by Marc Mulero
Eres felt cold, like his hands and feet were dunked in ice water. His extremities were prickling with numbness and his mind seemed to have frozen in shock.
“Few parents try to ignore reality and disguise their deformed children, pretending that their offspring are normal. This is most unfortunate for the child. To try and blend them in with a fruitful society is potentially the most damaging to someone who can’t participate. History has taught us time and time again that ignoring such a handicap ultimately leads to uncontrollable depression and, in many cases, suicide.”
Hundul nodded at a student raising her hand.
“Then where do they go for Kor? They’re still people, aren’t they?”
The proctor frowned sympathetically. “I’ve met a batch of Dawns during my studies abroad, and I treated them as people, yes. But it is surely a fine line. I shouldn’t say this, but ultimately they are purposeless if they cannot pass any of their experiences on to their kin.”
Mundella scoffed behind Eres, acting out what he, too, was feeling.
“But proctor, how can you label someone’s purpose based on how they’re born?” Mun blurted. “A Dawn can still do great things without having kids.”
Eres knew in his heart that he was very lucky to have met the lanky Dagos sitting behind him, because he was defending a barren without even knowing it.
“Hmm. Are you perhaps one in hiding?” She smiled jokingly, and the class chuckled around her. “Just teasing. I’m not suggesting they cannot function as we can, just merely that they lack a fundamental motivator that Mustae has given us.”
“It sounds to me like you are the problem, not them,” Mun muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Eres to hear.
“It is a terrible affliction, my students. If you ever come across the green scars, treat them gently, for these creatures have already been through much.” Hundul concluded, “With this I leave you on your first full Generations class. Good day!”
While the entire crowd stood up energetically, Eres felt like he’d received a beating worse than Crow could ever give. His ooma warned him, but as it turns out, she could never truly prepare him for learning how the world perceived him.
“I… think I need to leave here, and never come back.” His surroundings seemed darker even though the storm was passing.
“What was that Eres?” Mun gave him a light tap on the back.
“Hm? Oh, nothing.”
Mun eyed the proctor darkly. “Can you believe her? She speaks so casually about detesting other people.”
“I don’t know, she seemed to like the Dagos just fine.” He played devil’s advocate.
“It’s more the Dawns. All of the Generations teachers despise them. You don’t see it?”
Eres shrugged. “I guess. Windel said the same thing before, but aren’t they far away? Proctor Hundul isn’t hurting any of them.”
Mun shook Eres’ shoulder. “Don’t be so dense. Her way of thinking is what makes them unable to attend Kor with us. If it were up to the Generations department, there wouldn’t be any inter-race Kors.”
“Fight the good fight.” Eres pulled the quote from a solemn character in one of his books.
“If you met the Dawn in my tribe, you would feel the same way I do. Ve’s got more fight than any of us.”
Another Dawn?
“Why isn’t he with the others, shipped off to wherever they go?”
“Because the Dagos believe in choice, that’s why. They have to adhere to factional decisions which keep them out of Kor and certain professions, but that doesn’t mean they can’t live freely among us.”
Eres kept his head down as he took an earful from Mun, losing patience by the second. His friends were too serious about something that was so far out of their control. It was he who should’ve been upset, but the truth was, even if he detested some of Kor, he ultimately just felt lucky to be there. Couldn’t those two see that this is the best place imaginable, and that if you’re dealt the right hand, shouldn’t you just enjoy it?
The two left class without helping their proctor, whose books had finally toppled off the desk. They strode past a hall lined with tomes, model diagrams, and trophies that stretched for thirty feet to the ceiling. Archways momentarily shaded them like they were emerging from a cellar over and over again, until they reached the spiral that would zoom them to their next locations.
“Mun, I think I need to be alone right now,” he eventually said after nodding and grunting on autopilot for as long as he could muster.
The Dagos twitched like he was briskly slapped in the face. “Didn’t know I was bothering you, Eres,” he said with an offended tone. But then he gathered himself and shook it off. “Wait, are you alright? Did something happen?”
He had just given Eres the perfect excuse to exit: Crow. Then maybe he could absorb and reflect on all of the toxicity he’d just learned society possesses for Dawns, what it would mean if he got caught, if his makeup wore off.
Eres touched his face, where his scars should’ve been showing. “It’s been… tough, here, at Vinsánce,” he said blankly, like he wasn’t all there. He then turned his head to his friend. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It has nothing to do with you, Mun. You’re great, and I’m lucky to have a friend like you.” He reached his hand high to clap his shoulder. “Let me be now so I can be a better friend tomorrow.”
Mun smiled down at him before contorting his bones to land on all fours. “Get your head on straight so we can enjoy the first Surfech game tomorrow.”
Instead of asking what in Mustae’s name that was, he just smiled back and waved Mun away.
Chapter 10
Broken Promises
That night, Eres went home and scrolled through the day’s events with his octor on his lap. He hated this version of himself: sulking, sarcastic, moody. Every frame was worse than the last. He’d insulted Mun, wilted like a flower in front of Crow, and longed for his father like the foolish child that he was. If it hadn’t been for Proctor Vasa’s extravagant show, the day would’ve been a total loss.
After hours of more self-pity, after his thoughts boiled to the point of epiphany, he finally set down his octor on the soft cushion where he’d been sitting – which held the precious item like an egg in a nest – and then walked through the front door of his snoring cabin.
Humid air wrapped him like a warm blanket, pressing the light hairs on his skin flat and making it feel like breathing was a chore. Forest leaves that were wiped from the earlier storm were now growing back before his eyes, compelling the branches to look as though they were fattening as they waved. These sensations evoked old daydreams from when he was younger, when he wondered what was beyond Dolseir, beyond Ombes, having only stories and histories of others to bolster his imagination. Though this time he was living his own. Each day was more jam-packed with life than entire years preceding Kor. He was grateful for his ooma and her teachings, though he could never immerse himself in what he didn’t believe.
All of this flew through his mind like a whirlwind in Okabin, until it suddenly cleared like the crisp air of the Verglas Sphere. The same as on Meeting Day when he first met Windel, he was going to hold on to his wonderment and appreciation for this impossible new life, and be more respectful to his ooma and his father for taking the steps to make it happen. Otherwise, he would’ve been shipped to somewhere beyond his knowing. And so, at the precipice of doubt and regret, Eres made a promise to himself – that he would not sulk again, that he would not back down from his fears at Kor, and that he would become a Skrol, even if it killed him.
From then on, his days were better. He enjoyed the company of his friends, absorbed the knowledge provided by his favorite proctors, learned to duel with blunt Crule weapons, and even cheered at his first game of Surfech beside Windel and Mundella. All the while in his head, he still accused almost everyone who gave him a sideways glance of being his father’s eye, but that simply was not going to go away.
Run-ins with Crow wer
e less frequent, but just as scarring as the first. In the weeks to come, a backhanded slap sent Eres straight to the floor, causing Mun to drop his books and step into Crow’s personal space. Proctor eyes made what could’ve been a brawl end with sneers and curses. The few Swuls he met over the next month evoked the same feelings of intimidation without even laying a finger on him. He’d seen Joodah a handful of times too, who gave him a strange sense of protection – knowing an older student who managed to clear a path every time he saw him provided some comfort. And then there was Windel - the banter, flirting, tiffs, it all brought Eres to his highest of highs. Sharing History of War Tech and dueling with her was the highlights of his days at Kor. Yet there was something missing.
He wanted to confide in her, tell her the truth about who he was, so he didn’t have to bear the burden alone. And every day that past, that temptation became a little more maddening, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, while the image of his father warning him not to faded a little more.
Eres got to Kor early one morning, finding Windel and Mun where he’d first met her on Meeting Day, in the back lawn blanketed by the shade of a miniature tree. Both seated, she pushed the tall Dagos playfully which sent an ugly pang of jealousy rearing from Eres’ stomach and burning up his esophagus like heartburn. He swallowed hard. Pushing down his demons became somewhat of a common occurrence since that night, and so he straightened his posture and made his presence known.
“Eol Mansa, friends.” Eres crossed his legs and plopped to the ground.
“Morning to you, Mr. Umboro.” Windel smiled.
“The suns are barely up and I’ve already learned something. Please proctor, wait until the bell rings,” Mun jested.
“It’s never too early to get in touch with one’s roots…” Eres opened a book from his bag and scanned it, pretending to be one of his older, more boring proctors.
Through light giggles, Windel pushed Eres to emphasize what came next: “Your first Quarter Ceremony, wow. It’s fun! Especially now that you have some friends and know some proctors. It’s way more formal than Meeting Day though.”
“Well, it’s a proctor day, not a student day,” Mun agreed. “They show off, feed us, blah blah, and then you meet your quarter class proctor.”
Eres shifted in his seat. “I was wondering about that… my syllabus is still blank where the details should be. And the attendance times are weird. Night time once a week? My Oom-” he coughed and saw Mun and Windel exchange the briefest glance, “my house mother is going to slap me sideways.”
Windel snorted in disbelief. “Oh c’mon, surely she understands. She must have twenty other kids who’ve been through this before.”
“Not everyone gets to go to Kor,” Eres lied.
Noticing the awkwardness, Mun felt the need to dispel it. “Well, you’re here, and there’s no way you can miss quarter class. It’s designed to be the deepest lesson, specific to your Kor focus. And, its usually quite advanced for the student’s year. So if you really want to be a Skrol, I think you should show up and take your beatings later.”
“But we chose our syllabi together. Who picks quarter?”
“PAs,” they both said together.
“They’re trained to assess you upon meeting, and by your focus,” Mun elaborated. “Don’t worry, by mid-ceremony you’ll know everything.”
The trio gathered their belongings and began to file into the Elite Wing of Vinsánce, explaining the difficulty of some homework assignments, gossip of eventful exchanges in class, and of rumored new couples in year-seven. This kept on as they breached the ornate overarching entranceway and greeted others that they knew on the way to their year’s table. A sense of grandeur radiated in Eres’ body like he’d just entered a cathedral. Voices drowned out to white noise for a moment, and it felt as though the air itself was echoing. Not having to scurry to class for fear of being late, or on high alert because Crow might be lurking ready to jump him, Eres was able to appreciate what the proctors had set up for their students. A long banner spanning the depth of three sections draped between two massive pillars. The symbol of Kor Vinsánce at its center – a bare tree with green branches aflame in the place of leaves, and the impression of wind pushing everything to one side. It gloriously encapsulated the Umboro’s connection to nature and the vigor of the people. And for the first time ever, Eres experienced pride for something he belonged to.
There was a wide gap between the long tables of furnished wood and the center stage in which Eres assumed the proctors would be presenting. He wondered why. The thought of the widely varying personalities dancing in their long proctor’s robes made him laugh in his head, but truly he didn’t know what to expect. He considered that Mun and Windel were keeping the subject away from the ceremony… maybe it was something that should’ve been experienced rather than spoiled with words.
With that last thought, the sound of a heavy switch being jammed down reverberated off the walls. The lights went out at the same time curtains unfurled over any rays of sun cutting into the torium. Once the final whooshing sound of the oversized cape unfolding over the enormous circular window behind them hit Eres’ ears, the space went completely black.
Cheers followed – all years were amped up for what was to come, but although Eres joined in on the chaos, he felt as confused as the year-one table resting in the center. Then a sole spotlight shined down from behind them, casting an expansive shadow behind the most regal-looking proctor he’d laid eyes on to date. He’d heard stories of the Kor’s keeper, but had never seen him. And if there were any doubts it was him, they were dispelled when Windel leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“That’s Vindom Decalus, Keeper of Kor.” Her breath was as fresh as a spring breeze, and her lips being so close to him sent a rippling tingle that spread from his ear down his neck. Although he nodded in thanks, the information didn’t register for a few good seconds.
Robes of the deepest green were clasped tight by silver leaf-like insignias that echoed the essence of the Kor’s banner. His hair was as white as Verglas snow, with one single golden braid that rested over his shoulder. Features were protruding, pointed. His nose and ears were lengthened by age and his eyes were deep with knowledge. It was evident, even from far away, that this man exuded power.
“For those of you who know me, welcome back to the Quarter Ceremony. I can only hope that the exemplary standards of Vinsánce are syphoned through your daily lessons. For those of you who don’t, I am Keeper Decalus, and I am here to ensure not only your opportunity for success, but to evoke the pride that comes from being part of the greatest Kor in Ingora’s history.”
Cheers again busied the room in response to the articulate, rousing words of their keeper.
His arms were spread wide, making them look like waterfalls of silky green. “For those of you who made it to year-four, I welcome you, to the true nature of our Kor. Students first, peers first. Free from proctor’s supervision… to learn on your own outside of class. To stumble and rise again. It is a delicate balance and an endless fight with the Factions’ Order to discern the importance of self-sufficiency. But rest assured students,” he balled his fists, “this is the method to oust a false sense of confidence, of arrogance. To remove one’s strings is to test character, to build resilience. This is how one is molded into a true citizen of Ingora, and with a little bit of our guidance, and a lot of your perseverance, well, that is how greatness is discovered.
“Now, without further ado, I present to you that greatness in the form of celebration, coordinated and performed by our brilliant proctors. Internalize this, students, for it represents the fire in your hearts!”
The last image everyone saw was Decalus’ shaking fist held forward before the spotlight went out. His voice was powerful, invoking of emotion, for there was no doubt that he believed what he said.
A vibration pulsed through Eres’ heart. He thought it was his oobs at first, but it was too strong, jolting even. He then remembered what so oft
en happened every second day of the week – Ren’s octor, making his class a living experience. Of course they would use it for the ceremony.
Dull rain suddenly appeared to be dripping from within the high spires of Kor. Slow at first, like the ceiling had a small leak. Soon after it became more apparent, the sound of light tapping all around them, the visual of brief glistening drops zooming past. It felt so real, as it often did. And then the green Crule of Proctor Vasa’s blades ignited in the open space. A drum beat reverberated, which signaled the next fire to encompass a double-sided staff.
The percussion pounded louder, and the swords of Proctor Vasa spun ostentatiously, all while the shadow of the man opposite her was making crude gestures with his burning stave. Steam blew as the beat became louder, faster. She spun, cycling her blades, each shoulder bobbing forward one at a time, strutting as embers lit her face for brief intervals. The drums were building to climax as each move was more impressive than the last, and when the students were nearly out of their seats, she threw her blades high, punched the floor, and cracked something in her hand that lit her perimeter completely aflame. Like a demon bursting through the depths of hell, she flew up with a small tornado of blazing wind at her feet. Eres wanted to shout “impeller!” but before he could even think better of it, Herim Vasa flipped, caught both hilts and spiraled to the floor like a spinning torpedo before somehow landing on her feet.
The crowd exploded with cheers as the drums stopped on cue, but when her Crule went out, the drums immediately picked back up, now directing collective attention to the only other source of light in the whole torium – the blue stave. It twirled slowly at first, then with the beat, flames circled faster and faster, around the man’s back, over his head, and with a speed all his own, a streak of fire was burnt into Eres’ vision as the man dashed the length of the entire floor using flenos boots.
