken by Zuri.

I grab the angular one because I like the stabby look of it better. With the reluctance of a timid puppy, Hebe approaches the rack and does the same. She is so sweet, afraid she'll hurt me. Exactly the type of fear I have now.

All three of us secure special pads over the spearheads. The ends of our spears are then dipped into a bucket of red powder, sitting close to the weapons rack. The spears will leave an easily washed mark on the tunic if any of us lands a blow.

Zuri places herself about ten steps in front of me, Hebe about the same distance behind.

Like two bulls, my opponents charge straight at me.

With both hands, Zuri thrusts the spear at my abdomen. Her attack: easily dodged, her movement: sluggish to my eyes. Hebe sweeps her spear low across my legs. I simply jump up, about the height of Hebe's shoulders. Their breathing, their movement, their grunting, their footwork, the rustling of fabric, their spears cutting the air—they are simply too loud. Mistaking me for a log of stonewood, Zuri goes for an overhead strike, seemingly wanting to break her spear on my skull. At the same time Hebe, holding the spear near its base and with only her right hand, makes a swift strike at my knee. They did good, they attacked as one.

I smash my spearhead at the left side of Zuri's exposed rib cage, my legs clap together and hold Hebe's spear. The red powder left its mark. Zuri, making no cry of pain, backs down a few steps away from me. She is hurting but far from laid low.

My legs spread, releasing Hebe's spear. I feint an attack at Hebe's left side then quickly spin, slamming at her right. I was careful to go for the rib cage again and this time to hit with the shaft. Using my shoulder I jab at her body about a dozen times, she retreats but nicely dodges and parries.

I can hear Zuri sneaking up on me and so I position myself in such a way that both of my opponents are in front of me. My shaft deflects and blocks their attacks as I make a point of breathing through my mouth with just a touch of panic in my eyes. Don't wanna overdo it.

Bash! Slam! Pound! Wreck! Four times in total, Zuri strikes my fingers with her shaft. I retreat, I retreat, I retreat, my feet sinking and sliding across the sand, closer and closer to those older students.

I've had enough!

I chest kick Hebe, but with controlled force, to daze, not harm. My rampage of lunges and stabs is hard-focused on Zuri. She flinches away from me. As per my design, I allowed Hebe to position herself behind me.

My eyes spread really wide as if I just saw a Wraith standing directly behind Zuri. She is several spear-lengths in front of me and glances behind, for a moment—one flap of butterfly's wings, really.

With nimbus quickness, I turn my spear bottom first and throw it hard at Zuri's gut. As Hebe tries to stab me in the back I sway my body, letting her thrust go next to me. With both hands, I grab Hebe's spear and plant my left leg in front of her. She is completely out of kilter and doesn't stand a chance as I pull and throw her body across the sparkling golden sand. Just like her spear, Zuri is lying on the palaestra, her body coiled, resembling that of a sleeping kitten.

My face is tickled by the autumn wind. It feels cold but in a pleasant way. I lift my chin against the wind, staring at the gray sky.

I've read a story about a tribe, now long gone. The Academy's library is a fantastical place—made of books—that allows one to travel through time and learn about what was or what can never be. So...this tribe, whose name escapes me at the moment, believed in all sorts of things: forest spirits, gods affiliated with the sky, soil, water, and other such things, today considered heretical. They also believed that as the person dies, their last breath becomes a tiny gust of wind that joins a river of it which courses throughout the world. Beautiful...

Why does my mind do that? There are some days with moments like this one when I wander off and imagine myself flying or living in another life, another world even.

My mind snaps back to the gymnasium's sand. ''My cousin,'' I exaggerate in my panting. ''Taught me the spear.'' A bad lie but a necessary one.

I did not make a single step toward Hebe or Zuri, to help them get up, since I wish to appear slightly arrogant. Like a student that won through an amazing display of skill or some such nonsense.

The world around me is still. The palaestra is unusually quiet. Even the wind is gone. Those six older girl students are staring at me, and guards on the roof are staring at me. I feel like each of the many columns is also staring at me.

One of those six girls, tall with a strong jawline, starts clapping and the rest of her five friends follow. ''May the goddess provide each of us a cousin like that!'' The girl that started clapping first, yells in my direction, making her friends smirk and laugh.

In the distance, a sour-faced guard gives some hex to the one standing next to him. Zuri is still laying on the floor while Hebe, looking like she bathed in the sand, is crouching next to her. What have I done!? My legs fly toward my hurt friends.

So much for details. I will not be mentioning this to mom.