by Marc Mulero
“Proctor Ren, may I ask a question?”
“You may ask many, Eres. But first, you must call me Alfonze since class is out.”
“Proctor Wudon advised me against it.”
Ren chuckled. “Is that so? Well, I don’t suspect his Reach extends so far as the Academic Wing, nor does his jurisdiction extend so far as my torium,” he said protectively. “Now, what can I do you for?”
“I… was given an octor in my shelter, and I was hoping that you could show me how to unlock it to see outside footage, like yours.”
Ren eyed him before stepping around his desk. He gently pressed two fingers on each of Eres’ temples. “Your thesils are active in there. Do you review your days this way?”
He nodded.
“Very effective study tool, replaying your class experiences. Not everyone is so privileged. I’m sure you’ve earned it though.”
“I don’t use it to study, sir, Alfonze. Just recreation. I prefer books for studying.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Ren scratched his chin. “You’re a curious boy, Eres. I see a Skrol’s journey in your future.”
Eres fought to hold back a smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ll show you how to unlock your octor, but be warned, if you decide to open it up, you could be susceptible to hacking. Your thesils could be tapped into and the hackers could control what you see. They could also extract your edited diary.”
Eres looked horrified. “Who would do that?”
Ren leaned his bottom on the desk, crossed his ankles and folded his arms. “Did you learn of Ovar and Kovella in War Tech?”
“Yes, on the first day.”
“Well, not every Eplon believes in the romantic story of their genius’ fate. Some, to this day, believe she was entrapped, raped, and forced to work within the grueling conditions of Okabin. And they seek revenge, not only for her, but for the reduction in power for all Eplons after those events. They call themselves Kovella’s Quittance. They worship her, like a goddess, and steal data in the name of the Factions’ indebtedness to her.
“They’ve claimed much intelligence from various Factions, and have been known to haunt Swuls in particular. Terrorists, Eres, that threaten civil life. I’ll teach you to unlock your octor, only if you listen and practice removing your thesils so you can act quickly if you’re ever taken over. Dela?”
“Dela.”
“Today in Generations, we teach the tragedy that is a Dawn’s desires, and their failures of reproduction amidst ellosay.” Proctor Hundul projected with a grave look.
Her smile was intoxicating, and her perfectly shaped body held some of the boys’ attention the same as dueling would. Even when she spoke of the most obscure and uncomfortable topics, devotion was hers. All except Eres, who couldn’t help but feel flustered, like he was singled out and under attack once again in this horrible class.
“Studies reveal that they feel the same urges that we feel. Unlike us, though, they have no real risk of impregnating, becoming pregnant, or transmitting diseases. They are pure and devoid of the dangers that we face, but they also lack our privileges. I advise all men and women here to be compassionate if you come across a Dawn, for as we discussed, their meaning in this life is limited. I would further recommend, that if you ever find yourself in a situation in which you have feelings for a Dawn, remove yourself from the situation immediately. It will come to no benefit to you or them – it will only end in grief.”
Most of the class was scribbling notes since the last quiz was painfully technical, but Mun was stone-faced behind Eres with one hand straight up.
“Yes, Mundella?” Hundul allowed.
“In a scenario in which you have chemistry with one person, and none with another, which would you choose to be romantically involved with?”
Hundul pursed her lips once she realized where this was going. “Obviously the man with whom I share chemistry.”
“And later if you found out that man is a Dawn?”
The proctor huffed. “I would likely be angry with it at first, for wasting our time, then cut the relationship off.”
Mun straightened in his seat to get to his point. “So to be clear, you would sacrifice the happiness you shared, be miserable with the person you have no chemistry with, just for the sake of procreation?”
Hundul could feel the tenseness of the class, and that she was potentially losing them in this debate, so she decided to throw in the towel and steer the ship off course. “Your scenario is flawed. There are more than two men in the world who I can find both happiness and children with. Let me flip a question to you: Would you engage in a relationship with a uemon even though you’re a Dagos, even though there’s clearly no future in it?”
“I would, proctor,” Mun said proudly.
Eres clenched his jaw, thinking that this was some underlying clue that Windel and Mun had gotten together, something that had been gnawing at his insides since he’d met them both.
“Then to each their own,” Hundul begrudgingly proclaimed. “Now, turn to page eight ninety so we can touch upon the infamous sexless barrens of our time.”
Eres didn’t care much for being reminded about how terrible his kind was, so instead of immersing himself in his textbook as he so often would, he turned to his ex-friend.
“How’re you two doing?”
“Oh, we exist again?” Mun challenged.
“From afar.” Eres tried to hold a straight face, but they soon both chuckled with laughter.
“Windel and I are well,” Mun said lightly, but just the mention of her name from someone else’s mouth made Eres’ stomach do somersaults. “But I have to say, you two did a number on yourselves. She cried for weeks about what happened.”
Eres wanted so badly to ask if they were seeing each other, but all that came out was his agreement about the situation. “It was unfortunate, but too damaging for things to ever be the same. Sorry that you got caught in the middle.”
Proctor Hundul stared intently at the Dawn and the Dagos. “Something to share, gentlemen?”
“No proctor, apologies.” Eres swung around in his desk and dropped his gaze to textbook images he did not want to see.
The last day of year-seven was rapidly approaching. Outside air was brisk, cold even, leaving Eres with a rosy windburn as he hopped to Kor. Though he eventually learned to wrap a scarf over his face and switched to jackets that were more appropriate for the weather, he rather enjoyed the frigid winds. There was an odd comfort in having layers of clothing hugging his body, like being swaddled as a child. The thought of being home in his chair late that night, with a hot cup of his ooma’s cocoa, felt earned.
Trees of Dolseir were mesmerizing as he continuously bounced to their height and gently back to the ground. He watched as they clung for life the same way they did in the storms. Leaves budded daily in dead colors of brown, black, deep blue and purple, only to rock leisurely to the floor, blanketing it for the seegs’ consumption. Eventually though, his focus moved to the grand castle lying over the hill - Kor Vinsánce.
Today was to be eventful – the last session of Roots class with Proctor Wudon, where one of the participants would be dueling the proctor himself. He’d learned so much beside Joodah – the need for nature around them if Reach was to be summoned, the extent of its power, history of great wielders and their feats. All of this resulted in a bond between him and his friend, the Eplon, which partially filled the void that Windel and Mun had left.
Still, though, the nights of consulting his ooma, not only to keep her out of her esper’s eye but to see if there was any untapped Reach within him, proved to be futile. The truth was painful. Yet he came to terms like an adult would, and finally started focusing on his strengths rather than dwell on his weaknesses. Just to know of Reach was a privilege in his mind. Not everyone got to experience Wudon’s dark class, so even if it meant being a spectator, he would soar with what he was given.
His classes flew by as he daydreamed about how the evening wou
ld turn out. He pictured Crow being selected, who would be nothing more than a punching bag when they learned Wudon’s true strength. It would be their reward, after all, for being in an elite class, and for being good students.
There was one problem with his fantasy – not that Joodah was to his left, but that Windel was to his right. Eres did all that he could to keep her out of it. He squeezed his eyes tightly when he saw her in there, tried to wipe his mind’s eye and start again, yet none of it worked. She popped right up over and over again. That dimpled smirk, flowing dark hair, and green eyes that felt as though the forest itself lived within them. It was the guiltiest pleasure to let her stay, and the only way he could dream.
These thoughts carried him all the way to night, with a small, gnawing voice that was given volume by Proctor Hundul’s words – a voice saying he didn’t belong, he wasn’t worthy to walk among his peers, that he didn’t deserve to love another. He wasn’t even a he, after all, just a pretender. An Obrun that should be shipped off with the others. Thankfully, though, time in Kor built enough confidence to keep his demons at bay.
The next time vision came back into Eres’ eyes it was night, and Joodah’s greeting shook him from his daze. Windel disappeared as his daydream fazed into reality. All were waiting for the haunting doors of Proctor Wudon’s torium to open. Whispers surrounded the spectator’s circle, while the four participants stood confidently, honored, prepared.
“Another bruise from Zia?” Joo bent down to inspect the dark patch on Eres’ cheek.
“You should see her!” he defended.
Joo tilted his head comically, as if to say, “Really?”
Eres pushed him. “Fine. But I did best her twice this year. She’s no longer undefeated.”
“So the score’s what now, two hundred to two?”
Eres chuckled. “Shut up!”
“I wonder what she’s going to do with all of that strength and the hardest head in Kor. She has some reputation, let me tell you.”
“Even to year-nines?”
Joo nodded.
“She makes a face whenever Proctor Vasa talks about the Colliding Spheres, so I don’t think she wants anything to do with glory. I bet her focus is Swul Special Forces.”
Mid-conversation, vines crept past the closed archway and around two opposite fixtures that held candles. They flickered to life, giving their proctor an eerie introduction.
Joo and Eres inched toward the participant’s circle to better see what Wudon had in store for the night.
Crow sneered. “Back to your cellar peasants, before I melt you like butter.”
“Funny how you take a step back while dolling your threats.” Joodah looked down upon him.
“I would take you on any day, you big oaf, and send you back to your homeland.” Crow gave Joodah a sideways glance through hanging black hair.
“I hope Proctor Wudon gives you a fresh spanking,” Eres jumped in.
“Hmph,” was all Crow responded as the proctor emerged.
Wudon was holding something as his shape broke into the light, a one-handed sword that he clasped carefully by the blade. “Crow,” his rough voice forced all eyes where he called, “I take it that you’ve attended either History of War Tech or Defenders class?”
Crow cleared his throat, taken aback by the unexpected query. “Defenders, with Weapons Master Sturn.”
“Good.” Wudon touched the point of the blade to the floor and summoned his vines to hold it upright. “Then you know how to wield this?”
The entire class eyed the sword, from its sharp blade to its vibrant hilt. When Eres took a closer look he could see the unmistakable dormant Crule swishing around in a vial within the hilt, ready to spark the blade on fire. This wasn’t a sparring weapon.
“Yes, proctor.” Crow stood tall, arrogantly, with his hands behind his back.
“Good,” he repeated, “I will leave you to test the weight of the blade. When you’re ready to enter my torium, though, be prepared to strike me down.”
“Proctor, I would be no match to your experience in a duel,” Crow said truthfully.
“I will be unarmed, boy.” Wudon turned his back, silently herding the rest of the class behind him.
Eres couldn’t have walked past Crow with a more satisfying look upon his face. This was to be a taste of the orphan’s own medicine, hopefully. Humiliation in front of Wudon’s chosen – a fitting price for his arrogance.
The proctor cleared his misty torium as he paced deeper into the unnerving dungeon. After holding out his hand for the students to gather near the arching windows, he twisted clawed fingers like he was opening a jar. Each branch-covered window untangled like an expanding camera shutter, just enough to let in slivers of moonlight for their show.
Wudon limped toward the jittery crowd. “Reach may be overshadowed in a time of tech.” He growled, eyeing Eres in memory of their first encounter. “Nevertheless, connection to the Eternal World is the closest a life form will ever get to the truth. Once one harnesses it, they know that we are temporary beings sailing blindly by the grace of Mustae. To recognize mortality - the inevitability of death - and lack of control, to tackle these thoughts head-on, is to ironically behold something greater than yourself. The participants know this in their bones, whereas you spectators, do not.”
Faces grew grim upon being reminded that they were second class citizens in this class, even if Crow was the one who was about to be made an example of.
“Sir, if I may? What were you before you were a proctor?” Joodah dared to ask.
Wudon’s good eye peered at the large boy, as he likely considered slapping a branch over the giant’s mouth. “Something more,” he decided to respond vaguely.
“They probably plucked him from a swamp because he was growing too much moss,” a student whispered loudly enough for some of the others to hear.
The next thing that kid knew, his legs were kicked out from under him and he found himself squirming on his back.
“Now you will observe how Reach used to play a role in Umboro wars long ago. Before Crule, before artillery, before tech, there were greater connections – natural swords and shields.”
Wudon paced back and forth, limping with his hands behind his back. “Can any of you brainy runts tell me why, besides the birth of tech, that Reach fell from the populous’ eye?”
Joodah raised his hand immediately, followed by Eres and one other.
The proctor nodded briefly to the giant and continued pacing.
“Although the Umboro successfully defended their lands using Reach while in conflict with the Eplons, when it came time for a counterattack, the Eplons burned down their own forests so that Reach would no longer be a factor against their superior tech.”
“Correct. Limitation of territorial use constricted the Umboro’s ancient ways, making it a less favorable route than tech for the following generations. Now, for those who still practice connection to the Eternal World, any uses are generally for practical purposes rather than dispute.”
Crow approached tentatively at the proctor’s back, touched the point of his borrowed sword to the floor, and waited for his presence to be acknowledged.
The doors closed behind the orphan ominously, locking everyone into the live arena.
“Burn this into your memory, runts, for you will likely see nothing like it again.” The proctor spun and limped away, creating the appropriate distance between him and his dueler.
Once facing Crow, Wudon took a moment to stare down the orphan. “If you do not aim to slay me, I will fail you from this class, Crow. Understood?”
“Yes, proctor,” Crow called back.
“Begin!” His strained voice roared.
Crow immediately activated his flenos boots on call and dashed diagonally like he was on ice-skates, ripping through the branches in Wudon’s sanctuary with a thin sparking streak beneath his feet.
The students were all on their toes, shuffling to look past one another, shocked that the proctor hadn�
��t so much as moved except for his bright eye that seemed to keep track of everything.
Crow bellowed loudly like he was on the frontlines of some great battlefield, just yards away from descending on the seemingly defenseless older man. Then, a step before a strike could be made, Wudon made his move, causing branchy vines to snatch Crow’s foot. But he was ready. A hop in the air stretched the branches that pled for him to stay grounded, and a downward slice of the sharp blade cut his shackle. Without looking, he kept up the momentum of his swing to find his original target, though he hit nothing but air.
He whirled to see the proctor another few feet behind him. How? How could this aging, dreary man move that fast? Gritted teeth and a sloppy dash forward showed a hint of Crow’s frustration. He swiped again just to witness another instance of Wudon’s odd speed, like he was hitting a shadow that he could’ve swore was flesh a moment before. It didn’t matter; he would gain on his proctor. He was faster.
Slash.
This time the blade got caught, not in flesh, but in a natural wall of hardened bark formed to block his swing. Reach, of course. The blade rang like it hit a stone gong before he pulled it free, his arm trembling from the unexpected pressure, joints shooting with pain. Crow shook his hand to ease the ache, pivoted around the obstacle and continued his pursuit. He raised his sword again into ready position. Tense eyes of the student locked with calm ones of the proctor.
Crow took one long step, reeled in his blade, and lunged hard on the next, stabbing where he expected Wudon would land, but another sideways strafe allowed Crow to hit nothing, not even tearing a shred of Wudon’s billowing robes.
He struck again immediately with a wide slash, this time anticipating what was to come. Wudon’s dash backward and simultaneous conjuring of another tree-trunk barrier was seen through Crow’s mind before it happened – and so he followed through with his strike, but this time with Crule activated, making his blade scorch with the undefeatable matter.
