by Marc Mulero
Then when Eres wasn’t sure if he could take it anymore, Seren abruptly grasped the trembling hand that wielded an emerald-colored esper and snatched it off, just before the victim’s skin turned to dust and washed away with the storm. The last thing that was seen was Seren rising to his feet, back turned to the class, cloak billowing, before the hazy air was sucked back into the orb.
The room was now silent. Not even whispers fluttered about: just the sound of Ren’s boots stepping to the center of the room as he shared a grave expression to empathize with his students.
“Life outside of Kor can be glorious and daunting. That is the purpose of being in my torium… to have your eyes open to what lay beyond a young life of academia, or endless practical preparation. Yes?” He pointed to the chubby girl that Eres had seen earlier.
“If I wanted to switch my focal to Seedar Trainer, is it too late?” she asked half seriously.
The class chuckled and the tension was broken.
Proctor Ren smirked and slowly paced into the sea of students, trinkets jingling along the way, until he stopped to scrutinize the girl in front of him. “You, my dear, can do anything you want. It is never too early or late to discover. Is that clear?”
“Yes, proctor.” She beamed.
“Your name?”
“Lenda Gin.”
“Remember Lenda, while you should be encouraged to explore what is best for you, there should also be an understanding that this feeling can never devolve into impulsiveness or indecisiveness. Be free and hone your focus when you know in your heart that the time is right. Sie?”
Eres felt a tingle up his arm as if his ooma was talking to him, and then thought, Proctor Ren is Umboro? Or does he just speak the language?
“Thank you, proctor. I understand.” Lenda looked inspired.
Ren nodded and winked to her to solidify their private understanding before moving on.
“What was that ring that the killer stole from his victim?” A voice timidly asked from behind the proctor.
Before Ren could respond, another voice shouted from higher up, Crow’s voice. “That’s a sufias, you idiot.”
Proctor Ren’s face turned blank from the blatant disturbance in his classroom. “Or an esper, in Universal, and rest assured, little one, the only fool here is the one unable to control himself.” He glanced sideways to make sure Crow understood his keenness. “It is a ring that the Skrols believe harbor the timelines of its forerunners. Others believe it is a pointless trinket that merely symbolizes, or respects, those who have passed on. Only the Skrols, and apparently Seren Night, know for sure.”
Another kind nod from the proctor dispelled the runty student’s timid expression before he moved on. “Okay, students. There will be plenty of time for questions and deliberation in later classes. For now, I’d like to get through the finale of this lecture. You’ve glimpsed life outside of the Factions, so now it’s time to understand the inner workings of them. The Dagos, Swuls, Eplons, and Umboro… these four Factions have chosen a representative to be the voice for their people - the Imperions. There are five in total – one for each Faction, and a tie-breaker.”
A flick of his wrist sent a 3D image that projected from the orb to the center of class, begging the front rows to crane their necks and turn their desks around to watch. A portrait of a woman was traced into existence. Her smile was pleasant enough, with a hint of smugness. Eyebrows braided like twine, iris’ like that of a cat’s, and face a mixture of pink blotches with hints of grey. She appeared ready for deliberation with hands folded and back straight, almost daring someone to try and challenge her.
“Spera Noe Donnus,” Ren proclaimed with an odd sort of pride. “Beautiful,” he rounded her image slowly, as if savoring it, “graceful,” he flicked a student to get his attention, “and deadly in a courtroom.” His boots clicked as he faced the zoomed-in portrait, and then he inhaled a very long breath, his expression that of longing, or regret, Eres couldn’t quite tell. “Eplons are notorious for their academia, specifically their study of logic and tech advancement… and she is who an entire Faction has chosen to represent them.”
He walked past her with closed eyes, distorting the hologram as he made his way back to the orb. Another swipe of his finger scrolled to the next portrait. It stenciled into existence like it was being drawn by lasers in front of them. The side profile of a Dagos with long thick locks that ran down his back and an expression of deep concern was displayed.
“Yuvos Et.” Proctor Ren raised his hands to present him. “Imperion of the Dagos, an old war chief who renounced his title, relinquished his weapons, and won the hearts of his people through nonviolence, penance, and by example. A person to be respected, for sure.”
Ren caressed the orb, and Yuvos was scrolled to the side, making way for the next portrait that came into view in the same fashion. A stout woman with a wide face and a bright smile came into focus. Cheeks were rosy and full, beady eyes the lightest brown that Eres had ever seen, and a weak chin made her even more endearing.
“Prika Bean, Imperion of the Umboro. A personality larger than life with somewhat eccentric views that keeps hard politicians in check. Her heart is made of gold, as evidenced by the renouncement of her fortune to rebuild Kors and improve conditions of orphanages. But charity alone cannot get you elected as an Imperion… her inquisitiveness and undying missions awarded her the confidence of the Umboro.”
Ren cupped the orb like a bowling ball to find his next sketch, and so it etched in the middle of the classroom once more. This time though, the person coming into view did not appear fit for audience. No charm or grace, just a hardened, unforgiving expression. Fists clenched over a table, knuckles white like he was about to lunge. Face contorted into a snarl, brow heavy with age, and the blue hair he had left was twisted into braids. To top it off, red eyes like fire looked as though they would burn anyone who crossed them.
“Sore Yon Roke. Tactical, cunning, and ruthless. A perfect pick for the Swuls’ Imperion.” Ren smirked and looked over to Teros, the Swul that was with Nuganzia the day prior, and bowed slightly. “No offense, of course.”
“Sir, those words listed are attributes, not detriments. I do not understand why I would be offended,” Teros remarked thunderously.
“Right.” Ren raised his eyebrows and continued on.
Eres squinted curiously at the proctor’s hair, now completely invested in finding out what he was, if not part Swul. The color and style were that of Teros’, however his demeanor echoed anything but what the image in front of him exuded, nor the two he met yesterday. His hand went up.
“Yes?” Ren pointed a finger, asking his name.
“Eres, sir. Are you a Swul?”
Ren chuckled, but then stopped when Teros chuckled louder. He cleared his throat, giving the brash Swul a comically offended look, and said, “The history and study of Proctor Ren is not yet a class, although maybe it should be.” The students laughed.
Eres grinned too, lowering his hand. He realized he wasn’t going to get his answer anytime soon. And when he looked back to partake in the fun that his classmates were having behind him, he noticed all but one face shared his amusement: Crow’s, whose crystal blue eyes were locked on Teros’, lips tight and nostrils flared like he was ready to pounce down.
“Okay, settle down now. A few more words, one more introduction, and then you’re all free to go! So then, yes, Sore is the harshest Imperion that the Factions have seen in a hundred years. If Prika is the shield, then Sore is undoubtedly the sword. His career spans countless resolved warring conflicts, special operative missions, and as a hobby, was a dueler in the Colliding Spheres. His reputation grew fast, but it wasn’t until later years that he was chosen to represent the Swuls.
“And last but not least, the wild card agreed upon by all of the Factions to break ties,” he whipped his fingers under the orb, and the last image quickly etched to life, “Lasarius.”
The classroom quickly broke out in quiet murmurs. Eres
’ head turned this way and that to try and hear what was being spoken, but he had a feeling it had something to do with…
“No last name. You guessed it, class. Lasarius does in fact come from no known bloodline, has no living relatives, and grew up in one of the most unkempt orphanages that the Umboro Faction has to offer. But his intellect carried him far, to the top even. It’s almost as though this man has two deliberating voices in his head at all times, for he is a spectacle in the Imperion chamber.”
Lasarius appeared to be deep in thought, as if scrutinizing the onlooker of the portrait. Gloved hands were interlaced to cover most of his mouth, a slender defined face gave a stoic look, and his hair was a trim mix of grey interwoven with black, which exuded a tapered businessman look.
And with this lingering image, the period bell dinged to end class.
“Remember to ask around about the Imperions! Next class will include a projection to a live chamber meeting!” The proctor’s voice rose to get in last words before his students departed. “And don’t forget to enjoy the rest of your day!”
Chapter 7
A Crule Entertainer
The rest of Eres’ first day of classes was nowhere near as immersive as Factions, mostly because they were ridden with assignments, book gathering, and introductions. There was hope though, that tomorrow was going to be more interesting. It had to be, because it was the first time that Eres, a homeschooled Dawn, would step foot in the Practical Wing of Kor Vinsánce… and it was exciting.
In between periods Eres scoured the halls, all the floors, and even searched the yard during break to find Windel and Mundella, well, mostly Windel… but she was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t wait to share stories about his lesson with Proctor Ren, and learn about her day, and tell her about the odd friend he made who also happened to be a giant: Joodah Roe, the disowned Eplon. But his heart continuously sank after every lonely transfer between classes. And so he trekked home with another day of mixed emotion behind him.
Almost every limb was sore from yesterday, but at least there were no fresh bruises to worry about. He bounced almost the entire way back to Ooma’s with the wind at his back. Only three mishaps this time, none of which landed him in the vines or the forest, so it wasn’t that bad. Control of his new gadget was becoming second nature, so he hopped back to Kor the next morning, staying within the settings that his father instructed him to.
Eres was so busy processing everything he’d experienced so far that he’d forgotten all about sharing his first period class with Windel. He looked down to his syllabus to see:
Class: History of War Tech
Taught by: Proctor Vasa
Location: Practical Wing – Section 11, Arena 8
Period: 1
He stuffed his impeller away and galloped down the hill on his way to Kor, telling himself that being late was not an option this time. Barreling toward the vined wing of activity, he noticed students equipped with varying pieces of Glite armor, some sheathed weapons that Eres hoped were dulled, and a girl holding a sphere of what looked like a hundred floating little fireflies that appeared to be staying contained by her sheer will. People backed up to let her pass, and it was in that moment that Eres noticed: Although this Kor was used to taking risks, most of the students on this side seemed to respect the rules.
Pressing onward to the gyrating spiral contraption that lifted him through the tower, he witnessed clashing weaponry and lightshow explosions as students dueled under close supervision. Then the next floor presented a crowd watching an acrobatic girl flipping and dashing around using boots similar to those his father wore the last time he saw him. A few levels higher, he got a whiff of the forest, and incense. It wreaked of Umboro beliefs. Finally, upon reaching section eleven, arena eight was unmistakable. It was intimidating even before walking in, and when he crossed the entranceway, it felt like the domed ceiling climbed forever. Students were already gathering around a woman decked in Glite armor from head to toe under her proctor’s cloak. It was custom made, obviously, a corset of thin metallic plates shimmering between the open parts of her cloak. Everyone wanted a glimpse, to relish in such glorious protection, but her robes were most of her makeup: tight and form-fitting up top, and loosely fanned out toward the bottom, likely for mobility reasons. Two lean, muscular arms had more of the same skin-tight alloy caressing them, ending with two gloved hands perched over a bulky sword of elegant design. Three orange-lit suns spread around the base of the thick blade before it came to a point on the floor. Eye makeup was dark, perhaps painted for war. Long locks behind her ears, a loose bun, and even more jet-black hair hung to her shoulders, making her appear like a warrior of old. She was a spectacle, for sure.
Eres didn’t even know where to look at this point, because there was too much to see. Banners hung all over the hall representing many different kinds of students… their weapons, their armor, all this stuff he didn’t have. But then, unexpectedly, a waving hand did more to him than any of this daunting stuff could. It drained the life from his face to the point where he felt cold. His throat – he swallowed – it had run dry. Why did he keep feeling like this? Why, after every time he saw Windel, did everything seem to shut off internally?
What’s worse, when she motioned with her head for him to come sit next to her, he wasn’t sure if his limbs would ever unfreeze. Yikes, he thought, how many times will I be making a fool of myself within a week?
His body was betraying him. Yelling at him. The crush that he was developing was accelerating too quickly. It was abnormal, and he knew it.
Control yourself, stupid. She’s just a friend.
And so, with the courage to make his fantasies a reality, Eres adjusted his messenger bag and fell in beside her.
Windel briefly locked arms with his to say hi while other students gathered, sending a web of tingling euphoria around his arm, pain around his bruises, and a swooping sensation in his stomach.
“How was your first day? You look happy!” she said in her loudest whisper so as not to draw any attention.
They both bowed their heads amidst the murmuring around them to better hear one another.
“Proctor Ren is amazing. I’ve never… the projector, orb he used in class, I can’t even…” Eres was failing to put his words into coherent sentences, half from nerves, half from excitement.
Windel grinned knowingly. “I had him once two years ago for The Unbeaten Path. I loved it, and it just gets better. The octor he uses has incredibly edited stories that he must’ve spent ages to work out.”
“So it is an octor? I wasn’t sure because…” Eres stopped himself from revealing that he had his own, because it didn’t seem like something that was common, “the other one I’ve seen didn’t work the same way.”
“You had an octor at the orphanage? That’s amazing.”
“No, no, just a visitor showing off,” he lied.
“Oh, well, yes, it’s a public octor in which shared experiences have been uploaded and free range to edit has been granted. It makes me think that Alfonze Ren is a very well-connected individual, but who knows.” She then nodded to the proctor glancing at her time piece. “Herim Vasa is supposed to be incredible. My friend from year-nine told me. I can’t wait to learn about weaponry… it’s going to be a trip!”
Eres smiled back, thinking that he’d enjoy it for different reasons, mostly because he was with her.
Then with a bellowing slam of the massive doors behind them, the students knew that class was about to begin.
“Novices, scribes, future alumni of this great Kor - behold… our finest weaponry crafted through the sands of time. Through the history of our warring Factions, we settle here,” she cranked the hilt of her large sword, causing it to emit steam and unlock into two glorious blades that she whipped around ostentatiously, her cloak billowing about, “at the precipice of our technology and the height of our wielding arts.”
Four older proctor’s assistants came out from the shadows and made way into the over
sized spotlight, all of whom were donned in Glite armor and wielded various weapons of their own.
“Pay attention newcomers,” Proctor Vasa continued, “for if my blades were coated in real Crule, I would then be running out of proctor’s assistants.” With the sharp of her sword, she tapped a transparent liquid-filled vial resting in the hilt of the other, showcasing it. Then she smirked, making the class chuckle nervously.
She turned to face her foes, twirling her blades like they were a weightless extension of her own limbs. Music even cued - an orchestra accompanied by a chorus humming ancient Umboro. It was quiet at first, and then when Herim Vasa burst across the floor, sparks flying in her wake, the volume rose. She was a show woman. A gladiator. And this was her coliseum.
A lone assistant braced his shield. His whole body shook when Vasa knocked it like a gong. But he was keen. He swung his sword low to meet her second blade and rose as she spun to find his head. The shield was whipped out of place, opening his arm to expose his armor at the same time that Vasa’s helmet formed over her face. Eres gasped - more of his father’s armor. And with what seemed like one motion, she head-butted her assistant and arched her back, long swords in a whirl over her head to scare the other fighters back. Then two clicks resounded. Some of the liquid vials drained, and her weapons burst into enchanted green flames, causing the entire class to moan in awe, and an X-shaped swipe of her blades down the defending assistant’s torso made his armor blink red as he fell to the floor.
