Divine Paths

The boys' side of the building was like a large compound of military quarters. They had three floors: two with bunk beds and one for studying. 

In the center of their area was a spiraling staircase with a brown golden railing. Next to the main room is a locker room that contains shower stalls and storage boxes for their clothes.

On the third floor, rows of golden brown chairs circle around desks, with pencils and pens in the middle of each set. The seniors had this floor to themselves most of the time, their numbers ranging below 20. Each brought a bunk bed up there after the Deathly Journey, moving half of the desk sets downstairs.

The space had a polished wooden floor, with a royal blue fox fur rug running down the middle and connecting to the steps. It was divided in half, with 14 bunk beds on the left and a large steel table on the right, surrounded by six chairs.

Cream candles with red wax dangle on the two windows covered with a thin green curtain, emitting a soft vanilla scent.

“A student found him near the river bank. His body had many knife wounds upon first glance. Later, the report details fractured bones, with every inch of his flesh sliced deeply. We believe he was tortured for two hours before finally passing through the Styx Gates.”

“Who was the student?”

“Rune Polymina.”

Leaning on the window sill, Ishaan listens silently, his hidden eyes locked on the shadowy silhouette of a man kneeling on the ground, which ripples as it talks. Then, he asks, his voice a cool breeze of malice. “Has anyone else found out?”

“No,” replied the shadow. “They plan to announce his death in seven hours.”

“Why seven hours?”

“Sebastian said it’s to give them time to come up with a cover story.”

“I see.” Ishaan uncrosses his arms and rubs a long finger over his blindfold. “You are dismissed. Notify me if any more news related to this comes forth.”

“Yes, my lord.” The shadowy silhouette sinks away.

Raiden snickers, leaning on the pads of his arms as he sat on a chair. “I’m never not impressed by your ability to manipulate a veteran Ophanim.”

“He’s a greedy man. I fill that greed more than my old man.”

On the third floor were Ishaan, Raiden, Iskra, Manon, Akira, and Czar. They are the elite members of Voyager Seekers, a league that traverses the star system. 

At Lightless, every student that has made it up to junior year forms a league, then in their mentor year, they take on space missions. Leagues are groups created for the expansiveness of earth’s connection with other realms. The ancestors of the Four Holy Clans came up with the epiphany.

Czar, with his dirty blonde head buried in a Stella Empyrean—an advanced ebook from the northern lands—mutters in a puzzled voice, “What the hell was a council member doing at a students party anyway?”

Raiden shrugs. “Maybe he wanted to feel young again?”

“That would be very improper of someone of his status,” says Iskra, her eastern accent laced with disgust. She looks at her little brother with cold green eyes. “What don’t they know?”

Akira sat casually in his seat nested between Czar and Manon as he replies, “The party was cut short due to an incident with the speaker. It was destroyed by a water bird.”

“A water bird?” Manon brows twitch. 

“It couldn’t have been a distraction. By the time the speaker was destroyed, the bastard was rotting,”Akira adds.

“If that’s the case, why didn’t no one report this?“

Ishaan answers Raiden. “The only people who can make water float at Lightless are the Misul. Given their reputation, I believe people were fearful of crossing any of them.”

A smugness clouds over the three siblings, Iskra, Manon, and Akira.

Manon clears her throat, her olive skin blazing with warmth. “I-I mean, when you say it like, Lord Ishaan, I can’t help but feel appreciated—

“Wait! Hold up!” Raiden interrupts her. He rose from his seat with a frown. “I’m confused. Does that mean one of you did it?” He jabs an accusing figure in the Misul siblings' direction.

A cold amused smile curls Iskra’s mouth. “The murder of a person or a speaker?”

Raiden shivers visible. “T-the destruction of the speaker..”

“No, we didn’t, you big amateur,” Akira chimes in with a soft sigh. “Which leaves our dear little sister.”

“Wyn,” says Iskra.

“Really? This is Wyn we’re talking about. She would never do something like that, even if the noise bothered her.” Manon speaks in a skeptical tone. “Maybe the person who reported this was so drunk he’s lying to hide his shame or something.”

Iskra nods in agreement while Akira mutters softly. “Preach, sister.”

“Speaking of freshmen,” Czar cuts in. He shuts the Stella Empyrean, which is thick as a crystal and shaped as a book, the covered pale blue with glittering snowflakes. He places it elegantly on his lap. “Ziven's sister is here.”

A heavy silence encases the third floor. No one said a word for a full ten minutes, each drowning in their own memories of the person.

Ishaan was the first to break it. “None of this matters. Just focus on being on the lookout for the killer. I speculate someone might be hunting the council. We won’t know for sure until another body appears or the killer is caught, so keep your guard up.”

****

Kaltain stares at herself in the door mirror hanging inward. She was dressed in a crispy white shirt, with a navy blue button up jacket with a collar and trousers. Paired with the academy uniform are polished black boots. The freshmen rank—a white dove—was etched on her jacket beside the breast pocket showcasing her name. Her hair is styled in a high ponytail that sways and brushes her lower back.

“Looking good, Kaltain,” she mutters to herself, a small smile donning her heart-shaped face.

“I didn’t peg you for a narcissist,” chuckles Wyn as she strolls in through the open door.

Kaltain moves from behind the door, pushing it lightly in the process. “I can’t admire myself?”

“Of course you can! Self love is damn near divine.”

Kaltain snorts a laugh and slings a black backpack over her arm. “I’m starting to like you, Windy.”

“It’s Wyn.”

“Right.”

Wyn stomps her foot with a huff. “You’re teasing me again!”

Kaltain shrugs, already striding out of the room and into the halls. Purple oil lamps lit up the pathway to the main area. As she passes by the kitchen 180 degrees south of the entrance, her eyes launch onto a handsome figure.

Her steps stutter. Flawless golden hair that flows down a muscular back like waves of sunlight ensnares her attention like a magnet. With her sharp sight, his hair appears bright enough to light up the darkest night.

The mysterious stranger was clad in a similar uniform—though the shade is silver, and his breast pocket dangled with gold tied threads that flaunted achievements and blocked his name.

She sensed a familiarity about him, yet his name was a dark fog that wouldn’t clear. ‘To have over 20 achievements is insanely great.’

Achievements at Lightless ranked from a student’s performance in all divisions and the successfulness of missions given to them.

She guessed he must be a holy clan child like herself; however, Kaltain paid little attention to any of them. It’s not like she wasn’t interested, she simply didn’t want to become friends with future enemies. ‘A waste of energy and time. That is a fact no logic could break.’

Despite the peace that binds them, there’s been indirect war between the clans. Assassins ordered to blade in the night, merchants paid to mess up trade deals or steal shipments and goods, spies sent to gather information, etc.

Her father told it was chess online, naming it the overseer's war. Kaltain always admired that as a child, ignorant of the damage their pettiness done to the counties and innocent civilians.

Children are like eggs. You have to be very careful with them so they don’t crack and break. If you cook it right, you’re in for a delight. If you don’t, you’re left with either a rotten egg, burnt egg, or a milky one.

Kaltain wonders most of the time how she turned out. If she was still in the process of being a delightful history or a stain in the belly.

As if Ishaan senses being scrutinize, he crooks his head slowly to the right, facing her direction. 

Immediately, Kaltain ducks her head with a racing heart and picks up her pace. ‘Isn’t he blind? Why did I feel like he could see me?‘

Fresh air greets her in a gentle breeze as she exists the building, carrying in it a sweetness of autumn. The soft sound of birds chirping and chattering students reaches her ears. Kaltain looks down at the paper in her hand.

Schedule: Divine Research and Cultivation—west building, Room 105.

Survival Skills—dead forest.

Beast Companion—north building, Room 56.

Her eyes darted over the building and class numbers labeled beside her first class. When Kaltain arrives, she realizes the classroom was one of the rooms she noticed while in the car.

Its arched windows leading to the ceiling, engraved on the surface are dragons, angels, sirens, and phoenix's designs that dance the structure like paths of history.

Five long oak tables extend the space before a fancy circular desk, which on top of it was a blue crystal globe, and behind was a transparent board. The smell of lavender and ethereal wafts the atmosphere with a homey odor.

Seated at the long tables were eager freshmen, their faces plaster with a hint of wariness, yet unconcealed excitement.

Kaltain walks over to a free seat in the back, ignoring the curious and hesitant glances thrown her way. The chosen seat was nested between an empty one and one acquired by a tall girl.

Kaltain drops her backpack on the floor and curl her shaky hands into a fist, which are stowed in her jacket pocket. In her peripheral vision, she involuntarily looks the girl over.

Bronze skin, detached lime green eyes, glossy black straight hair, which flows past her nape, with short strays framing her stunning diamond freckles.

Her attention is drawn downward. Four gold tied threads pinned the alluring girl’s purple breast pocket. Two dangle delicately on each side of her name: Vienna.

‘A freshman with four achievements? No, that’s not possible.’ Kaltain's eyes almost dilated in shock before she rationalized herself. ‘She’s wearing purple.’

The grade year at Lightless can be detected by the color of their uniform. Navy blue—freshmen. Green—sophomore. Purple—junior. Silver—senior. White—mentor.

‘What’s a junior doing in a freshmen class?’ Kaltain holds back her curiosity and leans forward on the table, resting her head upon her left palm. ‘Not my business, not my problem.’

Two minutes later.

“Hello, freshmen, I am Shadeen,” says a 1.7 meter figure. She was wearing a dark gray suit with short pants, displaying smooth fair legs. Her light brown hair is pulled into a low elegant bun, with a pair of thin silver glasses perched upon her pointy nose. “I’ll be your professor for Divine Research and Cultivation, where we’ll be diving into history and the application techniques and practices for honing and using divine energies.”

With her back to the class, a blue stylus manifested between her fingers. A soft tapping echoes through the still room.

The words she writes appear in purple starlight on the board.

History exists to stop history.

“Can anyone explain what this means?” she asks.

People raise their hands after five seconds, but the girl beside Kaltain speaks up before Shadeen can call on anyone.

“It means most mistakes these days shouldn’t be labeled as such.” Her voice is silky rich, grinding against people's eardrums with an intensity.

Shadeen gentle ocean blue eyes look at the girl with a questioning expression. “And why is that, Miss Vienna?”

“If you know you’re wrong before the wrong then it’s not a mistake. It’s a choice.”

“People associate regret with mistakes. What if they regret their choice and label it as a mistake?”

“How many regrets forge a mistake than a right?” Vienna's emotionless face twitches slightly. “I live by the belief people should live as they wish, but should also accept the logic that no one can be blamed for their own choices beside themselves. Your parents made you, but they are not you.”

“Minds can be manipulated,” says Shadeen with graceful simplicity. “What then? Are they still at fault?”

“Yes, because they are weak.” Vienna nods her head with a confident certainty that shakes Kaltain's emotions. “If you do not want to fall victim to danger, become strong enough to evade it. People do not exist to protect.”

“Oh?” Shadeen eyes darken, sympathy overtaking her features. “Why do people exist, dear?” she asks in a slow, tender voice.

“I do not know, ma’am.”

“I see.” Shadeen clicks the stylus, flipping it, and then causally erases the words with the other end. “Why are you in a freshmen class, Miss Vienna?”

Vienna blinks, her body stiffening. She slowly traces her gaze around at the wide eyes boring into her before standing up. She grabs her brown backpack and calmly exits the room.

In the next second, laughter erupts.

Kaltain scoots over to the now free chair, dragging her bag along. Wyn noticed this and took her former chair before Kallias could, who had taken up the empty one beside Kaltain earlier.

“It all began after the second Big Bang when humans managed to feel and use divine energies. Later, they could absorb it into their bodies and became one with it, leading to what we know as today—divide paths. The keys to divinity and formation to ascension,” explains Shadeen as some students take out notebooks and jot stuff down.

“The name of these paths are connected to the Four Holy Clans—Winter, Moon, Sun, and Star. This is because our holy ancestors brought forth a reality in which we can use such extraordinary powers without being threatened by heaven laws, so in a way, it’s dedicated to them.” She draws a snowflake, a line of sunlight, a crescent moon, and stars dancing in a circle on the board. “Your pathway depends entirely on the color of your soul, which is the collective of your essence—mental, emotional, physical, etc.”

She gestures for a student in the front to come forth and lay a land on the blue crystal orb.

It glows purple.

“Purple is for Star, yellow for Sun, dark blue for Winter, and silver for Moon.” She grabs the student’s arm and holds it up. The pale bare skin of his wrist bore black stars dancing in a circle.

“You don’t need to get your soul color tested because of the trial you all survived, but before the Heavenly Trials existed, this was a way to test for divine paths at Lightless in the past. You are all probably confused. How could one use divine energy if they don’t have a divine mark?”

“Let me explain. If you're born in the Moon Clan, you can have a winter divine mark. That’s the uniqueness of divinity. Study shows what people endure leads to their destined path. For example, if you didn’t do the deathly journey and came straight here, you most likely wouldn’t have whatever path you have now.”

Upon noticing the extremely puzzled expression of the students, Shadeen smiles soothingly. “I see you guys don’t fully understand. Look at it this way, your life is your own, fate is in your hands, yet you don’t know what fate is. A person who experiences mental trauma will have their emotional state high or very low. If this person was tested before the trauma, let’s say they gain Winter, but if they are tested after, they gain Sun. We are not sure of the reason why. Maybe that’s just how fickle fate truly is. However, we do know, once you're tested, your path is chosen and can not be undone.”

Shadeen turns her gaze towards the student’s arm. “Anyways, I’m telling you all this not only because it’s history, but also because when you gain greater control of your powers, your success will show on the divine mark. It’ll gradually change to the color it orchestrates from.”

She raises the back of her left hand, showing everyone a pretty silver crescent moon mark. “These marks are manly for an outward perspective of what’s happening inside you.”

Then, she tells the boy, “You may sit down.”

The student rushes back to his seat.

Shadeen turns to face the board, gracefully writing down words as she speaks. “Each path is a domain of different divine energy. We’ll get to those later after you learn what your path is capable of.”