x
So that's it, huh?"
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My heart skipped a beat when I turned suddenly and saw that girl from earlier. Her autumn hair joggled my memory, for it was she whose name I could not remember. Judging by the strophe around her bosom, she was ready for a magical bath as well.
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"What is thy purpose in this house?" I interrogated, sounding more dramatic than intended.
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“I'm here to bathe," she muttered. "I mean, sometimes, I strut around in nothing but my undergarments, but today is different."
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"Okay, so why didn't you bathe with everyone else?"
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"I prefer an evening dip, alone."
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"Me too."
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"Then, I suppose we'll have to bathe alone together."
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She dipped her toe in the warm pool, slowly allowing the ever blue water to rise to her shoulders. For a moment, my eyes hung off her every motion until they sank into solace. Thereafter, we relaxed in silence, in the ambiance of spring night. Guarded by carved limestone, with nothing left of stress, what more could a girl ask for?
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It was an extensive cavern dim and quaint. A shining wisp hovered here and there, rippled the rough ceiling with aquatic reflections. A bit of mystical blue for your bath. The atmosphere briefly fought against memproes pf the orphanage, that life of want. The children never got to choose when they bathed... if they bathed. Most of the time, we washed before the onset of sickness. The mistresses had a method, a set schedule that changed with the seasons. I used to fantasize about a bath all to myself. Now, I just wished they were here to enjoy this.
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A different kind of plight hung over Cinderfall, for the students expected every privelage to follow their names. What sizable estates they must have lived in. They left their homes only to covet. Yet silver covered their eyes, so they were blind to the downtrodden. Many dimensions coexisted in Miura, in the Imperium, and yet we never noticed how many worlds share one soil.
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I chuckled out of nowhere. So, the strange girl looked at me. "What is so funny, dare I ask?"
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"Nothing. Just thinking."
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"Is it my eyebrows?"
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"No..."
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"My forehead?"
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"No, it has nothing to do with your face."
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"Pfft. Liar."
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I began staring at her eyebrows and forehead. Nothing wrong. Her eyebrows were thin, perfectly aligned, and her forehead had a few freckles. She caught me staring.
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"I knew it!"
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"No! Well, now I am, but that's only because you mentioned it!"
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"Uhuh. My turn then. How did you lose your toes?" she asked.
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I was surprised but not that surprised. Many eyes were keen, it seemed, and I was too tired to bury my head underwater.
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"Hellhound," I answered.
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"Wow... Wait. How did you survive a Hellhound?"
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"Luck." A terrible nightmare. "A warden saved me."
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"Warden?" she sat up, revealing her heavy top. "Do you hail from Mortem?"
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"I don't know."
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"What do you mean you don't know?"
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"Well... One moment, I just woke up, as if from a dream, and found myself sitting in a dark alley. The next, I was in the clutches of a beast... I was only six, maybe, and can't remember anything that happened before that night."
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The girl sighed, sat back down, and shut her eyes as if meditating. "That's deeply disturbing," she said casually. "Hmmm. Well, I was almost raped by a vampire."
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I stared. If couldn’t tell if that was a poor jest. "Ummm, almost?"
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"Mhmm. He couldn't get it up,” she said, staring back.
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A gap of silence started to fill the waters between us for a moment, until she splashed around a bit out of boredom. And as she peered into my eyes, she cracked a gentle smirk. Together, we burst out laughing.
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"Hey, you haven't told me your name," I said.
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"Helga Hjalmar."
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"Grand. That’s not your real name."
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"No, it’s not. It’s Melisande Rosary. Call me Elise."
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"My name is Pollux."
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"Pollux?"
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"Pollux... Or Lux for short."
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"Pleasure."
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“Yes, it is.”
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***
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Somehow, my eyes opened a minute before the clocktower chimed. Rise and shine. The sun glistened through the window and burned up the burgundy floorboard. The rest of the room was darkness. I sat up out of my sheets and grabbed my brace from its place by the shelf. Then, under the loom of compendiums, treatises, and grimoires, I fastened every clasp.
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Like ever, I wasn’t alone during this part of the morning routine. As I sat there yawning and fastening my cast, the thuds of two other feet disturbed the peace. Though six months had passed since the beginning of the school year, I had never bothered nor cared to interact with girl who slept in the cot across from mine. Yes, I had a roommate, a silent yet pompous maiden who brandished a new wardrobe daily. The same Cinderfall uniform, but always a fresh set. It was as white as Sifa’s porcelain ass. Side-by-side, it exposed my uniform’s discoloration.
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To her credit, she had an enviable way with her hair. Her sunny blonde braid was as straight as an arrow, grooming on par with a noble cat. If that wasn’t immaculate enough, her eyes gleamed like sapphires in the sunlight. More than appearances, however, her claim to fame was academic excellence. Diamond in all academic reviews, according to rumors. She was beautiful, popular, intelligent, and of noble blood. She was the girl from Demonology last lemester, known throughout the noble circles as Madame Goireman.
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Down the aisle, there she was. Quiet and serene in her gait, she endlessly and expertly ignored me in her stride down the corridor. Meh. We've never stood close for this long, aside from that one time in Demonology. No surprise, she ghosted me as I peered in her direction. Already gilded in green, the bodice complemented her golden locks. She gave Priestess Serrina a run for her serenity. I fucking hated her.
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Waddling out of the dorm, I hit the scene of amber halls already on the march. Cinderfall was not unlike your standard cathedral, only larger. Every single corridor replayed the tapestry of mythical heroism recorded in the ancient days. The paintings came with light from three directions, human form in every shade of glory. The endeavor to revive old forms of art inspired the new wave of decorations in schools and sacred places. I thought they were rather epic.
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For example, this one of Emperor Mars, standing tall before a tribe of bowing Guwanians. Broad, bespeckled armor man standing proud and brawny, while the tribesmen huddled in their dire wolf pelts. The sun shined on their interaction, this convening of cultures. It may have seemed amicable and regal but it demanded a closer look. The sunlight fell directly on the emperor. Farther from focus, the faces faded beneath a hill of barbarians in cloaked shadow. As the sunlight dimmed, the paint strokes felt less refined. Less attention went to the tribesmen and their immediate surroundings; the fields and huts lacked color. Meanwhile, on the opposite side, the fluting on the knights' armor was horrendously meticulous. I do not think fluting existed back then. I know because back in Flowstowne, by the orphanage, the local blacksmith would entertain me with lessons of his craft.
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In time, I came to understand that smithing is more than beating metal with a hammer. It’s an art form. I did nothing but watch and occasionally use the forge blower. The smith would recite the heating process out loud, like a lesson. A hot, sooty lecture. He was quite kind in hindsight. Perhaps he enjoyed the company, though he mostly kept to himself.
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It is said that Emperor Mars had 5 children, and every one of them went on to carve out their own swathe of the empire. We all know the legends. “Five burdens and sturdy deeds planted seeds of our great breed.” Then one magelord founded the Le Academie de Maistrie to the west, in modern Roland. After that, as Elrik said, “The emissaries tried to pretend it was their idea first, after erecting five academies in old Otto’s empire. Cinderfall was the 1st, and it was founded by Seigward and Sigrun. After that, six more venerated academies were founded. Everything after that, the smaller schools, would be considered redundant and “pleb-infested.” History’s a bit callous like that.
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Speaking of history, the age of the school would show itself whenever students lost themselves in the old mazes of Cinderfall dungeons. Any sense of direction came from the paintings scattered about the grounds. Remember the decorations, and you would never lose your way. Let the art guide thee in this pretentious palace, clandestine wanderer.
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On to the next lesson.
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