Chapter 2

Three days later

International Politics

Institute of Science and Technology

1:15 pm, Tuesday

The university emphasised cohesiveness and teamwork in its mantra, something that was drilled into the first years’ hippocampus during the acceptance ceremony, and during the beginning of every class in the first month. As a result, round tables and group projects were the norm, and yet, despite the chatter and chaos of his peers attempting to organise a faux environmental charity that had had its members imprisoned by a totalitarian state, the only thing that reeled through Matisse’s mind was the castle.

Heat and sweat, he could feel it in the room. The heater had been cranked to max considering the hail and strong winds outside, in addition to the sub-10-degree temperature. It was hot, he was sweating too, and yet, he could feel the cold. Not the same wet cold outside. Matisse could still feel the frost on his arms, how the tips of his hair had felt like icicles, how he was suspended in the air.

“Matisse?” a voice called out, and he looked up, pulled from his trance. It was a girl, she had blonde hair, amber and purple eyes that flowed like oil in water and she - no. It was Amanda. Just, Amanda. Amanda with her dark, winged eyeliner and micro bangs. Hallucinations can’t be a good sign, right? Or is it just a migraine? A stroke? He blinked hard before putting on a soft smile.

“Yeah? What’s up?” he replied, his voice almost cracking.

“You think of a name yet for this uh, ‘organisation’?” She air quoted the last word, which earned her a nudge from Simone, who sat next to her. Hand still resting on Amanda’s shoulder, she placed her other hand on the table and pointed a finger at Matisse.

“It’s a real organisation, based on the Templars - “ she began, but was cut off by a laugh to Matisse’s left. Tyson, with his cheeks puffed and his lips puckered like a bloatfish, tried his best to prevent an earth-shaking laugh erupting from his mouth. When Matisse looked in his direction, a smile grew on his face both burst out laughing.

The two other girls stared at them, deadpan, a reaction that, once seen from the corner of the boys’ eyes, made them laugh even more. The thoughts of the castle, the mountains and the blonde prince were gone. Or, better yet, they were dissipating, as if ashes to a flame. Matisse realised this and tried his best to ignore it, thinking that if he acknowledged its passing, it might just come back. But he was wrong, even though he did; it all soon faded away. He couldn’t help but smile.

However, that proved to be a rather fatal mistake, as an entire pencil case connected with his right cheek, its contents spilling all over the floor. For a moment, he and Tyson stopped, but when they saw the beet-red face of Simone, they continued.

“It’s - bro -“ Tyson gasped for air in between laughs, wiping tears from his face. “The Templars were the furthest thing from a charity man, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, Sim, I know you have an appreciation for everything medieval and all,” Matisse was more composed, but he was also just better at hiding his amusement. “but I was really thinking we’d be getting our inspiration from Greenpeace or something, you know?” he said, clutching his belly and caressing his right cheek. It stung, just the tiniest bit.

“Huh? Dude, they protected women and children - “ Simone began, but Amanda cut her off.

“Sim, I was with you to begin with,” Amanda began, a soft and concerned look on her face that spelled out ‘you’ve been led astray’ in itself. “but there’s a reason why they went on things called, ‘crusades’, they didn’t protect anyone but themselves, and even then they could barely do that,” she stifled a smile, hiding it behind her thumb.

Tyson laughed again, and Simone retreated into her seat, slouching. Before he could say anything else, Matisse’s phone rang. Pulling it out from his pocket, he looked at the screen; it was Tobias. He excused himself from the group, moving out of the classroom as the noises of arguments mellowed down. Once the door shut behind him, there was nothing but the soft buzz of his phone and the echoes of his canvas shoes. He moved to lean on the staircase railing before answering the phone and putting it to his ear.

“Hey man, how you feeling?” Tobias said concerningly, something Matisse nearly believed if it weren’t for the crunch of chips that followed and the click and clack of a mechanical keyboard in the background. Matisse smiled.

“Yeah, man, I’m, I’m good,” he replied. “I thought you had a class this afternoon? You still home?”

“Yeeeup, prof called it off because he got sick or something, I don’t know, but hey, good for me, right?”

“You have no prospects at life, so yes, good for you,” Matisse snickered as Tobias shouted in protest. For the first time, he looked down the spiral of stairs. He realised that it went a little longer than he remembered, but ignored the thought. Leaning off the railing, he started his way down, taking each step slowly as he spoke on the phone.

“Hey, listen, camera’s coming tomorrow, the Zitch account is up and running, it’ll be no time before these subs come in man,” Tobias said confidently.

“You pay for extra shipping? Didn’t you only order those things like, yesterday?”

“Spare cash, don’t stress about it. You coming over tonight? You can help me set the elevated desk up.”

“Huh? I told you, coach wanted me to spar with Tessa tonight since - “ Matisse was cut off as Tobias hollered in the background. He was hooting and clapping his hands, a reaction that had Matisse rolling his eyes further back than he thought he could. “It’s not like that man,”

“Like that? You’ve had a crush on her for like ever!” Tobias exclaimed.

“Listen - “

“Nope, you’re coming around and helping me set up after. It’s a bit complicated, so try not to develop CTE before you get here.”

Matisse rounded the railing and made for the second set of stairs down, all the while humming ‘uh huh’. Tobias continued in the background, streamer jargon like chat, subathons and more spewing from his mouth like a burst water tank. Hand on the railing, Matisse took the first step down, but then a familiar, stinging pain returned.

He felt it; it hurt, and this time, the sinking feeling in his stomach was worse. The throbbing ebb, like before, sprinted to his temples and before he could even react, the same visions returned. Matisse let go of both the railing and his phone, clutching his head. He heard it clatter down the stairs, but it was muffled. Instead, he heard something else. He heard wind, strong gusts, and then the cold. He felt the same cold on his body, his face. His heart began to pound, and it felt like it was going to tear itself through his ribcage. Matisse’s breath became panicked, and his vision became blurry. He had to get back to the class; he knew he had to, or else. Or else what?

He turned slowly on his heels, his head wringing with excruciating pain. But before he could take another step, he slipped.

The next thing Matisse felt was air; his feet were off the ground, and his fingertips, from the corners of his eyes, failed to grab onto the metallic railing.

It felt slow, the frost building on his skin; he could feel it creeping on him. He had to save himself; he had to, or else, who knew what a flight of 15 stairs could do to a 19-year-old boy?

In a last-ditch attempt, Matisse turned to face the fall, ignoring the pain in his head, thinking that being dead would be ten times worse. He succeeded and crossed both his arms over his face, a sorry sight of a ‘dive’ straight to concrete.

Matisse braced himself for the impact, but in the back of his head, there was a lingering thought that said, Why is it taking so long?

The pain in his head was gone, but now, he was falling, and he was falling fast. Before he could stretch his arms out to see or even wail in panic, he plunged into a pile of cold, biting snow and sharp earth.

He tried to breathe, the crater his landing made, leaving a small pocket of air. The only thing that went through Matisse’s head was, This doesn’t feel like the stairs.