DAWN OF THE ADVENTURES - PROLOGUE

On the top of dais towering above the crowd of angry zealots in the plaza of Caelutia, Cyng Hazcher Lucisaat sat on a pristine regal seat, frowning in shame and fury. While his son, Prinz Guile, stood straight—waiting for the stage of misery rising beneath his bitter eyes. Even though their angry eyes weren’t facing their royal overseer, their fierce cries still waxed aloud, just as the heat of an unbearable sun above burned every inch of their skin. And as much as they would bear it, they also hoped to bequeath their upright sacrifice towards those bewitching women of ignoble who were sitting on the wobbly cart carriage, trembling before their moment of ordained demise.

Among the ones who felt beyond intolerable, only Prinz Guile grimaced and quivered once he laid his reluctant eyes upon an assembly of naked women—or rather hexe, whom the men of holy faith deemed them as wicked menace, for one of them was her beloved older swester, Prinzes Jada, whose wrists were tied in rope at her back—as same as her other compeers of death tightening their thew around the lips for their screeching spadework.

As soon as the face of Prinzes Jada finally unveiled, the crowd suddenly grimaced and yelled, “Death to Accursed Prinzes! Death to all eternity!”

Some of them cried, “You should've not been born in this world!”

“How dare you still stand and act like a ‘hero’, aye?!”

“Death to a cause of eternal damnation!”

Their words still echoed aloud into the Prinzes’ ears, which waxed her inevitable dread and guilt. But what could she be guilty of? It wasn’t as if she understood what she truly held responsible for, but instead one of the parts within her that vexed them was beyond perplexing. She wondered about her abrupt fate to cease her entire flesh and blood, so much so that it might dismay them to think that every haxe growing more of its mere existence simply added to their fright.

Same went for her younger bruder, Prinz Guile, who also questioned how she had done it that eventually brought her to utmost pain and ‘punishment’.

Once the cart carriage finally halted, the gards dragged them down onto the surface, then pushed them to the top till they could reach a pillar of demise above the scruffy hay and tied their wrists around it. As they brought themselves closer to their end, so did the Prinzes’ heavy breath and tears began to rise.

And one of the gard who wore a black armor with golden stripes around its edges finally stood in front and announced, “As per His Majestat and His Heilikeit’s order, we hereby announce you that these damned hexe are deemed worthy to be perished in flames of justice!”

With that, the crowd shouted in joy, or rather zeal, which slowly wafted and etched into the Prinz’s ears that served their words in great torment.

Meanwhile, Cyng Hazcher stood up from the chair and watched their preparations beside his son, “There’s no use mourning for your swester. She has committed countless threats to bolster our future sufferings to mankind. If we let her live, then more needless deaths will come to rise. That’s why I regret nursing her.”

Then hearkening to his despicable words waned his spirit even more, as it brought him a strong urge to run away from the towering dais and hurry his way to the bed, but his vader chained him up with his gards blocking its way. Was he either in favor of letting the Prinz’s face reality? Or in desire of putting him to more misery?

At the same time, all of the gards finished lighting a fire on their torches and stood beside the hay beneath them while the unfortunate hexe, including the Prinzes, began screeching out of despair and trembling with their piddles pouring out of their snatch. And as the torch patted against the hay and shared the flames onto it, their death finally came closer, and their wretched souls prepared to plunge into the depth of Qualen. Touch of flame brought upon an echo of nightmare, lingering over their blazing pang till they could feel and move no longer.

As their hope was gone astray, so did their flesh and blood molded into a thin deathly ashes, which ultimately appalled the Prinz to gape his twitching eyes and shed a stream of tears before a vile reality—one that despised him the most.

“No…. no… nooooooo!”

* * *

Through decades and decades, tales of smearing the blood of hexe around the floors of misery and tales of cruel zealots sniggering over the screams of desperate hexe coming to the gateway of undeserving death still lingered around time and place. For the good of Gord’s land and people, the men of the holy soul still embraced their strength and tenacity, even if His Majestat’s sentiment hampered their ideals. Qualms and uncertainty still wafted across the air, as this world had already scarred the strength of justice as their only excuses of bravery.

The blonde woman in a shadow cloak, covering her face while wearing black leather coat and silk trousers, walked through the plaza where she could imagine a picture of such a tale looming and whispering the deathly storms. She watched her senses as the clouds covering the light of the moon grew darker and darker.

And as she passed through the gloomy alleys, only homeless people slept there with misery on their spine. They could not notice the beauty passing through their lone bed. If only she would reveal the beauty of hers before their sorrowful eyes, she could then cure them out of desperation. Though, her overbearing valor induced indifference, flaunting no remorse towards them. Even the putrid smell tempted her to not remain breathing around the corner.

She thought that everything had changed, as the heir had finally sat on the throne inside the Flugelicht Palace, and it faintly did. She could hear the blithe guffaws of exhausted soldners making merry across every window of the tavern or any living halls after their arduous expedition. She could hear the soothing moans of both man and woman screwing themselves anywhere at ease. She could see people hanging around the streets and jabbering away their own share of thoughts. Freedom, they finally had, but some brink of agony still remained and rested within their books and sketches.

She stepped on the roads of Caelutia, choosing her way across the side near every building to avoid from one’s sight behind the windows while striding all the way out of this city. Before the times of new reign, there was only silence and threat among the gards obedient to the cruel order of the Sect of Phonix, hunting every haxe who was worthy to lock their arms and haul them over the bath of flames. Faithful ones were sniggering, while unfaithful ones were grimacing. Tears could not change their fate, and screeches could not change their trauma. Only power and faith intertwining could change the air. Thus, she believed that their own power and faith could not let that happen. Gladly, the ruler in this day and age shared the sentiments over those who grimaced, curtailing the air from the brutal past and even the favor for the Sect.

Walking farther from her first step out of the alley, hectic commotion withered away until something drifted into thin air with no single song and dance wafting into her ears. It was like those muffled days again, albeit did not come at its right time..

She stopped and stood gingerly, studying the area filled with dubious spirit.

“I was about to give myself a rest from my noble service,” she mumbled. “But you desperate ones suddenly appear before me while expecting that I’m about to imperil your ideal stuff in the most dramatic way.”

Of course, she knew it.

There was definitely someone doing something from somewhere else.

She could feel the smoke of illusions faintly surging around her cloak. Myriad clicking boots echoed through the roads as they were preparing to reveal themselves. Turning her head, she spotted six figures in van-painted robes gyrating themselves and ambling around her. Their lips and teeth appeared to be tittering; their eyes tried to intimidate, expecting their task to be rather easy… to kill her.

“Oh, please,” she continued, chuckling. “Never have your hands at your filthiest wish to do your deeds. One step further would give me a verge of eternal letdown in the end.”

Wishing to protect herself, she breathed deeply and studied each of their paths while acquiring no answers other than those van-painted robes could mean something. Just as what the tales told, those were the same attire as those who happened to either slay or burn hexe.

Finding her way out of here, she quickly drew a crescent dagger into her right grip, then stabbed the ground, realizing that it was not actually concrete, but as fragile as glass. Silent illusions shattered, and astir streets recurred. Murky air no longer wafted across her skin, and silence no longer whispered into her ears other than boisterous noises. As horse carriages were rolling along the road, she stepped back and whipped towards the alley where it was far and open from those hooded stalkers.

The alley was narrow and dirty, but gladly empty from any homeless beggars sleeping on the floor. While listening to the air slowly gliding towards her, she kept watching from side to side and checked if any pathetic beggars-in-disguise could potentially lay and crawl along where her feet may cross. Though, both night and clouds made her sight unsettled, so she leaned her chest and dashed forth faster than usual. Air hex pushed her boots from beneath to jump her haste. Her sprinting pose was common among those talented assassins who only had faith to air more than to their own flesh. Her ears began hearing the whistle of air softer and swifter. Air was lured sharply into her nose, but her mouth slowly hurtled its sigh.

Suddenly, another strange air attracted exactly in front of her, leaving herself no room to run either back and forth. She halted her linear escape and found a convenient window at her side, cracking its glass with a dagger and then spotting two naked hertlings—a woman atop the table and a man beneath her feet—startled from the sudden appearance of a thief. That breach might sound too loud and obvious, lest isolation would be cold and helpless amidst blind alley.

Opening the door hurriedly, she slammed a kick against it and rushed past without saying an apology for disrupting their act of love. Across a rushing breeze, her hood slipped away from the head, uncovering the face of golden beauty. And, once her feet stepped on the streets, she was suddenly halted by eight stalkers awaiting to decide her misfortune of necessity, surrounding her with no room to escape through. One of them released a long metal-chained shaft out of its bulky sleeves, hauling straight towards her.

But as simple as it seemed, she swung her right grip of dagger against the passing chains and then instantly bursted it out into a spark of bluish powder. As expected from someone who could break any hex, she considered that strike to be a simple stretch.

The rest of stalkers promptly dashed towards her and drew their various weapons—sword, dagger, spear, and chained shaft—aiming at her pose. Her “standing” pose, only she instead swayed her body gracefully, then dashed towards one of them who was clearly open and near to her, stabbing against its neck. She also raised her left hand ahead of the standing corpse, forming from chill, moist air into windborne spikes of ice—which then thrusted into those who could not dodge on time.

Showing that they stalled themselves for a bit, she ran to the wall of a building and jumped into it. As her one foot hit the wall, the air hex beneath her boots heaved herself above—flying over the ground—then as her other foot hit the wall amidst its flight, she climbed further and higher. Repeatedly until her foot finally set on the surface of the roof, she picked her way to the side supposedly and expectedly clear of their incoming path.

Although she was about to free herself by her chosen path, there were sudden thin blue lines in parallel straightly gliding from the other side of the street, glowing with a ghostly light and then taking multiple shapes of hooded stalkers whose eyes kept on her lock and clear. Unfortunately for her, they would not give up on a game of cats and mouse. Hearing a sudden faint clink from her back, she turned her head behind and found three more stalkers approaching her rear, then clicked her tongue as they got her cornered atop the roof.

Some of them dashed towards her while the rest followed behind. Wondering which one she could hit, she raised her left arm, charging a spark of thunder into it while letting her chest out in the open. Seeing her “clear” opening, the stalkers on the front released their own chained shafts out of their sleeves, directly at her pose. Witnessing their sense of naivety, she smirked and twirled her body out of the angle before those things reached while keeping her charge intact. Once her feet landed onto a point without stagger, she quickly jumped back, dropped her left hand, and then lugged its powerful spark of lightning—blinking and crooking all the way to each attacker in disgrace.

As it crashed into them, they trembled and screeched, unable to feel their veins and move an inch of their fingers and toes. Some of its strokes left them dead enough to fall onto the ground and rot themselves to their unexpected regret.

Then a blue line passed through her and then glinted back to its original cowl-robed shape, swinging the blade in front of her. Only then she could parry it with a dagger in her right grip, breaking its mana into a burned powder and then thrusting it through its neck.

She waited for another blade or shaft to shoot at her, although a remaining pair of them eventually came up with a change of move by running apart and gyrating through her area of sight till they could spot her blind spots. Then they hauled their weapon across both of her sides, expecting to pierce both the front and rear of her body.

Though, she found her way to quickly bend her knee and rolled herself behind, slowly but surely regretting over their slip and leaving both of them to pierce each of their hearts and conclude their life in their ridiculous ways.

Once she steadied her feet and stood up from the ground, there were more and more hooded stalkers appearing around her, making her blood boil and her lungs breathing heavily.

“Give me a bloody break,” she grunted irritably.

As she watched them approaching her, one of them screeched from a strange sudden stab at its rear, halting them to shift their focus. Looking after the lucky odds, she witnessed a tall, slender feminine silhouette posing confidently like a walking hourglass while gripping the long curved blade with her two hands from the side of her waist. Her long hair shaped like a slick horsetail, but too light that it drifted across the night breeze. Studying her overall shape, that woman seemed to be rather… naked as some southern nymph painting?

At their every best move they got, a woman in silhouette fluidly swayed her blade and parried them with her swift and keen eyes, spilling each of their blood like a slow sprinkling fountain bathing around her dance with dying whimpers or screeches as her music. As bodies of clouds laggardly opened its curtains for the moon glimmering the night sky, her curious eyes caught a glimpse of hair truly black drifting across the breeze and intricate tattoo on her back, albeit still indescribable from its distance. And yet, it was quite crystal clear to realize that she was really naked at all.

“Sweet Udders of Norsia!” she chuckled and muttered. “Just what in the Eorthe am I living in?”

Meanwhile, despite her demands for questioning, the woman in black caught an eye on her and suddenly yelled, “Behind you!”

“What?”

Shifting her question, she swiftly turned her head behind and found a chained shaft dashing towards her. Luckily, as it was quite distant to be caught on, she forced and aligned her right arm—in spite of gripping a dagger—and then caught it shattering into a spark of blue powder. Being almost at her unexpected death of regret, she gingerly kept an eye on them who were dashing towards her.

However, one of them was abruptly thrusted from behind, baring the same sharp tip of the blade that was supposedly gripped by that same naked woman a while ago. And, at this time, the rest of the hooded stalkers were stunned, shivering from the bizarre serpentine fluids which wrapped around each of their pair of legs and bit them till their lamentable defeat.

Stabbed corpse fell on the ground, then made its way to reveal the same raven-haired, eye-masked woman on her brazen foot, wiping the edge of her bloody blade across the pressed side above her elbow. Rest of those who were bitten dropped themselves down with their lifeless eyes, then the bizarre fluids were snaking back to her rear—assuming that it was exactly where the tattoo resided.

With that, both of them ultimately shared the same conclusion of their short battle.

“Thank me later,” the woman in black smiled and then bowed her head briefly. “I’m sure we’re going to meet again, so better take a good rest.”

“Say?” the blonde woman tilted her head. “You definitely sound fami—”

“Ma ta ne~”

Although the blonde woman was supposed to seek an answer from her, the woman in black promptly raised her hand of farewell and then jumped down the roof with no doubt.

“Wait!”

The blonde woman also fell down in the same direction, but once she landed with air hex beneath her boots slightly pushing up to diminish its falling impact, there was no trace of her.

“Bloody Qualen,” she clicked her tongue. “I swear that she may be her.”

* * *

CHEERS TO ALL SCHOL!

Lumere Treid gazed upon the magnificent stage before him, surrounded by a sea of graduates from the esteemed High Academy of Norsia and other dignitaries within the Academy Theatre. The walls and pillars were adorned with a pristine white hue, embellished with crimson-striped layers that reflected the customary colors of celebration in Norsian culture. The ceremony was held before dinner, a tradition that enhanced the jubilation of the occasion. As Lumere reflected upon his academic journey, from the countless papers he had written to the rigorous studying he had undertaken, he felt a sense of accomplishment shared by all those who had donned the white toga, wool-laced cap, and crimson-striped cowl, with beaming smiles that lit up the entire theatre. Bards played melodious tunes on their instruments, adding to the festive atmosphere. Amidst the bustling crowds, graduates sought out their peers to share the moment of gratitude, while proud parents and guardians sat in the elevated seat boxes above their children, reveling in their accomplishments.

Though, for Lumere himself, his charming face wore nothing, but an exhausted frown, hidden beyond the pale as his skin and golden hair. Through and from his unwanted knowledge and noble privilege, he could face east as that certain place where he would or might lead himself to.

It was that place where history and politics come into a play, or rather a bloody stage.

He questioned his own talent, wondering why it couldn't be as easy as snapping his fingers. The vision of the overseer's smirk crossed his mind, and he regretted not paying closer attention to the theories he had read. Despite his preference for believing only what he saw with his own eyes, the countless examples from the battlefield made the truth seem obvious. History was like a loop, constantly repeating itself.

Despite his grievances, his bristly-haired brath named Dale Munner sat beside him and yawned minute after minute to potentially disrupt his thoughts on edge, wearing his toga and smiling with genuine sigh of relief. His pride, joy, and his worthwhile merits kept him to be, albeit did not pass beyond Lumere’s.

“Do you think Siri will come to you with roses and cloth?” Dale asked with his twinkling brow.

“What?” Lumere gasped with his slightly flushed cheeks. “Do I look like I am into surprises coming from her?”

“Perhaps,” Dale chuckled. “And I’m also quite eager for her to jump out in front of you and say, ‘What a pleasant success, my grund! Now we’re gonna live happily ever after!’”

Lumere rolled his eyes, frowning, “Do you really think that she is some typical damsel in every romantic fairy tale?”

“Well… except you can take that role.”

“Keep your rubbish fantasies into your own skull, Dale.”

“Oh, come on, brath! You would not know if she is actually into you with all of her heart.”

“Then why is it necessary for you to ruin her surprise?”

“Then my guess will be right all along.”

“In your dreams.”

As Lumere rolled his eyes once again and blew an exasperated sigh, Dale giggled as he succeeded from teasing his true colors into a play of anxiety. Surely, Dale fathomed his feelings well to an extent of intimate jest. His smirk could definitely make Lumere’s blood boil after carrying so much determinable silence. Myriad of dates with her told him such suspicion that between their hearts may rise and then intertwine. Even if he somehow spoiled her probable surprises, there was also a reason why Dale took it to a degree of expectation never meeting reality.

It was just simple.

“Okay… okay… I’m just kidding you around, brath.” Dale laughed.

“With a poor sense of humor like that?” Lumere rubbed his brow. “Couldn’t you just come up with a better one?”

“Come on, it’s not like I'm chucking under your chin. For a dume like me, you could make me wrong about my so-called ‘assumptions’, eh?”

“Sure… I, for now, can believe you on that,” Lumere crossed his arms. “But your fictional nonsense still stands beforehand.”

“In theory… for now.”

“Hope that can be proven fallaciously,” Lumere sniggered and shrugged. “Besides, I can take your words for granted as what you are truly proud of.”

As Dale finished speaking, the sound of the bell suddenly filled the air, ringing five times to signal the arrival of the Hochfer. The old man, with his white beard and crimson robe adorned with golden stripes, stepped onto the rostrum and smiled at the thousands of completionists before him. His feeble eyes scanned the crowd before he brought his lips near a funnel-shaped brass tube, which was large enough to fit a person's head and capable of amplifying his voice to be heard by all the guests and graduates in the theater.

At first, he hemmed with his clenched hand as he had to prepare his voice sound and clear.

“Greetings,” He began to speak with his loud, crabby echo, silencing the crowd and bards to an obedient yet probably unpleasant etiquette. “Nyed and Gent… most especially, my dase schols….”

Then another hem suddenly thundered out of his senile mouth, to which he had them rolling in the aisles as his brief moment of shame somehow uplifted their mood.

“Pardon me for I am as old as my bedridden vader squawking for my help round the clock,” he briefly bowed his head and tapped on his chest. “Anyway… we have come with our greatest joy to honor the greatest efforts from our triumphant students, succeeding their way towards the conclusion of their struggles and enlightenment for this year of one thousand five hundred thirty five A.P.. It is with Phonix’s blessings to grant them knowledge, strength, and wisdom to further our venture towards the… reality that we must always battle with. Life’s a wonderful essence, and this andragogy enriches us more and more to liberate ourselves from such inevitable indiscretion. With our merits to conquer our heart and soul from being likely tainted by dire need of self-abundance, we shall welcome ourselves to a gate where your values and knowledge from our high core of learning will shape itself as a weapon against folly. Otherwise, such objectionable excuses will haunt your entire soul and flesh into an embodiment of curse… unlikely to the favor of Gord Phonix. Nevertheless, it is your own duty to control your own fate, nevermore to be enslaved by such idiocy. Thus, this honor does not conclude your time of enlightenment… but does bring you to the gateway of endless venture of the Gord-given world… as properly as you can be.”

“Is that it?” Dale asked confusingly.

Frankly, Lumere found his speech to be quite dull and cliched, yawning all the way to nearby slumber. As his aspiring mind may soar higher than Hochfer's speech, his eyes were blinking up and down even though everyone was supposed to have their ears sharp and eager, listening to his supposed “inspirational” speech. Probably his doddery voice and far-flung age of relatability could not strike Lumere’s degree of empathy as most youths are to most elders alike.

If Lumere could get, at least, a single grasp from Hochfer's speech, only the word “conclude” impressed him much more than most flamboyant premises and convictions.

If Dale could get, at least, a single grasp from Hochfer's speech, there could be absolutely nothing to be clicked by his convoluted words of “hope and honor” other than a shared sentiment from Lumere’s yawn of boredom.

Although many in the audience applauded at the end of the speech, some believed it was a shallow habit to hide their true feelings, as they did not want to hurt the principal's feelings again.

“Hey brath!” Dale poked his finger at napping Lumere while whispering near his ear. “Brath! Wake up…”

“Huh? Oh… what?” Lumere grunted. “For gorddamn sake, had that old man’s speech already been over?”

Dale nodded as an agreement and then asked, “When will be your geniu’s speech, though?”

“Has the bell ringed for me?”

“Umm,” Dale rubbed his head. “How many rounds again?”

“Thrice,” he sighed. “And if your answer is no, then don’t bother me again if the time is unnecessary.”

And speaking of rounds, the bell pealed twice, beckoning someone to come onto the podium and present their speech. This time, it was for seniu.

And the seniu was…

“Oh sweet, it’s for Annaella,” Dale gaped and moved to and fro as if he was thirsting to see her. “My dafe, where could she be?”

While Lumere ignored his longing gaze and instead shut his eyes, Dale finally found her standing up gracefully from the other side of the row. As much as if she was exerting her pride across the red curtain, her pretty four-eyed face, light tan skin, tail-braided chestnut hair, and curvaceous body flaunted column after column for Dale and other men to drool and witness as extravagantly alluring as those nude nymphs in paintings from the gallery of the usual south.

Although her inordinate toga put her actual figure out of their gaze, her bright smile and sultry steps still kept them in awe, drawing them into their true colors… or rather just playing their moment of foreseen fantasies. Without a doubt, she had heard tell of how these guys were internally drooling and barking like a dog with a rising red candle.

“Oh my dafe!” Dale whistled. “I can’t resist myself over just eyeing from hea—I mean, from literally anywhere else.”

As Dale was admittedly stuttering in the midst of shame, Lumere, on the other hand, somehow followed his eyes towards the walking seniu. Even if he ever told himself not to fall the same as his brath, why did his stares rebut in some way? As long as he kept his sincere looks on the surface, there would absolutely be no startling scare of “questionable act” coming from the mouth of his dase brath beside him.

“Hey brath! You’ve also been meeting with her through Ferr Celena’s elective studies, right?”

“Yes,” Lumere nodded.

“How is she?” Dale grinned.

“Pretty loud… and stubborn,” Lumere paused, thinking of more concrete word choice. “Well actually… She acts outgoing about learning as much as Sirien does, but I frankly tell you that she’s quite not as competent as Sirien. Though, I still also think that she has more guts to do whatever she wants… except the fact that she hasn’t been concisely opening up her background yet.”

“Feels like a blithe black sheep.”

“I agree, and such dire situations are pretty common around the people from the south, most especially those who come from North Frania like her. Well, only if they are just so desperate to catch up with the ‘wealthy’ north.”

“I heard some rumors that her vader is a brothel pimp from the town of Pelente.”

“Who said that?”

“Some bich who apparently live from that town,” Dale shrugged. “They also said that she had some affairs with some old southern artes during her younger age.”

“Really?” Lumere gasped.

“Mhm…”

Then he grimaced, “What in the Gord Phonix do I care to believe that?”

“I mean, just take it as your own judgment brath,” Dale shrugged. “Besides, it’s just a southern thi—”

“Shush! She’s on the brass right now.”

As Lumere told to shut Dale’s mouth up, Annaella took the golden brooch—shaped in a pointed-down sword around the ring—and donned it around her neck. Then she stood behind the funnel-shaped brass, breathed deeply, and held a speech scroll, beginning to smile and voice her own script out.

“A pleasant day, Nyed and Gent. This day of graduation has never felt like any ordinary day within this High Academy as this will be the final day of our attendance throughout this academic institution as a schol. It’s been an honor for us to conclude this kind of journey as it is a beginning towards another journey. A journey with a new style, new role, and new struggles…”

And her sudden pause made some curious ones—including both Lumere and Dale—wonder about her face of disquiet. Brink of sweat began to pour out of her brow while her eyes were rolling to and fro whether there were looks of concern or not. It may seem that it could be true for her since the timing was awkward. After all, were there any other words before her spectacles being forbidden by any signs of anguish? Or perhaps were they any regrets of missing something out within the scroll?

“Brath,” Dale whispered. “You know what’s up with her?”

“Like I said, she's a rather cloak-and-dagger kind of person. Even if she appears to be lighthearted and outgoing, that brief moment right there probably indicates some skeptical conflict within her.”

“Oh…”

“And you should have, at least, understood that beforehand since you have heard rumors about her.”

“And I thought you have sufficient chemistry towards her.”

“Not too sufficient if everything I have from her is still on the surface yet.”

And as two braths nodded each other in silence, Annaella, in the meantime, deeply sighed, wiped her sweaty brow, and arranged her spectacles as if she was just toying her moment of slip-up.

She then suddenly coughed for a bit and cleared her throat just as what the Hochfer did , “.. there comes a time when somebody else points their own finger and calls you for being a ‘waste’. Nay, there shall be a proof that only you can decide to act. If no one else can help you, then why bother finding one when only there’s you? Else you may lead yourself towards the depth of the Qualen. Though, will there be a stair or a ladder that can climb yourself back away from the Qualen? Anyhow, only those who adore pain can grasp rung by rung. If anybody stands on your way, either dodge or kill them. Draw your sword and pierce it into their heart, so that they will know that those who dare to stab your back shall stab back into you. But never ever forget where your heart is, or else they will soon reach it faster and deeper than yours.”

Thus, she closed the scroll and walked away from the podium, heading back to her chosen seat, while the crowd clapped their hands as the message somehow widened their realistic perception.

Meanwhile, Lumere and Dale wore their face of incredulity, wondering how her speech became way too off and quite brutal. In fact, Lumere felt a slight shock however she took it unexpectedly in contrast between her covert inkling and her familiar personality.

“Brath… that’s quite… impactful, isn’t it?”

As Dale jittered his remark, Lumere tried his best to snap back to reality, and yet his curiosity surged his mind to the other way. If only scratching his head could have been another practical option, then Dale would not have found more problems to wait any longer.

“To be frank,” Lumere finally spoke. “This is my first time hearing something far-fetched coming from her own mouth…”

“Just say that you have missed an opportunity to deepen the chemistry between both of you,” Dale shrugged. “Like you’ve been a quiet brath who only does for yourself, speaks for yourself, and cares about yourself all along. In fact, I do understand that there are many times that you often find her annoying around Ferr Celena’s class, isn’t it?”

“No…,” Lumere shook his head, then gasped while shifting his eyes to the right. “Oh… perhaps you are right on that one.”

“What ‘that one’?”

“Being annoying all the time.”

“Oh, I see,” Dale suddenly chuckled and grinned. “So you did want to spend time with your dafe Siri alone.”

To which it brought Lumere in silence of awe, keeping his mouth wide open and his eyes straiten.

“You are way too clever, Dale. I’ll give you that.” Lumere angrily mumbled and then raised his voice, sharing his chuckling sentiment. “You see… that this is some sort of virgin joke.”

“And that, my brath, is an official approval.”

With that, Lumere drew his glare and gritted his teeth, trying to slap him, while Dale shielded with his own arms like a bech defending from another bech who fought over their ideal handsome man. Although he wanted to exert his anger all the way out, he instead did it once and then rubbed his cheeks with only his thumb and index finger of the same hand, avoiding any perpetual shame to be seen by any strangers alike.

“See?” Dale laughed. “Seems like I’m right all along.”

“What in the Gord Phonix’s name did I allow myself to speak?” Lumere mumbled.

Once a brief quarrel was over, the bell pealed thrice, calling for geniu himself to stand and speak on the dais.

“Sounds like it’s your turn right now,” Dale giggled. “Better that your script be as meaningful as that beautiful seniu.”

After ignoring his sentimental trick of certainty, he stood up, sighed out of frustration, and fixed his toga for a bit, heading to pose his speech before the bustling legion. Walking across a central curtain somehow wrested him, more so to push his own legs as most people were looking after him like a typical bich’s fantastical man or a religious idol in human form. Of course, his uninvited sweat somehow bludgeoned his supposed confident looks, but he still rather smiled as “naturally” as it is to act like there was literally nothing happening around his mind. He remembered his time of writing a script although he could feel his words falling short on writing it since he could not grasp more meaningful conclusions to capture more so-called “aspirants” alike. After all, he decided to not burst his kind of pride out in a bit.

Then once he stepped forth on the podium and received his own written scroll with his face in front of the funnel-shaped brass, he somehow imitated Hochfer's practical preparation by clearing his throat, slowly placing the scroll on the top, and opening it as “carefully” as it should be.

“It’s been a glory to be here, Nyed and Gent,” Lumere began to announce. “I frankly tell you that being a geniu for this batch is way too unexpected judging by this soaring degree of prominence within the High Academy of Norsia. Every competent geniuses here are more adroit to do what it must take to be a leader or an elite servant of the Holy Phonix Empire. Not even an average schol from below the level of High Academy can even be qualified to meet and match their own merits for just a single step forth towards the floor of this institution. Thereby, I utilize every ounce of my effort just as everyone does, and then here I am… standing on this podium with dubious yet ironic answers to represent as the peak of this batch. It has come to believe that papers and exercises are not only the measure of our voluntarism, but it is indeed our grand authenticity and our commitment that plays our greatest role as a dase schol. For the greater society and our greater future. There shall no longer be the same hindrance even at the furthest means, and there shall be a chance that proves yourselves which will become fallacious to doubters alike, lest you shall stand still as a jester of yourself. Then when it does, the rest of it is endless enlightenment. Thus, I come here, not as a privileged member of the House Treid, but as a schol myself, to prepare wherefore comes after these years of my studies up until this commemoration today. The world, the history, and most importantly, the Gord Phonix Himself is watching you.”

Thus, Lumere closed the scroll, gave it back to the organizer, and left the scene with a loud round of applause. It did not take a single sweat to paint his oscillation, but he simply and solely finished his job as if he could not wait to accrue both diploma and special medals and then leave for their House’s congratulatory ball tonight.

Once Lumere sat back beside his dase brath named Dale, he sighed from exhaustion and scratched his head, probably stressing out from standing on the dais.

“That was quite shorter than the Hochfer’s,” Dale opined.

“At least, I have fulfilled it once and for all,” Lumere chuckled and shrugged. “Besides, that time of scriptwriting had made me feel like I’m just going to save everyone’s time for their dinner or anything to look upon.”

“How generous you are to make me feel excited, too.” Dale smiled. “You know… I would really love to celebrate our dinner together at your place. Speaking of which, would not you mind sending me an invitation letter?”

“If you do really understand my vader, then you are most likely going to be deniable… judging by your background.”

“I mean, come on!” Dale clicked his tongue. “I would really, really want to try eating some food from your own house.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not going to be possible.”

“Please,” Dale muttered like a hungry dog begging his owner for a piece of biscuit. “Have mercy on me!”

“I told you that he’s likely not going to invite you.”

“Haven’t you ever met your vader from the first day of being in this academy till now?” Dale titled his head. “Cause I’m sure he had probably changed his own mind a bit while you were still lingering around the dormitory for years.”

Giving Lumere out of option to shut Dale’s mouth up, he then nodded in silence and smiled as if he wasn’t genuinely sure how it would end up with. Would the vader still be the same as Lumere’s expectation? Or would the vader be, at least, humble with Dale’s favor?

“Fine,” Lumere finally answered. “We’ll just see for ourselves.”

“Finally,” Dale immediately swung his joyful fist. “An invitation!”

“That is yet to be awaited for now.”

And thus, the deal had been prepared. With Dale’s face of joy shining through his smile and gaze, Lumere curbed his stress and flipped it by forcing himself to chuckle a bit and grin back, resisting his overly dramatic image to be fulfilled to its realistic temptation. Never ever did he want to roar like a dragon coming to light before the eyes of the people while thirsting for their tears and worship as if a divine being should never become alone in the dark.

Then the bell pealed sixfold, calling for all graduates to finally honor themselves once their own name would be called. Every professor in each department appeared walking and sitting on their chair separated by a formal gap for the purpose of a clean picture.

Though, there was only one seat lost in space. Dale was surveying each and every familiar face of all the professors until he could assert someone probably undeserving to be on the stage.

“That rosy nyad,” Dale tilted his head. “Where could she be?”

But Lumere did not have a surprised look after his question, for he knew and understood why it seemed to be undeserving for her to rather stage herself before many possible zealots alike. As if they could not hold themselves with what the popular belief could be instead feasibly scorned, they would eventually act like some nuts around the art gallery throwing sticks at a critic, except those sticks became itself of a stone.

“Probably going to an agenda wherein no public should witness in the meantime,” Lumere answered vaguely. “In fact, she merely taught us naught about some current predicaments regarding her mystical profession.”

“Black hex, right?” Dale whispered.

To which Lumere nodded, “That only she has given us yet. Quite the same as Annaella… with the exception of intention and motive.”

“What do you think about it if you’re trying to guess?”

“Probably those Alphetre miracles.”

“Those primordial tales about ‘long-ear’ people again?”

“Not literally a tale when there are countless Alphetre ruins and even records around the Lichtland,” Lumere shrugged.

“Oh,” Dale gaped in his dazzling eyes. “I would probably be venturing around the world for those intriguing ruins.”

“Gord Phonix,” Lumere clicked his tongue and rubbed his brow. “If only the war had been over.”

“Oh… right…”

Hearing about the war over and over again dashed his hope of adventure, outright shrinking his confidence as if he ultimately wanted to rub it over his face and complained before the temple of Gord Phonix about the existence of war. Of course, most people whose sentiments were them could also have no shame to beg for more questions about the idea in the first place. Though, the Gord Phonix Himself would eventually shake His head and simply point His finger at the stone which granted His poor children an obvious answer—Sin. Just like those hexe who may inherit one or many traits of each authority of Sin, they also are within a foundation of human nature in corruption according to the Sect of Phonix.

But even then, would the flames beneath those who were deemed to be become the flames themselves? Or a sword piercing across the chest of the dead becomes a sword piercing across the mind of the living? What could such a deity think about them “destroying the corruption”? Would it just let the world be another cesspool of bloodshed?

How were they able to decide to be a gard? Was it only their life that would be then spent on the battlefield, carrying their own blood and flesh as a tool of their imperial pride?

If only they could not start an entire dialogue about making them wonder about war, this graduation could have been worth a blithe time to linger over final hours as a schol. Though, reality would then slap their face and watch the world bleeding and burning. Those thoughts roaming around their minds were singing their prospect, so true to the peril and so convincing beyond the tale. It may be a reason why Alphets no longer stood in this world.

But despite their qualms, joyous spirit still ruled over the air.

Singing and clapping with high hopes and praises, Lumere stood on the dais and watched the Hochfer taking the silver ring and diploma with an exclusive silver strip around the roll and then handing it to who was indeed worthy to honor himself with high promises. Finally, it was about time after going through the painstaking calls for each honorable name.

“How bold you are, laddie,” the Hochfer inserted the silver ring into Lumere’s finger from the right hand and then patted his pair of shoulders. “To think that you have climbed your own ladders with such strong and passionate determination while willing to bring forth more victories to this empire will put Our Almighty Gord a smile on His face.”

Upon looking at his ring again, there happened to have an ornate carved letter of ‘L.T.’ atop it, as it was to prove the oath under his noble name. It made him proud, so much more to flaunt his poise as much as he pleased, but imagining a war could not gladden him from the faint gist of it.

And from his words, Lumere kept them not to set at liberty as he probably did not want to lie with either subsequent expectation or disappointment. To think that he would have outright sent an old man’s prophecy to its fulfillment baffled him even without his own single grimace in front of the old man’s eyes.

“Well, to be frank, my young man,” the Hochfer said. “You are not going to either walk or run on a straightforward journey where everywhere else is a smooth road for everyone else in spite of your excellence. I already know that it’s truly a shame for me if I take this… War For The Path… very lightly. And perhaps there’s going to be someone whom you may trust the most as worse than those people of the far east. Do you hear?”

Lumere then nodded silently.

“Good,” the Hochfer continued. “Listen. I do not care whether you have known me well or not, but I really do not want to let the future be lost by the repetition of the past, lest the tragedy here will be farce. Of course, this might be one in most minds, so I bet you can have a grasp of it easily. Likewise, I have already told previous geniu like Mer Sirien herself about this same topic just as I have been doing this to my selective ones…. Anyway, my main message for you is to merely trust and show yourself with greatest worth by watching your backs while honing your capacity to its utmost degree. Even when some eldres might not trust your guts, keep your pride and resiliency high and mighty. Trust me, for I am so old and ashamed of myself that I had ever seen those things more than I had ever expected to be.”

Lumere frankly had no clear idea about the intent of the Hochfer, but it seemed that the old man sincerely treasured him with reality’s upcoming sake. Although he did not care to know more about the entire story behind the Hochfer himself, he still saw his eyes shedding with tears of… joy?... or perhaps… hope? A hope of no recurrence?

“May I know more about anything that you can offer me with free counsel?” Lumere asked.

“Perhaps you can come back to this academy anytime you want,” the Hochfer briefly bowed his head. “If there’s any idea that you wish to write and publish towards the public, I’m sure the academic press can perhaps help you keep those papers busy and enterprising.”

“Such a Libersrit hospitality.”

“Certainly, you must understand the reason why I keep Ferr Celena in this institution,” the Hochfer faintly flushed his cheeks and bobbed his eyebrows. “For sure, she is rather a sedulous gelethe despite the chances of being exposed as a major controversy.”

“Oh…”

“Speaking of which, if you wanna know why she is not here for now, I only can give you a single clue for that.”

“What is it?”

“Stones.”

With that, the Hochfer smiled, turned back, and left his geniu alone standing with immense curiosity dancing inside his mind. Recalling every word voiced by Ferr Celena, there could be only one that topped his mind. Stones, he locked that word into his mind and molded it from based upon Ferr Celena’s teachings.

“Sin… stones… Lilitu…,” Lumere mumbled. “Secrets of the world.”

Lumere faced the assembly and raised his boardshaped cap with his hands locking onto the conic wad at its center, raising it on the air above his head. Most of them could not notice his blank frown painting around his face, but even so, does it matter to them?

Then the assembly of graduates did all the same, but roared with highest joy.

For, at last, they would never turn back once and again.