I've always been able to make friends. Personable, mellow, smiling when there's some reason to smile, but more often than people think. All around a guy people are cool with sticking by. That's what they've always said about me.

What, my mom and dad? Who cares who says it.

Some might even call me...tepid.

What, my childhood bully?

Who cares about him...

I've basically adopted that as a motto, of late. I'm a personable dude. No big identity crisis—who cares why I dye my hair and apply ridiculous amounts of hair gel to keep it back.

There's this group of friends I have. Let me describe them for you:

An idiot, an idiot, an idiot and an idiot. I'm the idiot semi-reliable friend in it. Pretty solid group, I'd never say to anyone's face.

Really, Roka's always bothering me. This guy never DOESN'T needle me, in truth. His light brown face has a sharp smile on it. His hair's getting pretty long, and it's way too in my face when he grabs my opposing shoulder over-eagerly going on about something.

"Dude, we should totally skip over the fence at night and go, Rea! They say it's haunted."

Cool. Sure. Just cool...

He's talking about some part of a park they say is haunted. They sectioned it off about a few weeks ago, and everyone's been in an uproar about it since. There are SO many...totally not weird or spooky...theories floating around just within the school, not to mention the virtual Worldscope.

Nothing out of the ordinary for this city. For this planet, Breath.

Regardless, I go to an average high school, the type that's free to learn anything in. I make average grades, though considering my above mellow breezy cool vibes, I wouldn't say I'm just an average guy. A little above average, maybe.

I totally kick ass at being slightly above average. Absolutely.

"And kill my sneakers again?" I bare my teeth in a warning grin, pushing his face away physically with the palm of my hand. It's called "divina commedia."

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"We'll be legends, man!" Teal hollers, slamming his hands down RIGHT on my desk with stars in his eyes. So typical of him. He's what they call "hot-blooded," but kind of...stupid. For some reason, a bunch of girls who are the type to wield knives as a combat weapon or something have tried asking him out. Like, literal ninja-looking gals. "LET'S GO."

"Hell no." I tell him flatly, Roka's face still squished away from me.

"I can capture them. Their spirit... in my camera..." Flora laughs quietly and maniacally as she rises like a wraith right by my desk. I scream, and Roka finally topples over.

Her glasses glint.

"Flora... Why?" I implore while pulling a face in return, and we both know there's nothing I am actually asking.

"By the way," she says with her nerdy-ass voice that's matched by a pair of really long braids. I'd say stereotypical that way, except for the part where she does necro-craft, and people say she probably KO'd her old friends with a spell before.

Er. ...As far as I know, they're fine now. They're fine. "They say there's been strange people lurking in our school after extracurricular people leave... If you're really that scared, Rea--"

"Who is?" I say, dryly. "I don't want to destroy these expensive-ass sneakers. That, and isn't it Roka who's always clinging to me whenever we--"

Roka at that moment LEAPS up.

"Listen, Rea, if it's for your sneakers," he says gravely, slamming his hand to his chest. "I will forgo our extensively detailed plans. Don't even worry about it, man. Or you could swing by to my pla--"

"You know your bro frickin' hates me, Roka." I can't stand that bastard. "He keeps putting lizards in my. Shit. Every time I go there. I am not trusting my expensive-ass sneakers with your shut-in--"

"I want to go some place I can jog," Esme pipes up. Despite her tomboy looks, insanely tall height, and a muscular build that could lift like, at least a small house, likely leaning toward a jockish archetype in many, much more superbly-edited non-run-on-sentencing works than any we'd wind up in, I'm sure—in reality she's actually pretty cool-headed. We relate that way. Really want to start up an indie band with the others, one of these days.

Thankfully, before the conversation can loop back, again, class starts.

But...

Moon and World, it was happening again.

"Uh," mutters our typically constantly smiling and weirdly chipper teacher, Instructor Lee. He sweats as he smiles this time, though, which absolutely doesn't help in trying to disguise the part where he and I and everyone else knows this is kind of getting. A lot. "Hey, class! Please welcome the...newest...transfer student from the Royal Academy on our beloved moon, Realm of Blossoms!"

A few people gawk. Some actually yawn. I sweat, just like teach.

That transfer student happens to be wearing REALLY swanky clothes designed for moon-mech pilots. And...literal lavender fire blazing by their eye.

Our school is an average school. It's average enough... Truly.

But all these girls and guys and nonbinary peeps transferring in from the Royal Academy on the freaking moon? With freaking elemental magic by their eyes?

...Why?

Why... why...

why?

To be continued.