by Marc Mulero
“Call me Joo.”
Eres held out his knuckles to be part of the fist bump brigade, and smiled when they were lightly tapped. Just before he was about to step on the mechanical spiral steps that would zoom to the top floors, he turned around.
“Why are you so helpful to someone you just met?”
“Oh that’s easy. When I was a year-five, I had that same look you had, I’m sure of it. Being oversized with an innocent demeanor doesn’t bode too well with some of the others here. But one older Umboro went out of his way to introduce me to my first group of friends, unsolicited, purely out of kindness. That resonated with me, and now I get to pay it forward.”
Eres looked to the floor, able to relate, and then picked his head back up.
“Well get goin’ bud. Proctor Ren isn’t usually that late.” Joo urged him on.
“Right. Tornae, Joo. It means ‘thank you’ in Umboro.”
“I’d say something fancy back, but Eplons really only speak Universal. See ya!” He waved and sped off to his own class.
Eres stepped onto the spiral, which scanned his syllabus and then took him to section seven before nudging him back to flat ground. His entire body felt warm with the coziness of a fur-coated blanket on a cold evening. With all of his emotions going haywire the day before, this was a welcomed calmness that he wished would carry him through the rest of the morning. If only he could just blend in, despite the specks of blood decorating his amber eye, the discoloration around his jaw, and the green starburst on his arm. Maybe the others could look past it just this once. Like Joo did.
The second room to the right, torium number four, was alive with chatter. He could hear it from around the corner, which caused even more nerves to be put at ease, as this had to have meant that Proctor Ren still hadn’t arrived.
Eres slipped in with his head ducked down, searching for an open seat that was nowhere near the front.
“He looks new,” someone whispered as he walked by.
“Dainty if you ask me.” A harsh comment was shot back a little louder.
“Pssh. That’s the kid who took a beating from Crow yesterday. Not dainty at all. This guy wouldn’t back down!” a third voice overwhelmed the rest. “I respect that.”
Eres felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned abruptly to see a stout girl with square, stubby fingers releasing her grip.
“Welcome to Kor.” She bowed slightly. “You’ve already earned your rights here. Don’t let this lot fool you.”
Eres nervously tucked a lock of flowing hair behind his ear, twitched a smile, and nodded back. It was at that moment he realized the confidence he’d mustered yesterday to speak to Windel had been kicked out of him already, and it was going to be a long, tough road to find it again. To make matters worse, high up in the back sat Crow himself – chin lazily propped up by an open palm. He was bored, looking down to see Eres as the only student still searching for a seat. Their eyes met briefly, and when they did, Crow blew hair out of his face and raised his eyebrows to taunt.
Ugh. I know Windy and Mun said that we wouldn’t have class together today, but I was hoping that was the case for that jerk too. Why does Crow have to be a year-seven? Can’t he just disappear?
Finally, he was spared from any more attention. A few elevated rows up was an empty seat. One that he could hide in, pull out a sheet of parchment and a quill, and begin taking notes like he’d done so many times when learning from his ooma. Turns out even that was considered odd. A few around him giggled and turned back to their devices where thumbs were furiously producing notes in Universal, some even drawing symbols in ancient Umboro, but none were expending ink. He didn’t care though, because his gadgets weren’t wasted on notepads and games. They would one day make him fly.
All eyes were swiftly pulled to the front of the torium, where a tall, middle-aged man leisurely strolled in with a tilted head to better see what appeared to be an octor in his hand.
“Welcome all…” His head was still down, as if entranced by the information in front of him. But when he finally looked away, his expression was that of being awoken straight from an intense dream. “…to year-seven.”
Ren lowered the sphere into the clawed hand of an ornate holster, and when the orb settled, it sent a pulse throughout the room like the shockwave of an explosion. Eres’ eyes widened as he looked feverishly around to try and connect with someone, to confirm that he wasn’t crazy, but no one even flinched. There were a couple of simpers of acknowledgement, but they continued to pay attention as if this was normal.
“Some of you may remember me from year-four, in the beginnings of your Faction study, of our collaborative way of co-existence between schools of thought. Well rest assured students, academia and empirical alike, it is here and now, in year-seven, where you will learn most of the outside world. Ingora is larger than Kor… far larger. And it is my duty to prepare you for what is out there, what is happening, and what is to come.”
Ren stepped slowly to the center of the lecture hall, scarlet and black robes swaying at his booted ankles, hair of the same colors knotted into a braid, defying his age. He reminded Eres of the Swuls he’d met earlier, but Ren had no such stature. Where the two younger ones stood with chests puffed, Ren was more artful and elegant in his mannerisms.
He pulled back one side of his robe to reveal a mass of trinkets at his hips that jingled like wind chimes.
Now Eres couldn’t help but be reminded of his ooma, when she held out incense burners in the forest. This man was bizarre, evoking feelings and memories just by his presence… what was he?
“You will recall that this is one of the only torium’s where you will not unfurl lecture notes nor break open textbooks. You will experience my class how the world is meant to be… with eyes open.” He paced around the front of the room, stopping periodically to address a student here and there, making them feel like they were the only one in the room. “Do not be mistaken though, I am keen that there are some in this space who will take advantage of my style as an opportunity to drift into the cosmos of your daydreams. My only response to this fool’s choice, is that such action would only be to your detriment, for all of the theoretical and practical knowledge in the world will still leave you blind to what’s out there. Practicality, my students, is something that can only be obtained by seeing and doing in the real. Here we will sail through the Factions of Ingora and its leaders, through current events that shape our lives. We will understand true disputes of the modern sphere.”
The echo of his boots stopped with him behind the sphere that he’d placed down a minute ago. “Now, without further ado, we will begin our journey today with noteworthy events and end with an introduction of the Imperions.”
Ren then pressed all five fingers hard onto the holstered sphere, fingertips white with pressure, and glowing galaxy-like spots came to life on the orb at each point of contact. Thrusting his hand forward, the proctor sent the entire room into another realm. Another shockwave of air smacked Eres in the face, and that’s when the scene transformed before his eyes. The classroom of students was still intact, desks and all, but everything around them had changed. Walls disappeared and were replaced with wet, murky ground that stretched for miles in every direction. When a moment ago the sky was clear and lit outside, it was now pitch-black except for the stars’ twinkle, and Eres could even swear that a cool breeze was tickling his skin. His eyes bulged, lips parted in awe, and when he looked around again to share the shock, other students only smiled as they gazed on.
“For anyone new to this experience,” Ren paused, surveying the room to find two expressions that gave away naivety, “do not fret. We are still safely tucked inside the walls of our beloved Kor. This is merely a projection… albeit a powerfully convincing one. And as much as I would’ve liked to let you enjoy this venture with no commentary of mine, I have a responsibility to spare you from becoming the laughing stock of class.”
Some of the students chuckled at this, right before every head a
bruptly turned to their left where five speeding comets appeared to be racing one another merely twenty feet above the grass. Eres could only catch a glimpse before the sound became overwhelming and he had to duck in fear of being crushed by them. If Ren hadn’t warned him, he would’ve screeched in fear, but he instead held his breath and trembled quietly as his eyes followed the strange lights curving up into the sky. Still, there were gasps and nervous laughter from around the room.
“This spectacle was broadcasted from a very daring Seedar Trainer, Ivennes Rood, who renounced Swul citizenship when he felt that he’d found all of the animal types there was to see in his homeland. Now he explores boundless, chasing the rarest creatures of Ingora to one day tame an idol of value. Unlike other trainers, Ivennes refuses to trade out companions for rarer ones as he feels it is a cruel and selfish practice. Instead, he holds out, and we are all better for it, because his ambition brings us great material, and his selflessness is evident by these donations from his octor. Every Kor is better for them.”
Ren paused, timing his words perfectly for the next round of fiery-tailed comets to swoosh by. Sparks suddenly began to flare up all around the grounds circling the classroom, making some students instinctively lift their feet to avoid getting burned.
“Ivennes lights his flare to try and distract the rivaling dulwars, to make them believe that one of their young fell from its nest and is wandering hopelessly below them. A dangerous play. Where a young dulwar can withstand temperatures of nearly one thousand Seraf, a uemon can hardly bear two hundred. Why bring up such an obscure fact, you ask? Heh, I can see the question on some of your faces. Well, consider this: Just the presence of a calm dulwar equates to a heat aura of approximately one hundred fifty Seraf. They’re burning hot at all times. And I won’t even say what a bothered one can rise to. But of course, as a former Swul, he has protection. Ivennes; Glite armor, which some of you will learn about in History of War Tech, is heat resistant.”
One of what looked like five shooting stars deviated from the race. It fell faster and faster as the seconds progressed, but Iven’s octor was attached to his vision, and his unwavering gaze upon the ball of flame proved his courage, or recklessness. Who was to tell at this point? Either way, the students were entranced.
It was only within fifty feet that the mysterious creature abruptly slowed and unfurled its body. Where birds would use wings to fly, and hlopes their aerodynamic shape to glide, dulwars were far different… like an organic aircraft that had built-in thrusters below its belly - large, rare creatures that this Seedar Trainer got to witness with his own eyes. When it hovered to a stop and planted two clawed feet into the swampy grounds, the whole class got a glimpse of the dulwar’s smoking body up close. A lampshade-shaped coating enveloped its entirety from legs to neck to keep in the heat, and a sharp face with bulging teal eyes peeked past the rising haze like it was peering through a fire. The ground shook as it bounded closer, neck craned to better inspect the uemon that tricked it. Then it straightened and twitched its head so one eye was still peering into the man.
A protected arm extended forward, mostly to show the dulwar that this trainer was weaponless, but Eres’ mind was suddenly pulled back to his father bursting through colorful clouds, realizing that he was equipped with covering of similar design under his cloak, except that Agden’s appeared more weathered, like he’d been using it.
Eres wondered what the connection meant – was his father linked with Swuls? Had he defeated one and taken their armor? Did the Skrols share technology with one another? Then his mind went blank when the dulwar leaned its beak forward, unwrapped its coating like flattened parchment, and screeched to send a blaze of hot air in Ivennes’ direction.
Now two armored hands were up, and Ivennes seemingly fell to his knees in surrender. For some reason it felt like he was speaking, trying to communicate with the beast, but voice volume must have been edited, for the class heard nothing but the sounds of the majestic being and the disturbances it left on the surroundings – air whistling, smoke rising, marshes lit with embers. The dulwar shook its head like a dazed bull and then straightened its back. One long inhale revealed translucent skin that became illuminated by the traced flame rising through it. A skeleton wrapped by cycling flares and a wingspan of terrifying width made the entire class gasp for fear that they were about to witness a man being burned alive. But then it exhaled to momentarily scorch its own coat. Calmness followed, as if the dulwar literally and figuratively blew off steam, for it extended its long neck down to the marshy lands and offered the top of his head to be pet.
A collective sigh and a few “Awws” resonated throughout the room, while Eres was nearly off his seat as he leaned forward, wishing it was he who was really there to experience this. They all watched steam blow from Iven’s armor as he deactivated it so a connection could be forged between flesh. He used his bare hand to rub the head of an ancient dulwar, something that had never been recorded in all of Ingora’s history. It sniffed contently, and then inched backward so as not to burn its new acquaintance when it inhaled again. Before the brightness could overwhelm Ivennes, the dulwar swaddled itself with its coating, tucked in its head, and burst into the sky with spurts of flame at its back. The scene cutout with a flash, and in the blink of an eye, all were returned to the far less interesting torium.
“You see, class, there was obviously great risk in what Ivennes Rood had intended to accomplish, but he survived, and greatness has now been achieved. Let this be a lesson to all of you, that while there are a billion combinations of a life’s path, so few lead to noteworthy accomplishments without risk. Not every decision has to be wagered with one’s life, for courage comes in many, many forms. And in conjunction with courage, if you can exude grace, I suspect that some of you might find greatness in yourselves one day.” Ren passed a glance around the room, and Eres could’ve sworn that his eyes lingered on his for a half a second before moving on.
What was that? Why did he look at me like we shared something, like Fata looks at me when he speaks of pressing matters? Could he be the “eye” that Fata and Ooma were speaking of?
“I suspect that, one day, we will hear of Ivennes attaining what he set out to achieve. A companion of epic proportions to explore the world, duel on the Colliding Spheres, or pass on such talents to an apprentice.” He paced around his lecture hall. “However, although our spheres are filled with wonderment, that’s not all… there is also wickedness.” His tone grew more serious.
With his hand again clawed forward, Proctor Ren stoically reactivated the projector to a much more chaotic scene. The entire room looked to be caught in the middle of an Ombes storm – bright purples and blues streaking the clouds formed in front of their faces. Sideways rain bounced off a pair of boots that were advancing past the haze, as if this person was parting the storm. The vision was zoomed in, making this person appear much larger than he likely was. And when the puffy air had cleared, every student exhibited the opposite reaction of when they saw the dulwar – backs tightly pressed against their seats, some even shrinking to avoid the menacing gaze that appeared under a wide-brimmed hat, making them forget that this was merely a projection.
Long brown hair fell over the back of his copious scarf like a waterfall flowing off layers of rock. When he stared down at his prey, who was obviously floor-bound, he lifted his sharp chin so that his entire oblong, pointed face was visible beyond his wrap. Skin was curiously smooth, ageless, and every part of him that was exposed was notably slender. Fingers meant for instruments, torso for swimming, and legs for hurdling, were all covered by mismatched Glite armor, and overlaying all of it was a worn silk cloak that was as brown as Lorfa’s skin.
The man’s brow became tense, rain blasting up and down his wear like a thousand miniature arrows being deflected by a wall, and then the image froze.
“Some of you have a deep respect for the Skrols, others may exercise distain for their seemingly irrelevant existence, and a handful probably don’t eve
n care. But one thing is certain - you all know who they are. An ancient line of protectors from all different Factions that are translating less and less as the age of information surfaces. Mysteries and guarded secrets are less respected than ever before and have never been scrutinized harder. But nonetheless, they are still among the most skilled warriors, philosophical savants, and role models for keeping faith. And someone is ripping through them like they’re butter. This man,” Ren pointed up to the blown-up image three times his size, “is Seren Night. All of you have heard the name, but this footage is fresh. A Skrol’s octor, bequeathed to an heir, has released the dying moments of a powerful warrior. And now the public has eyes on an inter-factional murderer. Wickedness, class.” He whipped his hand forward to resume the video.
So this is what he looks like. This is who all of the Skrols fear… who my fata fears.
Seren knelt to become level with his victim, who everyone now realized was immobile. He shook his head in response to something, cueing to all that voices were once again omitted from the sequences playing out. After a pause, he held his right hand forward, closer to his prey, and as his fingers came into focus, Eres noticed something that he wasn’t sure others would understand. The killer had not one, but four espers around his fingers. The vines extending from each ring like a tree’s roots proved that their previous owners had perished. Eres recalled what had happened when Ooma pulled off his mother’s esper and put it on Eres’ finger… nothing, no vines or brightness of his mother’s experiences, and Lorfa explained that it was because she was still alive. All of this validated what he overheard when Lorfa and Agden spoke in the kitchen, his presence unbeknownst to them, and it made the idea of Seren Night that much more menacing.
The decorated hand pressed down to where the audience expected his victim’s heart to be. Suddenly, fluorescent scarlet, violet, and cerulean colors beamed through the haze, from what Eres imagined was Seren’s stolen espers. And what came after was truly harrowing: The victim, whoever he was, gazed at his own trembling hands, the shaking from which became more and more violent by the second. Seren dipped his head and quaked too. Everything was rumbling now, the entire projection, the classroom. It was dizzying… until the class collectively groaned in despair, hoping that Proctor Ren would stop showing them the replay of a murder.
