Part II, Chapter III | The Living Game

Fog coated the Endstreets with a pale hue that morning. He walked down the neighborhood, chill down his back, through winding streets of dangling cables and creaking pipes. Television screens flashed colors and motion, mounted on the wall of every other building, broadcasting the usual Monday morning schedule. A little higher up and a bit of moonlight reared its head. A bit of cleaner air blew with the breeze. How strange that with just one step closer to the city center, your lungs could notice a difference. The bus stop was just ahead, a small clearing where the metal city above didn’t obscure the sky from them.

“Good morning, Oliver.” Dressed in a long white coat, Alina stood by the metal post alone with flushed cheeks. A waterfall of wavy blonde hair flowed down her back and framed her entire figure, small though it was. The soft aqua moonlight disguised her somewhat crooked nose, and the long sleeves of her snow-like coat disguised other things.

He settled in beside her, hands deep in his pockets to protect from the chill. Their warm breath made ghosts together, pale and wispy in the cold air.

Alina pulled a curl of hair behind her ear, then fogged breath into her hands to warm them. “Did you eat breakfast?” she said. He shook his head. “Of course not.” She shrugged the backpack from her shoulder and pulled out a brown lunch bag. “Here. I made you some, too.”

“I didn't ask you to—”

“Just take it.” She pulled out a sandwich from the bag and fanned it at him. “You really get on my nerves sometimes.”

He plucked it from her hands with a sigh. “Thanks.”

They spent the remainder of their time there together in silence, typical of these recent days, and it was when the bus finally squealed into place beside them that I first felt that familiar sensation. That scorching in my eyes. When the bus shifted with the weight of his first step and his face pushed into view, I found that the memory of his dream had become mine again. Every last excruciating scrap of it became mine to remember, and every dull moment I agonized over losing it disappeared in me all at once. Sylvia did her best to hide me from them, but he noticed me anyway. Suddenly, those spools of thread reeled in and became taut all at once, and I could see what he saw.

Through his eyes, I appeared as a tall girl curled up into a little ball. I had dark hair, thin-framed glasses, and scarlet eyes. And somehow, from somewhere, he recognized me. And now I recognized him too; he must’ve been at least six or seven years older than he was in that dream, but there was no doubt. He had that same pitch-black hair and those same tired eyes.

I could tell how he agonized over the memory. I knew better than anyone how vibrant dreams could fade to vague remnants in mere minutes. Sylvia had me pressed tight to her, but I still had an eye free to catch his, and the infinity mirror of our trapped gazes sent us tumbling into a moment of helplessness before he cut it short, and walked on past without a word.

I pulled away from Sylvia and rubbed my eyes dry. This was the tumultuous start to my time at Arys Academy. It began with a reunion and with a realization, but I still had no real idea as to what awaited me further down the road where the actual campus stood.

❧☙

Its appearance was akin to one of those colloseums you’d see described in books of Old Hellas. Carved largely of limestone and tufa, it was tan and white across its radial walls. I was surprised to see how seabound it was. The entire structure seemed unattached to the body of the city, and instead floated of its own accord, only attached to Vergalis by bridge.

“You look awestruck,” Sylvia said.

I didn’t respond, but she was right. Buildings typically never caught my eye. Not when the spectacle of the city itself always towered over me. That was simply sheer size. And while Arys Academy did stand tall, it was more its feel that struck me. It wasn’t of steel or made in simple shapes, but in carvings and statues. People and animals and art danced about the entire thing, and continued on as we entered through the front doors.

That was when the intercom kicked on. “Attention all students of Arys Academy. Please report to the central arena for an important announcement by your Student Council. Those who are late will be left out of the fun and then fed to the sharks.”

That was definitely Jericho, I thought.

That announcement drummed up the interest of all the students around me. They buzzed like bees now that the queen had just demanded their attention. I was soon lost in the crowd, and all the familiar faces I’d just come to learn disappeared at once until I was shoved back into the outdoors at the center of the colosseum, where the sky soaked us in its gray color.

This arena was built from large stone tiles, heated from below to defend us from the oceanside chill. At its center stood two students atop a raised platform: Jericho March, and then another girl I hadn’t yet met around the same age. A girl with soft chocolate skin and round wireframe glasses. She wore a mint-green surgical mask, and her void black hair pinned her as from the capital. If it weren’t for the one descending strand of gray, I wouldn’t have been able to tell how she braided her hair, one three-strand twist over the shoulder.

We were surrounded by cameras, but you couldn’t tell just by glancing around. For me, cameras had an odd effect. It threw threads about haphazardly and unpredictably in quantities too large. Here, the wind carried them in sweeping streams and currents, all centered around that one person.

The girl who captured the world’s attention.

When all the stragglers finished shuffling in, the event could finally begin.

“Welcome,” she said in a booming voice. Her eyes seemed liked all the life that remained in the grey surroundings. “To my Arys Academy.”

She held the mic up then to the dark girl beside her, whose name already appeared before me in the minds of all around. Paris Astrantia. She gave Jericho a withering look when she realized that she expected her to give the rest of the speech.

“And welcome to The Living Game,” she finished for her. Her voice was surprisingly low, but cutting. Like snowflakes with sharpened edges, so quiet that the hundreds of students had to drop silent to hear her.

The explanation as to what exactly this Living Game was came quick, and explained in further detail later. The gist of it was this: for the entirety of the school year, all students were to be filmed. Little cameras came installed in the ribbons and ties of all our uniforms. For privacy reasons, if the cameras are covered or removed, the mics in them will automatically shut off as well. All footage will immediately be piped into the on-campus editing room, where dead air is automatically filtered out, and the rest is sent for processing to be released on Channel 11.

Channel 11 gained its first viewers during the infamous Wedding of the Kid King, but it only continued to garner support after producing and airing an animated adaptation of a famous novel series called The Ten Parts. This adaptation had just concluded, and The Living Game was meant to take its place. A reality show featuring an assortment of misfit teenagers grappling with uncomfortable truths in our imperfect society.

Within the channel itself, viewers are able to swap between views of individual students. Either that, or they can simply watch the main screen for a version edited down to be as entertaining as possible. At any time, the viewers are able to rate students based on how close they consider them to be living to their fullest. Interpretation of what living to the fullest means is entirely up to the viewer, and likely specific to the students. Whether it be from club activities, romantic life, or even academic success.

“When the year comes to a close,” Paris concluded, “and the last of the rankings are finalized, the students that perform well will be offered seats of immense power. Happy living, everyone.”

❧☙

Classes in Arys Academy were not divided by age or year, and so the class I ended up in contained the whole spectrum of ages from 14 to 22. Glancing down the class list, I could see just how much the standing between students varied. Many on the list lacked even a surname while others were from among the Nine Founding Houses, like Samira Aryo and Elby Nero. Oliver, Sylvia, and Paris also ended up here.

Like my old school, general education was done largely on our own here in the main classroom, with a professor there to supervise and answer questions. For specialized classes, we would go off to different rooms, but for today, it was all contained here.

That’s where the similarities with my old school ended. The desks were not cordoned off from one another, or even islanded off from each other. There was one long, connected desk for each row, and each student sat at a reasonable distance from each other there. Standing at the front and facing forward, I sat in the back right seat, with only one person to my right and one person in front of me.

I took my seat with a heavy groan and set my bag in front of me. The girl to my right was very tall and frail-seeming, with long black hair curled into ridiculous drills. She had such a perfect posture she seemed a statue, and her eyes faced front and center even though there wasn’t anything to look at there. I pulled out my phone to look at the class list, and discovered that her name was Loumelette Alkazaraha. I did a double-take. I had never heard that name before in my life. She wasn’t actually nobility, was she? Either way, I figured I could get a lot of attention in the Living Game by befriending someone this bombastic, so I tried to start a conversation with her.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” I said. It was safe, simple, and boring. At least I still managed to catch her attention, and she turned her whole body to face me. I made sure my tie was unwrinkled to catch this specimen through the lens I had no confirmation was even there.

“Please don’t try to speak to me,” she said. “It’s untoward.”

She faced back away to stare at nothing again, leaving me alone with that cutting reply. Ooookay, I mouthed to myself, palms pressed against the edge of my desk.

The class quieted down when the professor walked in. She was a young woman with glasses like mine, and her brown hair was thrown into a messy ponytail. She dressed simply, today in a white blouse and a long black pencil skirt. She wore no makeup, and something about the shiftiness of her eyes made her seem unapproachable.

“Good morning class,” she said. It sounded like she hadn’t slept in days. “I’ll be your primary instructor this year. You can call me Ms. Lyre. I’m sure most of you are all very excited about the new announcement, but if you happen to not be, I’d suggest you get out now and find a new academy to demonstrate your worth. However, seeing as how Jericho herself hand-picked each and every one of you, I somehow doubt that will come to pass.

“Aside from that, the most important piece of information that was left out of their speech but included in the document you were handed is that of the dormitory situation. Each of you are expected to find yourself a dorming partner by the end of the week, or it’s likely your screentime will greatly suffer. We are not allowed to film outside of the campus premises, after all.”

Sylvia, who sat at the front of the class, raised her hand. She was wearing her hat this time. “Professor, would you like to dorm with me?”

“No thank you,” she declined right away, and the class laughed. “The last bit of housekeeping: if you’re not in a club already, I highly recommend you join one. For obvious reasons, I’d say. That’s all for today.”

The class immediately broke out into conversation again, and I wondered if it would be like this every day. Loumelette stood up to leave, but I tugged on her sleeve, hoping that she was only joking earlier.

“Which club are you in?” I asked her.

“Kitchen Club,” she said.

“Do you think—”

“No,” she said. “After all, you’re you.”

Those hidden thoughts of hers surfaced so easily to me, and it almost cut a little. I realized it would be pointless to even bring up the dorming situation, so I let her go. The guy in front of me didn’t seem all too busy, so I nudged him instead and asked where I could find clubs to join.

“Check the website,” he said.

Back to my phone then. The Arys Academy site was well-organized, but its front page had already been replaced from what it was yesterday when I checked. Instead of an academic calendar up front, there sat a neat ranking chart. There were already hundreds of ratings submitted, and none of them were for me. Of course not. There were 300 students, and I had just enrolled. What stood out to me instead was how the top two students were ones I recognized. Was it a coincidence? Or was it the reason I had those dreams in the first place?

In first place sat Alina di Luca, almost unchallenged there with a hefty lead. In second, there was Oliver. He didn’t have a last name listed, along with many others without halls or houses. Jericho sure did build an unusual academy here. A melting pot of royals, nobles, and endtowners alike.

Eventually, I did make it to the club listings page. All of them were listed as either full or invite-only with course requirements I hadn’t ever heard of before.

I glanced to the front of the room, where Ms. Lyre was held in conversation with none other than Alina herself, who apparently came to visit. With great hesitance, I approached the front desk anyway. Then Ms. Lyre said something that made them both laugh, and Alina brightened even more than usual. It had me step back in the face of its radiance. That glow of hers. She noticed me in the corner of her eye. That bright blue.

Out of what must’ve been consideration for me, she waved goodbye to Ms. Lyre, then to Oliver on her way out, and left. Ms. Lyre finally noticed me then, and waved me over.

“What can I do for you, Lady Kavesta?”

I froze again, in the face of that name. “Why?” That was all I could ask in my confusion, but she only held her hand up to her lips, realizing that she said something that she wasn’t supposed to.

Then she giggled and waved the mistake away. “Well, it’s the name that Jericho put in the system for you. Will that be an issue?”

“Ah,” I said. “No, I suppose not.” It bothered me, but I didn’t have the courage to make it an issue. Instead, I twiddled my thumbs. “Oh, I mean. I’d like to join a club. Is there anything I can do?” It was a mess of a request, and my heart sunk when I looked up to see her expression.

Her brows were furrowed, and her lips twisted. “That… might turn out to be impossible.”

“No way. Why is that?”

“Your name,” she said. “You’d struggle to find a club president that would risk taking on your potential to rob the spotlight from them. But well… there’s always another option.”

When I asked her what it was, she carefully removed her glasses, rubbed them clean with a microfiber cloth, and folded them onto her lap. Her eyes wandered in thought on her own before returning back up to me. When our eyes met, the entire classroom seemed to erupt with a powerful gale. A mess of colorful wind, petals, and threads. She seemed very pretty to me in that moment, or I suppose with every moment after that from then on. Such a sight was something I typically only ever caught when meeting those in the nursing home I used to work at. Only those with exceptionally rich lives exploded with color like this. Only people like John.

“We can build a new place to belong, just for you,” she said.