Children of Infinity [IC]

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Born of butterfly and sparrow,
Woven by shadow and chime,
I sit on my throne of hemlock here at the edge of time.

But whence comes this hateful light that I see?
How dire shall the dreaded sentence be?

When the butterfly broke from the gilded cage,
And the sparrow devoured the finch in rage,
I was cursed to usher the end of an age.

The flowers taint my soul,
The roots, they bind my hands,
My eyes burn in the light,
Imperious. Punishing! BRIGHT!

I howl. I howl. I howl…

---

January 20th

03:00

The shrill noise of a mechanical siren pierced the silent night. A shrill noise that she had come to detest with all her heart, but one she could not dispense of nonetheless. Not today. Not now.

Asher awoke with a start, bathed in darkness barely pierced by what scarce moonlight dared cross the window. After but a second spent easing back into consciousness, she lunged for the alarm clock, flicking it off before it managed to echo a third time. The immediate matter resolved, she paused. Only the silent night remained, ever enveloping, almost deafening in the wake of the alarm, and she dared not move nor even breathe as she kept her ears open for any signs of life. Long seconds she held vigil, listening. At last when it became apparent that not a thing moved and not a soul stirred, the red haired girl allowed herself to relax for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Alright. That's the first part done.

She took a long look at her room. It was… spartan, bluntly put. To a degree that she could not deny she resented. There was a time when there had been much more here, not just belonging to her but to her brothers as well, but those years had long come and gone. Bare walls remained, of fine craftsmanship yes, but stripped of decor and identity. There above her bed had been a poster. On the nightstand, a photography she had since put away. Wallpaper that had once added color to the wooden walls had long been removed. An ornate wardrobe. A terminal. A small garden, hanging by the window. An old guitar case.

Well, at least she knew where to find one of those things.

Picking herself up, she moved aside her pillow and grabbed the knife underneath. Then, she turned on her heel and counted. One. Two. Three. Looking down, she saw the off-tone floorboard and crouched beside it, using the knife to pry it free. A small cache laid in the hollowed out space beneath, perhaps nothing others would find noteworthy, but a trove of personal treasure to her nonetheless. A guitar case covered in pins and other decals. A box full of memories. An old portable terminal, still fully functional. All sorts of odds and ends, hidden away beneath the house. Years ago she would have never thought that she would have to safeguard the things she valued so, concealing them as though they were full of shame just so that she could keep them close. She stared for a moment and then, with a sigh, she slung the case across her back and began packing her things into a rucksack. Her clothes and other personal effects were already inside, put away beforehand.

As she finished her task, she froze for a moment, a shiver running down her spine. Eighteen years of her life, and everything she owned and cherished fit neatly into a bag, with some space to spare.

It's a big bag. She told herself, as if trying to argue the point.

I'm pretty organized. She continued, a little less enthusiastic. Fittingly it didn't do much.

The sight of the room she'd lived in all of her life, now well and truly bereft of any trace of her presence, was… a conflicting sight, to put it mildly. Haunting and cathartic at once. This place’s past was very dear to her, and yet, if she only had a bottle of aqua vitae, a rag and a lighter…

Stop. She shook her head and turned around. Just leave.

She crept into the hallway like a thief unto the night, and though the darkness was thick as old blood, she moved decisively, without hesitation. She knew this hallway, these steps and turns. They were what was left of the home she once knew. The shape, and nothing more. She passed the studio, the storehouse, the now defunct art room mother had insisted on. When she slipped past the master bedroom, she kept an ear out. The old man always snored, and it was three in the morning. The old man was snoring now as well. That was good. A moment later she was past the living room and into the foyer. A few more steps took her outside at last.

The outdoors was not a panacea for all that ailed her, but still, the cool breeze of the early morning and the light that reflected off of Phos’ satellites did help to lift her spirits a little, or perhaps what they did instead was to ease the burden on her shoulders. Whatever the case, she couldn’t just stop here. The future awaited her, and it crept ever closer, one second at a time. But just for a moment she feasted her eyes on the landscape, knowing that it would be a whole year before she would get to see it again. The red mountains peaked in black and white that dominated the horizon, the clouds that clustered around the ridge’s crown, the sole river that descended and passed through the town of Third, splitting it in half. And then, of course, the town itself, with its black stacks and speed tracks, its humble locales of wood and stone and neon, its quarries that delved into the vowels of the earth. And then just west of there, the tall walls of the garrison, the rooftops of the hangar and armory barely visible above.

It wasn’t much. Not to anyone born in the high towers of Clarion or the fierce ramparts of Alecto certainly. But it was everything, too.

She turned her gaze back, just for a moment, to the lonely house atop the overlooking mesa. Not tall but spacious. Not luxurious, but dignified. She wondered if she would be coming back here, one year from now, or if the new life that awaited would take her further. Higher.

Then the moment was over, and her steps led her to the workshop next to the house. Her keycard let her through the lock, and inside, amid wall shelves stacked with tools and supplies and spare parts were two pegasi. The first was a newer model, sleek and stately, painted with the colors of the Order of the Phantom Blade and bearing their insignias. The second was an older relic, though it had been worked on so extensively that it hardly looked the part. Sylvalladine’s silver and Kaios’ black mixed with fiery orange and electric blue; retrofitted thrusters and stabilizers bulked up the frame, and the original seat had been replaced with something more comfortable and adapted to the shape of its rider.

Said rider immediately walked inside, grabbing a few other possessions of hers. A gray belt, a black cube, a silver pole, a helmet. She then hopped onto the older pegasus and set it to hover. An audible hum began emanating from the underside of the vehicle as it began floating a few inches off the ground, but it was nothing that couldn’t be muffled by the wind; certainly it was nothing compared to the sonic boom that would surely take place otherwise, as rather than fly past the open door and into the sky, the redhead led the machine outside as one would lead a beast of burden, closing the door behind her. Out on the mesa again, and down the lonely path that led down below.

Go all the way down, take off, take it slow. I can go faster when I’m out of earshot, don’t want to cause a rude awakening…

Immersed in her thoughts, she failed to notice unusual shadows by the old trees that flanked the path until it was too late.

“Ash! Didn’t plan on leaving without saying your goodbyes, didya?” Spoke the raven-haired young woman presently clinging to her back like a leech to the skin. It had to be very uncomfortable, wrapping her arms around Asher while nestling her head between the rucksack and guitar case, but she managed it. Somehow.

“Julia?” Asher blurted out as she felt the impact, making some small effort to keep herself upright. “No, no, of course I didn’t. I was going to crash into your house before taking off for real.”

The thought struck her that preparing something to that effect had, in fact, slipped her mind. Being so terribly nervous and absorbed in thought had always caused her to become absent-minded. Right now all those worries seemed so silly, though. Everything was going to be fine, wasn’t it?

“Marcus! Fier! You’re here too?” The redhead said as she looked up at the two boys that had likewise sprung from the trees the moment she let down her guard. The one on the left was broad-shouldered and handsome, with a mess of black hair pointing skyward, while the one on the right was a tall brunet with an undercut and a witty look about him.

“Well duh. It’s not like we planned on missing the first journey of our very own knight of Phos you know?” Fier replied with a chuckle.

“Listen Ash, regardless of whatever anyone else says, you’re one of us. So go show them what we’re made of, alright?” Marcus told her.

“I will. I promise.” Asher nodded, before taking a step towards them - still with Julia in tow - and pulling them into a hug. These were her friends, after all. The people she had grown up with, counted on. The people she had confided in and loved. These were her friends, and she’d miss them terribly.

But this story is not about such people.

They never are.

---

07:30

The wind was an old friend. Many liked to say, on stormy nights or when the northern wind fell upon the dale, that it was howling. They likened it to a beast, an enemy. But Asher had never seen it that way. The wind did not howl, it sang to her, it sang to her songs of friendship and love and loss. How long had it been here, watching over her, over whoever was here before her? Connecting star-crossed lovers, muffling the tears of those who suffered? The wind was an old friend, one she was embraced by during her pegasus rides over the distant mountains, one she was caressed by during her walks through the lonely old mesa and beyond. An old friend that now raced her one last time in farewell, for she would not be back in a while. She would remember it, of course. She would remember it fondly.

But it would forget her. The mountains had no voice; the wind had no memory.

She wasn’t sure how many hours it had been now, the clock on her panel silent and unseen. Dawn should have fallen upon quaint Third by this time, she was confident of that. But as she flew across the rocky landscape of Phos, past the mining settlements of Fourth and Second and First and all the others, all she saw was night blanketing the sky, the only sunlight over the serene countryside being that which reflected off of the surface of seven moons looming across the sky. Stars twinkled above and overhead, teasing her across time and space.

“Young ghost, whence have you come? And where are you going, young ghost?”

Their childlike humming went as unheeded as the passing of time. The truth was, Asher at the moment had little attention to spare for anything that was not the rushing wind, the contrast of the celestial vault and the terrestrial blur, the roar of the engine that was but an echo of the roar inside her heart. At times like these she felt invincible, like a god dancing in the sky. Love. Hate. Order. Family. None of that could reach her up here, betwixt peak and void, cloud and star. What fear could grip one’s heart when there is nothing to fear? What stress, when there is nowhere to go and nothing to return to? What anxiety when there was no one else here to speak? No one but the wind, her brother, the one that stayed, singing of friendship and love and loss.

And then, like the night, it all ends. Inevitably.

Wrenched away from her reverie by a blazing orange glow on the horizon, the redhead slowed down her pace, the ground becoming more distinct in response. There in the wake of the setting sun was Sequence, seat of the baron that reigned over Phos and its star. More importantly, it was the location of Malus Harbor, where chariots bound for other worlds docked to await cargo and passengers. While still a far cry from the great citadels of the Phantom Blade, Sequence was closer than anything else on Phos. She had been there once or twice, on the odd family holiday when she was much younger, though to its credit the city didn’t seem to have changed much in the meantime. Tall towers replaced the squat locales of the countryside. Holographic displays took the place of neon signs. Stone was more polished, and brighter, and ornamental rather than utilitarian.

As she began her slow descent towards the long shadows cast by the setting sun, her eyes shielded from the light that filtered between the buildings by the tinted acrylic of her helmet, Asher saw more clearly the pseudodome that was Malus Harbor rising out of the ground like the face of a sleeping giant. A great edification made of marble and iron and glass, worthy of any of the Lucent Arm’s great citadels… except, the iron looked just a little rusted, the marble a little cracked. Still, it was not without dignity. There was a quiet grandeur about it; a knight in shining armor this was not, but a knight of a thousand battles nonetheless.

You’re getting into the mindset already.

Before long, she was in Sequence’s airspace, slowing down to follow city regulations instead of soaring through the sky at the speed of light like an angel. It would be terribly embarrassing, after all, to get in trouble over traffic matters, now of all times. Fortunately it wasn’t long until she found a convenient place to leave her pegasus, and from there she began heading towards the harbor on foot. That part was unfortunate. It was unfortunate because here, so far from the mines and so close to the stars, there were people of more worldly persuasions. Learned people. People, perhaps, with some notions as to the history of their great order. And so the sight of a young woman with a long red mane and eyes of a steely gray inevitably drew the stares of the curious and the erudite. A part of her could not blame them, though she dreaded it nonetheless; would she not, if the roles were inverted, stare in shock or awe or wonder, or perhaps fear, at the living memory of the Guardian, a legend of old?

“The blood of the Guardian is like the blood of the Saints.” Her father had once told her, long ago, when she made an innocent question she no longer could recall. “It resists dilution. It overpowers. It seethes…”

It bothered her greatly. How she wished she could have at least inherited her mother’s eyes. Those beautiful, kind, loving verdant eyes instead of this blindly crossed, overcast glare. That perhaps would keep the stares away. But it didn’t happen, and all she could do was hurry along, walking at a far brisker pace than one would normally see and perhaps drawing even more stares as a result, though it needed not bother her if she would end up leaving them behind anyway. All she had to do was keep her focus on the path ahead. Directly on the path, preferably, rather than ahead. That way she wouldn’t risk crossing glances with a curious onlooker and wouldn’t have to risk making awkward conversation and wouldn’t-

“Asher, where are you going?”

The voice immediately caused the redhead to freeze in her tracks. She looked up, then over her shoulder, then a smile she didn’t know she still had appeared as she ran back.

“Mom! Adel!” She cried out in joy as she pulled her mother and her younger brother into a tight hug. “You came to see me off?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her mother, Fennel, spoke as she looked at her with those lovely eyes that always calmed her down. “How are you feeling?” She asked as the three parted, though Adel was perhaps a little more reluctant.

“Well, you know…” Asher replied with a vague gesture that did comparatively very little to mask her anxiety. The brief silence that followed prompted her to continue. “It’s the Year of Our Lord 3031 and I’m going to have to wear a skirt so, I could be better.” She chuckled. She then turned to look at her younger brother, Adel, who seemed even more like a fish out of the water than she did, if such a thing were even possible. He too had the ‘blood of the Guardian’, his hair was shorter and somewhat more unruly, but still very much the same color, and his eyes were the same as hers.

More notably, he was three years younger and four inches taller. “Hey, look at you! You’ve grown so much since the last time I got to see you in the flesh.” She said cheerfully. He smiled, a little, nodded with a manner that made it seem as if he wondered whether he should be proud or apologetic. Knowing all too well how he felt, she shouldered the burden of conversation and continued. “I know you’ve been doing a great job without me around, but you make sure to study hard alright? You could become a mender like mom and help save lives, or a rich prospector… or really anything you want!”

“...Then why can’t you, sis?” Adel replied softly, his expression one of concern more than anything else. Despite his little brother’s innocence, or perhaps because of it, the question cut deep.

But she couldn’t let him see that could she?

“What do you mean?” Asher finally replied as if she hadn’t missed several beats already. “I get to go and become a knight and have a lot of adventures. It’s gonna be a blast.” She smiled at Adel. He smiled back. It was difficult to imagine which was more forced.

“Asher, if you don’t-” Her mother began after a few moments of silence. Before she could even half-finish her sentence, Asher threw her arms around her once more.

“I’m fine.” She said. “I can take it. I promise.”

It was as much an attempt to convince herself as it was an attempt to convince Fennel. By some miracle, it seemed to help put the both of them a little more at ease.

“I’ll study really hard and I’ll be even taller next time I see you, okay?” Adel mumbled as he joined in.

“I know you will.”

The three remained like that for a few minutes this time, cherishing one another’s touch, knowing it would be some time before the opportunity would arise once more. The chilly night breeze of the hour that followed the sunset made it all the more comfortable to remain huddled together like that, but in fact, that had very little to do with it. Asher, Fennel and Adel shared in that embrace until their worries were forgotten, just a little bit. Their family was missing two, but at least they had each other. For now.

“Isn’t it going to cause trouble that you left the clinic, mom?” Asher inquired, curious, but not quite ready to let go yet.

“Well, I don’t think so dear. My assistant is a klutz, but I’m sure even he can hold the fort for a day. I left him some help and instructions in case something does happen, too. He’ll be fine.” Fennel replied without much concern. For as much of a vocation as she might have had, she was a mother first and mender second.

“That’s good.” The redhead nodded. “Say, could you make sure the pegasus gets back to Marcus? I told him he could have it when I’m not around.”

“I’ll have someone bring it back. I’m sure someone around here offers that service.” Her mother said.

After a few moments longer, Asher took a deep breath and then separated herself from her mother’s and her younger brother’s embrace, turning to look at the harbor. She almost didn’t want to go. Would it be so bad if she just turned back, asked to go back with mom and Adel, forgot about this whole thing? Would it really be so bad?

But of course, that would be tantamount to an admission that everything she had said earlier was a lie, and some small part of her, or perhaps not so small, truly did want to believe that she could do this. That she could take it. The seething ‘blood of the Guardian’, perhaps, or her mother’s determination. Or something else.

“Well, got to go.” She said at last. “Best not to keep them waiting.”

“You’re shaking, dear.” Fennel pointed out. Asher hadn’t realized until then, but it was true, her legs were feeling a little quiverish. She let out a nervous laugh upon realizing.

“Um, shaking with excitement! Can’t wait to get started! Bye mom, bye Adel, I’ll write back as often as I can, I promise!” She said hastily, and then began walking, hoping to trick her legs into forgetting about their sudden lack of strength. When she looked back, she was already some distance away from the harbor’s entrance, where Fennel and Adel were looking at her and waving their very last goodbyes before turning and heading home, back to the life they left on pause, back to Third.

Back to the life she had chosen to leave behind.

The following half hour didn’t hold much of note. Asher hated bureaucracy, it made her feel as though months of her life might vanish over one little mistake, and the anxiety that it brought irked her because it made her feel weak, but nothing too bad happened this time. It helped that the academy more or less took care of booking the seats and paying the expenses to get her to Arcadia in time, so all she had to do was go through the motions and wait patiently for the chariot to arrive. And wait patiently she did, eyes pointing up at the sky beyond the clear glass ceiling of the waiting room. If there was anything she was grateful for, it was that at least she could stargaze a little while she was here.

As the clock struck eight - in the part of Phos where she currently was, that is - her chariot pulled into one of the docking bays. It was a revolving hexagon, like the cylinder of a six-shooter if it had learned to fly and increase its size by a thousandfold. As it came to fully rest in the docking bay and a gangplank lowered to allow exit and entry, everything became a blur of movement. Presenting credentials, verifying payments, confirming destinations and aisles and seats. Dreadfully tiring but also mercifully brief. Once all of her luggage was sorted and her access cleared, it was a simple matter of finding her seat.

Her seat just so happened to be next to a familiar face, a black-haired man, with a pair of keen all-seeing amber eyes behind small round spectacles. His face was very nearly buried in a portable terminal held before him, but try as she might, she couldn’t get a good look at what was on it.

“Master Rhodan, it’s good to see you.” Asher greeted him politely. He did not look up at her, but his head did make some vague gesture of acknowledgment.

“That would be my brother Rheus, in fact.” The bespectacled man replied in a brisk tone. “He would be more than a little thrilled to remind anyone and everyone around him, too, the pompous prick.” He stated, as if it weren’t an Arche he was talking about. The redhead stood there for a moment, in stunned shock, but also in admiration. She knew more than a couple of people she would’ve loved to call pricks to their faces.

“...I see.” She muttered as she sat down next to him. She tried to catch a glimpse of whatever memorandum or news article he might be looking at, but he seemed to notice and closed the terminal. “So how did your business with the mining company go?”

“Very well, very well indeed. The headmaster will be most pleased to know that we have secured a cheap source of adamant steel for manufacturing purposes. And we happened upon quite the promising young knight candidate while at it, too.” He stated as though it were just a matter of fact, but it was still enough of a compliment to cause her to look away in embarrassment. Despite his apparent inattentiveness, it was clear he picked up on this immediately. “Come now, there’s no need to be shy. We are friends, are we not? You may call me Rhadamant, if you like.”

“I mean, are we?” Asher queried, raising an eyebrow at the man. “I’m very grateful for your help in getting invited to the academy, but beyond our previous meeting I don’t know you that well. Or at all.” She asserted.

“True. Many would consider I’ve done you an incredible favor but even that may not be considered enough material for a friendship. It is of no consequence though. You’ll be seeing a lot of me where we’re going. Is this your first time in a voidbound vessel?” The bespectacled man spoke. The sudden question at the end of his spiel caught her off guard, but she nodded.

“Yes, why?”

“Better brace yourself.”

And it was true. The takeoff wasn’t too bad. The chariot moved faster than she had expected, but speed had never been a problem for her; it was mildly disorienting to see the face of an old aristocratic woman in front of her instead of the path ahead, but nothing too bad. The problem was when they began rising, past the peaks, past the clouds, higher and higher. Turbulence in planetary flight was nothing compared to what she experienced the first time she pierced through the atmosphere of Phos, her home, and passed into the void. The sudden lack of weight only made matters worse, but as the cylinder began gyrating, everything began to stabilize.

Asher looked all around. Despite everything, nobody around seemed terribly fazed, except one or two people who had all the trappings of being first-timers like herself.

Well, one down. Just five more times to go…

---

February 10th

12:00

She wasn’t going to get used to this anytime soon.

One second, she was about to start falling asleep, the thrum of the engine and the quiet darkness of the void lulling her and forcing her eyes shut. The next, it was that dreadful turbulence again, except entry was a lot worse than exit. And still nobody around her seemed too terribly bothered by it.

Is everyone in the Hearth Spiral used to this garbage other than me?

The resentful thought continued to resonate in her head as the chariot moved from the void into the atmosphere, descending across the crystalline blue skies of Mandus and piercing through the cover of the clouds. As usual, planetary flight took up a minimal portion of the time necessary to travel between worlds, and so before long she could feel the weight and hear the familiar mechanical groan as the chariot slowed down and settled into one of the docking bays at Kalven Harbor. And then, it was the blur again. Verifying identities, confirming arrivals, waiting for her luggage to be returned only to be informed that the academy had already made arrangements to have everything delivered to her dormitory.

So here she was, in Kalven Harbor, in a red uniform and a gray skirt that made her feel more than a little uncomfortable, with nothing to keep her hands busy and relatively little idea of what to do or where to go. She was sure that the acceptance letter included some manner of instructions to follow upon arrival to Citadel Arcadia, but if those indeed existed she had forgotten them by now. She’d lost sight of Rhadamant in the commotion, too.

At least she wasn’t alone out here. There were a lot of other red uniforms around, undoubtedly new arrivals like herself. Some had arrived alongside her, some had arrived in separate chariots, some even seemed like they had been here for a while, just sightseeing for a bit before heading on to the academy proper.

And there was, in fact, a lot to sightsee, here in Arcadia. A shining ringed city segmented by rising walls and crystalline canals, it might have been a frontier citadel, but it had very little to envy from the ivory towers of the upper arms and it showed. Even from where Asher stood, one could see, through the clear glass walls of the star harbor, the smooth gray high-rises that gave the Stacks its name, and beyond them the Bard’s Wound and the Crystal Chapel. Surely there was plenty to see in the other direction too, if one approached the edge of the third wall. Unfortunate that the redhead was too unnerved to be bothered with any of this, instead heading in the same general direction as the rest of the red tide of student uniforms, doing her best not to look too out of place.

Taking a few deep breaths, Asher calmed herself down and settled into a comfortable place as she walked. The harbor’s exit had already come into view when-

“‘Scuse me? You’re the one who wasn’t looking where he was going and I’m supposed to apologize to you? Fat chance!”

What’s going on over there? Asher thought as she approached the commotion. A small crowd had gathered around three people, two pompous-looking boys and a black-haired girl that was at present the very image of ferocity.

“Who do you think you’re calling peasant, prick? You wanna have a go? I’ll give both of you a good taste of my shoe if you don’t back the heck off!” The girl continued, settling into a fighting stance that resembled more that of a street brawler than that of a knight. Despite being a good few inches shorter than the two boys, her presence was clearly the stronger one.

“What’s going on here? Why are you fighting?” Asher spoke up as she approached. Despite not wanting to draw any attention to herself, she felt it was her duty to try and defuse the situation. These people could end up hurting each other, getting into trouble with the academy’s or the citadel’s authorities, or any number of things, and she preferred not to be a simple bystander and let it happen if she could help it.

As it turned out, she didn’t need to do much more.

“Bah, I don’t have time for this. The academy awaits.” One of the boys said before turning around and moving along, the other boy soon following suit. The black-haired girl shook her head.

“Rich kids. All bark and no bite. And here I was hoping for a good scrap to warm up before class.” She remarked.

“I get it if they were being rude to you, but don’t you think you blew it out of proportion a little?” The redhead asked. Now that she got a closer look at the other girl, she noticed that she had yellow highlights in her hair and quite a few piercings on her ears. Certainly a far cry from the sort of people she thought would be attending the academy, though the surprise was not unwelcome.

The girl, too, turned to look at Asher, quickly looking her up and down as if sizing her up. “Listen here, there’s only two ways the little people get to stay on top instead of getting swept by the current. First, you wait and hope for your friends in high places to throw you a bone. Second, you act dangerously unstable and make sure they don’t want to bother you again. And guess what, baby? I ain’t got any friends.” She remarked.

The delivery was enough to get a chuckle out of Asher. “Well, if you’re looking, I could use one.”

The other girl examined her fingernails with an air of disinterest. “I don’t know, what’s in it for me?”

Asher blinked, a little blindsided by the question. “Um, you know, a friend?”

“Alright alright alright. Geez. You drive a hard bargain lady, but fine, I’m in.” She extended a hand in offering, but when Asher moved to take it, it slipped right out of her grasp, like a wet fish. “Name’s Mercury, don’t waste it. You wouldn’t happen to be in, uhhh…” She trailed off and looked at a message written in her left hand. It wasn’t there, so she had to look at the right. “You wouldn’t happen to be in Team Admonition, would you?”

The redhead shook her head. “No, sorry. My acceptance letter said Commandment.”

“Shit, that’s a damn shame. Well, I’ll see you around Red. Gotta go find my teammates. I sure hope it’s not those pricks from before…” The black-haired girl waved goodbye and then turned around and ran out of the harbor. Asher wanted to tell her to stick around a little longer, that she could help her look, but it was much too late - she was gone in practically an instant.

She sighed.

Well, no point in staying here either way. The academy awaits.

[Finland SSR]

February 10th

---

Of the myriads of jewels they have built throughout the civilized regions of the Galaxy since time immemorial, Citadel Arcadia was among those the redem was most proud of - even if some lancers would struggle to admit that a city under the Order of the Phantom Blade could ever outshine anything built by them. Even the fact that it was essentially a glorified frontier fortress did not matter - it was wealthy, beautiful and splendid to witness for the first time nonetheless, from the most lowly peasant to the wealthiest noble.

Of course, Noe and the rest of the Wayward Arm had beautiful cities and glorious sights itself, and Damian had had plenty of chances to visit the other arms on various matters - generally with his father and at least a few of his siblings, on one noble matter or another. Even he had some high expectations for Arcadia, still.

He needed something to look forward to, anyway. Sitting in a spacious passengers' room in House Vanerian's private chariot - padded, spacious and even a little gilded, resembling a lounge, and sometimes used by his father to meet his fellow blue-bloods and discuss private matters during long planetary journeys - all by himself, he was fiddling with and playing with a small ball, while his eyes were locked on the wall on the other side, lost in thought. He tried to focus on Citadel Arcadia and anything he might find there - from the downtown, to the foods, to the sights, to the awe-inspiring panorama he imagined in his mind - if only to drive away more important and worrying concerns.

Such as... what he was here for.

This is it, then. His father wanted it, and his father got it. Damian was going to become a Knight, no "ifs" nor "buts" neither "maybies". Once these six years pass, he will have to board this same chariot and return back to Noe with a confirmed oath of knighthood - if not, then...

Well, he wouldn't kick me out, right? Not that I'd want to test him...

Damian let out a sigh and rested his head on the soft cushions of the velvet sofa, squeezing the ball in his hand more tightly. On some level, he understood that he was complaining about matters so out of touch with the rest of the galaxy that even his fellow lancer noble kids would make fun of him. Look at poor little Damian, with a pained heart because growing up with a golden spoon in his mouth comes with the minor responsibility of entering one of the most prestigious academies of their civilization and entering one of the most desired careers in the entire galaxy! Even in this very academy, he was certain that he was going to meet people who have never experienced even a fraction of the wealth his family has, not even talking about the galaxy, the billions of citizens and peasants whom his woes would frustrate to death.

So, he ran away from those thoughts instead.

I'll... find something to pass the time. Maybe I'll suffer through the classes and get a life going in Kalvall. I mean, that's what students are supposed to do, right? Not just ones like me, either...

The chariot began slowing down, then, with a softened buckle, touched down in one of Kalven Harbor's docking bays. Immediately, the entrance to the passengers' lounge slid open, and one of the ship's stewards stepped in, speaking:

"Sir Damian, we have arrived at Citadel Arcadia. Would you like us to pick up all of your belongings?"

"Yes, of course - thank you, Arius."

There were six members of the ship's staff - two pilots, and four servants responsible for managing the ship and caring for the passenger. Having gotten used to the strictness of his father or the obnoxious attitude of one of his elder brothers, they were pleasantly surprised with how relaxed House Vanerian's younger was. He even took the time to learn their names so he could refer to them more casually. One of the pilots departed from the chariot to speak to the harbor's staff, informing them of the arrival's identity and purpose, while the servants pulled up already packed belongings and carried them out of the vessel. Aside for his weapons, Damian brought a considerable package - plenty of clothes, archery and dart kits, dozens of books, spare training weapons, so on and so forth... not that he couldn't just pick up what he needed on Arcadia, anyway. Money wasn't going to be an issue.

He put down the ball and made his way out of the chariot. Before their journey, his servants made sure to put him in the academy uniform, so, he stepped out into Arcadia's glimmering beauty in the standard red and white. Can't say it's my favorite, but I can work with this. Judging from the crowds of similar uniforms walking through the harbor and moving towards the city itself, most of the students arrived around the same time as him.

"Do you require directions towards the Academy, Sir Damian?" Arius asked, carrying a large bag on his shoulder. Damian shook his head.

"Don't worry about it - I read through my acceptance letter enough times that I could recite the way woken up in the middle of the night," he answered, with a chipper tone. He might not have enjoyed book learning, but he made sure to at least read what he was given rather than embarrass himself. "I'm going to join with the crowd. Just bring my baggage to my room once I acquire one."

So, with a brief wave, Damian ran forward to catch up with the rest of the students and mix in with the moving mass. So many faces - over a hundred, for sure - and each one surely a lot more excited than he was. Boys and girls alike - his attention settled on the latter particularly, darting through the crowd as he marched along. Beautiful temptations, dozens upon dozens of them, as far as the eye can see - Incredible. Maybe there's something to look forward to here after all.

"-Oh?" There was a commotion taking place right by the exit. Damian stopped in his tracks and emerged out of the student flow, peeking over heads to observe a brief scuffle taking place between two noble students and a girl who was, presumably, a commoner. Or an impoverished noble, perhaps. Either way, the two boys made a problem of her status - even if the real issue they were fighting over, if he understood them correctly, was one getting in the other's way. It didn't last long - before Damian could even think about stepping in, a red-haired girl - and quite a pretty one at that - called out and approached the three squabbling students, and they all soon scattered.

Right...

Not the best first impression of what to expect in the next six years of their life, for anyone involved. Damian chose to not pay it mind, however. If it's over, it's over. Maybe he'll meet the people involved during the year and get everyone back on the right terms. Or maybe they will disappear from his life entirely, and he'll forget it tomorrow.

He has his own march to the academy to make.

[Zei-Aeiytenia]

February 10th
Arcadia
Evren Aurum



The ferocious shaking of the Chariot as it cascaded forth from the abyssal void, plunging through the atmosphere and descending hungrily upon Arcadia, had proven itself the final and ultimately necessity to rouse Evren from sleep. She had been doing much of it, much more than normal, though there was scarcely much to do on the weeks-long journey, it had exhausted her in a way she had not truly appreciated. She had been warned, of course. This would be, by far, with immense and spectacular magnitude, the greatest length of time she spent in a public space, a space around others who did not know, and could not be permitted to know.

This meant of course, she would have to spend every waking moment mentally tested. Always focused, guard elevated, double-fold what she would have normally ever done. Two years of freedom have come and went, the vastness possibility of space had still not located the existence of an Evren who stand among a great many people without taxing anxiety. Even worse, in a place from which there was no escape. Her eldest brother had prepared on her behalf, researching every remedy and treatment under the stars he could find and possess, and collecting a great deal of them. His sisters endurance was the stuff legends were chiseled from; she would crumble all the same under such an endless torrent regardless. It had worked though, she scarcely understood the complexities of pharmacology, but knew that to some base extent that every individual was different and would respond differently, and she had found the winning combination for herself.

Still, it seemed a bit odd that the key was an exotic combination of herbal teas and natural ingredients from across the stars, and not any of the fancy capsules or pills. It was the first thing she did upon waking, reaching for the large thermos refilled many hours ago, draining the entirety of its contents in one go. The ship was docking now, everyone was standing, the whirr of society exploded to life, bursting from the spaceborne coffin it had suffocated in.

Thanks to her secret pick-me-up, all this horrendous chaos, after all this time, felt scarcely different than any day heading into the capital on Leris, a steady thrumming tune played by the heart, its tempo and beat set by the plunging force of anxious pangs, yet the rest of its merry band shall not accompany it today. Her breathing, at great effort and focus, remained steady, expression calm, and she stood, and carried herself in such a manner as exude all the elegant power a budding warrior of her stature ought come with.

Stature indeed, for even the men considered tall would often find themselves a head below her, but that was a fact to be brushed past and not thought about. One of many. It would lead nowhere good, nowhere anyone sensible or wise or aiming to not make a fool of themselves by having a panic attack in the middle of Kalven Harbor would wish to go. It was trouble enough already to know that she must expend this tremendous effort as a result of this trait, which made impossible the dream of silently blending in, a trait as forced upon her as near a quarter of life was forced upon her. The words of the not-so-kind-doctor after she had finally returned home still pierced deep. It really had not been necessary for him to remind her that, in her previous as a child, she was well on the shorter end of her family genetics.

No, no that was quite enough of that, a moment more and the thousands of other woeful and taxing and depressing implications would rush forth to take command. Instead, focus forward, to the doors now stepped through, and the harbor you now stand on. To the flowing and bobbing sea of people below, on the details, the niceties, the little bits and pieces of themselves which could be seen and understood at a glance. Watch the kaleidoscopic tapestry flow, of countless lives converging, mixing, then parting ways. More importantly, follow the ones all dressed like you.

A feeling, almost foreign, antithesis to the lifeless harrowing void of anxiety, came forth a subtle yet swelling sense of awe. Arcadia was by far the grandest thing she'd ever seen, even the old mountain citadel she'd been trapped in could not compare to it. Somewhere, beneath the brilliantly plastered mask, further beneath the fragmented, crushed, cold catatonic gaze of a beaten and wayward soul which needed covering for, some seemingly ancient now foreign part of her stirred. That of the young Evren, who knew so little yet rushed constantly to learn more, who pressured her Uncle into training her while she had posters of this very skyline fixed above that desk which held all manner of tomes, scattered drawings of animals and creatures, book after book on zoology, many more of mythology, and even many of them being things she now knew she ought not have had.

Some long dead part of Evren awoke then, scanning over every bit, reciting all those passages of now old books she had read about it.


It then promptly, and unceremoniously, was dragged out back and decapitated. A small scuffle had occurred off slightly the left of where Evren walked. Now, that was of absolutely no concern of hers, it did not involve her nor anyone she knew, as it shouldn't - she took great care to not know many people at all - but that was not the problem. No, no no no, the problem is that this commotion had drawn peoples attention away from the awestruck gazes at the Citadel before them, taking in the wealth and majesty, the truth of where they really were. It was captivating! Why, with such grandeur before your mind, you would not notice any number of strangeness about you!

Strangeness, such as, for example, the literal giant in your Academy uniform with the long-flowing unnatural white hair that seemed to have this simply spectacular way of reflecting the light off it. Much like her size, it was not this color before, though this change was less upsetting. Or, it would have been, had circumstances not been what they are. That almost pleasant feeling faded in an instant, drowning under the grinding staccato of a heart pounding even more rapidly as the abyss from beyond which she had traveled her through made home in her stomach, and pulled and pulled and dragged everything into it.

Ah, so that's why it felt like Cetin had overreacted when trying to mentally prepare me. People were staring at something else for a change...

Running from this situation sounded therapeutic. Unfortunately, it would only attract more attention! Even more eyes would gaze, and while the everyday folk could be ignored past the immediate discomfort of having to be in public around them, there would be no such evading the consequences of being seen as such by all her peers. No, as uncomfortable as this was, there was no getting out of it. Maintenance of this outward calm, this strength and stature befitting one of the Valiant Fang, was what was necessary. What was expected. Therefore, its flaws and all her ailing woes at being forced to contend for yet longer with the threat of panic onset, were all irrelevant.

The truth was irrelevant, expertly crafted lies well manned and buttressed could match even the grandest distillation of pure truth in their power, this was among the tallest of lessons she had learned in that Cult, and she would simply have to endure as she did all things the force of reality attempting to undo this lie for as long as it took.

It was almost over now. Just a bit farther. At least you could run if you wished. A calming silver lining in these troubling times.

[Tomia]

Victor Mariota, Kalven Harbor, February 10th, 3031

As many people hurriedly moved off the train to their various destinations across Citadel Arcadia, one young man stood pensively in the corner as if he was dreading his destination. He had tanned skin, and slightly unkempt white hair that occasionally falls in front of his face. He wore the red and black uniform of the school he would soon be attending, and he was fidgeting with it uncomfortably.

This is what Knights dress like? I feel like a god-knight damn butler.

He took some time to watch others that walked past him as he entered the harbor itself. He noticed a number of people dressed much like him. More than a few had staff or family surrounding them, plenty of them had other people carrying their bags for them.

Nobles

He thought dismissively as he adjusted the lone duffle bag he carried on his shoulder. There was a lot of chatting and a mix of nervous and excited energy, as if this was the beginning of an exciting adventure for some. Meanwhile, Victor felt much more like a pawn on a chessboard than a knight.

He eventually started to make his way off of the transport, moving towards the train that would take him to the academy itself. He was far from alone, more and more of his soon to be classmates were flooding the platform. He could feel the eyes of one of those classmates boring into his head.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked, turning to the fairly large man in uniform standing against a nearby pillar. He wore a buzz cut with hair that seemed to be dyed a soft orange. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be analyzing Victor.

"Order?"

"What?" Victor asked back incredulously. The man stepped closer, he had a solid four inches on Victor but the shorter man did not back down an inch.

"From what Order do you hail?"

"Vigilance, what do you care?"

That response earned a scowl from the other man. "Exile, here to shame your ancestors once more?"

Lancer Victor thought bitterly, his right hand beginning to curl into to a fist. He had already been dropped in the shark tank, the last thing he needed were these hammer headed douche bags bothering him.

The other man smiled as he saw Victor's reaction. "Try it exile, your last moments will be spent witnessing the power of a true son of Jordanus."

Before Victor could respond another individual came hustling towards them. It was a woman around his age, shorter, with blonde hair that was so light it was almost as white as his.

"Excuse me! I'm sorry to interrupt but are either of you on Team Admonition? I'm a bit lost and finding some of my teammates would be nice." Victor noticed she was conveniently standing between the two of them.

"Uh, no" Victor told her.

'No" The taller man, replied staring at Victor the whole time. He then turned away and began making his own way towards the train. The girl in front of Victor let out a sigh as he left.

"Woo, wasn't sure that would work." She said chuckling to herself a bit. "Sorry, I saw that developing and it didn't look very good frankly. Thought you could use a bit more friendly of a face. I'm Edith by the way." She said offering her hand to shake.

He looked at her skeptically for a moment, eventually shaking her hand. "Victor, don't worry about it. I'm used to guys like that." He told her. Way more used to than I could ever explain to you.

"Well Victor, nice to meet you, shall we head off to the Academy?" And with that the two of them boarded the train. Victor felt no comfort getting closer to the Silver Hand Academy, it was not a place he felt he belonged.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Lila Collision had taken countless chariot rides in her young adult life. It came with the territory of not only being a daughter of immense wealth, but specifically from a family whose wealth came from the transportation of goods and people between the stores. Yet today, she sat tightly, legs close together, arms glued to her torso, with some concern written on her face as she looked one of the windows as they entered the atmosphere of New Empyrean, as one might have during their first atmospheric entry. It was certainly not, however, the turbulence that disturbed her, but what it represented. The chariot flew her to land to pick up a ‘family friend’ of the Collisons, who'd also be entering the Silver Hand Academy this year. Whether it was seeing her again itself that drove her anxiousness, that it the recognition that signalled the final leg of her journey to the next six years of her life, which she’d been preparing for the previous eighteen, or a combination of both, was difficult to delineate.

Her feelings regarding both this ‘friend’ & her future, were a complex mixture of contradictory emotions anchored in the depths of who she was. It was a good thing that she’d learned to sincerely appreciate both, but infuriating to know that she’d have had to simply tolerate both if she didn’t. Lila’s fate, to become a knight, was sealed before she was even born. In fact, it was sealed before her parents even met & was the reason for their meeting. Her father & her mother’s marriage was a political matter that had the luck of being maintained by fortunate love. Lila’s grandfather had larger ambitions than driving forward the process of linking the stars through the sinews of trade & transportation, like he’d done. Nor simply connecting peoples by information & immigration, as Lila’s father had contributed. Her role was to, even if it wasn’t accomplished in her generation, bind the orders by power & politics like they never had before.

Her mother’s side had similar ambitions. She came from a family of proud, able warriors, whose main contribution to the order of the sun spears was training up knights in the art of the defeat of other knights. They weren’t without their sophistication, however. Generations of providing combatants for the fighting of Six Hour Wars would see them grow an affinity and expertise for the legal arts, generating matters that could be litigated by said force of arms, an effective development for their primary cause if there ever was one. Every time a Sun Lord fell, they made a courageous effort towards victory in the grand tournaments that followed, so that they may one day of a sun lord of their own, yet they’d so far fallen short every single time.Lila’s parents marriage was only one an example of an effort to grasp toward that goal, but it was the one, obviously, that the Collision fortune was the driving force behind.

Lila, their first-born naturally had the weight of this all put on her soldiers. From her mother’s pregnancy forward, their every action would be committed to making sure that she was the best Executive-Knight-Lawyer that she possibly could be. Which generated some problems when it soon became clear that her childhood orientation was toward the visual & dramatic arts, not that she wasn’t competent in all else that was demanded of her. But her parents were nothing if not adaptable. Her father, when he had time away from managing the business, which was altogether not that rare, being a gifted delegator of tasks, though it certain helped that his eldest daughter was herself a ‘business concern’, did well to find ways to link her natural inclinations to her duties & her mother was always there for her, she was not raised by maids & tutors like many of her strata. Yet despite this, it took someone outside of her family to commit her fully to her purpose.

Though her parents acted as or hired private tutors for the whole of her education, they knew well that she needed to be ‘tutored’ in the art of interacting with people that weren’t her family or employed by her family, so she was enrolled in a variety of outside programs that very specifically didn’t depend on the largess of the Collisions to exist. One such program was in acrobatics. Lila thrived in it, enough to got to a competition on New Empyrea, where she, or perhaps more importantly, her mother, would meet Violet Alza. It was certainly fortuitous that the girl was a daughter of parents that her father frequently contacted for engineer projects, which provided an opportunity for the girl to be invited to participate in training when her parents were needed in person, which just so happened to be increasingly frequently. At first Violet, being younger, was shorter & smaller than her, but over the years, gap first shrunk & then grew in the opposite direction.

Throughout this all, a sort of envy & determination grew inside of Lila, she began to jealously guard the profession she once merely tolerated, becoming ever more determined to one day become the best knight-candidate she could ever be. She had no way of knowing it, but Violet was similarly envious & determined, she wanted nothing more than to be a knight & to have parents that fully supported her in doing so, but her own had always been too protective to permit it. But due, perhaps, to a mixture of guilt over the opportunity that their daughters gifts were indirectly providing them & a sincere wish to see to Violet’s happiness, they gradually acquiesced, especially as they saw her already great gifts for engineering blossoming further the more opportunity she was given to tie it to the art of combat. Now, she was to go off to the Silver Hand academy, to become a knight, accepted the same year as Lila, despite being a year younger than her.

This was a matter of pride for Violet. If asked by anyone, she’d always say that she considered Lila a friend, but things were more complicated than that. There were a core part of her personality that Violet utterly loathed. In her eyes Lila said & did anything that she felt made people ‘like’ her, not out of an insecurity about herself, but a belief she could treat others like slabs she could precisely carve with if she said I did the right things. Being better than Lila at her life's purpose despie the obstacles but before her, gave her some satisfaction. Lila, for her part, saw Violet as someone who enjoyed tearing people & things apart so much that she’d eagerly volunteer to put them together in the first place, both so they could be there for her to bring down & also so that she knew best how to do so. One might recognize a similarity in their perceptions of each other, this wasn’t coincidence, but a product of considerable personal dissatisfaction with their own behaviour, projected onto each other.

Soon after the chariot landed, Violet entered, her brunette hair reaching a lot closer to the ceiling than that of the average passenger. Lila's posture had already changed from earlier, far more relaxed and confident. The presence of someone to perform an identity in front of opening her up, like water fed to a wilted plant, her snow white hair bouncing backward as she suddenly turned to look up at her childhood friend.

“Hey Violet, having any second thoughts or are you ready for the most gruelling six years of your life?” she asked, looking at the young woman as she seated herself across from her.

“It can’t be that gruelling if you’re getting in as well. Any second thoughts I have are that it might mean the silver hand academy is not all it's cracked to be.” She responded, opening their conversation with verbal sparring as they’d long been used to doing.

“Well, aren’t you feeling feisty? Better be ready to keep that up for more than half a decade, as you’ll no longer have lightyears of space between you & me bending you into a pretzel.”

“Or, I’ll finally succeed in kicking your head off your shoulders.”

“It’ll be hard to do that with broken legs.” Lila said before smiling leaning back in her seat. In response to that, Violet simply leaned forward, her hair swinging forward as she did.

“You’re welcome to lunge for them, it’ll cut down on travel time for my foot to your face.” replied the brunette. The white haired girl had turned her head, looking out the same window she’d watched the entry into New Empyrea out of as the chariot began to prepare for take off. She didn’t even look back at Violet before responding.

“Alright, done with the violent jokes yet? We’ll have plenty of time to exchange verbal & physical blows once we’re at Silver Hand, how about we use this time to discuss how we feel about going there in the first place?”

“Jokes? I’m serious, Lila, you should get used to the taste of my boots, Lila, you’ll be taking them in the mouth every chance I get.” Violet smiled, still sitting forward. She really was insistent on prodding at her. The older girl would refuse to take the bait, however, just rolling her eyes.

“You’re not a little nervous, or anything? Any concerns about being able to fit in, or something?” To this, the brunette sat up straight, looking out the same window Lila did, thinking for a moment. Not about what she felt, but whether or not she wanted to say it all.

“I mean, I’ve been accepted, sure, but, its hard to know how up to the task I am, was it by a small margin? Its hard to say” Violet said, with a small almost imperceptible frown. She’d wanted to be a knight all her life, but now the chance to be formally educated to become one was here, she still couldn’t be absolutely confident about herself. This softened Lila’s posture from confidence in the face of a challenger to consideration in front of a friend.

“Well, Violet, as much as it annoys me to say, if you weren’t special, they wouldn't have accepted you at 17.” Obviously that fact did annoy Lila, the possibility that she had more natural talent than her for the thing she’d been ‘born’ to do, without a choice in it, was irritating. On the other hand, she took some solace in the fact that at the very least she contributed to Violet being as skillful as she was, so she was somewhat invested in assuring her. however, Lila could see the frown on her face was curling into a smug smile.

“Oh thanks, Lila, its just been hard knowing If I'm any good, because, I’ve mainly had you for comparison.” The brunette laughed, leaning fully back in her seat. Lila’s firs, however, curled up with frustration. She would have loved to have someone to empty out her insecurities on, but Violet had more often than not just refused to be that person.

“...” Collison refused to say anything, there was no reason for her to, as far as she was concerned. All she could think of was when and how she’d get back at Violet later.

“Oh, that’s actually ticked you off, huh? Come on, no need to melt like that, snow-head.”

“...”

“Alright, I get it, sorry.” She wasn’t actually sorry, of course. The way in which she’d been speaking was childish, sure, but to her it was no more so than Lila’s own comments, or, at the moment, her silence.

“You will be.” Lila said in an ominous tone, though she smiled afterward as though she were joking & past it. She was past it, but she wasn’t really joking.

---

February 10th, 3031
Kalven Harbor
Violet & Lila

“Just so you know, Violet, don’t expect me to babysit you or anything, I’ve only been walking with you right now because we came from the same place & we’re going to the same place, got it.” Said Lila as she and Violet followed the throng of students dressed in the same uniform they were. While some looked around at the harbor with great fascination, the architecture of the place wasn't anything that the two well heeled girls had never seen the like of before.

As they walked, they watched two boys & a girl bump into each other. Not thinking much of it, they kept walking, until they heard the exchange of angry words.Violet, for her part, immediately turned on her heels, joining a growing group of students that appeared to be waiting to see things escalate into a fight. Wordlessly, Lila turned around as well, mostly in reaction to violet turning around, following after her.

“I hope no busybody feels the need to break this up.” Violet said out loud to Lila, not that she had to tell her that to know what she was thinking. Unfortunately for Violet, it wasn’t long before a do-gooder red-head decided to spoil her fun by interrupting & de-escalating.

“Speak of the red-haired devil…” She groaned. Once the boys turned & left, so did Violet. Lila stuck around awhile longer, mostly to eavesdrop what she could of the following discussion, before turning back around to follow after Violet on toward the Academy.

[Bentus]

Emilie Everarde

---

Emilie spent the coach ride with her eyes glued to the window. The glistening skyline of Arcadia flew by, and she couldn’t help but stare at the shimmering towers surrounding her. She’d seen the city plenty of times before, on at least a dozen separate visits, but this morning it felt like she was looking at it all with fresh eyes: those of a student of Silver Hand Academy. Emilie took a breath, trying to distract herself from the queasy mixture of nerves and excitement that roiled around in her chest. Even after the festivities of the night before, she’d hardly been able to get any sleep. Instead, she had lied in bed wide awake, staring at the red-and-grey uniform that had been laid out on the dresser for the approaching morning.

A smile cracked onto Emilie’s lips as she recalled the last night’s dinner. Her uncle and aunt had insisted on throwing some kind of a celebration. After they’d been so willing to host her for the past few days, how could she have said no? She had dutifully fielded the steady stream of well-wishes and congratulations, along with all of those family friends who insisted on commenting that they’d always known she would one day attend the Academy. As always, Emilie had been polite and gracious. She laughed whenever someone told a joke and acted with humility whenever she was offered praise. But behind her graceful demeanour, she had felt her insides being twisted into knots.

She was going to start her first year at Silver Hand Academy. It was a goal that she had been working towards for so long that, now it was here, she found herself almost unable to believe it. Emilie was knocked from her thoughts as the driver glanced back in his mirror to address her.

“My lady, we will be arriving shortly.”

Offering the man a polite nod, Emilie shifted herself to peer forward, towards their destination. The Academy loomed up ahead, shining in the sun like a beacon to the knightly orders it represented. It was a towering structure, looming up above the coach as it descended towards the curb. When the vehicle had entirely switched itself from flight to a stationary hover above the ground, the driver got out to open Emilie’s door.

“I have already instructed the servants to deliver your belongings to your quarters, Ms Everarde.” He said, a gloved hand holding open the door as the noble stepped out onto the street.

“Thank you, Jacob.” Emilie said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, you know that this is nothing. Although my Lord Stefenson sends his sincerest apologies for being unable to accompany you.”

Emilie smiled at the mention of her uncle. He had appeared genuinely upset that he’d been unable to see her off at the Academy’s steps. He said that he’d been there when her sister had first attended, and it was a memory that he’d kept with him to this day. Alas, he had other duties to attend to that had stolen him away.

“Well, I thank you all the same.” Emilie said, before grabbing her small personal bag from the coach. There were a few others dressed in the same uniform as her: those either from Arcadia itself or the sense to arrive earlier and avoid the rush. But Emilie supposed that the majority of her new peers would have been making their way through the harbor. “Have a good day, Jacob. I’ll message Uncle Stefenson once I’m settled.”

“I’m sure that he would appreciate the message.” The servant nodded respectfully before turning his attention to supervising the safe delivery of her belongings.

Taking a breath, Emilie couldn’t keep the wide grin from her features. Her nervousness wasn’t subsiding so much as it was being overpowered by her excitement. This really was what she had been preparing for all her life, or at least ever since she had first asked her sister about what it took to become a knight. She couldn’t wait to find out the adventures that would await her over the next six years, or all the friends that she’d make along the way.

Lars Octavius

---

Lars’ eyes roamed through the crowd, taking in the sea of red-grey uniforms that flew like a river through the harbor. Many seemed disoriented by their surroundings, pivoting their heads around like deer as they gawked at the towering spires of Arcadia. Others kept their eyes fixed firmly forward, their quiet attention aimed at their fellow students rather than the grand vista surrounding them. Some were already clustered together in groups, chatting amongst themselves as they made their way towards the Academy. Those who arrived from the nobility, Lars figured, with friends and connections already established before they’d even sat for their first class.

“Ser, did you hear me?”

The harbor officer’s voice pulled Lars out of his thoughts. Blinking in surprise, he turned to see that the man was offering his documents back to him. Lars glanced down at the pieces of identification, as if momentarily having forgotten where he was before taking them with his free hand.

“Sorry. Is something missing?”

Lars struck an imposing figure, even among the many knight candidates arriving around him. While he certainly wasn’t the largest, he was still easily a head above the average, and with a stockier build. He had a pragmatic roughness to him that stuck out among the softer features of the nobility. For his part, the harbor officer had to keep his gaze from getting stuck on the old scar stitched across the young man’s face.

“Not at all, Ser Octavius. I was simply inquiring if you were having the rest of your belongings delivered to your room.”

Other belongings? Lars raised a quizzical eyebrow at the officer before shaking his head. “No. I have everything here.” He motioned towards the duffel bag swung over his shoulder. Frowning, Lars looked genuinely concerned. “Should I have brought more?”

Now it was the harbor officer’s turn to be surprised. He glanced over at the young man’s bag, hesitating for a moment. “I - uh - well, I’m sure you’ll be provided with anything else that you’d need.”

Lars’ lips cracked into a relieved smile. “Oh, good. Thanks.”

Before the harbor officer could say anything else, Lars had already stepped past the booth to join the stream of red-and-grey uniforms. Now a part of the crowd rather than someone watching it from a distance, he did what he could to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. He was setting foot into a new environment, a new world, and he felt acutely out of place. Part of him was being pulled back to memories of when he first started the agoge, and the harsh lessons that he’d learned in those first few months.

Already, Lars could see a few tense encounters breaking out around him. Nothing devolved into an all-out brawl, fortunately, but one came close. A woman and a pair of boys looked like they nearly came to blows. It was only when someone else stepped in that things were kept from boiling over. Lars’ grip tightened on his bag. This might have been a new world, but some things he recognized. The looks between students, sizing each other up while puffing out their chests to look tough to anyone caring to notice. They’d all been tossed together, and a new social hierarchy had yet to be established. Until it got figured out, Lars fully intended to keep his own head down.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

“There you are.”

Alistair Raleigh glanced over his shoulder as his father approached. The man, whose short blond hair was beginning to show more than few strands of grey, tucked his jacket a little tighter against his body to block the wind that whipped through the Raleigh Family Cemetery. “Saying your goodbye’s one last time?”

“Just praying for our ancestors to give me strength.” Alistair mumbled as he stood up from his grandfather’s gravestone. He pulled his own jacket in a little tighter as the wind picked up. A storm was blowing into the countryside the Raleigh Family Estate was situated in, an omen that Alistair wasn’t sure how to interpret.

Lucas Raleigh let out a soft chuckle as he put an arm around his sons shoulders. “I think they’ve already given you everything you need to succeed at the academy.”

“Their name and their legacy.” Alistair scoffed bitterly, aiming his remarks at himself more than anything.

“Your Magic and your heart.” Lucas replied, embracing his son and turning him back to his grandfather’s gravestone. “Do you know what he told me when I became a knight? That he would rather learn that I had become a good man, than a powerful knight.” Lucas guided Alistair along the rows of headstones. “Do you know why our family enjoys the standing it does in the Phantom Blade. It is not our skill with blade or magic, but the honor that comes with our name.”

“No call for help House Raleigh has not answered. No vow or faith we have betrayed. Ever since the War of the Reclaimer, those are the commandments of our family.” Lucas stopped and turned back to his son with a smile on his face. “Follow them, and you will be the only two things I have ever needed you to be. A good man, and my son. Now come, your mother has prepared your favorite meal, and it will be good to have one last family meal before you depart.”

Alistair nodded and followed him back to the manor, now more than ever determined to succeed at the Silver Hand Academy and prove himself a knight worthy of the Raleigh name.
---

Citadel Arcadia hadn’t changed much from when Alistair was a kid. The city still held a grandeur as unmatched as when his parents had taken him to the planet as a child, and in some ways the fact that this was where he would call home for the next half decade made the building feel even more opposing.

Alistair found himself also nervously fidgeting with his new academy uniform as he joined the sea of new cadet’s strolling through the academies gates. The bright red jacket still didn’t feel like it fit him, despite the fact it had been tailored. Part of him wondered if he would ever grow into it.

Well, he reminded himself as he entered the academy. Only one way to find out…

[Finland SSR]

February 10th

---

Making his way out of the harbor and towards the academy with the rest of the students, Damian spent the most of his time peeking from side to side and catching glimpses of his soon-to-be classmates. The student body was as large and diverse as he expected. Because of their uniforms, one couldn't parse from first glance which Order each of the students hailed from, but it was not that difficult to make out the lancers among them from the way they carried themselves. Usually, not very nicely. Without much else to go on, the noble made the assumption that at least one of the two boys harassing that girl from earlier were from his Order.

Some of the students here were huge. This was the first truly surprising thing that Damian witnessed today. At exactly 6 feet, he could hardly be called short himself, and yet, within the crowd, he could see a handful who were a head's height over even him. Even a girl, with white hair. Granted, upon second thought... maybe it wasn't that surprising. As much as some may bluster on and on about pageantry and other civic duties, a knight's purpose is to fight - and in a fight, huge size and mass are always going to come with advantages. Armor and energy weapons may equalize the leveling field a little, but still. It's only natural that this career path would attract muscle-heads and giants.

Well, if they want to put their size to practical use, they've come to the right place. I'm sure they're all ecstatic to enroll here - and the student slots weren't wasted, unlike...

The thoughts in his mind were getting dim, so, Damian shook his head a bit and moved on.

Oh, right, I need to find my teammates, too. As the acceptance letter said, they all would be matched into teams, and he received a team name on the bottom as well. As long as all of his future teammates have also arrived, they should be somewhere in the crowd. Presumably, they would simply be introduced to each other once they actually arrive at the academy, but it couldn't hurt to ask a few people around and see if he can meet with any in advance. If anything, it would help him take his mind off his worries for some time.

After making his way past two students who apparently knew each other from before and so stopped in the middle of the road to have a chat, Damian approached the first person he saw behind them, which was-

Oh, it's that cute girl from earlier. The redhead, who stepped in at the end of that brief scuffle between two boys and a girl, was now walking along with the rest of the crowd, alone, carrying a bag with her. If he gets an opportunity to talk to her, why stop with merely asking for the assigned team? Sure, I can work with this.

"Hey!" Damian called out to announce himself, and approached the girl. He didn't carry any bag himself, so he would simply strut along with his hands in his uniform's pockets. "This might be a little out of nowhere, but do you know your team name from that letter? Oh, and nice to meet you! My name is Damian, Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian, from the Order of the Sun Spear." It just dawned on him that he hadn't pinned down which Order's territory she had some from. She didn't seem like a lancer, at least. Hopefully, that doesn't serve as his pitfall here.

"I saw you try to stop that scuffle in the harbor earlier. That's very conscious of you. Didn't seem like most of the others were willing to put their foot down and stop our classmates from beating each other down," he continued. Maybe this'll work? "You don't seem like a bad person and - let me tell you a secret, one of the cutest I've seen in the class so far - so would you perhaps want me to give you a tour of Kalvall after our first day here is done?"

He has never been to Kalvall.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Stepping through the gates of the harbor and into the bright sunlit streets of the Stacks, Asher could not avoid pausing to take in the city. It was the middle of the workday, but even so the bustling streets were full of craftsmen, traders, patrolling knights, hovering wagons and street vendors moving back and forth between the many smooth, gray high-rises and other such buildings. The sun was high above Arcadia, at its zenith, but heat and brightness alike were tempered in this part of the city thanks to a thin energy film laid over Kalwall and the districts above it like a dome. The unfamiliar wind of this place was tame, occasionally picking up only to return to a calmer state just as quickly. The air here didn't smell of dust and iron and coal, like in Third and most of the rest of Phos; the strongest smell was of fresh bread and vanilla, coming from a sweet snack stand just outside the entrance to Kalven Harbor that was clearly quite popular among stevedores and patrolmen alike, but there were other scents beside, grass and maple and oak from gardens above and below the Stacks, metal and faint smoke from the buildings and factories, and from somewhere far beyond, a trace of something else. Salt?

I hope we get to explore sometime. She told herself. Though it was impossible to deny a certain sense of vertigo at the sheer size of the citadel - likely several times larger than Sequence she assumed - she was also eager to see what such a large place might have to offer, curious about what life was like here, on a wholly different region of the Hearth Spiral, so far away from home. Amidst these conflicting but ultimately optimistic thoughts, she followed the trail of red uniforms as they made their way through the district, seemingly headed east. The path took them closer to Arcadia's third wall, and as she approached she could begin to peer over it at the untamed hills and forests beyond the city, far more lush and colorful than any she'd seen back home.

In her pleasantly distracted walk, she almost didn't notice someone calling out to her over the din of eager conversation and the hustle and bustle of the city. It was a male voice and, curious but not quite sure she was the one being adressed, Asher turned around only to see a reasonably handsome young man a couple of inches taller than her with quite the pointy hairstyle that almost reminded him of Marcus, though in this case it was an intense shade of orange instead of matte black. He was walking straight towards her, which at least got rid of that uncertainty. There was no shortage of doubts to take its place, however. Did he call out to me before and I missed it? Do I know this boy? Did I do something to catch his attention without noticing?

Did he recognize me?

It was hardly unthinkable, in a city built by an Alistar of yore. She was relatively sure she had seen the reverent nods of a few patrolmen who seemed to recognize not who she was, for they had never met before, but what she was. She kept a neutral expression as she waited, hands folded behind her back, for the boy to catch up, but it was that uncertainty that plagued her the most. Light years away from home, yet worried about the same things.

It was a very pleasant surprise, then, that the boy didn't seem to have the slightest idea of what she was. From the looks of things, he simply wanted to see if they'd be teammates, taking the opportunity to introduce himself as well. Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian. She had heard of them before - her father had often forced her to read about the many great houses within and without the Order of the Phantom Blade - but for some reason, she felt it was for the best not to mention it, not that she knew an awful lot about them anyway. To her it was a breath of fresh air to be approached by someone so clearly uninterested in her family name, so perhaps she should return the favor and take the young man in front of her at face value.

Then he continued talking.

Oh. Well...

It wasn't that the attention was unwelcome, certainly. It wasn't the first time it happened, though it was the first ever outside of Phos and certainly the first ever in Arcadia, in a Silver Hand Academy uniform. She wasn't feeling the most comfortable right now, but that was no reason she couldn't play along. Besides, the... somewhat ineffectual nature of his approach made him appear all the more earnest and sweet to her, much to his good fortune.

He sure could have worded some things better, though.

"Oh, well, thank you Damian, that's very sweet of you to offer." She said in a tender, mellow tone, only to then cross her arms. "Buuut, so far? In that case maybe we should hold off on that rendezvous for a day or two. There's still so much for you to see, isn't there? Wouldn't want to rob you of the opportunity."

The playful expression on the redhead's face let him know that it was all said in good fun. Her eyes let him know that, maybe not entirely.

"But, if you decide to go through with it, honestly? I would be delighted. This city seems like it has a lot to offer and I don't really know anyone here. I'm Asher, by the way, of the Order of the Phantom Blade. No lands or titles but I'm pretty handy with a spear." She smiled confidently as she offered her hand for him to shake. If there was anything that made her feel that she was right to be here and belonged here, it was definitely her skill with the spear.

"As for your question, my acceptance letter said Team Commandment. What about yours?"

[Thai Sweet Billy]

ADLER VAN STRAHL
Claron | 3031
__________________________________

"You have something on your mind, boy."

Willem clasped his hands together, giving a light sigh through his nostrils as he looked towards his son, sitting at the head of the long table within the Artificer Guild's banquet hall. The seat was far too big for him, meant more for a knight in shining armor than anything else, but even still, Adler wasn't the biggest nor the strongest. The blank expression on his face that had been there all night hadn't disappeared at all, either. He had lost track of how long he had been staring blankly at the plate in front of him, tapping his fingers along the rim of the goblet full of wine.

It was his day—his banquet, his time to be celebrating, yet something had been pestering him for much of the day that was ruining it.

Sure, he figured, he was always quite aloof and detached, but there was something else—something that not even his father could pick up on. It was just this feeling, tugging on the back of his mind... something that he simply couldn't avoid, and he didn't know where it was coming from. Was it anxiety about the move? Stress? Embarrassment? Or, perhaps, was it something else; some strange malaise that he hadn't picked up on until now?

Adler lifted the goblet up and lost himself in the dark violet, almost onyx liquid swirling in it. His reflection was barely visible upon its opaque surface as he took barely a half-sip from it. "I'm fine, father."

The way in which he spoke hid his intentions, but similar to how one could see right through a window, so too was his father able to see right through his fib. Willem pursed his lips and sighed again, lifting his head slightly upright. "Mmmm. You may speak freely here, son. Don't mind the others. It's still your day to celebrate, and I'm proud of you."

"Unless you're having second thoughts now, Young Adler," The Guildmaster gave a snide quip, much to his father's chagrin. Some of the older Masters and artificers chimed in with their own chuckles. "After all, an Artificer knight? Unheard of. You're asking an engineer to take part in battles fought by warriors. Much like incompatible parts in an engine, it won't work."

"I'm confident in my abilities, Herr Gildenmeister," As Adler spoke his planet's language slowly, he began to feel a veritable number of eye pairs begin to lock onto him—previously, those that were only just dismissive or passive were now focused on the young man that had said next to nothing all night. He felt a lump form in his throat, hesitating to try and say anything else.

"Are you, now?" The Guildmaster scoffed, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Willem, you think the boy has it in him to kill another man in combat?"

"Lay off him," Willem quipped back. "We should be celebrating a brother's achievement, and a son's ascension to manhood. Where's your enthusiasm?"

There was a rousing bout of voices and shouting within the banquet hall. Adler felt himself shrink further and further down into his already gargantuan seat as the argument broke out. Once again, he was being made the center of attention, and he dreaded the attention. It didn't help that the Guildmaster was just too confident and bombastic in his views towards him—it wasn't like he could fight back against a man that was hard to dislodge from his own opinions. Not to mention, once he and his father got into their shouting matches, they never really seemed to end.

The slurry of voices around him increased in intensity and volume. It had gotten to the point where he couldn't hear himself think, let alone breathe—then all of a sudden, he locked up. He stood upright and pushed his chair in. "Please, excuse me. I'm sorry."

He hadn't a chance to hear what his father or the Guildmaster had to say, for he was already halfway across the room and out one of the doors that led outside before anything was uttered.

Adler found himself at the roof of the Guild Hall, on a balcony beneath one of the landing pads. It had an unimpeded view towards the urban industrial metropolis that was the Kronos Spaceport, whose lights glimmered in the violet dusk sky. Off in the distance, the skies were briefly lit up with white flashes occluded by clouds, spelling hints of an incoming rainstorm that was to grace this continent of Claron. The thousands of lights peppered across the cityscape and dotted along supertall factories, forges, and skyscrapers were staggering to behold at a time like this. It distorted his sense of placement in the world, as for only a brief moment, he realized how truly small and insignificant he was in the greater picture.

The golden lights stretched out as far as the eye could see, blanketing the world in a heavenly glow. An icy wind cut through his body like razor blades, yet he remained outside, peering out into the ocean of lights as if he was looking for something.

But I don't know what I'm looking for.

That was the thing that was on his mind. He simply didn't know what it was he was looking for, what he wanted to do. This anxiety had been pestering him for weeks, ever since Herr Holtzmann handed him that letter. Was he even good enough for the Silver Hand Academy? After all, an Artificer knight was unheard of—the Claron Artificer's Guild were builders, not fighters. Their hands were for the forge and computer terminal, not for the sword and shield.

Why send me a letter anyways? Had the Admissions office found something that not even he realized? Did Piter believe in him that much?

Adler's ears suddenly caught an orchestral humming not too far off in the distance, panning his head towards where his ears were picking up the noise. He saw the lights on the pegasus before he saw it land; one green and one red, winking periodically before the neon white landing lights cut on and blotted out all other light in the area. The harmonic hum deepened into a low growl as its engines powered down, and he stepped back as the pegasus's landing legs latched onto the landing pad with a light metallic thump.

Adler turned his head up to the landing pad. The man who stepped off the pegasus was huge, armor notwithstanding, and he strode with an almost unnatural precision and confidence in each step. With a swipe at his waist, the knight's helmet folded into the nape of the armor's neck, followed by the rest of the armor. An older man with a stout, chiseled face had appeared, locking eyes with Adler with a smile on his face. His hair was a midnight black peppered with silver, and he was clean shaven save for an impressive, well-maintained mustache.

Adler immediately dropped to a knee, lowering his head. "Herr Holtzmann—"

"As you were," Piter gave a dismissive wave, nodding his head. "You may rise. I hope you didn't mind that I was fashionably late for this special occasion of yours, Adler..." He paused, his eyes making small micro-movements, "...but I take it you're not enjoying the spotlight, or are socially overwhelmed."

The knight could see straight through Adler's normally stoic and expressionless face. It probably had something to do with his body language. Adler said nothing, of course. He understood.

Piter gave an understanding "Hmph," stepping down a small staircase adjacent to the landing pad, but stopping about halfway. He then offered his hand out to Adler, who hesitated, puzzled. "I don't know if—"

"Come then, Adler," Piter smirked. "Let's go for a ride. We shall talk about it."

---==============---

The pegasus blasted through the floating lanes that crisscrossed the city, swiftly maneuvering past more sluggish chariots and through roads specifically laid out for pegasi. The city truly was alive tonight, teeming with vehicular and pedestrian traffic alike and ever basking beneath the glow of street lamps, neon lights, and sluggish, slow-moving airships. The lights around them began to transform into blurs as Piter's pegasus navigated through the urban maze with unprecedented maneuverability.

Adler could feel the power of the vehicle in his hands, even as he held onto the passenger grips. Dynos swirled in and out of him like a complete circuit, the machine bonded to him almost symbiotically. Its engine howled like an opera singer letting out an aggressive number, taking in more air and accelerating faster and faster through the streets with each passing second.

To a degree, Adler thought, Claron too was like a machine, and its presence could be felt even with just a simple gaze. This design philosophy emanated from its structures, permeated through factories that ran tirelessly throughout the night, and megalithic bureaucratic spaces and buildings that towered over the land.. Each and every person that went to work or took part in the interplanetary trade was an insignificant gear in the machine, pushing it faster and faster towards progress and innovation. Even further; Claron itself was just a cog, working towards the functionality of an even greater, more grand device: The Hearth Spiral.

Yet, in spite of all of this, he still felt like an outlier. Each gear in a machine had a purpose, and a missing link would cause the mechanism to jam at best, or cease functioning at worse. Where did he fit into this machine? Was it with some component he hadn't realized, or was it something else?

The pegasus's engine calmed its cry as Piter rapidly began downshifting gears. Adler's stomach lurched as it dropped in altitude, before coming to quiet hover by a small building on the outskirts of town. It was situated atop some greenery, with an overlook towards the seawalls. The smell of fried food was overwhelming; Adler's mouth watered expectantly at the glorious crunch of panko breaded chicken and other exotic off-world street foods.

A number of people sat outside in benches beneath umbrellas, talking to each other and eating. They all seemed to shut up as the armored pair, very much out of place, sat by the benches. Piter's helmet folded into his armor frame and further disassembled into a small box on his waist as he took his seat. Similarly, Adler stood up and dismissed his armor with a swipe at his waist, then approached an automated terminal to place his order.

A minute later, a window in the shack opened, and an offworlder redem approached to hand them their food. He carried with him a large tray; noodles and "jumbo spicy sausage" for Piter, and fried chicken and rice for Adler.

Before he left, though, he squinted at the pair. "Chef says you knights! It's on the house."

Piter was mid-slurp when he stopped, his mouth full of noodles and sausage. "Tell Chef I'm eating, but thank you." He seemed to have lost a portion of his grace in the moment, but it wasn't like it mattered—they were away from prying eyes and out in the general public... mostly blending in with the common rabble.

Adler picked at some of his food for a bit, then began eating. "Now, pardon my lack of manners, but think this is a welcome change of pace from sauerkraut and sausage. Feels like I've had that for the past month."

Piter smiled. "At last, you talk. So, you thought about much on our ride here, or was it too fast?"

The teen set his chopsticks down across his plate for a moment, thinking. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for it—the Academy, that is. My father was pestering me about becoming a knight for so long, but the Guildmaster thinks I don't have what it takes. He thinks an Artificer knight is unheard of."

Adler picked his chopsticks up again. "To a degree, it is. There has never been an artificer knight, has there?"

Piter seemed to dodge the question. "You know, sometimes, I find myself thinking far too often about my old master, what he thought of me now, what he thought of me then, and what I could've done better with him. Thinking too much about the past keeps me from planning for the future and living the present. Your father is an optimistic one, yes, and your Guildmaster is a pessimistic one..."

The thoughts and ideas in the knight's head began to churn, like the gears of an engine that were starting up. "Tell me, Adler, are you a glass half full or a glass half empty man?"

Adler wasted no time in responding—he already knew his answer. "I think the water just exists."

"Right. You're a realist. Like me." Piter continued, taking a brief pause to eat more of his food. "I've learned that some things just happen spontaneously... but there's always some sort of reasoning, just as we all seek to find meaning in those cubist and surrealist nothings you call art—to a layman, of course."

"All art has meaning," Adler began. "We simply need to find it, however abstract or boundary-pushing it is." He then sighed once again. "Again, apologies for my lack of manners, but can we stop with the sophistries? I don't know what the point of that is."

Piter clasped his hands together. "Well... they say that realists are secretly pessimists, but I know that is not true. When opportunity presents itself, we take it. Do we not?"

Before Adler even had a chance to respond, Piter continued again. "This is your chance to finally figure out how to spell your story, Adler. No father, no Guildmaster, not even me. Just you. I know you have that will in you—to find what purpose it is that you live for, to take it, to seize it! So find it!"

He gave a brief pause. "Maybe the Academy may not be for you, or maybe even the Artificer's Guild may not be for you. Perhaps there is something hidden that not even I can see—but you must find it. Sitting around and doing nothing is not going to get you it."

Piter had finished his food before long, but Adler was still working on his plate. As he stood up, he took a few steps over to the young journeyman, giving him a few reassuring pats on his shoulder. "Whatever decision you make, do it with confidence. I have faith in you."

For the first time all night, Adler gave a smile. It was a small one, almost barely noticeable, but it was there. He knew he had to take those words to heart.

---

Citadel Arcadia | 3031
__________________________________

Team Commandment... Team Commandment...

The scrawny knight-in-training maneuvered himself through the throng of students like a fish trying to swim upstream. One hand carried a duffel bag full of whatever clothing and personal effects he could fit in just one bag, while the other held onto another suitcase and his acceptance letter. He had read it probably about a hundred times by now, but no one had told him that actually finding his team amid hundreds of prospective knights was going to be like this.

The chariot ride here was mostly a nonissue. Thankfully, his father and another journeyman from the Guild had offered to move his things in while he worried about orientation. As for the journey itself, Adler had been on plenty before, yet it had become abundantly clear that it was several students' first times. The feelings all around were diverse as the people here—fear, excitement, maybe even a little frustration here and there, but Adler paid none of it any mind. Too many faces and names to keep track of, too many things to worry about sweating over.

Once again, he was like a machine—a complicated machine with many moving parts, a self-contained system that he couldn't afford getting caught up on or stuck on anything. Maybe, he figured, he'd spare some time later to chat with his peers, but right now he needed to find his place and his people.

Eyes darting between the paper and the world, Adler swore he heard his team get mentioned in passing. When he paused, he nearly bumped into another student, now moving opposite of the very stream he was trying to race through.

The source was from two other students, both coincidentally with similar hair colors. Both seemed a bit taller and more well-built than him, and definitely more attractive—at least the girl was. He recognized the callout as belonging to the redheaded girl, and so he awkwardly shuffled his way beside them.

He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he approached. "Uhm, excuse me." Rather embarrassingly, his Claronian accent was showing, but he spoke slower than usual—he tended to stutter when excited or speaking faster than he should've. It didn't help that he had about as much inflection and emotion in his voice as a rock. "My, uhm, my letter... It also said Team Commandment. Sorry to intrude."

He didn't smile at all, but his face was innocent-looking enough. Maybe a greeting was in order? "Adler van Strahl, by the way. How do you do?"

Proper. That'll do.

[Finland SSR]

February 10th

---

Once the girl turned to him and then answered, Damian could quickly tell that she was far from enthralled by his sweet words. To an extent, he assumed as much - not that he doubted his abilities to pick up ladies, but rather because this being their first day meant that he shouldn't expect instant success. As long as he made a good first impression, then he should be able to naturally slide into something bigger over time. Her comment about his 'so far' wording got Damian to chuckle, and her subsequent approval for the idea was answered with a nod and a confident smile.

"Oh-uh, I'm not trying to say that I'm just fishing for whoever is the cutest here, don't get me wrong," he answered. "And from what I've seen, I'm not sure if there's going to be many who have you beat. Sounds great for the tour! I'll be able to show you around, maybe you'll find some place that you like."

Surely he'd be able to find a map or something of the place in advance, or ask the older students for good spots and sights in Kalvall. He should figure something out, he's got the time.

The girl introduced herself as Asher, without a family name, title, or land, and offered him a hand, which he eagerly accepted. A Phantom, huh? Obviously, he's heard of one of the four great orders - generally, the people he knew did not really have a good impression of them. His father believed that they were debasing the concept of knighthood by allowing redem of all walks of life to rise their ranks, though he didn't hate them as much as the Songbirds. But, at least, Asher didn't seem like a bad person, and that bitterness his family held towards commoner knights was something Damian did not fully understand anyway.

"Hey, I'd trust a knight good with a spear and with no titles more than a knight with titles and no spear - don't worry about that," he answered. Then, team name exchanging came, and with it came a little bit of disappointment. "Ah, no... Team Reclamation, myself. And I assume you haven't met anyone with that team name yet."

It wasn't that much of a worry, anyway. Damian doubted they'd only be stuck with their teams, they'd all still share the same academy and probably the same classes.

His attention was then drawn to the side, where another student decided to approach the two of them. Stuttering a little with his voice, excusing himself, a dark haired teen with spectacles stopped by, stating that he too was assigned to Team Commandment, and then introduced himself as Adler von Strahl. With the uptight presentation and that anxiety in his speech, Damian assumed that this wasn't a common experience for him. Maybe he doesn't get to interact with nobility often?

"Well, this one's yours." he said, then offered his hand to Adler. "My name is Damian, of the House of Vanerian and the Order of the Sun Spear. Well... how else could I do but be excited with this new page in my life! I assume you too haven't seen anyone assigned to Team Reclamation, right?"

[Finsternia]

Ira Lucretius de Bellona - The Angel Descends
Citadel Arcadia - Kalven Harbor
February 10, 3031 - 12:00 NN

The journey through the stars and the infinite expanse of space is often lauded as romantic. With a backdrop of a thousand, million, stars as one's vessel traverses through the unknown, seeing sights one has never seen, and visiting planets and frontiers full of life and excitements, those are the words and praises that many writers, novelists and historians alike, would pen down their books. So many novels of gallant knights, astrid their pegasi and chariots, with their equally courageous fellows and compatriots by their side, has enraptured youths and dreamers across the Hearth Spire. These stories of heart racing adventures have pushed many to become knights themselves, hoping that one day they'll be able to carry the banners of the Four Orders into glory. Ira doesn't look down on such writings and musings, they are simply the testament to the skill of those writers and poets to be able to move the inflamed hearts of youths. It's just that...

They forgot to include how boring it is.

The young Angel has grown tired of each of his waking hour for the past few days staring at a big load of nothing outside of his chariot's windows. Once again it is a testament to the might and diligence of the honorable knights of this realm, but Ira has grown quite irritable through the entire venture. Here he is, stuck in a space faring vessel with no one but a pair of pilots, the ship's maintenance crew, and the dedicated serving staff. Never would he thought that he would be remiss of his times in the theater. With over six years of service under the Iron Mentorship, the young man has found himself in a different environment than what he was used to. The ground beneath his feet are no longer muddied but rather state of the art alloys. The smell of blood, unwashed troops, and other unseemly scents are gone in the air, replaced by the almost stinging and mocking smell of disinfectants and the ship's atmospheric stabilizers.

There are no comrades here that he shared tents with. Valiant men and women who had his back when his Knight Chaplain has thrown him into the skirmish, who he has come to blows with and laughed with as they tended the broken noses, bruises, and cuts they've given one another. Here there's only servants with the fakest smiles he has ever seen, that he wishes he could rip off their faces with his bare hands. Servants who only knew sweet words of praise, all empty in essence to ingratiate themselves to a Scion of the Crimson Legion. These servants should know better, in his opinion, to not appeal to the pride of any Bellona child. A Bellona must only take pride in their own strength and achievements, for their strength is the family's strength. The words of others do not, cannot, and should not affirm their pride and ego.

To seek vanity in the mirrors of sycophants should be rewarded with whips and the reduction of the Scion's monthly stipend and living conditions. The House of Bellona has no need for such worthless and vainglorious children.

There is a knock on his quarter's door, snapping him out of his musings. A hiss pervades the room as the mechanical door parts open to reveal one of the servants of the ship, a mousy and trembling man whose back is bent at a 90 degree angle. "M-My Lord, Your Excellency, we will be breaching the atmosphere and docking into the harbor soon." A silence hangs in the air as the Crimson Legion's Angel of War focuses instead on the unsealed letter in his hand, fiddling with the envelope and the seal. Seconds seem to stretch uncomfortably into minutes as the servant hears the crinkle of parchment, the shuffling of clothing, and what seems to be heavy cloth being draped over something, followed by the hard clanking of boots on the steel floor. The servant holds his breath when he feels the air around him seem to become even more suffocating once the young Scion's shadow has been casted on him, and he could feel the burning gaze of the man who has made this journey to be quite unpleasant, in more polite terms, for him and his fellows.

"My belongings are all packed and ready. Once the chariot goes terra firma, settle customs and send a message announcing my arrival to the family's villa, before forwarding my bags to the Academy. I shall personally handle every matter following that point in time."

A voice as steady as steel reverberates through the servant's very core, one that doesn't allow any other objections or opinions. Before the servant could reply or affirm his orders, Ira has already walked down the hall, leaving the man to regain his wits by himself. The alloyed floor makes crisp sounds with each footfall, and the errant ship crew preparing for touchdown pause as they either bow or salute with the War Angel's passing. Doors open, hissing as their mechanics pave way to another room, the chariot's control center. Two pilots are at the helm, making communications with the harbor down below, as atmospheric friction makes beautiful orange-red streaks of blaze outside of the windows. Ira has visited this room multiple times on this journey, making short conversations with the pilot and co-pilot, but alas they are adamant with their profession whenever he makes the proposal of taking the helm. Such professionalism and pride in their work is something that the young Scion respects and admires and, despite his sheer boredom and desire to take the wheel every so often, he stands guard in silence, watching the burning flames outside subside until the chariot stabilizes itself with the planet's atmospheric pressure and gravity.

The following landing and bureaucratic matters involving baggages, identity checks, and the like are done so with swift efficiency. The chariot's doors finally open to the outside world, and out steps a figure in almost all red. A red and grey uniform tightly hugging his gigantic figure, with long deep and bloody red hair that seem to flow behind him like a conqueror's cape. Scarlet eyes, like beautifully cut and polished rubies, scan the crowd like a hunter familiarizing themselves with foreign terrain. The Scion of Crimson tugs at his gloves, scarlet red at the palms with dark grey on top, almost like a tick of sorts. With a step forward, Ira moves with the crowd, many parting and evading his advance. The streets are crowded by the mobs of knights aspirant, many gawking at the sights of Citadel Arcadia and a good amount, especially those near him, at him as his eyecatching figure passes by. He doesn't mind however, in fact it seems that he wasn't paying attention, as the Angel of War holds a letter in his free hand.

'Team Sentence... What an odd designation...'

[Indo-pasif archipelago]

Nechama Yefremova
February 10th

---

The girl sat still in the middle of her private chamber. It was a spacious room, adorned with silk-lined sofas and the next-gen technology all to the pleasure of its occupant. It was not minimalist by any means, but it was sleek and clean. Every furniture in its appropriate place, in the most aesthetic formation possible. Each pillow puffed and tailored with utmost attention to detail. There was no clutter, no eyesore, even the trash bin was put carefully in the most innocuous and invisible way possible.

It was also, to Nechema, an annoying hassle to actually be occupied. Yes, the advanced smart screens were all foldable and easily hidden, but it made it so difficult to get anything on screen in a hurry. The cabinets were pretty and eye-catching, but she could not open any two at the same time without it hitting another opened drawer. And do not make her start about all the garish purple and silver of House Yefremova in every inch of that room.

The chamber was the perfect representation of the Yefremova. Overly prideful, superficial. So focused on the looks and appearance they ignore the substance. They were supposed to be a noble family of brave knights and protectors of the realm. Instead, they become naught but vain nobilities, much to Nechema’s disgust, except for the few genuine good person like her brother Ilyas.

One might accuse her of being petty. She admitted she was, but she was not ashamed to say that. For years her own family, her own parents, bullied her down and belittled everything she did. A little kid, harassed by her own flesh and blood. All because she could not cast a little spark of fire.

So yes, she was petty. She was spiteful. She did not even sleep on the soft bed in the private chariot they had sent her in, lest they would use their “kindness” against her. Instead she sat cross legged in the middle of the private chamber, focused on all the loneliness around her and the loneliness she had felt all her life, and she meditated.
She hummed hymns to Aradain, chanted praises to the God-Knight and his disciples. As the chariot moved through the deep void, Nechama focused deeper and deeper into her meditation, until the line of dreams and reality blurred like the stars outside the window of her chariot ship….

”But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din,
List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,—
"They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin."

The shaking of the chariot awoke Nechema from her deep trance. Quickly she gathered herself, threw a splash of water on her face in the ornate basin of her chamber, and readied herself as the interplanetary ship slowed down for landing.

Nechama took a deep breath. She was not bought to the whole idea of being a knight at first. Then she saw how they all said she was not cut out to be a knight, and she made it her life purpose to be one. That too, had come out of pettiness. But out of pettiness she had found a greater purpose, to be a knight and prove her mettle to her entire family for once and for all. And now, standing before that one opportunity, she could not help but overthink through everything. What if they were right?

The chariot doors opened, and Nechama took her first steps as a knight in training into the harbor of Arcadia.

“My lady,” a voice behind her called, “Shall we accompany you to your room?”

Nechama weighed her options, and decided that she did not want the attention. “No, thank you Sheyna,” she replied to the head maid of her family that was sent with her, “But would it be a hassle if you and Iosef help deliver my luggage to the room? I would, ah, take some walks around the citadel.” She was petty enough to refused most of the luxury her family gave her, but she was not so naive she would not take zero advantage of her privileges.

Sheyna nodded, and immediately went to do exactly what she had asked. They were good people, Nechama thought to herself, and she reminded herself to get them some gifts lest she be as ungrateful as her parents.

Nechama then walked out of the harbor, her red uniform blended in with the rest of the students. Everyone looked the same thanks to it. Sure some looked more ragged, while others walked with confident regal, but without a closer look she could not differentiate nobles from peasants, lancers from songbirds. This was what true meritocracy should be, she mused. Not whatever pitiful play-pretend her family did back home.

She looked again at her letter of acceptance. Team Reclamation, it had said. She put up her eyes and ears, looking to see if she could find others of her team or talking about them. Her attention instead fell to the amassing crowd surrounding a brewing fight. Before she could look further into it, the crowd had dispersed as one party had left the scuffle before it could start.

Well, that was interesting, she thought to herself. It would not be uncommon for a lancer to see a fight be fought over the smallest insult. That did not appear to be the norm right here. Hope I don’t get pulled into one myself right on my first day here…

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Sure you aren't.

As far as she was concerned, the young man in front of her had made his intentions very clear with his choice of words, and his attempt at correcting himself afterwards was poorly executed. Still, even if it was most likely just another of his honeyed clichés, even then, the suggestion that she might be near the top of that list? Asher wasn't lacking confidence in her looks, but still, that notion made for a delightful little thrill.

She made sure not to show it, of course, just like a hunter was wont not to show weakness in front of the beast.

For all his sweet talking and pick up lines, his reaction to her introduction seemed plenty sincere. Not something she expected from a nobleman, of the Order of the Sun Spear no less, but she'd never been one to complain when her more pessimistic thoughts were proven wrong, and Damian certainly didn't seem to be looking down on her. Perhaps his upbringing had been different from that of his peers in lancer nobility, or perhaps he had simply witnessed firsthand how little difference there truly was between commoner and highborn knights when it came down to the wire.

That too was a welcome breath of fresh air.

"Ah, Reclamation you say? No, I haven't overheard that name at all." The redhead replied. She too was a little disappointed. It would have been fun to be on the same team, to tease the boy if nothing else, but it likely didn't matter too much. They were both students here, regardless.

Before the conversation carried on any further, she spotted off the corner of her eye a bespectacled young man with black hair approaching. A familiar anxiety crept into her bones, she could never be sure of the reason she was approached, not when her very appearance was a figurative loudspeaker, screaming out the Guardian's name. Fortunately the newcomer too seemed oblivious. Perhaps studying here won't be too bad after all.

"Oh, another Commandment member?" She replied to the young man's awkward intervention, glancing and nodding at Damian as he mentioned he was one of her people. His expression of excitement for the future didn't quite sound genuine, but the redhead decided she had no right to question that.

"Well, it's good to meet you Adler. I'm Asher, from the Order of the Phantom Blade." She spoke softly, offering her hand to Adler once he was done shaking Damian's. "I was quite nervous upon my arrival to tell you the truth, but I feel quite a bit better now. How about yourself?"

[Tomia]

Victor and Edith
Victor and Edith continued their walk towards the train that would take them to school, Victor noticed a few people looking Edith’s way but said nothing of it.

“Why was that gentleman angry with you?” Edith asked, breaking the silence after a while.

Victor shrugged, “He’s an asshole, do assholes usually need a reason to get angry?”

“Well no, I just figured…” Edith tried to explain.

“Hey by the way, what does admonition mean anyway?” Victor asked, doing his best to change the conversation.

“Oh, it means warning or criticism. Which makes me hope the name choices are random.” She says laughing softly. Victor was a little more intense than the people she was used to being around so there was a bit of nervous energy in her laughter.

“Did someone say Admonition?”

Quite suddenly there was someone behind the pair, one arm thrown around Edith’s neck. “I might be interested in that.” Mercury said.

Victor’s head turned sharply at Mercury’s arrival. His training made him pretty aware of his surroundings, especially in a place like this but he hadn’t noticed her at all. Either she is really good, or this place is getting to me. He had to force down the fight or flight instinct that surprise triggered. Get it together man, you can’t start swinging on the first day.

Edith looked equally surprised, but turned to see the woman who was now very close to her. “Well he said it technically but I am on Team Admonition yes. I take it you might be as well?” She said as she took in her potential teammate’s appearance. Her multi-colored hair and demeanor clashed a bit with the academy’s outfit but in a way that seems to suit her. Edith imagined this wasn’t necessarily her outfit of choice.

“Yup! Well, unless my acceptance letter lied. You never know with those pencil pushers.” The black-haired girl shrugged, looking her new teammate up and down real quick. They pair me with a princess or something?

She glanced over at Victor. His demeanor hadn’t escaped her keen eyes. “You look a little too jumpy for someone who’s coming to a military school pal. You alright?”

Edith offered a pleasant smile to her new teammate. “Well, I’m Edith, it’s nice to meet you.” She turned to Victor, hoping he might introduce himself.

“Uh, Victor, and I’m fine. You snuck up on me is all. And well, not really used to all this. Didn’t exactly grow up in a place like this unlike most people here I imagine.”

“Yeah me neither actually. Not used to all this, you know, big city vibe with all of its big factories and fancy gardens and, like, indoor plumbing.” Mercury remarked. “But hey, I just take it in stride, no big deal. Gonna be seeing a lot more of all this when I graduate and hit the jackpot.” She grinned confidently, before turning back to Edith. “The name’s Mercury, nice to meetcha.”

Edith was a bit taken back by Mercury’s mannerisms and candidness, it was very much not Nightingale like but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The no indoor plumbing thing was a little concerning though. “It is very different than Citadel Melliflua as well. I imagine most of us are at least somewhat out of our element. But this is home for now right? I’m looking forward to exploring it. It seems… nice really.”

“Is that Nightingale for shithole?” Victor remarked as they came upon the train. He gave off a genuine laugh at Edith’s scandalized look at him.

“Hey now! Don’t pick on the princess.” Mercury said with a chuckle, clearly amused at her reaction as well.

“You’re both impossible.” Edith remarked, rolling her eyes playfully as they walked together.

[Bentus]

February 10th

12:00

Cowrite between Zark and Bentus

Forgive your son, father, for wasting his time in meaningless speculation.

It was not the first time he had found himself apologizing to the late Lord Frell for his lack of stoic conviction, that feature that had made the masters of Alecto exalted warriors and renowned guardians of the borderlands. Fate allowing, it would not be the last either - between his inherited responsibilities to the people of the Lucent Grasp and the whole of the Order of the Phantom Blade, and his upcoming training and preparation to become a proper lord knight like his father before him, sometimes it was in meaningless speculation that he found some space to take a step back and think.

For as little good as that might do. He mused as he watched young men and women in red uniforms mingle and make merry through a small curtain of smoke exhaled and then swept away by the winds of southern Mandus.

Standing off to the side of the narrow path that connected Androne’s Stop to the rest of the western wing of the Silver Hand Academy, Faustus Alexandar Frell observed his peers while immersed in thought, his mind revolving around his heritage, his title, his home. Primarily his home. Citadel Alecto, fierce fortress of the faithful in the lowermost reaches of the Lucent Arm, was home to as fierce warriors as the Hearth Spiral had seen, warriors with nothing to envy from the Arches or the Teeth or the Masks. But that far territory, always fiercely contested by the old infidel lords, always had been led by a Frell. And now here he was, a quarter of a spiral away in a red uniform. He could only hope this academy could make him a better leader. Perhaps a better man too.

Flicking the leftovers inside his briarwood pipe into a nearby bin and putting the wooden curio away, Alexandar walked back to where the gross of students was located, just outside the western wing. Elsewhere he would perhaps cut an imposing figure, though that was less notable here. What was notable was that he was a man of contrasts: the stiff posture of a soldier and the wild black mane of a marcher. The calm countenance of a leader and the yellow eyes of a killer, or at least that’s what they said about his family in disreputable circles; he himself had only done it twice, and never to someone unarmed. A far cry from the typical phantom nobleman, either way.

As he walked, something caught his attention, a hovering coach approaching Androne’s Stop. Not the first he had seen today, but the insignia it bore proudly marked it as the property of a noble family from the Lucent Arm, and thus a fellow phantom. At first he watched with mild curiosity and little else, but as he saw the blonde heiress step off the vehicle with a wide, innocent grin on her face, the young lord couldn’t keep some of that enthusiasm from rubbing off on him.

She seems to be looking forward to this. Why aren’t you?

With such a thought in mind he figured there was no harm in approaching. If nothing else it would serve as a welcome diversion.

“Hail, friend.” He spoke as he came to a stop a prudent distance away from Emilie, his voice naturally deep and resonant though he tried to avoid drawing unwanted attention. His manner wasn’t exactly refined, but it was clear he meant no disrespect. “I understand from the decorations on your vessel that you are one of the Everardes of Clarion? It is good to meet someone from the high towers of the capital in a place like this.” He spoke as he extended his hand in greeting.

“That I am.” Emilie had peeled her gaze away from the Academy when she heard the voice calling out in her direction. Smiling, she grasped onto the boy’s hand and gave it a polite shake. “Emilie Everarde, second daughter of Lord Wilfrid and Lady Victoria Everarde. ”

She didn’t see any family insignia or crest on his uniform, but he certainly greeted her like there was some kind of relation. His accent was at least familiar, so she supposed that he probably also heralded from the territories of the Phantom Order. Emilie was surprised when she felt a sense of relief at the realization. It was nice to be met by a somewhat familiar face, along with the proper and respectful greeting that she’d have expected from a knight candidate from her own order.

“I’m sorry but I can’t seem to place your face. Are you also from Clarion?”

What soft grasp. The young man thought as his hands returned to a waiting position behind his back. It was a welcome enough change of pace from the knights and generals whose handshakes would nearly tear his arm off, he supposed.

“Nothing quite like that I’m afraid. Faustus Alexandar of the House of Frell of Citadel Alecto, only son of the late Lord Faris Luther Frell, Margrave of the Lucent Grasp. We rarely have the opportunity to stray far from the borderlands and mingle with the rest of the order’s illustrious nobility unfortunately, but my father and I did visit the capital on occasion. Now that I hear the name repeated a few more times it does ring a bell. I believe my father held a certain knight by the name of Arlette Everarde in high regard. A relative of yours, I presume?”

“Older sister.” Emilie replied, her smile broadening slightly at the mention of Arlette. “She attended the Academy as well, so I’m at least coming in with her stories to guide me.”

She was surprised when Alexandar identified himself as hailing from the House of Frell. She had heard many things about border lords like him: that they were proud warriors, defending the redem from heretics and outsiders alike, and that they were less well-versed in the gallant ways of proper decorum than their upper arm peers. In her experience, unflattering stereotypes like that were rarely true. They were all here to be knights, after all.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alexandar.” As she pulled her hand away, Emilie’s smile softenned. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. I’m sure that he lived a good and noble life.”

Alexandar nodded as Emilie expressed that Arlette was her sister. He often heard, from knights and close advisors, how they had gone on escapades with their siblings as children, or how deeply they could admire one another, though he had never experienced such things himself. Judging by her proud, beaming smile, the blonde noblewoman was no exception; her heartfelt expression almost made him want to meet Arlette as well.

He nodded again as she continued speaking. Hearing the words of kindness towards his father, he allowed himself a smile. A brief one. “He did, yes. A shining example to us all, and quite frankly a tough act to follow. His only regret was not succumbing in the battlefield as his ancestors did, but I am sure he received a warrior’s welcome, all the same.” He stated proudly.

“But let us leave such morbid topics aside for now. The pleasure is all mine, Emilie. Perhaps in time we may learn from each other.” He spoke calmly before pulling out a portable terminal to review a small detail from his acceptance letter. “If I may ask, are you perhaps a part of Team Revelation, as I am?”

Emilie offered the other noble a forlorn expression. “Alas, I must bear the burden of informing you that you shan't be a member of our year's most successful team.” She spoke in jest, but noted that he didn't want to dwell on the topic of his father. The pair had continued on their way towards the Academy, walking beside one another as they talked. “But I'll be sure to put a good word in with the rest of Team Commandment. Perhaps we might even go easy on you!”

Alexandar chuckled at the supposed offer as he walked alongside her, hands clasped behind his back. “Oh, please don’t. That would be counter-productive to the purposes of becoming the best knights we can be.” He stated solemnly, though one would’ve seen the ghost of a smile if one looked at him at that exact moment.

“...And also unnecessary.”

“We’ll see.” Emilie said, grinning at their light-hearted banter.

She turned to look over her new acquaintance. He was big, of course, easily towering a head above her. Although she knew that size wasn’t as big of an advantage against a trained opponent as many might think. An energy blade didn’t need much strength to cut through armor, and a wall of muscle would offer only laughable protection. Better to be able to move quickly and present a smaller target to one’s opponent, she thought.

What struck Emilie more was the manner in which Alexandar carried himself. He had a stiffness behind his step that betrayed past training to walk in a march, so much so that it now came to him instinctively. His smile was warm, but his eyes seemed to dart around their surroundings, pausing for a moment on any fellow students as if to assess their intentions before moving on.

“So pray tell, what is it that a scion of House Frell does in their spare time?” Emilie asked, curious to find out more about the first of her classmates that she’d had the chance to talk to. “It must be quite different to be in Arcadia as opposed to the borderlands! Far less exciting, I’d wager.”

“Excitement is but the other face of danger.” Alexandar replied. “To tell you the truth, there was little time to spare that was not better employed training, overseeing battle preparations or seeing that the men were doing well. Our rare diplomatic visits to other regions were some of the few occasions I found myself entertaining idle hands, before coming here that is.”

He shot an apologetic glance at his new acquaintance. “I regret to say, I find it difficult to answer your question. I'm not certain of the answer, myself.” He admitted.

“Although my father did insist that I learn an instrument, of which I eventually settled on the cello. Said it was important to cultivate one's spirit with something other than strife.”

“Oh.” Emilie said, her voice dropping away as Alexandar’s response caught her off guard. His experience was far from uncommon, especially among the knightly Houses positioned along the frontier.

Her father said that, all too often, such Houses were left to manage the myriad of threats along the borderlands without the support that they needed. His frustration with the status quo had in part driven his support for the founding of the Academy: a physical and meaningful way for all of the Orders and Houses to better pool their resources against their common foes. Emilie supposed it was also why she saw so little of her sister these days. There was simply a greater need for her in the borderlands.

“Well, your father was a wise man!” She forced a lighter tone back into her voice, not wanting to leave Alexandar to dwell on the challenges in his past. “We are looking to be knights after all, not simply soldiers. Our duties extend well beyond the persecution of war. Did you bring your cello? I play the violin, myself. Far more portable.”

“I did! It should be en route to whatever dormitory I have been assigned along with the rest of my belongings. No reason to slack off on practice just because I'll be living in a different citadel for a few years.” The young man replied. His expression didn't change much but his tone seemed suddenly a fair bit more enthusiastic.

“And I suppose I should not be surprised that a Scion of the illustrious Everardes is well-versed in the arts, but that is good to hear regardless. Perhaps sometime you may grant me the honor of a duet.” He proposed.

“...Though, I must admit I have only very rarely had the chance to play alongside others in the past. It is quite the change of pace from a solo performance.”

“I’ll hold you to that offer, Alexandar. You’re really missing out if you only ever play alone, although it can be a nice way to clear your head.” Emilie was pleased that the boy’s pensive tone hadn’t taken root. She paused for a moment, hesitating before asking the question resting on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to drive the conversation back to a topic that Alexander might’ve rather steered away from, but she couldn’t allow an opportunity to go to waste.

“Perhaps in exchange you could teach me some of what you’ve learned of battle. While I was a squire the fights were usually focused on isolated pirates or criminals. Larger scale strategy is something that I only ever encountered during training.” In an attempt to give the boy a way out of any commitments, she hastily added. “Although I’m sure all that will be covered in our classes, should your time already be occupied. Who knows how busy the Academy will keep us!”

“Indeed, who knows. Perhaps my life will be even busier than it was in Alecto, though for the time being I find myself pleasantly at leisure and well-accompanied.” The marcher replied, not seeming bothered by Emilie's question.

“Regardless if we both find ourselves with sufficient spare time and you find that there is something of value to you that I can offer, I would be happy to oblige. I have often heard of clans and noble houses that zealously guard their stratagems and techniques as if they were shameful secrets, but I see little value in that. We faithful are all allies in the struggle to keep Aradain's peace.”

The young man paused. There it is again, that tendency to ramble. Rein it in Alexandar.

“...Which is to say, I'd be happy to share, Emilie.”

[Thai Sweet Billy]

ADLER VAN STRAHL
Arcadia | February, 3031
__________________________________

"Well, this one's yours." he said, then offered his hand to Adler. "My name is Damian, of the House of Vanerian and the Order of the Sun Spear. Well... how else could I do but be excited with this new page in my life! I assume you too haven't seen anyone assigned to Team Reclamation, right?"

"Well, it's good to meet you Adler. I'm Asher, from the Order of the Phantom Blade." She spoke softly, offering her hand to Adler once he was done shaking Damian's. "I was quite nervous upon my arrival to tell you the truth, but I feel quite a bit better now. How about yourself?"

Oh?

Adler had this "thing"—some weird feeling or "affliction" or "situation" he had held onto since childhood, which made interacting with him about as easy as talking to a brick wall. Half of the time he couldn't pick up on obvious sarcastic cues or inflections in voices, but other times he could pick out details in others' body language or tone that no sane redem would reliably be able to distinguish. Additionally, it made him great at minding his own business in parties, but not so great at talking to people.

The thing was happening again. He opened his mouth and tried to find some words to spew out in that moment.

He shot a confused glance towards the red-haired students—first the guy, then the girl. For about half a minute, he had that same, confused look in his eyes and agape mouth, like a prey animal staring down the lights of an incoming pegasus. Then, he realized how long he had been sitting there and straightened up once Damian had introduced himself.

First, he gave a bow to the young man—a typical courtesy among the Artificer's Guild, then shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Lordship." Normally, one would've cringed at such formalities, but Damian was nobility. Such formalities were a given. Even in a setting like this, he had to acknowledge where his peers came from. As the saying went, manners maketh man.

Next, he shook the girl's—Asher, from the Order of the Phantom Blade. But suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Adler's demeanor seemed to brighten as he locked in. He had been dodging the others' eye contact for the entirety of the conversation up until that moment, when Herr Holtzmann's Order was mentioned.

His eyes met with Asher's as he vigorously shook her hand and bowed. "Asher. Pleasure to meet you, and a pleasure to be vworking with you." He managed a weak and uncomfortable smile, his Claronian accent once again rearing its ugly head. "I-I, uhm, have a, erm, great deal of rezspect... for the Order of the Phantom Blade. I-I was knight Piter Holtzmann's armourer and arms bearer for a time, and we Artificers armed many of the Order's knights..."

He kept the smile up, his gaze bouncing between the two redheads. Adler stepped back a few paces. "Apologies, I, erm... this place is just so big, and very new. I hope I wasn't intruding on your conversation."

[North America Inc]

The intruders pushed forward unabated, the greed of their hearts leading them further into the dunes and eventual damnation. Their scavenging parties had numbered in the dozens only a few weeks ago. Now, they numbered less than twenty. For the foolish or brutish of the wider galaxy, the backwater nature of Nilotic, with its vast wealth and treasures, would seem to be an easy mark. It was only until the raiders descended into the vast oceans of sand that they would genuinely recognize the fate they had brought onto themselves. If it had not been self-inflicted, the hunter would have felt some ounce of pity.

Life existed here in unexpected forms, hidden beneath the shimmering surface. Monsters slunk through the shadows, their eyes gleaming with a feral intelligence as they hunted under the cloak of darkness. Beasts larger than men dashed upwards from the waves, pulling those unlucky into the dark depths. The air was arid, sucking the moisture from the skin with every breath.

And all the while, the full moons hung overhead, casting their silver light over the land like a silent sentinel. Their pale glow illuminated the emptiness of the desert, casting long shadows that seemed to dance and twist with a life of their own. For how unforgiving Nilotic was, the raiders still came.

Adorned in black armor overlaid with brown leather, the scavengers trekked carefully toward the fire not far off the horizon. The billowing smoke of their comrade's makeshift camp had no doubt brought them some ounce of relief, given their cautious journey for the better part of the night. They had traveled in a close-knit circular formation, their various looted 'treasures' all concentrated in the center. Swords drawn, the raiders fidgeted with the hilt as though a nervous tick. Their bladed ends would reflexively shoot out toward anything that crossed their paths, no matter how small whether that be prickly vine bushes or scurrying mice. They were much more careful now compared to their laissez-faire attitudes during their first raids. They had even brought out those helmets, surveying the environment for what they knew laid out there. They had seen nothing currently and assumed they had lost their trackers. They were mistaken.

"Mercy, mercy. He is very weak. We must slow down." Though faint, the hunter could hear one of the 'treasures' speak from above. He recognized the footstep and voice as that of a young woman, while the dragging knees and coarse coughs were that of an old man. Two raiders broke rank, walking over to the two soon-to-be slaves. The woman continued her pleas, "He needs water."

To prevent his people from listening in on their communications, the raider's helmets intentionally garbled their sentences for anyone not on their frequency. All that came out was a series of low-pitched yet fast-paced grunts interlaced with an intercom hum. The pair spoke to each other for a brief moment before settling on what they would do.

The woman screamed, followed by a cleave. The other raider struck her, forcing her back into formation as his partner took care of the deadweight and pulled off the man's identifying tag. Blood trickled into the sands below, decreasing in intensity as they got farther and farther from the corpse. The hunter felt a pang of remorse and guilt. Had the old man carried on for even less than a kilometer, he would have been saved. But he could not stop to mourn one sheep when the flock was still in danger.

The hollows of the wind began to pick up, at first marginally, then noticeably. He knew what that meant, and soon, the raiders would know, too. The raider at the front fiddled with his map display, pressing various nodes before shouting into his comms. A sandstorm was fast approaching from the West. The others began to let out multiple comments, their worry palpable despite the encryption. The group picked up the pace, walking with a marched rhythm to the camp; the silhouettes of their reinforcement could now be made out with the backdrop of the fire. Their extraction would be soon, a welcome relief.

"Identification numbers!" A lone camp member trekked several yards closer to them before cursing aloud. He fiddled with the nodes of his mask before repeating the same question, this time with the encryption active.

The new arrivals shouted back in unison, joining their like-minded brutes around the welcome relief of the campfire. Around their tents, a relay dish, and a water tank lay a collection of priceless artifacts from the ancient Tayir cities before their abandonment. Ornate and deeply religious, these items were adorned in gold and turquoise. For the people of Nilotic, they served as a reminder of better times. For them, it was a rich man's future trinket. The remaining treasure, the recently captured, was hastily huddled on the far side of the camp for their superior to assess.

The sandstorm was getting closer, with one of their tents flying off into the distance, never to be seen again. Gravel filled the air before enveloping and obscuring their helmets. Much like before, though their voices were encrypted, their general sense of unease was more than evident. Their fears were valid; their predators had been waiting for them to lead them back to their nest. The hunting party slithered toward their targets like an encroaching shadow. Hidden under their nose, the raiders dashed back and forth with each other in a frenzy to get their goods in place for the Chariot that would never arrive.

"The winds are too heavy." The pilot's voice, not obscured for some unknown reason, spoke through their headset with an explicit reservation. We can't land until the storm passes."

One barked back, no doubt the commander. The storm had overtaken them, snuffing out the fire and taking what few feet of visibility they had. They couldn't even make out their hands in such conditions, much less each other.

"Orbital Recon is saying the storm should pass in the next fifteen minutes. Just hold on until then!" The pilot said.

The commander shouted back what were to be his final words, clearly desperate as he tightened his grip on his swords.

Their number had already fallen to ten. It was not until one lone scream into the night sky that the others finally released the severity of their situation. The survivors activated their shields despite their batteries near depletion. The commander dropped the call, tightening his stance as his head darted left and right for where his killer would strike. He crept backward, preparing to slash whatever came before him. Josiah would emerge from underneath.

[Finland SSR]

Ira Lucretius de Bellona - The Angel Descends
Citadel Arcadia - Kalven Harbor
February 10, 3031 - 12:00 NN

'Team Sentence... What an odd designation...'

February 10th

---

While it was fairly common for Damian to receive someone's respect and a titular name, this was the first time he's been referred to as "Lord" while all alone, without his father or elder siblings behind him. As a child, he obviously tagged along with his family whenever they visited towns and land holdings across Noe, as well as their fellow Lancer nobility. In those cases, commoners who had the honor of the presence of House Vanerian bestowed upon them would naturally genuflex towards every single one of them.

Having that title attached to his name did not incite much emotion in Damian. Sure, anyone would feel nice when they are given respect by someone they first met, but, on the other hand, it was a reminder of his membership the family that sent him to work his butt off here, instead of doing something he might actually enjoy.

Adler wasn't adept at speaking to people, and soon after his introductions and a short story of his family's exploits, he stepped back, worried that he might be intruding. "Oh, don't worry about that," Damian answered, waving away with his hand. "I was only talking to Asher because I was searching for anyone who belongs to my team, anyway. If anything, I'm the one who shouldn't be bothering you two."

He'll definitely need to find Asher again after this, but for now, he stepped away from her and Adler, instead rejoining the flow of students and looking around. Most of the class had already moved on from them and were at the front, but there were still plenty of students heading their way, out of the harbor. In mere moments, Damian's eyes had spotted a few other attractive girls - his mind made a note of them immediately. And to the corner of his eye was-

Huh? Who's that?

There was a bit of a rumble coming from the direction at the corner of his eye. Numerous students were moving out the way, a few even yelped and whispered at the sight of the new arrival. A titan of a man was making his way through the harbor, in a student's uniform that was so many sizes larger than that of an average person that it was almost comical, and a long, flowing mane of eye-catchingly red hair. Between the scrawny teens and young adults, he looked completely out of place, and it was no wonder that seeing someone like him approach might make you want to step aside. His expression did not exactly tell that he was going to patiently trail after you and your tiny legs.

That burning red, both the hair and eyes, and the insignia on the man's uniform, displaying a burning spearhead and arrows, informed Damian a bit more about this man - and, if only by intense curiosity, it pushed him to approach. Squeezing himself through the crowd, the noble stopped in his path and hailed him:

"Hey! Didn't know a Bellona was going to study in the same year as me."

How could he not know of the House of Bellona? If not for the commanders they've provided to the Order of the Sun Spear and the exploits of their Crimson Legion, then for their insanity and for all the rumours which floated around about their practices in Noe. Everything from the fairly obvious and expected, such as the overbearing training regimen to each one of their scions, to the rumors that were certainly exaggerations or even outright made up, such as that they force surviving children to eat their dead siblings. If Damian needed to be honest - it was indeed a little intimidating to stand in front of a Bellona, but that actually made him more determined to speak to him as an equal.

Damian pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered it, introducing himself:

"Nice to meet you. My name is Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian. Lancers stick together, no?"

[Finsternia]

"Nice to meet you. My name is Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian. Lancers stick together, no?"

Ira Lucretius de Bellona - Spears Cross
Citadel Arcadia - Kalven Harbor
February 10, 3031 - 12:00 NN

Red eyes flicker with detestment at the gasping and fleeing figures of students. In such a busy port, it would have been an imperative to keep the order of the masses. A lane for those disembarking, another for boarding, and spare space for other business such as awaiting arrivals. Yet all that Ira could see is the chaos of excited students and, as much as they are entitled to their joys of acceptance, their utter lack of discipline. Not only is there little space in the messy crowds of people, many even had the gall to stop right in the middle of traffic for introductions, to scout fellow team members, and to greet and meet up with acquaintances. Ira would have already worn a scornful glare if not for the fact that the idle chatter around him were excellent sources of information.

'Nary a voice that speaks of Team Sentence... Hm?'

The Bellona Scion's posture straightens when a figure appears in his field of vision, arms crossing behind his back. Ira's gaze immediately scans down this new fellow, taking in his features and mannerisms. His well styled hair and almost flamboyant bearing speaks of a desire to be looked upon, a casanova who wishes to be the most pleasant smelling rose to attract the most butterflies in the garden. There is a stumble in his step, and slight creases and crumples in what would have been a perfectly ironed uniform, denoting a recent rush through the tight crowd in order to approach him. Despite the luxury that seems to waft out of the young Vanerian lord, his manner of speech is light, his gestures easy-going, which speaks of a humility that is difficult to find amongst nobility.

'Good posture, with a lithe and strong figure... Not a slacker when it comes to his martial responsibilities.'

The Angel of War silently appraises the qualities that he could spot from the young lord before him and, without much pomp and circumstance, he returns the handshake with a firm and strong grip. "Hail, Sir Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian. It is indeed a pleasure to meet a fellow son of Jordanus in these unfamiliar lands." His gloved hand gives Damian's one firm squeeze and shake before letting go, and with a flourish he places it against his chest to greet him with a bow. "I am Ira Lucretius of the House of Bellona, the thirteenth scion of the Matriarch and a provisional Captain of the Crimson Legion. I shall partake upon your kindness and benevolence, and in return I, too, extend mine own."

He straightens his back, crossing his arms behind him once more, before squinting at the fellow Sun Spear before him. "Let us speak as we walk. It would be a sin to loiter and withhold the flow of the masses, as chaotic as it is already." Without even waiting for Damian's response, Ira has already started walking towards the direction of the Academy, as if his words are iron-bound command and law. He glances at Damian for a moment, as if trying to recall information about the young lord's House. House Vanerian was an ancient noble house of picturesque history, whose knights were the picture of gallantry. One could say that House Vanerian leads an empire of glory, one that is gilded by gold and by the songs of bards and minstrels, that spans quite the length of vassals across the Spire.

But alas, in the cycle of life, glory rarely lasts. Even a house as lauded as Vanerian would meet disaster and calamity, hidden in the sweetness of a father's love. He has heard of rumors and spiteful gossip amongst the high ranking officers of the Crimson Legion that the current Lord Vanerian, a knight that the elders of the Bellonas praise for his strength and acuity, has no promising heir to speak of. One after another has come and go from the Silver Hand Academy, with no knighthood to speak of, and, by the First Patriarch do the elders curse, did some even walk the path of Patricians. Only a warrior of a sharp mind and wit could and should lead a noble house, in Ira's opinion, and it seems that the man before him is House Vanerian's last hope.

'One that presents himself a peacock, but my eyes do not lie to me.'

Ira squints once again at Damian. Once a warrior has been sharpened by their experiences, that edge may be dulled but it will never go away. It is a warrior's duty to keep such edge sharpened and further tempered by the flames of life's trials and obstacles. As far as Ira is concerned, Damian has good foundation, with good temper and bearing, but as for the future of if such a man could lead his house... well, the Angel of War cannot say as of yet.

"Sir Damian," the Scion starts as his imposing figure manages to cut through the busy road before them, "if I may ask, how fares your noble father? I have heard, and learned, of his grand accomplishments from his time." Ira pauses, before making a gesture against his chest. "May the God-Knight bless him in his advanced age."

[North America Inc]

Aisha

As the morning sun cast its golden hues upon the towering spires and intricately carved arches of Citadel Arcadia, Aisha sat in her train seat, awe-struck. The thundering machine easily dwarfed the serpents of her home world. Even some worms would pale in comparison. And it wasn't just its size, but its speed. Along its elevated tracks, it cut through the skyline with the precision of a blade. She could hardly believe she was seated here, much less headed toward her final destination.

Aisha had traveled from world to world in her youth, but even then, those would hardly compare. She peeked toward her brother, hoping he was enjoying this as much as she was, but his eyes were closed to her dismay. Hidden underneath her mask, she frowned. He had hardly said a world throughout his journey, much less enjoyed the view. She rubbed her neck, contemplating whether to say something to him, but ultimately decided against it. He wasn't exactly happy about leaving, and despite her hope, he hadn't lightened up. Not wishing to sour her mood, Aisha returned to the window.

Ornate motifs adorned the exterior of passing trains, reminiscent of ancient tales of chivalry and courage, yet seamlessly integrated with state-of-the-art amenities and holographic displays. Towering arcologies loomed on the horizon, their crystalline structures refracting the morning light in a dazzling display. Skyscrapers soared into the heavens, yet the people here went on with their day without a second thought. How could you ever get used to something like this so remarkable?

Josiah stirred in his seat, awaking not too long before they arrived. Aisha looked over, "How did you sleep?"

"I dreamt." He paused, readjusting his mask and keffiyeh, and sat silently for a moment. "I dreamt of home; it was a memory, I think—I was tracking something." He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't remember all of it. But it was home."

Aisha nodded but didn't press it further. She knew he would get all worked up again if the subject was about home. Instead, the pair sat there in silence. A few moments later, as the train came to one of its stops, a man stood up from his seat and walked to the exit. Crossing their paths, he took one long look at the siblings before groaning and murmuring something under his breath. They didn't need to hear it to understand its intent. Aisha, in turn, groaned, disappointed that Josiah had slept for so much of the journey only to wake up and see that. She reflexively grabbed her brother's knee, "Let it go."

"I know, High Mother pressed patience, so that is what I will do." While Josiah said one thing, his tone said another. He would have to let it simmer within him instead. He looked at his mask and then his sister's hijab, fixating on the intricacies of their designs and patterns. In any other context, it wouldn't look out of place for any Nightingale, yet now, it marks them out as a part of the Tayir—for better and for worse. Sighing, he repeated what he had been saying for the better part of the trip, "This too shall pass."

Finally, their trip came to an end, as their stop was next. The siblings grabbed their belongings—their bags had been a gift from the Songbird—before venturing out onto the platform. Aisha twirled her finger along her strap, taking in the sea of red uniforms with renewed awe. These were students like them, each eager to learn and study at the Academy.

Meanwhile, Josiah focused less on their uniforms and more on the sea of faces. There was not a single other Tayir among them, dashing his hopes. He and his sister now stood out even more, making his face cringe. "Okay, let's keep going; we don't have much time left."

"Wait, let's introduce ourselves! After all, they'll help us get to our orientation!" Aisha looked around, eager to lighten her brother's growing agitation. Pulling him by his hand, she led him to the nearest students she could find. "Peace be upon you! My name is Aisha. Are you a student as well!"

Josiah murmured though no one else could hear, "As if the uniforms didn't make that clear."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Much to her surprise, the bespectacled young man in front of her who seemed to be so averse to holding a conversation with strangers suddenly seemed to have some life injected into him, his demeanor suddenly animate and enthusiastic, though no less eccentric. Asher was ever so slightly taken aback at the unexpected, persistent eye contact, though there didn't seem to be much to it other than the great respect Adler felt for the knights of the Phantom Host. His odd accent was one she couldn't quite place, and the name of Adler's mentor didn't ring any bells - after all she hadn't had much contact with knights outside of the garrisons in Phos - but the mention of the Artificer Guild did jostle some some memories in her brain. Her father had told her of their impeccable service to both the Valiant Fang and the Phantom Blade, though she doubted she'd ever held one of their products in her hands.

Either way, his quirks aside, he seemed respectful and smart. She could certainly think of far worse types to have on her team.

"Oh, please, there's no need to apologize. Trust me, I understand exactly where you're coming from." The redhead stated in reply to Adler's apology and concerns about interrupting their conversation. She could certainly empathize with his feeling of being a fish out of the water - for someone who had lived her entire life in the dusty borderlands of the Argent Throne's territories, Arcadia was quite unlike anything she had experienced before. If anything, the knowledge that there was someone else here who felt the same way made things a little bit better. Someone who was her teammate, at that.

Damian, too, was quick to reassure the other boy, making light of their previous conversation and using the diversion to excuse himself.

Sure, that's the only reason you were talking to me. She thought with a smirk on her face as she watched him walk away, before turning back to Adler.

"Well I'm glad to meet one of my teammates so early. Shall we walk and talk, Adler? Or just walk if you prefer. We should stick together, at any rate." She offered, before leading the way and continuing down the streets of the Stacks. The sea of red uniforms had diluted significantly upon exiting Kalven Harbor, owing to the larger space, but there was still a clear pattern of movement to follow. Along the way, she noticed some people keeping an eye on the students and pointing any stragglers in the right direction. Not far from where she walked, she could see and overhear a woman with long, silky white hair wearing an ornate military outfit patiently telling a younger student, a girl with ginger hair tied up into a ponytail, about the railway to the east.

Railway? I remember that.

The Silver Line was indeed mentioned in her acceptance letter, along with instructions to reach its address that she was only now beginning to remember. As she later learned while looking up information about the ringed citadel, Arcadia had two rail lines in its territory: the Golden Line which crisscrossed Kalwall and the Stacks, providing swift access to any point of the citadel from any other, and the Silver Line, which served exclusively to connect the Stacks with the Silver Hand Academy, providing vital transport to temporary workers, assorted supplies, staff members and of course, students such as herself.

Now that they had walked some distance away from the harbor, the Silver Line station, Kalven's Stop, was coming into view. It wasn't, like some of the other highlights of the Stacks and the citadel as a whole, tall. It didn't need to be. There were only two trains traversing the tracks at any given time, moving in unison in set intervals, so space was not a concern. What it lacked in imposing architecture, however, it more than compensated with decorative grandeur. Gilded ornaments and holographic displays covered just enough to avoid garishness, opting for something more tasteful, a subtler sort of glory.

Distracted as she was taking in her surroundings, Asher was surprised to hear an automated message informing all would-be passengers that the train had just arrived and to board now. Really? But I didn't hear or feel anything... not on the way here either, for that matter. She thought as she headed inside, the return trip predictably empty. She was used to trains of a less sophisticated nature, rattling everything for miles and causing quite the noise as they rolled over the tracks outside Third and its sister towns in Phos, so this arcane, silent transport had her taken aback.

All the more so when she looked outside and saw that they were moving, without having ever noticed the motion begin.

Don't get dizzy now...

At least the stunning view of the bountiful fields of Goldentide was there to cheer her up, though it was soon left behind, giving way to grassy knolls and hills. And then after a little while, no more than ten or fifteen, it was over. She wouldn't have noticed if not for the automated message and the lack of motion outside and the rustle of the surrounding students rising to head outside. At this point she was unsurprised to find herself surprised again.

Stepping out of the train, Asher found herself in Androne's Stop, a station in much the same style as the previous one, albeit smaller, likely due to the availability of space. The station opened up into a large open platform just outside the academy's western wing, giving them just enough distance to glimpse at the vast fortress-campus ahead. They were currently above the imposing main gate, reserved for other uses; up here the main way inside was through large, steeply arched doors that were currently closed shut, though walkways to either side allowed passage towards other parts of the academy. There were staff members positioned at each walkway to redirect students who had wandered astray, of course.

Asher hardly had the opportunity to take in her surroundings, though. Between the students already here and the students just getting out of the train, there was quite the bottleneck, and so she made it her goal to push through the crowd until she found a good spot to stop and breathe.

"Hail, friends."

The resounding greeting very nearly startled her, and as she looked up she noticed that she had come to a stop right next to another pair of students, a blonde girl with a refined air about her and a boy with a long mane of messy black hair and sharp yellow eyes, who seemed oddly familiar.

Much to her misfortune, there seemed to be a glint of recogntion in his eyes, too, as they met hers.

"This is the first I've heard of a brave Alistar attending the academy." The boy remarked, extending a hand. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

For a moment, the redhead felt like she had a greater insight into how deer might feel, caught in the headlights of a pegasus.

Put yourself together, Asher. You knew this was going to happen.

Catching herself, she noticed she had probably spent more than a moment staring at the boy and quickly cleared her throat, shaking his hand enthusiastically as if to pretend nothing much had happened. "Yes, thank you for the compliment, the honor is all mine." She said with a little nervous laugh, before focusing on his appearance once more. She was starting to remember why he had struck her as somewhat familiar. "Are you... a Frell?"

She'd be remiss not to know of the sovereigns of the Lucent Grasp, the region where her family lived.

"I am. Faustus Alexandar, son of the late Lord Faris Luther Frell, at your service." He stated as he withdrew his hand and returned to his usual position, hands clasped behind his back. For all he had put her on the spot with that greeting he at least helped her pretend nothing awkward happened.

"Ah, right. Asher Adraste Alistar, honored to meet you as well." She replied, a little more in control. Their conversation didn't seem to have attracted any eavesdroppers, at least. "I suppose you're the guy we owe our taxes to now, then!" She joked. Alexandar stared at her for a few moments.

"...I suppose I am, yes." He answered in a deadpan.

Ouch. Asher thought as she instead turned to look at the blonde girl, offering her hand in greeting. "Anyway, I didn't mean to be rude, it's nice to meet you as well. I've already given my name but who might you be?" She asked softly. Alexandar, meanwhile, glanced at Adler in case he wished to introduce himself.

---

As more and more students began to trickle in, whispers of excitement and unrest alike began to spread through the crowd. The students, happy to be here, were nonetheless growing impatient about being held here instead of progressing further into the academy to receive their orientation, reasonably enough.

Stepping off the latest train, a black-haired, bespectacled man wearing an ornate coat and holding a peculiar cane cut through the several dozen students already present. As he moved through, soft whispers could be heard, though the words were exceedingly difficult to make out.

As he reached the large arched doors, the man turned around and tapped the stone floor with his cane. Immediately, the stone seemed to respond to its wishes, morphing to create a raised platform for him to speak from, akin to a podium. With that done, he cleared his throat and began.

"Greetings students and welcome to this most fine of educational establishments you have been granted the boon of attending." The man spoke calmly, though his volume and manner of speech made him difficult to ignore and silenced a handful of ongoing conversations. "It is our pleasure and our delight to have you here today as I am certain it was your families' pleasure and delight to know of your admission. In but a short time we will be able to proceed into the academy proper to begin showing all of you around but at present I'm afraid some preparations are still being made and so I must ask for your understanding and patience." He stated. Predictably there were a handful of exasperated vocalizations, but nothing too bad. Certainly if the weather were any worse than this, more intense or otherwise overcast and chilly, things would have been far less manageable. This was fortunately not the case.

"In the meantime I will suggest that those of you who have not already done so should find the other members of your teams using the names provided in your acceptance letters as it is important for you to acquaint yourselves with each other and build working relationships." He instructed. Surely with most students occupied on that their impatience would wane. "Let's see, I have an idea: those whose team's name starts with the letters A through M, gather on the right hand side of this space; the rest of you, letters N through Z, gather on the left hand side. That should work well enough for an icebreaker."

[Nations United for Conquest]

The Sword that Seeks the Stars

---

---

Orlando of Thistleton | Team Reclamation | Citadel Arcadia - Mandus

---

---

"Hey, Daideó, tell us one of your stories again!"

"A story? Very well. Once there was a village. A village so small it had no name. It was a peaceful place for a time..."

"Oi, gramps, why do all your stories sound the same?"

"That's because all tales of Heroes start the same: A sword, a choice, and a battle that cannot be ignored..."

Horizon Arrival Alarms were not a pleasant thing. They made a sound like a thousand and one metal pipes striking the ground at the same time. Standing too close to one as it rang was a sure way to go deaf early. Ear protection was sometimes not enough to prevent some manner of damage.
The worst of it came from the sound, which had a particular way of lingering about the halls of a Chariot, bouncing from crevice to corner. Nowhere—by design—is safe from the boisterous noise. This is only made worse by the fact that they will sound thrice—once every five minutes—in the fifteen minutes prior to re-entry.

However, for most who journey the void and slink from star to star, it is an experience quite rare.

Alarms of such a type are uncommon on most Chariots for the simple reason that they operate on an entire crew. There is little need for an automated alarm when a crew member can read the spatial fluxations and announce when the time for entry arrives. On many civilian or commercial Chariots, a soft voice will echo across the ship, warning patrons to strap in and for the crews to make the final cargo checks. The Alarms are disabled, and everyone enjoys an agreeable entry to the new Horizon.

That is not the case on smaller Chariots. Those run by the military or small companies are where they are most used. Men must sleep and eat and see to their duties. Even when the Chariot is close to the entry, there is rarely time that a man can be spared for such a simple duty. So they make do with the deafening Alarms.

When Orlando was new to Horizon flight, it was the Alarms, naturally, that gave him the most trouble. Second, only to his first time leaving the atmosphere of Monosa. Yet, in time, he grew to become used to it. The fact there are far worse experiences across the Void that Orlando experienced undoubtedly helped. New Feronia's hailstorms, comparable to an orbital barrage or watching as the Citedal Jubonburg on Veronsa fell a thousand feet into a gaping sinkhole, made the alarms sound unlike bird calls.

But, spending nearly a third of your life aboard a Void fairing vessel will endear one to the sounds of a Chariot even if they do not wish it.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

Thus, it was ultimately not the blaring Alarm that roused Orlando when the Star Weaver blipped into existence over the Horizon of Mandus. Instead, it was the soft, subtle shift of the new Horizon. There was a certain feeling to a completed flight that resonated throughout Orlando’s entire body. No matter how fatigued he may be, Orlando could always feel the moment a Chariot left a Horizon and blipped into a new one. It would wake him from slumber without fail.

However, when the Star Weaver came into orbit above Mandus, Orlando had long been awake.

For two long hours, Orlando had been awake, gazing up at the dull beige ceiling of his room. A soft red light was cascading down from the ceiling, just bright enough to make out the barest features in the immediate area. One hand lay on an old Treatise with a well-worn cover and spin. It sat closed, pressed up against Orlando’s flank on account of the hammock he lay upon. His other hand cradled his head under the pillow. He counted the seconds that ticked by from the blaring Alarm till the subtle tremor that ran through the whole Chariot as it shook.

Fifteen had passed when the red light was replaced by darkness and then the soft, warm glow of the standard lighting. A groan passed about the place as the heavy metal shields over the skylight and windows retracted slowly. Behind them, a foreign patch of the Void came into view. Stars and constellations whose names Orlando did not know winked at him. He smiled.

With reluctance, Orlando rolled himself over the hammock's edge, careful not to spill the contents still within. His bare feet touched down by the soft fabric of the rug, and a groan escaped Orlando as he stretched. When Orlando first woke up, he had trained as usual, and a soreness lingered in his body. He shook it off and made for the locker on the far side of the room.

Orlando stripped off his pajamas, which were but a pair of shorts, and made to pluck an outfit from the wall locker. He reached for the Academy uniform, haphazardly hung in the locker, and fingered the buttons on the vest for a moment. They caught the light of the room and glowed softly. For a moment, Orlando hesitated before going through the process of putting on the uniform.

It fit well if perhaps a tad large, around the hem of the jacket. Orlando had been told it had been ordered for a different noble, but seeing as he had won the competition, it would be given to him. A rush job of tailoring had been done, but it worked well enough. It sat snug on his shoulders and chest, highlighting his build as it had no doubt been designed to do. The color paired relatively with his own auburn hair. Indeed, Orlando was happy enough to learn there was no tie to be worn with the uniform. It gave him some hope for the Academy. Not a lot, but it served as a start.

The rest of his preparations went smoothly. Orlando’s mornings had long become routine. A navy blue long coat, the sleeves already cuffed above the biceps, was drawn from the locker and, with a simple flair, found itself around Orlando. It flared out near the bottom half, almost like a cape, and a tall collar went up near his chin. After donning the long coat, all that remained were the Knight-grade armor plates. A breastplate and two pauldrons, teal with gold highlights (and one darker blue pauldron) on the top half and a set of teal leg armor bits encapsulating the front of his lower legs with similar were secured smoothly. Last was his belt and frog, the latter holding a Cold Steel side-sword against his hip.

When Orlando finished, he paused for a moment, taking in his appearance in the mirror. It did not look entirely different from usual with the long coat and armor. The uniform’s blouse was largely hidden from view and the color of the slacks was not too different of a hue than the trousers Orlando usually wore, if perhaps a finer material.

Still, his eyes lingered on the last collection of items in the locker: a large brown cloak and a green sea bag, but made of Solar Canvas. The bag was packed to the brim, and the cloak folded up neatly on top.

“Still a bit indecisive, boy?”—Orlando started at the sound of the voice—“Thought I raised you far better than that.”

Orlando turned his head back towards the mirror. There, he saw the visage of a face not his own but intimately familiar. It was an older man with wild, long, swept-back hair in the color of the Void and shining green eyes like a Paradise World. A neatly trimmed beard traced a sharp jawline.

“There’s no shame in backing out of a situation like this, boy. It's a shit deal, made by some backwater noble who stumbled upon enough clout to send a kid to Mandus by chance alone. What’s the worst that’ll happen? Can’t go back to that system for a few years? It was a shit hole, anyhow.” The voice of Ser Lorenzo continued.

“Weren’t you the one who told me that backing out of a deal halfway through was a sure way to end up on the hanging block, Ser?”

“Damn brat, if you actually listened to half of what I taught you, you’d remember no contract is worth your life, soul, or path. Do you even know why you’re going through with this farce?” Ser Lorenzo said.

“For that exact reason,” Orlando began, thumbing the pommel of his blade. “I’ve given it many a night's worth of thinking, and no matter what, I cannot seem to change from this course. For whatever reason, the Stars seem intent on guiding me to this academy for ends I can’t divine. But if there is any place to further sharpen my blade, I can’t really complain about a place toting to raise the finest of Knights.”

The man in the mirror laughed. “Then why are you still waiting around, boy? You should be getting a move on!”

“Sure, sure. As you command, Ser.” Orlando said. The figure faded from the mirror, and Orlando’s face appeared again.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

Despite the want to arrive planetside, it would still be some time before the Star Weaver could land at one of the Citadel’s harbors. Rather than rest in his room, Orlando made for the rest of the ship. He strolled through the cramped corridors and steep stairs with practiced ease. The Chariot had been his home more than any place in the Void, and no part of it was unfamiliar to him. It would be an adjustment to leave it behind.

After some few minutes of travel, Orlando eventually came out into the canteen. Given the small crew, the room was not overly large and could host a dozen people comfortably. A few more if you had no qualms with being shoulder-to-shoulder. However, it was a rarity that more than half a dozen people ever gathered in the room at once. Conflicting schedules made it so.

A long table sat in the middle of the room, and on either side were six simple stools. A few extra were placed along the edges of the room. Opposite the door stood a small buffet with a myriad of foods laid out. Leftovers from midnight chow. Most were still warm, with a fine cloud of condensation stuck to the glass covers.

Aside from Orlando, the mess was abandoned, save one other soul. A man slightly older than Orlando was at the far right end of the table. He wore a long coat of indigo in the style of Orlando’s sans armor. A Cold Steel short sword rested in its sheath a seat over. The man had sandy blond hair, wild on top and shaved short along the sides. His brown eyes had tracked Orlando from the moment he entered, but neither spoke.

Orlando made his way over to the buffet and began filling up on a light meal. Two eggs, a few cakes of flatbread, and a small bowl of fruit made for his breakfast. The fact that it was hardly after midnight did not matter. Breaking a fast was just that.

Despite the availability of seats, Orlando made his way over to his blond fellow. He placed his tray and bag down and sat across from the man.

“Guarin,” Orlando greeted with a nod.

The man named Guarin gave a grunt. “Lando. So today is the day, huh?”

“Today is the day,” Orlando said. He grabbed up his silverware and began to dig into his food.

Guarin sat across from Orlando and watched him quietly. He had long since finished his own meal. For a time, the room was filled with near silence. The only sounds to be heard were the soft hums of the Chariot’s internal systems and Orlando’s silverware upon the plate.
When Orlando reached the end of his meal, Guarin pulled an old cork pipe and a small bag of pipeweed from inside his long coat. Orlando watched him from the corner of his eye as he ate. Guarin loaded the pipe with a small helping. A flick of his fingers lit up the end, and soon, the smell of citrus and herbs permeated the little mess hall.

While Orlando finished his meal, Guarin blew smoke rings. They were small and did not last long. It was not a question of his skill but rather the Chariot itself. The constant filtering of air disrupted the rings before they could ever go far. The two men being at home upon Chariots, could no longer notice the soft breeze of the filtering air. The rings were not so lucky.

When his meal was finished, Orlando pushed his tray towards the center of the table. Curious, he eyed the bag of pipeweed.

“Can I have a toke?” Orlando said.

Guarin gave a shrug and passed over the pipe. Orlando took it, wiping the end on his napkin and taking a long drag. The taste of spicy herbs and rich citrus invaded his taste buds, and Orlando savored the taste on his tongue. He held the smoke for a moment before releasing a ring far larger and more stable than Guarin’s. It danced over the table before colliding with the wall to their right and dissipating. Orlando took another long drag before relinquishing the pipe to Guarin.

“That’s Ser’s blend!” Orlando exclaimed, a tad bemused. You found a stash of it?”

“Better. I finally managed to get down the recipe. The Old Man left behind years' worth of Treatises and novels to read through, but the bastard never thought to write down his own recipe for the stuff!” Guarin said.

Guarin took a drag from the pipe. Orlando laughed at his friend.

“Right shame you figured it out right before I left.” Orlando mused.

“Not quite,” Guarin said as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, “That bag on the table is for you. And I can always make more.”

“Ah, so you do care, Gaurin!” Orlando said with a smirk.’

“Oh shut up, you brat.”

“Now, now. No need to be coy. I know you’re bad at this whole thing. After all, that’s why you haven’t said anything to Signý yet, no?”

“Oi, that’s a step too far, brat,” Guarin said as his hand inched toward the sheathed blade.

Orlando coked an eyebrow. “If you think that’ll shut me up, obviously, you’ve forgotten how last night went. I’m up two hundred and eighty-seven to one hundred and forty-two, ya know. But I don’t mind making it two hundred and eighty-eight.”

“If you two are going to fight, we have a whole pit for this for a reason,” said a feminine voice near the entrance to the mess.

Standing with her hands on her hips, there was Signý, a tall and fair woman. Her hair was dark as coal, long and silky, falling like a curtain down her back. She had eyes like cut sapphires, and they cast a look of annoyance on the two men in the mess. A Cold Steel longsword sat in a frog against her waist. Unlike Guarin and Orlando, she wore a military-style coat of white that hugged her form and a simple mantle. It was blue on the inside and white on the outside.

“Signý,” Orlando greeted with a nod.

“Cap’n,” She replied. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, not too much. Guarin is just preparing to suffer his second loss of the night, is all.”

“Sounds about right,” Signý said with a smirk.

“Oh, like you did any better against him.”

“That may be true, Guarin, but which of us ended up as Vice-Captain again?”

“You just got lucky that time! We’re practically tied,” Said Guarin as he stood up sharply.

“Then let’s give it another go around! You good with that, Cap’n? We’ve got an hour till we have to land,” Signý asked.

“Sure,” Orlando said with a shrug. “So long as I get to face the winner.”

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

Walking along the lamp-light streets of the second ring of Citadel Arcadia was an experience both familiar and not.

From high above the city on the observation deck of the Star Weaver, the Citadel looked as any other. A thousand, perhaps ten thousand spots of light blaring out against the Void like a tight cluster of stars. A constellation of Man. Truly a beautiful thing. As the Chariot drew closer, even in the darkness of night, the finer details could be made out.

The stark, stalwart walls rising towards the heavens were in plain view. Great rings of metal surrounded by a massive lake. Within each lay buildings and lights like fireflies in the night. With each ring closer to the center, the intensity and density of the lights and buildings grew in magnitude. It was a sight to behold, even if it was not the most impressive Citadel Orlando had seen.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

The Star Weaver had come into one of the Citadel’s many harbors just after four in the morning. They had laid her down for the night, and the crew said their goodbyes to one another. Most granted shore leave headed towards the nearest pubs, intent on wasting coin and time. Orlando was of the mind to join them.

It was tempting—one last night of merry-making with those who had been his companions for over a decade—a good send-off to close one chapter of life and open another. But Orlando had already celebrated before the Horizon Jump, and he had a premonition that should he drink this night, he would miss the first day outright.

Instead, Orlando went for a walk. Though the streets were unfamiliar, his memories and other senses guided his feet through them. The twisting, narrow paths littered with shops and restaurants and the like. So early in the morning, most were closed. The large bazaars had closed their doors, and the display stands were tightly locked. Most restaurants had closed hours ago, but a few small cafes still had lights on and tables laid out. A patron or two lingered in them, drawing out cups of tea and coffee.

The only places that seemed to be genuinely active were the pubs—although this was of little surprise. There were many cities where the bars and pubs ran open until the break of dawn. Guards on night patrol and factory workers in industrial worlds worked long, tiring shifts and, more often than not, were only let off work in the early hours of the morning. And so the pubs stayed open to accommodate them.

It only made sense in a place such as Arcadia, where there are thriving industrial and agricultural centers. When you take into account the large student body of young men and women hungry for exciting nightlife after the draining classes of the Academy, it was all but certain the pubs and bars would thrive.

And they did. Orlando could tell where they lay by the sound of cheer and the smell of liquor that permeated the streets. Like bonfires, they glowed in the darkened streets. The sounds of merry-making and burning lamps were stark in contrast to the dark, empty street. Yet, despite the availability of pubs, Orlando continued to walk. Dawn was still a few hours off, and his throat was not dry.

His feet continued to carry him down the foreign streets, past more empty storefronts and still-blazing pubs. Orlando went down a fair few stairs and across small parks with scattered trees and benches—all abandoned.

Eventually, Orlando found himself at the edge of a large plaza, which was likely a bazaar of some sort. It was a vast open space, a hundred yards by a hundred yards. Most of it was simple stone and open, but small raised wood platforms were here and there. Elsewhere, covered wagons and smaller stands with locked fronts stood on their lonesome, scattered about with seemingly no order. In the day, it was no doubt a lively place. Orlando could see no less than five other passageways that lead into it. More storefronts flanked the edges of the square, built into the wall, and buildings that made up the borders.

There was nowhere to sit and nothing to do, but Orlando stayed in the plaza for an implacable reason. He went to wander the grounds soon after he arrived. Along the raised platforms and covered stalls, he walked. Most were still covered in the same heavy canvas as the cloak he wore and so could not be seen. In lieu of that, Orlando spent his time pondering what each could sell and what the place may look like when the sun rose, and the market came to life. He made a mental note of the place to return to when he had the time. Perhaps there would be a weaponsmith among one of the stalls.

Still, Orlando felt annoyance as he arrived at the far end of the plaza. The sun was just beginning to peak over the distant horizon, and he had spent the night wandering aimlessly—although perhaps that was not entirely true.

Truthfully, Orlando had been seeking a particular facet common to such Citadels: fighting arenas. In particular, underground ones. While a common feature in Sun Spear territory and often that of the Valiant Fang, they still had a place in the other Arms. A place where Mercenaries, squires, and even

Knights could come and test their mettle without the convenient excuse of a Six Hour War nor the annoyances that came with duels or tournaments.

Often, they operated out of gambling halls and pubs in the darker regions of the commercial sector of the Citadels. Even in a place so ‘clean’ as Arcadia, there were bound to be a few. Whether they were disgruntled Knights or bored Academy students, fighting of some kind would be going on. Orlando had searched high and low on his stroll, looking for all the typical signs he had learned in his travels. Yet, he turned up empty.

Although he had only searched a small portion of the lower ring, Orlando had still expected to find something. But it was not to be.

As Orlando moved to take one of the random passageways on the far side of the plaza, he heard a distant sound echo out from one of the many smaller alleyways. The sound was sharp but faint. It was the sound of something shuffling along the stone and the indiscernible words of distant whispers.
Orlando had little interest in some hushed conversation and so turned away. He had made it all of but three steps when the sound of splintering wood sounded out from the same alley. Orlando turned in time to see the limp body of some workman come tumbling out of the mouth of the passage. There was little remarkable about the man, save the meat cleaver that came flying out of his hand when his body finally came to a stop on the stone.

Hastily, Orlando drew himself up flesh against one of the nearby wagons. From the passage came several angry shouts and the sound of many feet upon the stone. Orlando peeked around the edge of the wagon in time to see eight more men of various builds and ages pour out of the opening. Most of the men were armed with simple makeshift weapons. Knives, cleavers, pipes, and axe handles. Save for the last to leave.

The eighth to emerge was better built than his companions, with brown hair in a military cut and a scarred face. In his left hand sat a simple energy sword. It was in the style of a cutlass, mass-produced, and purely utilitarian in design.

The energy blade flickered and fluxed in the early morning, casting queer shadows off the stone floor. It highlighted the man’s scars in a ghastly way that would no doubt scare small children for life. But it was hardly anything too interesting. Their arms were third-rate, and their stances were not worth mentioning. Only the older man had a half-decent posture.

Despite this, Orlando’s gaze remained fixed on the scene before him. The eight formed a half-crescent around the entrance to the alley. They shifted anxiously, staring at the opening. Orlando strained his hearing, and from the distant darkness, the sound of a single pair of fast-approaching footsteps came to him.

From the entrance of the Alley burst forth a blur of grey and red. When it came to a stop, Orlando got a good look and the ninth actor. It was a young female, tall and athletic. She sported short blonde hair and gunmetal grey Knight-grade plate armor—so far as Orlando could tell. The armor covered far more than his own but did not seem to interfere with her movement, given the speed at which she had entered the plaza.

A mantle of scarlet billowed in the wake of the wind caused by her entrance. Overall, it was a very ‘Knightly’ type of entrance—dramatic but practical. It itched something in Orlando’s mind.

However, the fight did not seem as though it would be of much interest. With the eight ruffians focused on the arriving stranger—a student or squire, Orlando figured—he thought to slip away through the nearest passage. He never got the chance.
The blade in the chief’s had fizzled before it exploded in a burst of light as it reached full power. The battery was no doubt damaged. Like a lightning strike, the corner of the plaza was lit up. It gave Orlando a finer view of the female knight and, in turn, that of her sword. A very familiar Cold Steel longsword. The pair of golden, honey-colored eyes that widened upon catching sight of Orlando half hidden behind the wagon were familiar to Orlando as well. Painfully so.

‘Fuck, why’d it have to be Eavan?’ Orlando muttered under his breath. He had hoped to slip away or keep the element of surprise but was fast losing it. The way Eavan’s eyes had widened did not go unnoticed by the thugs. Slowly, their heads began to trail after Eavan’s gaze and, subsequently, himself. A choice would be required.

In truth, Orlando could not bring himself to care for the fight. A bunch of street thugs was hardly worth any sort of effort. Eavan would fair fine against the lot of them without his assistance. But the option of merely spectating the fight had slipped away.

Orlando saw no way to avoid the fight that would be and so sought to gain the initiative. From behind the wagon, he bolted forward toward the nearest of the ruffians in the square. Orlando came to a short halt before the nearest, pivoting upon his heel and raising his leg high. When his foot had reached the apex his flexibility allowed, Orlando brought down his leg like a hammer, caught the nape of the nearest thug in the crook of his ankle, and slammed the man face-first into the ground. He was out cold.

The situation became two on seven.

The thugs that remained were, understandably, perturbed. Expressions of surprise and astonishment lay on their faces. Yet, none reacted quite as loudly as Eavan.

“Oran!” The young knight-to-be cheered, her smile all but blinding. “To think that our reunion would come at such a time. Truly, the Stars work in the most mysterious of ways.”

“Mysterious, my ass. You’ve always been a magnet for trouble and have a bad habit of getting me pulled into it! You could’ve at least had the decency to pick better opponents.”

“I selected these hooligans not for their skill with the blade but as punishment for the unjust and vile actions I bore witness to them committing! Highwaymen are truly blackguards on any planet.”

“Of course you did,” Orlando said as his head shook from side to side.

“Hey, dontcha think you kids have been flirting long enough?” barked the leader of the thugs. Orlando fixed the man with a hard stare.

“Oi. I’m trying to save you from the ass-beating of a lifetime right now—you could be a little more grateful. I’m doing you a big favor here, but if you keep up that attitude, I’ll gut you like a fucking fish, capeesh? Now, where was I?
“Right. I’ll take the impatient bastard and you clean up the rest of the rabble, Eavan.”

“I wished to fight the leader! Tis the task of the Knight to lay low the greatest Brigand of the lot.” There was a slight pout on her fair features.

“Perhaps,” Orlando said. “But your style is far better for multiple opponents than mine.”

“Hmph, I suppose I shall have to settle with teaching the remaining ruffians what for.”

“Good. Oh, and Eavan, try not to cripple them.”

“A knight does not make promises they cannot keep,” Eavan said plainly. Orlando hoped it was her attempt at sarcasm, but he had learned long ago you could never be quite sure when it came to Eavan.

From the edge of his vision, Orlando could see the moment Eavan moved. A burst of natural speed brought her within the guard of her nearest opponent. She swung her longsword down in a devastating cut, aimed to bisect the thug from shoulder to hip. Only the hasty raising of his guard saved the man’s life. Rather than the loss of his life, the man merely suffered a dislocated shoulder if his scream was anything to go by.
Orlando smirked. Eavan would be fine.

His attention instead turned to the thug still in front of him. The man wore a face of rage and agitation. Orlando ignored it for the time being.

Orlando pushed the edge of his cloak to the side and drew his side sword from within. He flourished the blade, regaining a feeling for its weight. In the blooming sunrise, the barest fringes of which were just beginning to creep over the walls of the higher rings, the blade shined. It cast arcs of silver as it cut through the air. Satisfied, Orlando leveled the tip of the blade toward the leader of the thugs.

“Shall we fight?” Orlando asked.

He did not wait for an answer. Orlando took the initiative and ran with it. The distance between the two was closed steadily with but a few steps from Orlando.
The battle would not be one of skill or power. Not even experience mattered for Orlando trumped his opponent in all such aspects. It would be a waiting game instead. The chief advantage lay in the energy blade, which would destroy the Cold Steel with a singular well-placed slash. Orlando would not allow it.

Orlando's blade lanced out in quick, probing thrusts. They searched the holes in the thug’s guard for hits against the shoulders or arms, all intent on disabling. Such attacks were met with some degree of success. Blood had begun to leak from the shallow cuts across the outer edges of the man’s arms, slowing the cutlass slashes down a degree.

Yet, none were the debilitating strike Orlando had hoped for. And so his blade continued to dance around the cutlass. A series of feints and thrusts pelted the thug like an unrelenting downpour.

Still, the sun rose steadily, and the plaza would undoubtedly come to life soon. Such would be a terrible time to be caught in the middle of a brawl. To the side, Orlando could hear the sound of Eavan’s own battles. Despite being outnumbered six to one, the young Knight-Canidate was holding on well. Orlando could tell when an opponent was defeated by the sound of bodies slamming into stone and metal. Such was the power of Eavan’s swordplay and magic. She would finish soon, so Orlando resolved to do the same.

The chance came in a slight lull of the duel. Orlando had drawn back in preparation for a lunge. In a bout of foolishness, the thug had made the mistake of assuming Orlando was withdrawing. The hand of the thug came up, palm facing out towards Orlando. From the man’s lips came the rapid and hushed words Orlando recognized as the incantation for a simple Mimos spell. Likely something lightning-based.

A smirk threatened to spill across Orlando’s face, but he hid it by moving towards his opponent again.

It was a golden opportunity for the thug. A spell, even of the weak magnitude such an inexperienced caster could produce, would have no trouble scoring a hit. It would likely disable Orlando for a short time. But still long enough for the thug to finish him off.

That would be the case if it actually managed to manifest.

When the thug finished his chant, a wild but potent burst of lightning should have escaped from his palm and scorched everything between the thug and Orlando. However, not so much as a spark burst forth from the man’s skin. Dumfounded, the thug stared at his outstretched hand in confusion. It proved to be his undoing.

Orlando’s blade tip raced for the outstretched hand. Without much resistance, it pierced clean through, the blade protruding a good inch out of the backside. Before the man could so much as scream or jerk away in pain, Orlando pulled his blade free. He took a half step back and then lunged once more. His wrist twisted, and the blade tip soared for the thug’s other hand. It bit along the top of the fingers holding the cutlass. Not enough to sever them, but the bone would likely be exposed if you looked close enough.

A howl of pain burst from the man’s throat. It was a choked, horrible sound. The thug attempted to stumble away, but Orlando was faster. Orlando spun a half rotation to deliver a brutal kick to the thug’s chest. The impact sent the air from the thug’s lungs and left him sprawling out on the ground, groaning in pain.

Orlando’s head shook in annoyance. A flourish of his sword relieved it of the faint dusting of blood it had collected. He twirled it once more before it returned to its sheath.

“A fine showing Oran. I am pleased to see that your skill with the blade has not dulled in the time we have been apart,” Eavan said with a smile so bright it could guide ships in a storm. It paired well with her honey eyes and sun-bleached blonde hair. Sunny all around, truly.

“Was that supposed to be a pun?” Orlando asked as he readjusted his cloak and sea bag.

“A pun?” Eavan asked with a tilt of her head. Confusion was writ plain on her face.

“Never mind that,” Orlando muttered.

He was about to continue when a shout sounded from the plaza's other side, echoing a cry of exclamation. Orlando and Eavan both turned to look in the direction of the speaker. There, illuminated by the glow of the sunrise, were two men in silver armor. They wore surcoats, gold on one side and white on the other. The symbol of Citadel Arcadia was proudly displayed in the center, right at chest level. The one on the right held a Cold Steel polaxe whilst the other appeared free of weapons. But such looks could be deceiving.
Orlando cursed under his breath. The sun to their backs would hide a majority of their features from the two patrolmen, but it could not hide everything—specifically, Eavan's armor and mantle and Orlando’s heavy brown cloak. Without bothering to discuss it, Orlando grabbed Eavan’s wrist and pulled her off towards the alley the goons had originally appeared from.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

The pair raced down the tight streets with ease uncommon for foreigners to the Citadel. Although it was not the first time either had been forced on a city chase before. However, the roles each filled were usually far more opposed at least in the case of Eavan.
Still, the travel was smooth in the beginning stages. The sun was still rising, and the streets were largely empty. An early riser on the way to the Stacks or a cafe member could be seen making their way down the streets, but they readily moved out of the way of the pair. After all, only a fool would get in the way of two armored individuals barreling down the road.

Unfortunately, the boxes and other such items on the edges of the street did not have the same mentality and more than a few were flung to the side in the pair’s haste.

By Orlando's estimates, they had gained a good headstart—about ten minutes or so. But unlike the pair, the streets would not be so foreign, and the people would no doubt be willing to assist the guardsmen. The lead would dwindle fast, especially with the random turns and twists Orlando leads them on.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

One such turn—a right turn—lead unto a long, straight road. It ran off into the distance, up towards the high wall that divided the second ring from the Stacks. The end could not be seen, as it curved gently and eventually disappeared among the houses and businesses that lined the road. The way to their stern was much the same.

There was no option of backtracking, so the pair continued to run forward. Luckily, there were no pedestrians on the street, and it was far less cluttered than some they had run through. However, it was a straight shot through and through. Most of the buildings were residential, and little in the way of back alleys or side streets were present.

The houses were so close a cat would have trouble squeezing between them.

Orlando had been considering taking to the rooftops when a flash of dark blue registered in his vision. Four houses up the road on the right was a young girl with hair like the ocean at twilight. She waved quite aggressively at the pair and gestured widely towards the open door she had stepped out of.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he all but threw himself and Eavan through when the pair finally reached the building the girl was near. They tumbled through the entryway and into the main room. For a foot or two, they skidded before coming to a halt in a tangle of limbs. The girl entered after them, closing the door behind her.

The room they found themselves in was a dimly lit cafe. It would not be ready to be opened. The chairs were still stacked on the tables, and the shutters were tightly closed. It was a quiet place. But clean. The only light source came from a trio of hanging bulbs over the counter on the far side of the room. They were positioned over a small bar lined with a collection of stools.

Behind the bar stood a greying man. His hair, slicked back and orderly appeared stark white under the light. Silver colored almost. The man’s neat beard and bushy mustache were much the same. He wore a simple overcoat of dark green with a red shroud. Peaking out from underneath were the flashes of polished grey Knight-grade armor. The man had vanbrances on, and near the color peaked out the collar of the cuirass he wore under the overcoat. His hazel eyes had not left the pair since they entered.

“Come, have a seat,” The man said in a gravelly voice. “There’s no need to fear for the guardsman. I doubt they’d think to check every shop on the street. And if they do…I can assure you, you won’t leave with them.”

Neither Orlando nor Eavan could find a reason to deny their savor’s request. They dusted themselves off and settled into a pair of chairs at the counter. A mug of warm tea was placed into their empty hands. There was a rich and pleasant aroma to it and steam waffed off the top.

“I should thank you two. Joshua—the boy you saved—is a good friend of mine and a fine Pegasus mechanic. I had thought to intervene on his behalf, but it seems I was beaten to the punch.”

Orlando gave Eavan a look, but the girl was beaming proudly.

“Thanks are not needed, for it is the sacred duty of a Knight to intervene when the common man is in peril.”

A gruff laugh escaped the old man. “Regardless, I am still thankful. I will send word to the chief constable explaining the situation. I’m sure I can get the situation worked out somewhat…I wouldn’t want you two to suffer for my tardiness.”

“You have our thanks, but how did you know about all this if you were here?” Orlando said.

“Let’s just say it was on account of my Squire’s Law, hmm?” The man said, gesturing towards the dark-haired girl sitting beside Eavan in the bar. She said not a word. Instead, she smiled kindly at the pair and took a sip from her own cup of tea.

“Which reminds me,” The man began. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am Osgar Guiscard, Knight of the Order of the Star-Breaker, and the little one is Anika, my Squire.”

“...At your service,” the girl mumbled softly. A touch of color was visible on her pale face.

“Well met!” Chimed Eavan. “I am Eavan O’Byrne, Knight-hopefully of the Order of the Silver Laurel, Circle of Free Knights, and Squire to Sir Cathan Wave-Walker, at your service.”

“And I am Orlando.” The titular boy tacked on.

“What an interesting pair the two of you make,” Osgar said with a smile. “You seem experienced, but are you perhaps Academy students by chance?”

“We are, sir. What of it?” Orlando said.

“Not much, but it is good I ran into you before the guards. Although such dedication to helping those in need is worthy of Knight, I can’t imagine your professors would be too happy with you ending up in the stockades on the first day!”

“I’d imagine not,” Orlando said before he laughed. “But it would certainly be an interesting first impression.”

“Indeed, indeed. At the least I can rest assured little Anika will have some reliable seniors should she decide to attend. Now, there is some time before students have to report. If your amiable to it, I’d like to offer a meal as repayment.”

“Sure. Hard to say no to free food. Although I’ll warn you, that one is something of a glutton,” Orlando said, gesturing towards Eavan. His words earned him a smack to the back of the head.

“I don’t eat that much…” The girl in question pouted with a frown. Orlando simply laughed louder. Even Anika had a smile on her face. The girl’s dark indigo eyes shined brightly.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

The meal was prepared in good time and with efficiency. It was a simple poultry-based dish. Thin strips of chicken had been neatly sliced, breaded, and then fried in a shallow shillet. A collection of greens served as a side and part of the stock, the rest being made from the fat of the chicken—what little there was.

A handful of potatoes were sliced and diced into small chunks. They, too, were fried in the same oil as the chicken and seasoned with a light dusting of salt. Altogether, it did not look like much: a few strips of chicken, a handful of potato chunks, some greens, more or leeds tossed onto a place and served over a stock of vegetables and fat.

Yet, despite that, it was a good meal. The small portions were rich and contained a great deal of flavor. It left the patrons feeling warm and content when the meal was finished. A practical, hearty thing it was. Osgar could produce no name for the dish. He settled for calling it something he had picked up in the Severing Arm.

Orlando found it a fitting meal for such a place. Small in portion, nothing wasted, but efficient in its purpose. Eavan had finished first despite having been given a portion twice the sizer of any other. She was already writing down the recipe.

When the meal was completed, on the advice of Osgar, Orlando, and Eavan reluctantly took off their armor and arms. The plates of armor were wrapped up in cloth and stowed away in the sea bags the pair carried. The weapons proved to be a more difficult matter on account of their size. Instead of the bags, the blades were laid side by side, wrapped up in Orlando's cloak, and secured to the sea bag.

The quartet took to the streets. In the light of day, the Citadel was truly coming to life. The once empty streets were overflowing with life and people. Shops previously closed had opened their doors, and their first customers were entering or lingering out on the street. Men and women of all ages were hurrying to and fro, some on their way to work, others to their classes, no doubt.

The streets that Eavan and Orlando had once navigated so easily seemed foreign to them.

Anika had taken the lead on their trip. The small girl walked hand in hand with Eavan a few paces ahead of Orlando and Osgar. She had attempted to remain quiet and stoic, but Eavan destroyed any hope the young girl had of a calm and peaceful walk.
The young Knight bombarded the girl with question after question. She asked about one shop or the other or about trips she had taken with Osgar. But the girl held her ground, and by the time they neared the final stretch that would take them up to the Loop platform for students, she was engaging in conversation just as much as Eavan.

The smile Anika wore was radiant. It fit her far more than the subdued and shy one she had worn when they first met. Osgar agreed if his proud look was anything to go by.

“I’ve never seen Anika warm up to someone so fast,” Osgar said at some point. “It’s impressive.”

A low chuckle escaped Orlando’s throat. “Hardly. Eavan’s a child at heart so it’d only make sense she could connect with another so easily,” Orlando said. “But it’s also her path of Knighthood. To become the kind of Knight she heard about in stories and inspire youths as she once was.”

“A noble path, certainly,” Osgar said.

“I suppose so.”

“And what of yours?”

“My what?” Orlando asked.

“Path of Knighthood. You are a student too, after all.”

“Mine, huh? Nothing so noble. I simply wish to sharpen my blade to its pinnacle before passing it onto another,” Orlando replied with a shrug.

“A knightly goal perhaps not, but one no less deserving of achievement.”

Orlando did not reply. Instead, the two continued the remainder of the trek in a comfortable silence.

Just a few minutes before noon, the group arrived at the station. The whole platform was a sea of red and chaos. Masses of students raced to and fro in different directions and at different speeds. Standing at the edge of the mess, the view was not unlike watching the sea at the changing of tides.

Attempting to move from one side to another in a straight line was impossible. One that Orlando groaned at. The young man wanted nothing more than to find a comfortable seat on the train and sleep, but it would seem yet another obstacle stood before him.

Off to the side, Eavan had crouched down next to young Anika, a smile on her face.

“Umm, Miss Eavan, if you could, would you mind helping me look for a friend?”

“Of course! It would be quite dishonorable of me to deny a request after the kindness you have shown me, Dame Anika! Now, who is this friend we must find?”

“D-dame!” The young girl said with wide eyes. “His name is Dunstan. He’s tall and has brown hair? Oh, and he smokes a lot!”

“Very well! Let us be off to find this ‘Dunstan’ of whom you speak,” Eavan said before scooping the girl up and placing Anika on her shoulders. The girl gave a squeak of surprise, but it was lost on the wind as Eavan took off through the crowd. Orlando merely shook his head as Osgar laughed next to him.

“Certainly an energetic one.”

Orlando made to reply but was cut off by a voice from the side.

“What’s this? Already taking on a new apprentice, an old man. You certainly move fast. Little Anika isn’t even old enough to join the Academy yet!”

To the side stood a man of impressive stature and presence. He was not much taller than Orlando, but the presence that he carried made him seem much larger. Already, several students had stopped to gaze at the outspoken man. More than a few openly fawning over him. The man, who seemed to be a few years Orlando’s senior, was nearly entirely covered in Knight-grade plate. It was of a light grey color with highlights of gold along the edges. Numerous pieces of plate sat upon one another in a robust way that highlighted the man’s broad shoulders and muscled build. Underneath was a long coat like Orlando’s, although far more stylized, flaring out like bird feathers near the hem. Like Signý’s, it was blue on one side and white on the other, with gold lining much like the armor. A symbol Orlando did not recognize was etched onto the cuirass in place of a surcoat.

“Oh? Am I truly hearing this from the pupil who cheered for the day he was released from my tutelage? I seem to remember a certain ungrateful student of mine wishing that no one ‘would suffer as he had,’ and now here you are acting jealous. A knight must not be so flippant, Clovis.”

“I was actually just about to offer the poor sap my condolences,” Clovis said, looking at Orlando. “Who is the kid, anyway?”

“This is Orlando. He’s a student who helped me with a certain issue. I’m merely repaying the favor by guiding him here.”

“A student then. A first year?” Clovis said, his dark blue eyes zeroed in on Orlando. Orlando did not flinch. “That’s quite the expression you’ve got there, kid. And the way you hold yourself…you’ve fought before. Six Hour Wars, perhaps?”

“A few,” Orlando admitted. His hand hovered near the hilt of his side-sword. He had forgone the cloak when they left the cafe, so his arms and armor were on full display.

“I do not recognize your face or name, but the Void is a large place. Perhaps we were allies once upon a time.”

“Or enemies,” Orland added with a neutral expression. Clovis’ hardened in response.

“Oh? I think I might remember a brat like you if we ever met in battle.”

“Maybe you’re just forgetful? You seem the type. So how ’bout I give you something to jog that memory of yours?” Orlando said, casting his thumb over his shoulder to where the conspicuously wrapped blades sat.

“How generous of you. Even if you could do to be a little more polite to your seniors. Very well, let u-”

Clovis was cut short by the sudden collision of a staff with the back of his. The man collapsed into a crouch, groaning as he rubbed the back of his head.

Behind the crouching stood a woman in white, a good few inches shorter than Orlando. Her hair was platinum blonde, near to silver, and of an incredible volume. Most of it had been bound up in a crowning braid around her head, yet a large curtain still fell midway down her back. She had a pale, fair face full of sharp aristocratic features and eyes like lavender, which had set their harsh glare on Clovis.

The woman’s clothes were white as well. Her dress was long and of a military style. It had a color and braided belts of gold string. It gave her a very regal look. Plates of knight-grade armor, also white, were incorporated into the dress with such finesse that it was hard to tell what portions were protected and which were not. In her hands was a staff of rich gold, lacking in intricate designs or etch work. The only thing of note was the strange rectangular shape of the head and the small slits cut into the metal along the sides.

“I do apologize for whatever it is that my companion has done to raise your agitation. Please do not think poorly of him,” the woman said in a voice like church bells (not that Orlando had ever been to church for religious reasons).

“He’s the one who started it, El,” bemoaned Clovis.

“Then you are at fault for rising to the ribbing and allowing a first-year student; saints forbid he be a civilian, to goad you into a fight. There is a time and place for such things, Clovis, or do you wish to see a repeat of your first day, hmm?” The woman said.

“As entertaining as that would be, I doubt it's necessary, lady…El? I’ve not a clue what in the hells your name is.”

A polite laugh echoed in the small bubble created by the presence of four armored individuals.

“That is quite alright. I do not imagine you would be overly familiar with whom I am, although I would not mind should that change,” She said with a smile, offering a small curtsey in her dress. “I am Elysian Drynwen, at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord…?”

“None of that ‘Lord’ crap, now. My name’s Orlando. Or Lando if you prefer. Simple as that. And no harm, no foul. I’m sure I can find a place to deal with his shitty memory somewhere off school grounds.”

The woman gave a pleasant little titter. An enjoyable sound to any who may have heard it. “Is that so? Regardless, I must also thank you for the assistance you provided, my dear Uncle,” Elysian spoke with another bow.

Orlando looked between the two of them. The only point of familiarity clear to his eyes was the hue of their hair, but he kept such thoughts to himself.

“Honestly, you should thank Eavan. She started it all,” Orlando said.

“Eavan?”

“Her,” Orlando said, pointing out across the sea of red. There, like a lighthouse upon the shore, stood Eavan. Anika was still on her shoulder, the girl’s purplish hair dancing in the wind. Between Eavan's mantle and Anika's hair, they were easy to spot.

“Who is she?” Elysian asked.

“Eavan,” Answered Orlando with a shrug of his shoulders. The woman’s lavender eyes fell onto Osgar.

“Eavan O’Byrne, Knight-hopeful of the Order of the Silver Laurel, Circle of the Free Knights, and Squire to Sir Cathan Wave-Walker.”

“Interesting,” mused Elysian with furrowed brows. “House Orvis gave no announcement of such a thing. I had thought the Duchess was the only one of age in the household. Do you perhaps think Tanya w–”

“I doubt that much, little El,” said Osgar. "It is far more likely that it is simply the Free Knights doing what they please, again.”

“Ah, I suppose that would make the most sense,” Elysian said. “Well, I believe that Clovis and I have taken enough of both your time. We must attend to our own duties, and I am sure you first years shall have your own troubles to conquer as well. But should you or your companion require anything, simply ask for Team Restoration.”

Sure enough, as Elysian spoke, a dark-haired man had taken control of the rowdy crowd of students. He uttered a series of commands, and in short order, the crowd began to split into two neat sides.

“Come along now, Clovis. Nialla and Dunstan are surely growing impatient at our tardiness.”

Orlando watched the pair leave with a sigh. The conversation had been his last bastion against entering into the ground. And so Orlando said his goodbye to Osgar, thanking him once more for his help before entering the fast-dividing sea of students. No doubt, his long coat stood out among the sea of red, but undoubtedly, it was nowhere near as bad as Eavan.

The girl in question had been caught momentarily between the two sides. Her hesitation lasted only a moment before she quickly bounded to one of the sides. Orlando wondered if it was truly her designated side, but it was out of his hands.

Instead, he stared down at the small, folded piece of paper in his hand. Across the bottom, Team Reclamation was written in bold font.

How pompous, Orlando thought before pressing deeper into the crowd. Oh, how he wished he could simply take a nap. Such a thing would not happen.

[Finland SSR]

"Nice to meet you. My name is Damian Arius of the House of Vanerian. Lancers stick together, no?"

Ira Lucretius de Bellona - Spears Cross
Citadel Arcadia - Kalven Harbor
February 10, 3031 - 12:00 NN

"In the meantime I will suggest that those of you who have not already done so should find the other members of your teams using the names provided in your acceptance letters as it is important for you to acquaint yourselves with each other and build working relationships." He instructed. Surely with most students occupied on that their impatience would wane. "Let's see, I have an idea: those whose team's name starts with the letters A through M, gather on the right hand side of this space; the rest of you, letters M through Z, gather on the left hand side. That should work well enough for an icebreaker."

February 10th

---

Damian has experienced his share of "noble speak", if he could call it that. His father spoke in such lingo, and so did many other nobles in the Order of the Sun Spear whom he got the chance to witness and talk to as a kid. To a certain degree, it rubbed off on him as well - even if he avoided the most excessive reference to antiquated vocabulary and the accompanying uplifted tone - but he assumed that he would not experience as much of it here, in the Academy. Sure, many of the students were going to be nobles, but not all of them, and even the nobles came here from all walks of life and all of the galaxy's numerous orders, some uptight, some less so.

Hearing the Bellama heir - Ira, as he introduced himself - speak thus caught him by surprise. If he did not know any better, the gigantic appearance and the form of speech would have gotten Damian to assume that he was much older than initially thought.

"Of course. Let's," Damian answered Ira's offer to walk together and joined the fellow heir in their journey through the student mass. With the Bellama by his side, moving through got a lot easier - he didn't really need to push through the crowd when a giant intimidating warrior besides him got most people to stand aside anyway, even if it appeared a little comical.

I suppose I expected someone from his family to be a lot more... brash. They were violent, nigh-psychotic warriors, were they not? Their children were grown in one of the most brutal environments of any Lancer noble house, where those who survive would be the most brutal, the most willing to bend the rules and overcome their kin. With a backstory like that, Damian anticipated to be pushed aside, or see Ira denounce him as a whimp and move past him without giving him an ounce of respect.

Perhaps he too was concerned with making a good first impression to a fellow noble?

After a few seconds of silence, Ira asked about his father - which briefly cause a grimace to form on Damian's face, before he shook it off and answered:

"Thank you, erm, Sir Ira, I'll send him your regards. For someone who is over sixty years old, Father has been very active - he definitely does not act the age," As expected of the head of House Vanerian, he was involved both in the politics and in the military affairs of the Order. He was a common sight in the entourage of Sun Lord Vantas the Lion, and he's served as commander of more than one expedition to keep order in the skies. Worries about the future of his lineage have taken a few years from his life by now, though, surely. "I hope he still has at least twenty years in him - though, hopefully, this does not sound a little morbid."

He had plenty of things to ask Ira, too. It wasn't often that he could talk to someone from his house face to face and on good terms. What was that classic Bellona training like? Was it horrifying? How much is true, and what is not? His voice was cut off by a loud proclamation before the arched doors of the academy, where a bespectacled black-haired man with a cane, clearly a part of the academy's staff, welcomed everyone to the academy and then requested everyone's patience. For now, he requested all students to divide themselves into two groups, based on their team names. Damian's team directed him towards the left hand side.

"Wait, so, do people with M team names go to the left or the right...?" Damian briefly wondered under his breath, then raised his hand and loudly yelled:

"Team Reclamation! Anyone from Team Reclamation, gather here!"

If they're required to find their teams and start figuring each other out, he may as well take the initiative to gather everyone in one place. After his yell, with his hand still raised, Damian turned to Ira and asked:

"You don't happen to be Reclamation, right?"

[Finsternia]

"You don't happen to be Reclamation, right?"

Ira Lucretius de Bellona - Banners Raise to Formation
Citadel Arcadia - Kalven Harbor
February 10, 3031 - 12:00 NN


By the words of the Vanerian heir, it seems that the old Lord Vanerian still clings to life ever so stubbornly. Of course, at the age of over 60, it is still young for what could be considered an elderly man. The Lord's long history of warfare and politics would most definitely be enough to keep his body and mind strong against the erosion of time and age, but alas despite this formidable fortitude and resilience House Vanerian's glory is hanging by a thread. As adherents to the Order of the Sun Spear, only the strong can be at the helm of the nobility. This is one of the reasons why the House of Bellona has codified its cruel laws, to keep the blood as vigorous as iron. Only those who had the sharpness of mind and the strength of body and sorcery could become true knights, and only these knights could garner the right to become Lord and Lady. And in this caveat lies the tragedy of the matter.

"Hm. Pray that he does indeed, Sir Damian. A knight of his honor deserves to see the seeds that he has sown bear fruit, after all. Don't let your Lord Father down." The Bellona heir holds their eye contact for a bit longer, eyes squinting as if telling him that many eyes such as his are watching. The star of hope for the Vanerians will be like a meteor that many astronomers will focus their telescopes and instruments towards, to divine his trajectory across the heavens. These so called astronomers, if the star would ever be led astray from its orbit of greatness, would no doubt transform into sharks in bloodied waters. "...Watch your back, Sir Damian. Only strength, your own strength, will never betray you."

Indeed, their discussions were cut off by the authoritative voice of the bespectacled staff of the academy, and so did the murmurs and chaos of the burgeoning student crowd. There is a visible release of held back discomfort from Ira's taunt shoulders, watching with silent appreciation at the reordering of the chaotic masses. 'Of course the staff will not let these snot filled cretins step into the academy like wandering beheaded chickens.' Derision pools in the young man's blood-red eyes, burning with distaste at the waves of red and grey before him, as if they're ants inconveniencing his stride and movement. By the grace of Fate did the two Lancers share the same side of the formations, and the Angel of War stands tall and imposing just beside this newly found acquaintance of his.

"...Reclamation, you say?" The Bellona Scion ponders on the team name that Damian has given him, before flicking the letter of acceptance that he has been holding all this time. At the bottom, written in eyecatching ink, spells the words Team Sentence. "A shame that I wouldn't be able to watch closely whether your star would burn as brightly as your Lord Father wishes it could." Ira muses, a hint of aggression painting his words like that of a wolf smelling the scent of prey... or perhaps it is simply how a Bellona speaks of their expectations and desire to compete? The young Vanerian lord could only ask Ira of such questions later as the towering man folds his arms across his chest, and with a booming voice calls out:

"TEAM SENTENCE, GATHER UP! CALLING TEAM SENTENCE, LINE UP AND GET READY TO PRESENT OURSELVES NOW!"