Sunny. 2mph winds blowing northeast. Sixty-five degrees fahrenheit. No rain expected.
Azer stood in front of a titanic building resembling a small city, with different smaller buildings centered around the main entrance. The main portion of the building had a strange quality to its architecture—it was unlike houses and buildings in Azer’s neighborhood, which had very traditional and simple designs. Instead, it was blocky in shape, with many outer rooms of the building appearing to jut out into the air. A large stone arch stood above him, the words “BATTLE ACADEMY” ingrained in the stone in dark black lettering.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Azer asked Grif, also gawking at the massive structure. “It’s huge!”
“What, the right place for learning things? Yeah, duh. It’s a school. That’s the whole point of a school.”
“I’ve never seen a school before,” Azer remarked.
“It sounds like you haven’t seen much at all,” Grif added. “Have you really only lived in that small western area of town?”
“For as long as I can remember.”
“You really are an odd one. C’mon, let’s head inside. You want to learn about The Shades? This is the place to do it, but we have to apply if we want to study here.”
Azer followed Grif down the long path to the Battle Academy’s main building, taking in more and more of the campus as he walked. People of all ages, shapes, and sizes walked up and down the path, adding to or leaving the large group of people crowded around the main entrance. Azer saw all of it as an exciting prelude to his education. He wondered if he would know as much as Mr. Grano one day.
“You seem to know a fair bit about the Battle Academy,” Azer asked Grif. “Why aren’t you already attending?”
“I applied too late. Apparently you have to apply before one of their ‘semesters’. I’ve known about it for a while, but by the time I tried to apply, the semester had already started.”
“What do you do there? Do you learn battle?”
“You learn all kinds of things, lots more than you can learn from just wandering around the town. When we apply, they’ll explain it to us, but, yeah, you do learn how to battle. It looks pretty awesome.”
By now the two had made their way into the cluster of people, and Grif’s expression started to become confused.
“That’s funny. We’re supposed to find an adult to help us apply by now. I-”
Grif’s sentence was cut short when he suddenly crashed into something tall.
“Oof!”
Azer looked up at what Grif had crashed into—it was a very tall man.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Here,” the man said.
The tall man reached down to offer a hand and helped pull Grif to standing. Grif was dazed, at first unable to process what he was looking at. In the center of each of the man’s palms were two metal-clad holes that went all the way through his hands. Azer could see the face of a kid his age through one of the holes.
“Sorry again. Are you alright?” the man asked Grif. Once Grif gathered himself and looked the man up and down, also noticing the strange holes in the man’s hands, Grif nodded silently.
“Are you here to apply?” the man asked.
“Yep,” Azer said, still in awe at how much the man dwarfed him. Azer and Grif only reached his waist height, and his head was adorned with well-combed silver hair. But the man didn’t look old—to the contrary, he had a young face, with wide silver eyes and sharpened features. His silver hair was metallic in color and quality, fine and reflective and styled like a curving river.
“Then you’ve come to the right place. My name is Dr. Delvin Rawins, I’m a scientist and a scholar. I teach environmental science here at the Battle Academy.”
Delvin shook both of their comparatively tiny hands. The metal in Delvin’s hand was cool to the touch. “And you two are?”
“I’m Grif.”
“I’m Azer.”
Delvin gave a short nod and then looked past the two.
“Where are your parents?” Delvin tried searching the crowd for anyone resembling the two.
“We, uh, don’t have any,” Grif answered. “Both of us. We’re not brothers, or, at least I don’t think we are, but we’re both orphans.”
This seemed to intrigue Delvin, and he made a curious expression.
“May I ask where you two are from, then?” Delvin inquired.
“We don’t know that, either,” said Grif. “Or, wait, do you?” he asked Azer.
“Me? No, not at all. We’re here because we want to find out.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear all of that,” Delvin said quietly. “But enough of my questions. You two want to apply, yes? I may have to pull a few strings to get that arranged, given you have no parents, but it would be a crime for me to deny two curious young gentlemen an education. Especially since you came to apply on your own volition. Learning is why life matters, after all.”
Delvin then began busily typing away on the computer stationed at his standing desk, giving the two boys an uncomfortable moment of silence.
“What’s ‘volition’ mean?” Azer whispered to Grif.
“No idea.”
The silence persisted, filled with the chatter of other applicants and the swift keystrokes of Delvin. Azer felt a persistent awe in Delvin’s presence, and not just due to his extraordinary height. Spending much of his time at Grano’s Diner, most of Azer’s unending questions he asked Mr. Grano. But the ones he really burned to know– where he came from, why the sunset changed the color of the sky, why everyone had a face but him–were never answered. Delvin, unlike Mr. Grano, was a teacher. Maybe he knew the answers to Azer’s questions.
Azer’s curiosity overcame his desire not to interrupt Delvin, and he blurted out:
“Mr. Rawins, what is The Shades?”
Delvin’s bright silver eyes darted from the computer screen to Azer.
“We don’t understand what it really is, but I’ve done some research into finding out. All we know is that, once every ten years, Manim is covered in clouds and everyone evacuates. After the storm blows over, everyone returns. Like nothing ever happened.”
“Like nothing ever happened? Won’t the storm destroy houses and stuff?” Azer asked.
“One would think so, but the surface before and after The Shades has been almost the exact same before and after every storm.”
“What happens on the ground when the storm comes?”
“We don’t know,” Delvin replied earnestly. “But we do know that it’s dangerous to be left behind when it happens.” Delvin’s face grew grim. “We can’t confirm the cause, but eight years ago, a child at the Battle Academy van-”
Delvin stopped himself mid-sentence, gazing at the two young boys apprehensively.
“What?” Azer and Grif urged simultaneously.
“Never mind. I mustn’t spread rumors,” Delvin dismissed. He then got back to Azer and Grif’s applications like nothing had happened. But the damage had been done—Azer and Grif were looking at each other slack-jawed, the fire of curiosity set aflame.
“Alright,” Delvin said after a moment, “you two are officially enrolled in the Battle Academy. If you didn’t know already, at the Academy you will get a full, Zysti-approved education, including learning, as the name implies, the art of battle. The Battle Academy also caters to children with Vals, teaching them to control and harness their powers to the greatest extent, including using them for good in the world. Because I teach a higher-level class, I will most likely not be your teacher anytime soon, but if you have any questions, please come to me in the building or find the Battle Academy’s principal, Itell D. Ortum, or Dr. D for short. He’s in the main office.”
Delvin then pressed a button on his computer and printed several sheets of paper. He snatched them from the printer, bound them with a stapler, and held it out.
“These papers will tell you everything else you need to know about the Battle Academy, including when and where to go on the first day of school.”
“Thank you,” Grif said, taking the papers. The two began to walk away when Delvin shouted, “Wait!”
“If you want to get a headstart on the battle portion of school, I’m offering an extracurricular class for select students at the Battle Academy. I call it the Combat Class. I hold lessons every other weekday after school as well as morning lessons on the weekends.”
Delvin held out a small slip of paper, information printed in small text along with a photo of the class building.
“If you’d care to join, I’m teaching these classes at a low price.”
Grif took the slip and studied it carefully. He looked at Azer.
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to join, sorry,” Grif told Delvin, who nodded understandingly. “We don’t have much money. And I think we’re going to be busy researching The Shades some more, so I don’t know if we’ll have time.”
“Alright. But the offer is always open. If you ever struggle in the Academy’s battle courses, we’ll be open and ready for you. Just hang on to that slip; it tells you everything you need to know.”
“Thanks.”
“I hope to see you in school soon. Best of luck.”
Azer and Grif walked away and, once out of Delvin’s earshot, Grif jumped in front of Azer.
“You heard what I heard, right? The kid vanishing?”
“Yeah, I did! What was that?”
“There’s something going on. Both with Delvin and The Shades. We gotta find out more.”
“I know. Let’s see if we can ask someone when we go to school next week.”
----------------------------------------
Early in the morning, Azer ventured out into the cool spring air to attend his first day in the Battle Academy. But his mind was on other things besides school; he burned and burned with questions about The Shades, the missing child, and most of all, himself. Azer felt that, somehow, his unknown origin and missing face might have something to do with The Shades. But he had no idea how.
Yet.
The school day began with the principal giving a welcoming speech to the students, talking mostly about things that Azer unconsciously tuned out. One thing did pique Azer’s interest, however: the principal, Dr. D, had an unusual appearance. He wore casual clothing and looked hauntingly pale, and his eyes were a ghostly white, like those of a corpse.
The first thing Azer noticed in school was the relentless attention that his missing face attracted. Every step in the hallway or moment sitting down in a classroom he’d find yet another kid staring at where his face should be, marveling or recoiling at the sight. Azer had hoped there would be other kids with something different about them, and he was right. Nur was filled with species from all corners of the galaxy. Kids had countless physical features he’d never seen before, but yet, Azer’s missing face trumped all of that and then some. Nothing there was quite as unusual as the lack of a face. The attention was beginning to take a toll, and he was having regrets about showing up at school at all.
After his second class ended, Azer headed for the door as fast as he could to avoid the stares of the other children, hoping to get to lunch without much attention. He walked quickly through the hallway, but before he could enter the cafeteria, he was stopped by another group of children talking in the center of the hall. As soon as they noticed Azer’s missing face, they began to surround him with a flurry of questions and exclamations. He tried to push to the left and then to the right, tried to escape around the back of the group, but it was no use—they had surrounded him in every direction. He couldn’t get out without pushing them out of the way.
“Leave him alone, please.”
A slow, clear, deep voice rang out from somewhere behind Azer. As if by some unknown power, the kids harassing Azer all went silent at once and scattered, leaving Azer by himself. He turned around to see the source of the voice.
It was the Battle Academy’s principal, Dr. D. He was even taller up close, dwarfing Azer. Fear and intimidation kept Azer locked in place.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re getting a great deal of attention from the other students today, and now I see why. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re tired of people talking about your face. Or lack thereof.”
“Uh- yeah. I am,” Azer answered.
Dr. D’s white eyes moved down towards the book in Azer’s hands, piled among his other worksheets and folders.
“Are you researching The Shades?” Dr. D asked gently.
Azer became acutely aware of the book he was holding, a bookmark sticking out of the section on The Shades. He pulled the book tighter to his chest.
“Yeah, I am. How did you know?”
“I can tell you’re the curious type, like me, and I know that section of the book you’ve bookmarked well.” After a pause, he asked, “Where are you from?”
“I don’t know where I’m from. I have no idea why I don’t have a face. But I wanna find out. My friend and I got this book because we want to know more.” He paused. “I think The Shades might have something to do with it.”
Dr. D looked at Azer meaningfully for a moment. Azer broke the silence.
“Do you know anything about The Shades? Other than what’s in this book?” Azer asked.
“Not much,” Dr. D sighed. “No one still alive has been on the ground when it happens.”
“Is it really true that a kid vanished eight years ago, during the last Shades?”
Dr. D tensed up and his lips went thin. He looked at Azer again, gears turning in his head, before he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
“Well… yes. A student here, a poor girl named Haise vanished eight years ago. It’s stuff a kid like you shouldn’t have to worry about, but her disappearance was tragic to say the least. Why do you ask?”
“What happened to her? Did she disappear during The Shades?”
“Her disappearance happened to line up with The Shades, but we don't know what really occurred.”
Azer could tell he was beginning to push his luck with the subject, and felt a small pang of guilt for asking about such a horrible thing. But the fire of his curiosity burned brightly at the prospect of a lead, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of reluctant excitement. Azer remained silent as Dr. D’s face looked at him scrutinizingly, until his expression softened.
“You know, I admire your curiosity. What’s your name?”
“Azer.”
“I’ll see you again soon, Azer. Don’t let anyone harass you about your face from here on out.”
Dr. D turned around and walked down the hall. Without another word, Azer walked into the cafeteria with a newfound confidence.
He quickly found Grif at a sparsely-populated table, grinning and waving an arm in the air at Azer. Azer sat down next to his friend, taking in the bustling cafeteria around him.
“This place just keeps getting more amazing,” commented Grif. “You didn’t get troubled too much for your… you know, not-face, right?”
“It’s not a big deal anymore. I saw the principal, Dr. D, in the halls before I got here.”
Grif eyes went wide.
“Seriously?! What was he like? Is he as boring as he was during the assembly?”
“He seemed… nice.”
“That’s good. Were you able to ask anyone about The Shades?”
“Yeah, I asked Dr. D. He said a girl named Haise disappeared here eight years ago. That’s all I found out.”
“So there was a missing kid!”
“But I think it’s a sensitive subject. We probably won’t be able to find out much more by asking the teachers.”
“Fair. Why don’t we ask some other students, then?”
A moment later, a pair of faces showed up behind Grif. It was two boys. One was a smaller boy with leaves and vines poking out from under his collar and sleeves, and the other a much taller boy who looked like he belonged in a higher grade. The taller boy had deep, dark purple skin and pastel blue eyes that almost seemed to glow.
“I… uh… can we sit here?” the smaller boy asked timidly, pointing to the seat next to Grif.
“Sure,” Grif replied.
“Uh… I’m Milo, by the way. Thank you. Most of the other tables were taken up…” Milo’s voice was quiet and soft. “This is Torbe. He’s my neighbor and my friend. I hope it’s okay if he sits here too.”
“Hey,” Torbe said, waving a hand towards Azer and Grif, who gestured back.
“Have you guys heard about the girl who went missing eight years ago?” Azer asked the newcomers readily. Torbe’s face became confused, and Milo’s instantly went pale.
“M- missing? Here?!” Milo exclaimed.
“When I said ask other students, I didn’t mean for you to ask like that,” Grif told Azer. “You’re freaking that guy out.”
“It’s probably nothing, Milo,” Torbe reassured. Torbe’s voice matched his appearance, seeming several years older than the rest of them. “Just a rumor, I’m sure.”
Azer found himself apologetic for scaring Milo, but felt undeterred in front of two new potential friends. Neither Milo nor Torbe looked at Azer with disgust or fear. Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all.
----------------------------------------
As the first week at the Battle Academy came and went, Azer found himself swamped in schoolwork, a disappointing amount of it relevant to his past or The Shades. The Battle Academy, which he expected to answer all of his biggest questions, seemed to offer little in the way of life’s greatest mysteries. What he did learn, however, was that he was years behind on his education; a fact indicated by the piles of papers he was assigned daily covering things he should have known years ago. His memory of Nur hardly reached that far.
Regardless, he was finally learning. And even with hours of work to do after school, Azer still found the time to search for the answers to his own past.
On the first day of the second school week was a grade-wide field trip to Nur’s famous corvyte mines—the industry that brought great wealth to Manim in the first place. While he knew next to nothing about corvyte, Azer was eager to learn more.
He found Grif among the crowd of students boarding the school bus and walked by his side into the vehicle. School buses, Azer had quickly realized in his first week of school, were nothing like town buses. School buses stunk of old leather, were filled with rowdy kids instead of peaceful townspeople, and always seemed to be poorly ventilated no matter how many windows he opened.
Since Azer and Grif were in different classes, the only time they could talk with each other was on the bus. After discussing school for a moment, Azer asked:
“Grif, what’re the corvyte mines?”
“No clue. I’ve only ever heard of it in passing.”
“I heard that corvyte is why Nur was founded in the first place, but I don’t know what it is.”
“I don’t either, dude. You ask me all this stuff like I know everything, but I don’t think I’ve been on Nur that long.”
“What do you mean?” asked Azer.
The bus started moving with a shudder, and Grif gave him a serious look.
“I mean I don’t remember that far back. Only about five years or so. I have no idea how I ended up here on Nur or what I was doing before then. All I remember is my name.”
Azer didn’t frown, but he thought about frowning.
“I’m the same way, except I only remember two or three years back, not five. My earliest memory is walking into Grano’s Diner, totally confused. I remember I was soaking wet.”
Grif looked like he’d been slapped. “How is that possible? That’s almost the same first memory I have.”
“You came to Grano’s Diner?”
“No, I remember being in the scrapyard instead. But I was soaking wet, just like you.”
Azer took a second to process this, letting his mind wander. He and Grif had a lot in common, but almost identical memory loss and almost identical first memories? It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“What is Grano’s Diner, anyway?” Grif asked, trying to steer the conversation from something less enigmatic.
“Oh. I basically live at Grano’s Diner. Mr. Grano’s not my dad, but I’ve learned everything I know from him and the people who eat there. He took care of me when I first showed up. Mr. Grano said that since I don’t know my birthday, I should use the date when he found me instead.”
“Huh. You spend all day there?”
“Pretty much. He usually lets me eat for free. I used to either spend the day there or try to map out the area, and I sleep in an abandoned house not far from there.” Azer turned to look out the window of the bus. “Though, I think I’ll have a hard time mapping Nur out now…”
“Man, I should have stayed at a diner. Since I spend most of my time in the scrapyard from my first memory, I just built a little shelter for myself there. The workers don’t bother me, and sometimes they give me free stuff, like food or money. I should have come up with a birthday the way you did…”
“You still can! I’m sure Mr. Grano can give you one.”
“Really?!”
Gradually, the surrounding buildings of Nur became more sparse, replaced by brightly-colored foliage and increasingly tall trees. Azer could feel the bus rolling over subtle, stretched-out hills, warmly lit by the sun peeking through between teal-colored leaves. Eventually, with two small bumps, the bus passed onto a bridge, rolling over the river that indicated they were officially leaving Nur.
From what Azer had seen in school and in posters around Nur, the cities on Zysti galaxy’s major planets largely looked the same. Which, logically, made sense—the humanoid beings which comprised 97% of Zysti’s intelligent life gravitated towards making environments fit for humans; large expanses of land designed to stack as many people in one place as possible, filled with towering buildings.
But the planets on which these cities were built obeyed no rules. Every planet containing life of some form was impossibly different from the next, with plants and animals and terrain in so many colors that not all of them appeared in the visible spectrum. Manim was an outlier even on this front—its natural beauty alone brought settlers from across the galaxy. Swaths of cool-colored, lush scenery dotted with explosions of vibrant pinks and reds, the entire visual structure of the planet seemed deliberate and alive.
Once the forest began to clear, the Octane fields came into full view, appearing as vast waves of blue-tinted grass, interrupted only by an exceedingly distant mountain range that the eye could barely register. Now only two signs of civilization rested on the horizon: the town of Nur behind them, with its modest sized buildings peeking out from behind the forest, and the corvyte mines ahead, a massive industrial wasteland tainting Manim’s natural beauty with walls of scaffolding and smoke-billowing towers. While he knew the corvyte mines had brought Nur its wealth, he felt disheartened and, as a member of the town, almost personally responsible for the hideous brown-grey patch of land spreading across the plains from the heart of the mine.
The bus stopped at what looked to be the main center for the corvyte mining operations. The exterior was hopelessly dull, comprising maybe two or three shades of grey—a theme that held true throughout the rest of the mine. The buses unloaded their cargo, placing the kids at the mouth of the huge building. Chaperones, some tired-looking and some genuinely excited to be there, ushered everyone inside.
The inside of the facility was filled with hisses and loud clanks, the cool, moist air smelling of oil, ozone, and a weaker, organic scent Azer didn’t recognize. A stout worker wearing a yellowish-green hard hat and an infectious smile stood before the congregating group of curious children. Once the last group of students arrived and chaperones split the kids into several distinct groups, the worker spoke.
“Hey everyone! Welcome to Manim’s corvyte mines. A few of my coworkers and I will be taking you on a tour through the mines, teaching you all about what corvyte is and how we produce it. This group–” he pointed at Grif’s group, which Azer quickly snuck himself into—“come with me. And don’t forget to take your own hard hat on the way out!”
After putting on a hard hat and following the worker deeper into the large facility, Azer found himself fixated on the worker’s kind face. He wondered if he would have had a wide smile like that had he been born with a face of his own.
“Corvyte,” the worker started, walking the group in front of a text-filled infographic, “is a highly valuable mineral unique to Manim. It starts out looking like this,” he pointed towards an image of a rugged, unrefined piece of rock with a light grey mass inside, “and once we’ve refined it, it looks like this,” he pointed at an image of an offwhite, putty-like blob on a table.
“Corvyte is so valuable because of its astounding medicinal properties. While we consider it a mineral, it’s actually made of a bizarre organic compound and is almost soft to the touch. We don’t know exactly what it's made of yet, and scientists all over the galaxy are researching it. What makes corvyte special is its ability to mimic, transform into, and even repair any and every organ across any species. Corvyte can mimic your skin to heal a cut, or even transform into a fully functional heart to be used in a heart transplant.”
The worker led them a few paces towards a station with a fist-sized blob of off-white material on a plastic tray. He grabbed a pair of thin plastic gloves from a nearby dispenser, grabbed a knife-like tool, and with apparent effort, began dividing the blob into several small pieces.
“Now, after you put on a pair of gloves, I’ll give you each a piece of corvyte to play with.”
Everyone rushed to the glove dispenser and frantically pulled out a pair of gloves, the worker patiently passing out balls of corvyte to the kids. When Azer received his, he found that it was surprisingly light. The corvyte was barely warmer than room temperature to the touch, warm enough to feel like it wasn’t a rock or metal but not warm enough to provide the illusion it was alive. Azer tried playing with it like putty, but he found that molding the ball into different shapes was astonishingly difficult. It was stubborn, requiring substantial effort to mold, but by applying enough strength, it would take any shape. Azer’s corvyte had an organic, unpleasantly sour smell.
Eventually, the worker instructed the students to place their corvyte back onto the table, each ball absorbing the next until it was one whole blob again. Azer took one final look at the strange material before they were led out the door to the facility and to their next destination.
“Next we’ll be walking around the actual corvyte mines where the process starts. Come with me.”
He pushed open a door and led the group outside onto an elevated catwalk between two large facilities. The catwalk looked out upon the swaths of stripped land where corvyte mining took place. Instead of great tunnels that led to ore, the corvyte mines were composed of mostly flat land where the first few meters of topsoil had been dug away, exposing the rock underneath. Dozens of miners moved about the mines like insects, crowded around the parts where corvyte was abundant. Extensive conveyor belts ran through and around the mine, funneling the ore to another facility.
“This entire area is the corvyte mine. Our miners look for veins of corvyte—usually taking the shape of long lines underground. Corvyte isn’t found far underground—only twenty feet below at the shallowest—so our mines are wider than they are deep. Right now and during the fall are peak mining seasons, since the weather gets too cold to mine efficiently in the winter. So if you’re interested in mining here when you’re older, make sure to catch us in the spring or fall!”
Azer raised his hand, drawing the eye of the worker.
“Why can’t you mine in the summer?” he asked.
“Great question! The reason we don’t do much mining in the summer is because three days before The Shades, the purity of our corvyte decreases. It’s one of the ways we know when it’s about to happen, aside from occurring near the end of the summer. We’re not sure why or how, but it does.”
Azer turned to find Grif staring bewilderedly at him. Another familiar hand rose from the group. It was Milo.
“Won’t this mining hurt the environment?” he asked timidly.
The worker scrunched his face in an apprehensive look. He looked like he was finding a way to avoid the true answer.
“Our mine is environmentally friendly. Manim is a big place—we’re only taking a very small amount, relatively speaking. Don’t worry.”
The worker scanned the crowd for any further hands.
“Well, if there are no other questions, we’ll head to our final stop—the corvyte refinery,” said the worker.
The group was led into another building where, after climbing a surprisingly long spiral staircase and walking along a series of catwalks above the ground floor of the refinery, they finally came to a stop.
“Since corvyte is unique to Manim and it's so revolutionary to Zysti’s medical industry, almost all of our refined corvyte is exported off-planet to the Zystinian government. And the government expects only the finest quality of corvyte. Which is why, after mining it, we put the corvyte through a rigorous refining process, which you can see below.” He gestured downwards to the immensely complex series of machines and conveyor belts. “Follow me and I’ll show you how it all works.”
The students followed the worker as he took them to the entry point of the refinery, where an endless stream of unrefined corvyte was flowing onto a fast-moving conveyor. The worker stopped and began to speak when Grif said to Azer in a low voice:
“This corvyte stuff is linked to The Shades.”
“I know,” Azer replied. “It’s really weird. How?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve gotta look around and find out.”
Azer wished he had a face to express how taken aback he was by this.
“What, like split off from the group?!” Azer hissed in a whisper.
“Yeah! There’s no way this guy is going to tell us any more about corvyte aside from how they make the stuff pure. And besides, I’m getting bored already.”
“I think they really don’t have any other answers! Besides, why don’t we just get back to the Battle Academy and ask our teachers? Or better yet, that Dr. D guy! He seemed to know a lot!”
Grif mulled this over for a moment.
“You’re right. Good point. Let’s do that instead.”
The group was led down the conveyor belt and past a large, rumbling machine that looked like it was eating up the unrefined corvyte. As the worker explained what it was, Azer tuned out his words and watched the machine and its hypnotic, pre-programmed movements, resting his hands on the metal railing that barred him from touching it.
All of a sudden, a loud thunk surprised Azer and made him jump. A boy had leaned against the railing next to him. The boy had fiery blonde hair and spikes behind his ears, a self-assured look on his face. He looked faintly familiar to Azer. Upon seeing the newcomer, Grif frowned.
“Hi there. I’m Copycat, I’m in your class. Well, Copycat’s not my real name, but I like Copycat better. How you doing?”
“My name’s Azer. Nice to meet you.”
Copycat looked him over, spending extra time examining the spot where Azer’s face should be. Grif nudged Azer and urged for him to lean close.
“Azer, I think-” Grif whispered.
“You know, we should be friends,” Copycat interjected. “Since we go to the same school, you must live nearby, and I live nearby too. I could show you my house, it’s really really big. Our family is rich.”
“Are you from another planet?” Azer asked. The idea of making a new friend was appealing to him.
“Yeah, we are. We moved here a long time ago.”
“Say, Copycat… Copycat, right?” Azer clarified.
“Yep.”
“Have you heard anything about a missing kid in the Battle Academy eight years ago?”
“Hell if I know,” Copycat replied, disinterested.
Azer and Grif looked at Copycat with apprehension and awe.
“What? Yeah, I can curse. I’m almost eleven.”
Azer returned to watching the conveyor belt go by, carrying masses of now half-refined corvyte. It was satisfying to watch the way it passed through each machine looking a little bit nicer, the color looking a little bit whiter.
Then, without warning, Azer’s legs were swept out from under him. He hit the factory floor painfully, crashing his hand on the railing. The loud clattering sound caught the attention of the rest of their group, along with their tour guide, looking at him with worry.
There was a brief moment of embarrassment and panic as Azer processed what had happened, acutely aware of his peers staring at him. Copycat grabbed Azer’s hand and pulled him up to standing.
“Hey, he’s getting away… the guy that knocked your legs out from under you!” Grif yelled, pointing at a figure Azer didn’t recognize receding into another tour group deeper into the factory.
“Some people are real jerks,” Copycat said.
Once the attention had moved away from Azer and their group had resumed travel around the facility, Grif leaned in to Azer, making sure to keep Copycat out of earshot.
“I don’t trust that Copycat guy.”
“Why not?”
“I think he overheard our ‘exploring the factory’ scheme. He just rubbed me the wrong way.”
All of a sudden, a “beep” resounded around the factory and a voice began speaking from intercoms in the ceiling. Constant echoing made the voice almost indistinct.
“Attention all staff. Nova Noctis activity has been reported in town. The local bank has been robbed and several people are injured. Put all security on high alert.”
By the reaction of the factory worker, Azer understood that they had just heard information not meant for the students. Kids in the group began speaking to each other fearfully, the worker attempting to calm them down, but Azer had a different reaction. The name in the announcement rang a bell for Azer, and by the look on Grif’s face, it did for him, too.
“Isn’t that-” Azer started.
“Yeah, that doomsayer lady from before. They robbed a bank?”
Azer pulled out the slip Delvin had given him the previous week, buried deep in one of his pockets. In big letters, the slip read “Combat Class.”
Azer and Grif looked at the slip, then each other. They knew what they had to do.