As Chunji had expected, things were handled. That was all that mattered. The shadow witch, the knight, and Rio, who was suffering from Ethos rebound, dissuaded the pompous Leuvault. The owl boy had given Rio a seat so that was out of the way. From his observations, Chunji had made a singular conclusion from this entire ordeal. He was sure that half of the applicants had a mental affliction of a kind. It was something to take note of since he didn't have much knowledge in that regard, so it was worth studying them while he could.

For now, he needed to tend to the unconscious half-elf. She, of them all, was probably heavily afflicted with the most severe mental affliction of all. Grandiose delusions. After all, it was not wise to charge at a gleaming figure of light straight ahead and screaming death threats. It was half a concern that she might wake up and suddenly attack him, so Chunji was still guarded in the event that may have happened.

Still, he was now at a disadvantage. The owl boy was neither his friend nor currently his foe. While he may have heeded his recommendation, it did not mean that a chair would be given.

However, that contrasted with the current request at hand. Respecting the request the martial artist gave him meant he'd have to tend to the unconscious patient in need, which Chunji honored. It was something that Father taught, after all. Whenever making an exchange, make sure to pay it back in full. Since Rio 'dealt' with the threat of the Leuvalt, Chunji decided to tend to Chloe. Sure, Chunji bandaged Chloe for Rio, but that was out of the owl boy's words.

"透过现象看本质." There was nothing more that could be said, but there was something that could be done. The faculty must have been watching from somewhere. He highly doubted that this was going unsupervised since it would be detrimental if some applicants were to have perished before the orientation. So, now Chunji was utilizing his ethos to check the building once more for any devices, mechanisms, or magical tools that were part of the school.

The doctor also gave a glance towards the limp girl, who was toying around with the broken remains of the foreteller. What was she doing, and was she did actually have a lame leg?

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

"Agreed. I refuse to let you commit a massacre. If you have even a shred of vaunted Nero's integrity, you will stand down, Leuvalt."

The knight gave Ciara a nod, which she returned. It meant she wasn't going into this alone.

"Third Shield: Repel!"

A loud crash. At the foot of the stage, a boy dressed in black prepared to defend the audience from the killing spell being cast. Three against one. Ciara liked those odds. However, she had to remind herself Valen claimed to defeat nearly every student outside. From the expressions on the students' faces, Valen was no easy foe to fight with whimsically.

The knight, and this boy dressed in black, both were exhausted. Ciara considered herself, and her exhaustion levels. She had spent the morning fighting off Mannekin and manipulating shadows on a mass level in the darkness of the auditorium. By all intents and purposes, she should be exhausted as well. However, using her Ethos as a package runner daily gave her a bit more endurance. She could keep going, but not for long.

Her eyes hovered on Valen, watching his every move. As he saw three enemies prepared to stop him, the symbols faded. But what he said... chilled her to the core.

"Shadow magic, is it? I suppose Vaal Shakta is more lenient with practiced Umbralists, but I was not aware that the good Verne lacked the sense to ship your ilk off to Mirris."

"How dare you." Came the sudden and sharp reply.

Mirris. A place she would likely be sent to die, if she were to ever find herself in the unfortunate circumstances of being even remotely close to such a hostile place. There would be no essence eradication, no package running. They would only see her like how her home saw her. A monster. A threat to the peace that heroes struggled and died for. A remnant of an ill-boded age where darkness ravaged and devoured the world.

In less than a few seconds, Valen had reduced Ciara to that small child abandoned on a doorstep.

It was enough to cause Ciara's blade to press a little more hungrily against his throat.

"Say that again, I dare you."

A pause.

"I suppose the world is changing with each passing day, and we now find ourselves united: those that worship the Leuvalts and those that worship dark art madmen like First Shepherd Meer in the same halls, blades trained at the same enemies."

It was that statement that caused Ciara to snap out of her bloodlust, staring at the knight who stood stoically on the front side of Valen. From a distance, it was all rather striking. The virtue of virtues, and the mistaken darkness, who could never truly escape her own shadow, united against a common foe.

It was almost poetic, if she didn't abore the notion of Umbralism to her very core.

She pulled her blade away, but kept it unsheathed, as he sipped from his wine. As he spoke, her expression narrowed.

A jape? All of this was his idea of a sick joke?

"Umbralist or not, fuck around and you will find out." The hunter said, standing beside the knight.

Ciara's gloomy expression showed the slightest hint of gratitude at that, the hunter quelling the storm inside the young shadow weaver. Ciara looked at the hunter a bit more closely, finding herself curious.

Grey. Lots of grey. But within the grey, the hunter's aura showed hints of purified light. Not as strong or refined as the knight. But enough to mark the presence of a person who did their best in any circumstance.

The echo of footsteps.

“That is enough.”

She glanced over. Otis had taken center stage, chiding the young boy dressed in black, who was struggling to stand.

From the corner of her eye, she saw it. A leftover Mennekin, and the first chair to be gifted. With just a handful of minutes left on the clock, they were reaching the next phase of Otis' plan for peace in the auditorium. With a final glare directed towards Valen, Ciara sheathed her dagger.

As she stared, she made a vow.

One day, she'd make him eat those words.

She then returned to the front of the sage and stood near Davil and Otis, watching the students form their rows as ordered. The analyst lurked in the shattered seating areas near the back of the auditorium, tending to a girl she didn't recognize. Cirar's own eyes glanced at the clock, then around the edges and crannies of the auditorium.

Time was short. Had they prepared enough for when the faculty would finally arrive?

How dare he. Iraleth gnashed her teeth as Valen delivered insult after insult, her ire rising all the while. The urge to thrust her sword into his gut grew with each word, even as she briefly noticed the boy from the bridge joining them while in an obvious state of rebound. Iraleth wasn't so far off from such herself, an outline of her Ethos briefly flaring around her and a gash opening across her cheek in response before she forced her power back down.

"The only member of your family I venerate is Nero." Iraleth spat in response, only lowering her blade as the redhead relented on his fireball spell. "You mock him and the Star Sorcerer for abandoning your family, and yet they are the only Leuvalts known to the rest of the world for accomplishing anything with their lives. Does it irk you, that the only worthwhile members of your misbegotten family to have contributed anything to the world were the ones that wished little to do with it?"

She deliberately turned her back on him, her sword returning to where it had been planted before.

"And yes. You are wrong. Twice today, I cross paths with someone who believes their power gives them the right to simply toy with those below them. It does not. Might alone does not make a hero. A wicked man could slay all the monsters he wants. It means nothing if it does not benefit society. Principles and devotion are what drive people to perform great acts in service to all. You clearly lack such. Even the shadow witch, if she is an Umbralist, at least did not threaten to commit mass murder on a whim. Must I explain basic morality to you as well?"

She deliberately turned her back on him, returning to her former position and planting her sword back where it had been.

"If you take umbrage with my words, by all means: Cast a spell. Try to kill me for no reason other than wounded pride. Prove me right about your unworthiness. The thought of you having to desperately explain causeless murder to the faculty will fill my last moments with joy."

Her piece said, Iraleth returned to silently observing the Strigdae's machinations. His words betrayed no ill intent, to be certain. She actually agreed with him, in fact. Their failing now was not the end. There was always another chance, and judging by what she'd seen, some of these teens certainly needed more time to prepare. To train. They weren't worthy now. But in the future? Perhaps.

Still, the ease of which he'd taken complete control of the situation sat ill with her. Liars with good intentions were still just that: liars. What would be his line in the sand? To which he'd put his foot down and not take the easy path? Whatever his name was, he would bear watching.

And speaking of watching...

Iraleth's gaze shifted towards the shadow witch again. Her thoughts crept across the mental link. While the rest could hear her, the question was directed only towards Ciara.

"That wretch bore a singular good point. What are you? Considering your actions thus far, I doubt you to be an Umbralist in truth. But shadow magic carries a stigma for a reason. You may explain later in private, once this pageantry is done with. But I am inclined to give you a chance. For now."

@ERode @Estylwen

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

"Mmm, 'fuck around and find out,' is it?"

Small rumblings shook Valen's torso, face cast downward as he tasted the words like the wine he sipped, staying quiet while allowing others to finish their own ramblings. With another drink to empty his glass, the boy's posture shot upright in his throne with a chuckle - a sweet toxin in his stifled laugh. He was this universe's center, here and now, and he could not be happier for it. The threats that others shot his way seemed to slide off him like rain off of an umbrella, and his body language, expression, and even his heart rate for those that could sense such things - all were normal, leisurely and controlled. He well and truly believed that he could unleash a Fireball upon dozens of innocents and get away with it, if he willed it.

His attention turned to Iraleth as matters settled down, eyebrows somewhat raised with a slender smile as she spoke venom of the Leuvalt family name. When she turned away, the cracked sneer would grow thinner and thinner, as if a strand being stretched to its limit. "We will end today's discussion on a disagreement, then, fair squire. You who wish to see the young vanquished in the name of virtue, and I who admit freely the truth that the world is built by those who conquer for the sake of themselves. Even now, as you posture, rebound takes you. Should you continue that way as days pass into months and indeed years, you will join the fates of all the foot soldiers who perished in naive martyrdom: forgotten and unrequited."

His wine glass was filled to the brim once again, though it was again unknown when such a thing happened. He stared into it as another small chuckle escaped him.

"My way would spare you that fate."

Looking over to Hildegunde, he would eye her weapon, scoffing. "The same goes for this one. I have witnessed many soldiers wield such primitive weaponry in fair Rekordia. You are as expendable as a bargain bin toy soldier with none of the usefulness. Those, at least, are capable of distracting the children during the cold winter nights."

After which, he would close his eyes, leaning back in his throne and simply becoming unresponsive to any and all that would talk to him - a face of pure comfort on his features as he waited out the last minutes before the end. He clutched his hands tightly to the grips of his throne, the wine glass having disappeared from his left hand without witness.

Mentally, Davil would speak to the collective. To no one in particular, yet to anyone tuned in to Davil's messages at that moment. "Man, what a dick," is all he'd think as he sighed, awaiting the final moments while shifting uncomfortably in his seat, leaning as far away from Valen's direction as possible.

Meanwhile, at that same moment, Rio's focus had entirely shifted from Valen to Otis. Almost falling to his knees, revealing that he'd merely been posturing with the last of his strength, his eyes found hope when the Mannekin arrived with a chair. "...I won't say thanks, and I won't owe you nothin'. But I will remember."

Rio simply eyed Otis a moment as he limped back towards Chloe with the chair. Upon reaching that corner, he would plop Chloe's unconscious body into his lap once he was seated. He took a long, exhausted exhale as his eyes closed, his Ethos phantom disappearing as he finally allowed his guard to loosen. He'd briefly crack open an eye to look towards Chunji, his body clearly finding even speech a struggle right now. "You wanna find a chair soon, I think. Seems like people're lining up now. Finally, some peace."

To Chunji's eyes, he would indeed see something new immediately as he glanced around the room. Whether it was newly arrived or simply obscured in the prior heat of battle, it was now clear as day that some kind of mechanical lizard creature, roughly the size of a dog, was crawling on the ceiling. It had a large white staff with a sapphire at its center tied around its back, and it was slowly crawling and observing from above. He could tell that, without his Ethos, the thing would be well and truly invisible. Upon looking at the limp girl, he would see her continuing to bang against it with her cane, surprisingly loosening the structure a great deal despite the weak pokes. Upon looking at her internals, however, something odd was made clear to him.

There was nothing in her right leg.

What that meant was unclear, in the moment. He could see the complex inner workings of a human body, in full as normal, with one exception: her right leg was a hazy blackness. It was as if there was nothing there but the shape of a leg, moving like one, except there was well and truly nonexistence. It was as if something was blocking his vision from seeing the truth, a haze surrounding her right leg that was invisible to the regular eye. And after mere seconds of glancing at this, a feeling would almost settle in Chunji's gut - a feeling as if something were watching him, staring at him, observing him while he himself observed others. Something immaterial out there, somewhere, watched him now, and knew that he had glimpsed an inexplicable something. The girl, meanwhile, continued to bang away obliviously, cheering happily once a fragment of Foreteller's shin had broken apart. She handed it over to a half-orc boy nearby, who began sticking it to other pieces of metal with some kind of magic or Ethos until it formed a shoddy shop class stool that she hastily sat upon.

Lines would have formed, the common rabble obeying desperately as they awaited their chairs pleadingly. Most of the fight seemed to be out of people by now, replaced only by fatigue and the desire to be done with what was perhaps the most demanding morning of their lives. There appeared to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred students divided into these lines awaiting salvation, unsure if they would achieve it.

It was as minutes passed and the clock struck 9:59 AM, while chairs were hurriedly handed out, that students would begin to see a strange mechanical lizard slowly descending from the ceiling, a sapphire staff on its back glowing like the sun. It would glide ethereally onto the stage, and the moment its metal limbs touched the wooden floorboards, the staff all at once flashed and dimmed. By its side, now wielding the staff, was a woman wearing a dark feathered dress, standing at attention as she stared out with a knowing smile to the students on stage and those seated.

"We stand mere seconds away from the appointed start time. Be seated. For those that are not seated in the next forty five seconds, we will happily accept your participation next year." Without a doubt, it was the voice of the woman from over the school loudspeaker earlier today.

There would be some that would fight for seats, or attempt to - and yet, the moment anyone so much as raised their voice in anger, they would find themselves unconscious with a glare from the woman. And in another blink, their bodies would vanish from the auditorium entirely, as if they were never there at all.

"Please make your peace and be seated, or else leave with dignity. I ask for silence as this clock strikes on the hour, as befitting the chosen that have made it this far. There will be time for acknowledgement and lectures alike at a later time, but for now, order is... in order."

"..." Rio didn't have to do anything for Chunji to move. With Rio's request fulfilled, there was no need for him to stay any longer. Leaving the half-elf and martial artists behind, he made his way back up to the stage.

Coming up to Otis, he stared at the shorter owl boy before sending a mental request. 'May I have a chair?' It was respectful and long enough for Chunji to say. He wasn't a conservationist, nor did he strive to become one, either. Blunt, short, and concise responses were what he preferred at all times. The blunt, short, and concise answer would also be appreciated, considering the time limit of forty-five seconds left.

Though exchanges must be mutually beneficial for them to be facilitated, from what he had seen from the owl boy, the boy was something of a schemer of sorts. Plans require information, and information must be discovered. Fortunately for them, both Chunji had that exact ability as his main selling point. Leaning forward, he whispered into Otis's ear. "I'll lend you my sight for one time if you do." That was the highest offer he could give to the Strigidae.

"We'll discuss the details later." With that, Chunji, after finishing his conversation. He said what he wanted to say, and now wasn't a time to have a conversation.

While waiting to see if his appeal worked on the owl boy, Chunji was left with his thoughts. The academy truly was a peculiar place. To have their potential students fight amongst each other, invite strange applicants, and have a demented student as a proctor. Though for the first year opening its gates, it couldn't be helped. It was a trial run or sort, and Chunji expected that it'd be revised in the coming years.

There were many other things to think about. As had been expected, there was someone else, other than the crying infant of a proctor, who was watching the process. A woman, a teacher more precisely, had controlled along with her automation lizard. It wouldn't surprise him if she had more than one, but it seemed a complicated tool to reproduce. However, her appearance meant an increased urgency in getting a chair.

The other was the 'limp' girl. For the first time in many years, Chunji felt fear pulsate for a brief moment in his heart. Though as quickly as he came, Chunji silenced that feeling. All that was left was confusion. What had he just seen? Whatever it may be, it was alive and very much aware. Did the academy even know about this? How could they invite something like that inside into the academy? A rare sigh escaped Chunji's mouth as his eyes stayed clear of the 'limp' girl. It wasn't his concern either way. While he knew the occult, he wasn't an expert on the demonic.

What really needed to be concerned about now was getting a chair and taking a seat.

Otis didn’t respond to the shield-summoner’s words, instead snapping his fingers.

And like that, the spiderweb of thoughts that he had ensnared the others in was cut off. At this point, the situation had calmed enough that they no longer needed such silent cooperation, and while there was a wealth of essence present, Otis wasn’t going to waste any more than necessary. Mannekins continued to shuffle in and out, back and forth. There won’t be enough chairs left for those who remained, that much was certain. The calamity of lightning delivered in Gulliver’s rage, the tangled horde of Mannekins, and the similarly destructive responses from the Paladin and Ciara, had all seen to it that there were hardly any seats left to retrieve to begin with.

That was a good thing. He didn’t want to pick even 50 out of the 100 who were present. And with the professor who organized all this on stage, serving as the clearest sign of authority present? Otis continued to call out names, down his mental list of those who proved to possess something meaningful. An Ethos perhaps, or an obsession. Family names and martial deeds mattered less here. If they had created something before, they wouldn’t be so reliant on charity here.

Time dwindled with the seats. He disregarded what Chunji whispered. Such an offer was outside their agreement for cooperation, but the bespectacled boy would receive a chair nonetheless. All of them would, as the time neared. Perhaps if any of them stumbled or fumbled, they wouldn’t have made the cut-off mark. If they failed at the very end though? It didn’t matter to him that they had defeated Gulliver together.

He was only part of the process. It was the result that mattered the most.

As the Strigidae seated himself right in front of the stage, he sent out one last command to the Mannekins under his control. With stiff movements, they approached the prone form of Gulliver and seized him by the collar, lifting him up and off from the stage before stepping towards that woman with hair of dark flames.

“Madam,” Otis spoke, his gaze drifting towards her two horns before settling upon her eyes. “Was this one a prospective student as well, or a hireling sent by you to impede our progress? If the former, I would like to know how he reached the auditorium before all else. If the latter, I would like to know whether he falls under your condition of “be seated, or else leave with dignity.””

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

A willful thought came through the static. "That wretch bore a singular good point. What are you?"

A Voice cackled. "It suspects. All the better."

Ciara stared at the knight, glowing in her vision as they stood side by side on the stage.

Another Voice. "Imagine it's look when we finally taste it."

"It's a good person." Ciara thought.

Hard and sharp like a whip. "It'll kill you."

"It wouldn't." Ciara thought, her words a whisper.

"It would. I can prove it. You have seen how virtuously it speaks, yes? Gives all hints of Astrism. Further suggested by the other 'it.'"

"Valen?"

"Yes. With this sword it wields, how it admires the Nerite Heroes, in all likelihood, it knows how to purify. This would lead to your ultimate... demise."

Ciara's eyes widened slightly as the Voice exuded a haughty smugness. Purifying magic? No, no, the Voics had to be wrong. It was a rare skill, no kid her age could have enough mastery over it to be a threat to her, surely.

"It wouldn't. Couldn't." Her weak thought.

"It can and it would." Came the cold response.

Ciara paused, a slight tremble seen within her shadow. The knight seemed nice enough. Surely there was no motive like that, right?

Ah, who was she kidding. People like the knight had plagued Ciara all her life. She had made the mistake of not suspecting before. It had cost her a few ripe scars.

"Then, what do we do?"

"Catch it by surprise, and Eat it before it can kill you."

Ciara seemed to stand, paralyzed, before closing her eyes. She tried to swallow her fear.

Were the Voices right? They normally were.

Enough time had passed since she had feasted on hollow Mannekin. The excitement of consuming essence had since died down, allowing her to take back some control of her eyes. When she reopened them, whether to seem less threatening or for another reason, they had returned back to their normal amber.

"You may explain later in private, once this pageantry is done with. But I am inclined to give you a chance. For now." The thought from the knight continued.

There was a long pause before Ciara spoke through the mental web.

"I find no need to explain myself, especially when we are students alike, without authority over another," Ciara thought, shaking the mental web with her willfulness. "But... if you find me... I will be... happy... to oblige."

That was when a strange beast descended from the ceiling. Ciara blinked, looking up in confusion as it drifted down, and transformed. Her jaw dropped. It was the teacher. The teacher. The one who had spoken unseen since all this began. Finally. Here in the flesh.

Ciara didn't know whether to be elated or wring her dry for letting things go on as they did.

"We stand mere seconds away from the appointed start time. Be seated. For those that are not seated in the next forty five seconds, we will happily accept your participation next year."

Ciara's eyes snapped to the clock. That wasn't much time at all.

Snap.

Just like that, the mental web connecting the fledgling heroes was cut off. Ciara's gaze turned to Otis, watching him finally make his move. Names were called, and the repurposed Mannekin hurriedly moved to and fro with seats, like little fairies granting wishes. As Otis sat in front of the stage, a shadowy throne spiraled up from the ground on one of his free sides, tendrils extending from Ciara's shadow.

She sat down beside him.

Yes, a chair had her name written on it. She was sure of it. But any number of things could go wrong. Hell, a student could try snatching her chair as a Mannekin wheeled forth to deliver it. Otis could say to hell with the 'Umbralist' and skip over her entirely. It had happened before.

She trusted easily. But dependence? That was another thing entirely.

Before she could think about it too much, a Mannekin moved in front of her, delivering a chair she had previously torn up. Allowing herself a small smile, she accepted it, the shadowy throne melting away as she replaced it with a tried and true auditorium chair. She sat again and leaned back, looking up at the stage with slight satisfaction.

Gulliver was presented before who she presumed to be their teacher, and Otis asked a few poignant questions.

She watched curiously before adding one more question. "He mentioned something about a 'divine culling.' Know anything about that?"

Squire, again? What was with these arrogant nobles and their insistence that she couldn't possibly be a full-fledged knight? Iraleth gnashed her teeth, but spoke no more of the matter as a member of Wingram's faculty finally deigned to show herself. Besides, the rest of Valen's words had no effect on her. If she should martyr herself young, then so be it. She held little fear at the prospect. After all, her life should have ended when the Umbralists razed her orphanage as a child. Every day past that was a gift.

The shadow witch's response echoed across the link but once before the Strigdae shut it off. Well. That hadn't gone over as poorly as she'd imagined it would. Fine, then. Once Iraleth was rested, her first order of business in whatever free time she would have at Wingram would be to track that girl down and get an explanation. Not that she was looking to be an inquisitor, but her abilities still gave cause for concern. Better to trust, but verify.

The woman in the beautiful dress spoke, and Iraleth shifted her attention back towards her. Time was finally up, then. Iraleth watched dispassionately as one of the Mannekins dropped a chair in front of her, and she simply sat in it without complaint, offering the Strigdae responsible a brief nod of thanks. He was keeping to his word for the moment, at least. Her magic could have afforded her a backup plan should the boy have welched on his word, but fortunately, it hadn't came to that.

Otis and Ciara asked their questions, and Iraleth looked on without a word. If Bronsteel had truly been a hired hand, he would have been an utterly incompetent one to lose his head so completely and throw what could very well have been a lethal spell at her. Even so, it would vindicate her personal decision to let him live all the more. For now, she conserved her energy, not speaking more than she had to. In truth, Iraleth would have liked nothing more than to collapse into a bed and slumber for the rest of the day after the effort she'd exerted and the injuries she had taken. But there were yet miles to go before she could sleep. Besides, all Iraleth was doing at the moment was sitting. If she couldn't manage that without passing out, she wasn't worthy to be a paladin of Astra.

"The same goes for this one. I have witnessed many soldiers wield such primitive weaponry in fair Rekordia. You are as expendable as a bargain bin toy soldier with none of the usefulness. Those, at least, are capable of distracting the children during the cold winter nights."

There's an odd smile on Hildegunde's face at those words, and an odd slew of emotions that bubble within her at it. None of which included anger.

Expendable. This was true. Everyone and everything was expendable. Even since coming to Vaal Shakta and becoming overwhelmed with all the messy rules and practices that complicated her once blissfully simple worldview, she knew this to be true. Even those who sat upon thrones and thought themselves gods, or were even treated as such. Death made all equal, and she was a hunter. And despite his words about her weapon, she knew that, if she really wanted, all it would take is a single gunshot to prove it.

And yet, the thought made her sick. Her sick, and something happy. Maybe a buried part of herself she wished not to acknowledge. Perhaps the devil from the old fairy tales of Der Freischütz she likened herself to. Whatever the case, she felt her stomach twist itself in knots.

None of the usefulness. Perhaps that was true. While she was a sharp shot in her own right, none of it compared to the pin-point, horrific accuracy of her Ethos. And her Ethos was just barely in her own control half the time. She knew there was potential, no matter what this arrogant prick said.

There had to be a use. She had to be useful. There had to me more she could do this with gift and curse. The image of a ifeless, glassy stare burns into her mind's eye, and her smile fades. She could tell herself she was here for her parents' sake as much as she likes, but deep down, she knows why she's really here.

She will not let his death be meaningless.

Hildegunde hardly acknowledges the horned woman's words. Clutching her rifle, she seats herself; knuckles white and face dark.

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

The woman's attention was drawn towards the unconscious Gulliver, a glimmer of contempt flashing across her features before returning to neutrality as she acknowledged Otis. With a slow nod and a sigh and a few rhythmic taps against her staff as she beheld Gulliver, she would look to Otis and gesture for him to return the unconscious brat to his chair. "Yes, Mister Bronsteel was to act as a final test for the students to overcome this morning. His Ethos was uniquely tailored for such a task, and the board of directors insisted he be granted the special privilege of overseeing Mannekin security for this exercise. The, um..." Two glances, one shot first towards the broken Foreteller and a lingering second on Ciara, seeming to tie this into her inquiry as well.

"The summoning of that giant and the 'divine culling' as it has been so strikingly said, were things that Bronsteel took upon himself. Perhaps he didn't expect to make such fast friends, but either way, it's something he'll be punished for. For the moment, though, he had earned his seat here today regardless of the result. Had he succeeded, he would have well and truly been Wingram's only student this year. In that, he wasn't wrong. Return him to his chair."

From the other end of the room, the doors opened as a middle aged human man in a tattered brown cloak, hood pulled up over his head - who Ciara would recognize as Michael - slowly shuffled inside with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. Whistling a tune of exasperation as he took in the auditorium's state, he exclaimed a horrified, "Fuck me," a little too loud, not anticipating how silent with tension the rest of the auditorium was. He simply stumbled to work with his chosen janitorial weaponry, scooping up shards of wall, floor and chair with complete futility. The scarlet woman scoffed upon seeing the janitor's attitude, and returned to look upon Otis and Ciara once more.

"Now, if that's all, time has run out. We'll begin orientation now."

Turning to face the crowd below the stage, her eyes narrowed as she took in a few dozen students scrambling about the room, no free seats in sight, nor any powers to call upon to secure one. Just as their panic reached a boil...

Slam.

With a smack of the woman's staff against the wooden floorboards of the stage, all students without a seat in the auditorium would find themselves vanished instantly. What remained was a respectable amount of promising youths, though clearly not quite the turnout the scarlet sorceress had wished for. "This will have to do, then," she muttered, her staff clenched tight.

"Students of Wingram! I am Principal Raja, the one who will guide the hopeful stars gathered today. It has been a long and tiring affair to reach this place, I'm sure. The company on your carriages was almost assuredly found wanting, the nights cold without insulation, and the morning of arrival a mad dash filled with pain and screams. I mean it when I say that those that remain are those I would entrust the start of a promising future for. Those that lose themselves at the starting line would only perish or be crushed by reality in the weeks, months and years to come. We do not, after all, just train you for life - we train you for purpose. For renewal."

Runic patterns glowed on the back of the mechanical lizard at the woman's side. Raja traced a pattern in the air in its direction with her finger, and seconds later, the entire body of the lizard split open as countless blue lights escaped from it. They took to the skies, dancing about the room, looming overhead. After the utterance of an incantation by the principal, these lights each began to shoot towards students with purpose, each one seeming to have a specific target - but ultimately, each student in the auditorium would have their personal space intruded upon by these azure wisps, hovering just in front of them in their seats.

"These are Adapa. Grimoires and tomes for a modern age - for a world in which Astra demands we move beyond the struggles of the Five Year Apocalypse. So long as they're with you, they will allow you to use Vaal Shakta's Essence Mail and access the radios and television channels afforded to Shaktan citizens, among other things to be discussed at a later date."

Davil would glow with starry-eyed wonder upon hearing this, and immediately reached for the blue wisp in front of him without hesitation. Not even a second later, he slumped over unconscious in his chair, instantly comatose. Raja took note of this with a sigh, seeing a few others in the crowd attempt this at that very same moment, all meeting the same results.

"...As I was about to get around to, however, the Adapa is a fickle being. It has its own will, you see, and it's not a creature that bestows knowledge and support to the hesitant. It will attempt to assimilate you, as you do it - tug of war with the self, as it were. It will pull you, mentally, into the weakest moment of your life and attempt to bind you there. Your reason for being here, now, must be stronger than it was when you first gained that resolve. Be certain of your path, more now than you ever were, and the Adapa will become the greatest tool in your arsenal as a shield of the Union."

She would slam her staff upon the ground three more times in quick succession, echoing the start of the final entry test.

"You have endured a battle of the body, but a battle of mind and emotion awaits all of you inside. If you're defeated in this battle, our medical team will be able to separate the Adapa's dominance from you in time, though your time as a Wingram student will be brought to a swift end. Prevail, and you'll enjoy everything that awaits beyond this. Touch the designated Adapa that has arrived in front of you when ready, or else leave this place if you already know in your heart that you cannot win."

For those that touched their Adapa, they would be dragged into the most vulnerable point of their life, forced to relive it and overcome it. All the while, the Adapa acting as a voice of inner doubt, mentally stabbing away at them with precision only known by a mind intimately connected to their own - fusing, and sharing.

Correction. This was not a teacher but the Principal of Wingram Academy. From his seat, Chunji dug his nails deeper into his skin for that mistake. However, what proceeded after didn't seem relevant. Gulliver was, in fact, correct about already being a student, which was surprising since how spectacularly hard he failed to give a good first impression; whoever gave the idea of giving a position of authority needed to re-evaluate their job and its security.

Paying attentively to Principal Raja's speech, Chunji couldn't help but feel apathetic. The speech was inspirational, but to Chunji, it didn't invoke any sense of the word. Whenever winter fades, spring is sure to come. It was only obvious that he would constantly change within due time.

At the change of subject, a blue light appeared in front of every student in the auditorium. The manifestation came in the form of a book, an Adapa, that hovered right in front of him. Chunji didn't interact with it, but seeing Davil, from a few seats away, fall unconscious, it seemed he had made the right choice. Another trial but for the mind, as Principal Raja had put it. Without further ado, he grasped the book and fell unconscious.

---

Green. The sharp blades of grass tickled his skin. Green. The sky was covered in leaves, leaving little left to the blue sky. Getting up from the ground, Chunji checked himself. Judging by the size of his hands and feet, this must have been around the time he was still ten years old. It was clear to him what this event was.

Something growling was heard. Turning to address it, an enormous white tiger was moving towards him. Its teeth were bared, its majestic white coat shined even with the shade of the forest, and the scars that littered around its body told many battles.

It was already clear what he had to do.

Producing a knife from his pocket, Chunji went for

"Aren't you afraid-" A voice spoke in a voice completely identical to his own. Its tone is similarly vacant of emotion but at the same judging. However, that did not stop the swing that Chunji did with his knife. As if a repeated habit, the movement was precise.

"No, I am not."

"They will be no reward for doing his."

Blood erupted from his wrists. A sanguine pool started to grow beneath him. His feet were muddied by the red ichor that was his own blood. Chunji could only stare at his reflection. "I do not expect a reward, nor do I expect anything from others." That was the resolution he came up with many years ago.

"If there's no expectation, what is the point of continuing."

"脉动. 死而复生." The incantation had started. The White Tiger roared and charged at him. There was no fear, nor was there hesitation. Keep moving forward and never look back. "I continue for the sake of continuing." Life moves with or without. It is impartial yet equal to all. It doesn't matter who you are; all it does is continue in its cycle.

"Yet, we both know that is wrong. It is the sake of our parents.".

Chunji stopped the next part of the incantation. Was it out of shock, or was it out of nostalgia? It didn't matter as Chunji's small body was thrown across the forest with one swipe of the Tiger. A trail of blood follows him thanks to his bleeding wrist.

"A lie within a lie. To expect a reward from your parents, you continue regardless.". The words were mocking, and Chunji could not refute them within spoken words laid a grain of possibility. At one point, he did yearn for their affection. Yearn for the unconditional love he had seen other children receive. Run across the field and embrace their parent.

A thick paw stepped onto the rib cage. Instinctively, Chunji rushed to push against it out of survival instinct. The breath of the Tiger brushed his face as it leaned closer to him.

But still.

"蠕动. 脱壳." The pool of blood rippled. The rest had been disturbed, and it had been called. "Yet, is it bad to follow a lie?" It didn't matter much to Chunji at the end. At the end of the day, a lie was the same as the truth. Motivating people to follow a path, they guide them to their destination.

"You won't be happy.".

"从一开始 它一直都在."

"I'm fine with that."

"无龙之福，亦无虎之威."

"You won't be satisfied.".

"被海洋拒绝，被大地拥抱."

"I'm fine with that."

"脉动。抵抗命运!"

"You won't be loved.".

"蠕动。破壳而出!"

"You don't know that."

"召唤 - 神花的人生八景!"

It happens in an instant. Blood started raining from the sky. The white Tiger was immediately subdued by several tentacle-like appendages. No, the appendages were wrong. They were heads. The Snake God's presence made itself known. All eight of the eights hissed as they wrapped themselves around the white. The struggle of the white Tiger was evident but fruitless against the Serpent.

"After all, the only people who can say that are the people in question themselves."

All eight heads bared their wrath at the White Tiger. Blood gushed out of its wounds, and a sickly poison followed with it. It didn't take long for the White Tiger to fall limp underneath the Snake God. Standing above its crumpled foe, the Serpent roared into the sky. Was it relief to overcome a rival? Or was it a grudge that had been lifted over a millennium? Chunji didn't know, but-

---

Green. The sharp blades of grass tickled his skin. Green. The sky was covered in leaves, leaving little left to the blue sky. Getting up from the ground, Chunji checked himself. Judging by the size of his hands and feet, this must have been around the time he was still ten years old. It was clear to him what this event was.

A breath. The dragon appeared above him. Its eyes scrutinized him, its scales perfect and enviable. Everything that the Snake God had aspired to be but could never reach.

"Even if they're the ones doing this?".

This was a dream. A dream created by his mother. A training that would persist even in his sleep. There was no reprieve in the realm of the living, nor would there reprieve in the realm of the dead.

Yet still.

It was already clear what he had to do.

Producing a knife from his pocket, Chunji went for his wrist.

Blood sprayed every. Blood splashed in the appearance of the Snake God. Another obstacle vanquished. Another dream.

"Even if they're the ones doing this.". Chunji himself would see to it what their answer would be.

---

Chunji awoke in his seat. As if nothing had happened, he glanced around to see his other peers. They were still unconscious, still taking their trial. Relaxing against his seat, Chunji produced a book from inside of his pockets and began to read. It was something he had more than once, maybe even a thousand times, but it was still comforting.

He wasn't shaken, but his resolve was tested. No matter what, he would complete his stay at the academy and fulfill his family's goal. That way, the answer he yearned for would finally come to him.

Her fingers touch the Adapa with little hesitantion. Funny, how it always comes back to overcoming this moment. It was the reason her parents moved her from Seer's Loft. It was the reason she came to this school. It was the reason she didn't turn tail as soon as the going got touch, as all her instincts told her to.

Good thing she's had practice.

---

Winter. To some, the hardest season of the hunt. Many an amateur hunter are intimidated by the bitter cold and the decreased amount of game. To the Nachtnebel family, however, Winter was a blessing. Clear sightlines. Few pests. Easy trails. Little competition. And, of course, lots of hungry families to feed. It wasn't just prime hunting time, but prime trading as well, with various family gatherings, tourists, and the like on account of the many festivities held around this time of year.

The world is cold and crystalline and quiet, freshly blanketed in snow. Two sets of footprints break apart the picturesque scene. The first set belongs her Hildegunde, a young teen who would turn 15 in two days. The second set belongs to her brother, Gunther, whom Hildegunde shared a party with each year. He had turned 19 today.

The two of them crouch by the brambles, having tailed a deer. Hildegunde's frozen breath hangs in the air. She inhales sharply, finger on the trigger.

Deer. Brainstem.

"Freikugeln."

The sound of a singular gunshot followed by dozens of flapping wings fill the air. Then after, a sigh follows.

"You forgot to silence your gun again?" Gunther scolds, and Hildegunde scoffs.

"I hit it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but what if you hadn't? And you should know better than to aim for the head. If you miss the brain-"

"-Which I obviously didn't-"

"Then you'd have caused a lot of unnecessary suffering. Plus, it's just harder to hit. You're giving yourself more trouble for no reason."

A grin spreads on Hildegunde's face. "Harder for you, maybe," she taunts, approaching the fallen deer. "Maybe you're just jealous 'cause I'm a better shot than you."

Now Gunther smiles. "Right. In your dreams." Hildegunde rolls her eyes, beginning to bag the carcass.

"Have I missed a single shot these past six days? Face it. You've finally been outclassed~" Gunther snorts.

"You just got lucky."

Hildegunde stares at Gunther, eye twitching. Even now! Even now he acts high and mighty! She's finally got something she's good at - even than him better at - and he refuses to acknowledge it! She inhales sharply again.

"I can literally aim with my eyes closed," she brags childishly, to Gunther's amusement. His laughter is soft, but to a younger Hildegunde, it is sandpaper to her eardrums.

"Do you even know what literally means?" Hildegunde crosses her arms.

"Shut up, yes I do." Gunther smirks and raises an eyebrow. He stops his bagging of the deer to cross his arms.

"Alright Hilde, let's see it then." Indignation boils in Hildegunde, going to grab her rifle. There's no living being around besides herself and her brother, so she sets her sight on an icicle off a treebranch.

"That icicle. There," she points, looking at her brother before closing her eyes and turning away from him.

Icicle. Base.

Another gunshot rings through the air, and a snow-softened thud follows.

One far too big for an icicle.

Hildegunde opens her eyes, confused. She turns around, and her blood runs colder than the winter air.

He was behind her. He is behind her. The gun was pointed in the opposite direction of him. It shouldn't. It couldn't.

And yet, here he was.

Red seeps into white. All of her indigination, her jealousy, her vitriol, evaporates.

"Gunther?"

No response. Why would there be one?

"Gunther!?" Hildegunde calls out again, dropping her rifle to shake the boy.

There is no third cry. Just quiet realization.

He does not wake.

He never will.

And no one can know the truth.

A thousand familiar thoughts she has grappled with flood her.

This is all still just your childishness. Even now, all you care to do is prove your own worth. He is just a cover to your ugly inferiority.

It wasn't true. She knew what she felt in those moments. And besides, so what if it were true? It wouldn't change a thing. This gift, first a poison, needed to become a blessing. Or his death would never be more than a shameful accident.

You'd never had surpassed him. He should be here, not you.

Maybe that was true too. Maybe she'd never have made it out of his shadow without his ethos. Maybe he should've sat where she did. But again, what did it matter? What was done is done. Besides, he was four years older. It was only natural.

You wanted this to happen.

Never. No matter the childish thoughts she would have, she never truly wanted him gone. She knew that she'd give up just about anything to have him back.

This scene has become so familiar to Hildegunde that it is almost banal, almost numbing in nature. Each thought has a rebuttal, each one almost practiced.

But then, something changes.

"Aren't you happy? I've done just as I promised."

A shadow, one not from this memory, passes over Hildegunde and Gunther.

"You knew the stories. If you really didn't want him dead, you'd have known better than to keep firing."

The girl looks up at the looming figure it belongs to, and a sudden spike of fear floods over her. While he had been depicted many a way over the millenia, a towering figure made of black flames was the image that had stuck with Hildegunde the closest.

"How far can your spite go, before regret finally consumes you?"

And here he was, before her.

"When despair wears down the mind and drains one's will to go forward. When one feels there's nothing left to go for, their soul falls down to Hell. That day draws nearer, my dear lady. That day draws nearer, and I look forward to it."

She wants to scream at him to leave. That he's full of shit. That she does know better, that he isn't real. She's had enough nightmares about this memory, to let it fuck up her chances here. No hallucination of the devil from her stories will make her hesitate in her resolve. She wants it over with already so she can get on with the day.

"Whatever you want to say, it need not be said. It's all the same in the end. Death makes all equal, after all."

A low chuckle, a mockery of Gunther's voice, echoes through the frozen forest.

"Until then, do as you wish. These bullet with pierce as you please."

---

Hildegunde's eyes snap open. There's a strange tremor to her body, but her eyes burn with resolve, her expression darker than before.

Whether he was right or wrong about her motives, there was one thing she would take to heart.

She would do as she wishes. And right now, she wished to be here. And so she would remain.

Hildegunde makes brief eye contact with Chunji, before looking back at Raja.

Shaktan advances, so jealously hoarded. And only now given out to those deemed worthy. A small victory, at least. Though the knowledge that her home was suffering from arcane shortages just so the Shaktans could keep their quality of life still rankled at her. That resentment prevented her from feeling much else about the evident headmistress's speech, but she got the gist of the important parts.

Touch the wisp. Endure a trial. It figured that the tests weren't over yet. And fortunate that it wasn't another of the body. Iraleth wouldn't have lasted in that. In a test of her resolve? She would prevail. The paladin took a breath, steadied her mind, and made to clench a gauntleted fist around the Adapa.

___

Flames. Shadows. Chaos. The stench of blood and ash in the air. She knew where she was. How could she not? This was the one event that had defined the course of her life up until now. Iraleth was but eight years old again, cowering and hiding in the ruins of the orphanage as paladins and cultists battled throughout her village.

She was weak again. Powerless. Unable to defend her world around her or even herself. The screams of the dying haunted her now as they did in her nightmares, but she forced herself to listen. A stray bolt of darkness caught the girl cowering next to her, and she withered away without being so much as able to scream. Beth. They'd been good friends, once. Iraleth had lived this nightmare once already. To simply experience it again? She already did that in her dreams.

And if she were correct, he would be appearing any time now. The sounds of battle were dying down, and Iraleth knew what was coming. As if on cue, the armored form of Eltoras Kyrios strode into the ruined building, and his armet gazed down upon the child's prone, half-dead form. But he didn't speak as she remembered.

"Iraleth died here." The paladin's voice boomed, his sword planted into the ground as his helmet gazed down in judgement at her.

"What..?"

"Any semblance of your own will died when you decided to follow someone else's dreams out of gratitude for saving your life. Past all your delusions of legacy and idealism, this is the last time Iraleth as her own person existed."

"How dare you?!" Iraleth gnashed her teeth, her childlike form slamming a fist against the ground. "You speak this nonsense to me wearing my father's armor?"

"I dare." Eltoras's armor nodded. "Do you truly believe that you have any strength of spirit while carrying on the dream of another? The only thing that sustains you is a borrowed dream. How sad, for one to lack a will of her own."

Iraleth let loose a wordless scream of defiance as she rose, her body in the dream returning to as it was in real life. Ten years older, clad in plate, and clutching a sword. She charged, and the two clashed, a maddened duel beginning.

"This is your answer? Base violence? Defeating me will not make my words any less correct. Did you not just condemn two others for attempting to do such this past hour?" Thrust, parry, riposte. Their back-and-forth went on.

"You defile my father's honor." Iraleth hissed, taking her left hand off the hilt of her sword to seize her foe's weapon by the blade. "I have never denied that what drives me is not entirely of my own will. But I will not let you mock those who put faith in Eltoras Kyrios, who put faith in me!" With her opponent's weapon locked up, she raised a plated boot and stomped down on her opposite number's foot, causing him to recoil and stagger.

"Bold words. And when the weight of those borrowed dreams crushes you? What then? You may as well fight out of mere obligation without a will of your own." The armored figure raised a fist and slammed it into Iraleth's jaw, the both of them stumbling back after a round of brutal melee.

"It can try. These wings of mine are not mine own, but I soar all the same!" Iraleth bellowed, raising her sword in front of her to present arms as wind whipped around her armor. "Obligation is duty. Duty is its own reward. I would rather the world praise those who came before me, than praise the one carrying their legacy onward. Now, enough of this. I reject you! ON BORROWED WINGS!"

The Inheritor's armor manifested around Iraleth, and she shot forward, impaling the simulacrum of her father's likeness in one sudden stroke.

"Spoken...like a good and proper knight..." The figure gurgled its last words, the dream collapsing around the two of them as the Inheritor watched on dispassionately.

___

Iraleth slowly opened her eyes, finding Principal Raja's and meeting her with a stoic gaze. This little test had failed to break her. Now to see who it would. To her surprise, it seemed two of her compatriots had already broken free before her. Impressive.

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

Touching the Adapa brought immediate and striking darkness.

No more principal. No more auditorium.

Had she hesitated when she touched the blue wisp?

Perhaps.

But that didn't matter now. She knew what awaited her. The dreaded moment that defined her as a horror to behold, as something to be feared and scorned…

When she opened her eyes again, she was faced with a wintery scene, a chill at her back. Two shadowed faces loomed over her. She tried to move, but found herself pinned at each shoulder as rough hands held her back.

In her one hand, she gripped her stuffed animal. The original one. Her other was balled in a tiny and angry fist.

She struggled. "Let go of me!"

"They never loved you."

A stab in her heart from an unknown voice, different than the Voices normally in her head.

"You have plagued me my whole life, what difference does it make now?" Was her response.

A sudden yank, and her stuffed animal was no longer in her hand.

"No!" Her shocked horror as she struggled, eyes looking frantically as the stuffed animal was returned to the shadowed faces.

"They never cared." Another stab.

"Please, don't let them take me!" She cried out, feeling the tears pooled in her eyes, begging the figures staring down at her.

"They knew who you were. A monster." Yet another stab.

"I'm not a monster!" She thought desperately.

The hands around her started to drag her against her will, and she watched in horror as the shadowed faces neither moved nor blinked.

"They wanted to get rid of you from the beginning."

"Shut up!" She cried out desperately, struggling weakly against the hands on her.

"Face it. You'll always be worthless."

She froze in her struggle. Was it… could it be true? Would she be nothing more than a bad omen? Would she never overcome the hateful looks and scorn? Would she be doomed to walk the earth, alone and feared?

The small child stood frozen as snowflakes slowly fell, the door frame of her home getting smaller and smaller.

She would be alone. Abandoned. Rejected.

Was this her fate?

Teeth gritted tightly as she stared at the scene, tears blurring her vision.

Never. She would never bow. She would never succumb to this feeling.

With one final, angry cry ripping through her chest, she threw off the hands holding her. Dark tentrills shot up from the white ground, wrapping around the hands and throwing them violently to the side.

And immediately, she ran. It didn't matter where.

She would be free. Damn the Voices to hell. Damn them all to hell.

---

Ciara found herself back in her seat in the auditorium. She blinked, touching her face to feel streaks of tears drying on her cheek.

Hastily, she dried them, and glanced around their row in front of the stage. The boy with glasses, the hunter, and the knight were already awake, a somber and stoic resolve in their eyes.

Impressive.

It was certainly not something that he had heard about before. Rekordia was too poor in essence to allow for wide availability of such magical tools, reliant instead on broadcast systems and telegraphs. There was something similar in Vaal Shakta though, the Leylight that could be utilized for the upper crust of a society that was already above the rest. That was more a case of a uniform variation of essence inheritance, however. The Professor spoke of this Adapa’s sentience instead, as well as extra functionality alongside it.

Grimoires and tomes for a modern age.

A fickle spirit with a desire to mentally break others.

Yet, presumably, not so free-spirited that it could disobey the incantations of their master. A tool, ultimately. Something to add to their arsenal.

Alright. He didn’t even need to treat them with the care he showed animals then.

…

There were those who slumped, drawn into the mental battle between themselves and their Adapa. A battle of wills, a battle against their past, it afforded them an opportunity to reaffirm themselves and their decisions.

There were those who left, then and there. The first examination had already sowed that seed of doubt within their mind, and they knew that whatever resolve they had when they initially set out for Wingram Academy had been eroded by the tribulations that followed, the clear gap between them and their peers.

Both were reasonable. Both showed a self-awareness or an iron determination.

But for the Strigidae in the front row? He neither challenged that floating wisp nor relinquished his place in the Academy. Others could demonstrate their will, their character, their burning desire. Nothing burned inside Otis though, except the buzzing in his mind, the frenetic building up of information that kaleidoscoped within his amber gaze. What he sought was knowledge. If that could be obtained through grit, then so be it. If that could be obtained through compromise, then so be it. For that singular desire of his, to uncover all that there was in the entirety of Castalia. He had no need to prove himself to a flaming wisp. He could simply change that flaming wisp.

Familiar tools found themselves in his hand, as he cordoned off the Adapa with a hexagonal barrier. Spirits were the in-between of natural elements and organic beings. The presence of a will gave them the same mutational aspects of essence that living beings did, but the lack of a physical form meant that those aspects of sapient essence was much more malleable. A human’s brain could be considered a meat-device that reinforced particular essences within a single being, while existing separately from such essence. It was why manipulations of the mind were temporary by nature, why restrictions and permissions were so important for the linking of minds together.

Spirits did not have that form of back-up. They were just more complicated than pure physical matter, and it was through that methodology that Otis approached his Adapa. Incantations for paralysis accompanied gestures for categorization, the spiritual tool locked into place by invisible chains as he analyzed its individual components. Emotion-based essence, volatile and inconstant, could be teased out inbetween the more rigid and regular formulizations of functional essence. He never had the opportunity before to closely examine the Leylights of Vaal Shahkta, but he could recognize arcane constructions similar to his own communications spells embedded within.

He delved deeper.

Categorization was complete now. Hand reaching into his bag, Otis pulled out a small notebook and a pen, scribbling down his notes in a messy script. If things went poorly and his Adapa was damaged beyond repair, he’d be able to use his notes to at least restore some of its capabilities. Seven pages were filled with diagrams before the notebook snapped shut once more, the Seeker clenching and unclenching his writing hand as his joints and knuckles. There were more functions that he didn’t understand than that he did; he wished he had a few days to work on this project. But rush jobs were a necessity when the apocalypse came, and perfection was only the realm of prodigies and idiots. For people who only wanted things?

In his mind, dice tumbled down from the heavens, while in his arrogance, he grasped what dice he could to force upon the table the results he wished.

Thus, the lobotomy of the Adapa began, the erasure and inclusion of the essence that would efface from this living tool the desire to do anything beyond what Otis required of it.

What purpose was there for a tool, except to obey?

…

The barrier disappeared.

Otis grasped for the Adapa and felt only the warmth of the false flame.

A thin smile, exposing teeth, flashed, only to disappear just as quickly.

Once again, volunteering at that hospital had proved to be a productive venture.

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

Movement gradually overtook the auditorium, with different reactions on the faces of those that went through their mental battles - ranging anywhere from tears to shock, to rage, to indifference. Davil would wake shortly after the rest of his peers on the stage, exhaling deeply as he gazed at the ceiling longingly as if it were a vast field of stars or a glowing horizon. He would burst from this haze shortly after, realizing where he was as he sat up in his seat to look upon his friends. Relief washed over his face as he realized that they had all passed; or, almost, at least. His brow furrowed with concern upon looking at Otis' Adapa, and even Raja herself turned with a curious smirk to watch the process.

"Uh, chum? You good-"

"Shhh," was all that the intrigued principal uttered the moment that Davil began to speak, a finger to her lips as she watched the trapped Adapa.

The blue wisp, cornered and perceiving itself as under attack, ping-ponged against the barrier it found itself in, banging with all the force a phantom flicker could muster. In Otis' mind, he could hear it screech, crying out in the voices of countless unknowns as he subdued it. It begged and pleaded, though its wails eventually turned to curses. Otis' mind would briefly flash alight with a vision, at the height of this anguish. In it, he was in a dark cellar of some kind, illuminated faintly by torches on the walls nearby. He was small, perhaps a child of no older than eight, inside a box lined with bars on all sides. The world was unfocused, as if viewing the world through a clumsy water painting, and all that could be seen properly was the presence of two figures by the stairs leading down to this cellar: a tall and stocky individual with red boots peeking out from under his black robes, and a smaller figure that was entirely indecipherable in appearance.

"I trust this settles our debt, then. There'll be no more from here on out, I trust? We have our own duties to attend to," the taller one would speak in a deep, gravelly voice with a distinct North Rekordian accent.

A pause, then a girlish giggle as the smaller figure brought an inky hand to where their face might rest. "Yes, of course. All will flow along the river's course in time. You can tell the brute that he'll be pleased with our progress. In the end, it has been a shining success. Goetia will fall, when all's done, and that will be that."

Her voice would sound like that of a little girl's, as if a young flower girl speaking of the most beautiful field daisies she'll pluck for the appreciation of her parents. The world in this vision grew dimmer, and the last thing Otis would see through the eyes of this unknown was the taller man walking out of view up the stairs, and the girl - more silhouette than person - looking towards Otis. In that void, there would be only one defining trait that he would see.

Her eyes, in that infinite darkness, shone through like emeralds reflecting sunlight. Just in the background behind her, a gigantic green eye the size of a human torso would open, also staring right at the individual Otis was seeing through - or perhaps even Otis himself, but it was unclear as the three eyes locked onto him. "Let us begin," was all the girlish voice would say, sing-song in its tone as she stepped towards the cage.

And that would be that. The vision, in the span of less than the blink of an eye, would transpire as the Adapa's final cries of resistance gave way to submission. Raja would give Otis a nod of approval and a small golf clap. "The path forward in this life is not so linear as to demand a set few options. It's good that you already know such things, boy."

Looking about the other students coming to, she would continue to nod with approval, a smile growing evident as clearly she had begun to see more passing this final test than she had anticipated. It seemed as if nearly everyone who challenged their Adapa was emerging victorious. As this occurred, each Adapa would start to shift. Moving away from the appearance of formless wisps, they all twisted and took on the shapes of ghostly blue grimoires hovering in place in front of their new masters. In the minds of each student individually, they would receive greetings and statements of acknowledgement finalizing the dynamic as master and subordinate. Just as quickly, at the will of each student, these grimoires would be absorbed as essence back into their own bodies, free to be summoned back and forth at a whim from their prime essence.

"It may be strange to hear, but your Adapa will not merely wordlessly obey. Regardless of what has been done to it, each and every one will have its own voice and personality adapted to your own subconscious tastes and requirements in a subordinate. This could be enhancing your strengths, covering your weaknesses, or some kind of wild card that I quite frankly don't feel like diving into. You can have these conversations with your Adapa in your head, so quite frankly, I don't need to know what goes on behind closed minds."

Raja paced on the stage, taking note of the reactions of each student while continuing her speech.

"There'll be plenty of time to adjust to that later, though. Today's been a busy day today... or rather, a busy morning, I suppose. Lots to take in, and you kids still have spongey brains that need time to really soak, so you may be delighted to hear that there will be no more tasks worth busting your body for today. Apart from, well..."

Her gaze took a grim, saddened turn as she beheld students that would not wake from their slumbers. The janitor shrugged his shoulders from behind as his expression met Raja's, and he dropped his broom and dustpan to slowly start dragging out a couple of the unconscious students. "Sucks to suck, I guess," he would say aloud while leaving the auditorium.

"...You'll be free to move in your things to the proper dormitories shortly and enjoy the rest of the day off to yourselves. The last matter for today is one of belonging. You see, patriotism is a dangerous thing. If left unchecked, it evolves into blind faith and zealotry. It evolves into Umbralism's fifteen hundred year betrayal in the making, Rekordia's cloud-high walls, and Mirris' central dominance."

Hesitation grew about the room, some students either becoming offended by such a notion or otherwise growing uncomfortable at what they seemed to agree with.

"Yet it's also what allowed fair Nero Leuvalt to fight for what he believed in, leading the Wings and doing what he could to ensure our nation did not crumble in its vulnerable infancy. In that respect, I wish to be blunt in saying that Wingram will be recreating the two-party system of old. Shaktans and Neroites, each desiring to fulfill the dreams of their respective leaders! Was it the gods-given right of Shaktis Wund to expand our borders and become a sword of the world to eradicate those he deemed unworthy such as his former home of Rekordia? Or was Nero Leuvalt correct in wishing to foster a land of compassion and oneness, defending our people as a shield of unity and bringing down the blade only when absolutely necessary? Aggression or passivity? Resolve or empathy? Knowledge or faith? Wund or Leuvalt?"

Booms echoed from Raja as she finished her sentences, stomping her staff on the ground with each sentence ended, passion filling her eyes like fire as the tips of her hair flickered like candles.

"Sword of Wund, or Shield of Nero. This will be our two-faction system as these years progress here at Wingram. You will not be forced into one against your will, but you will make your choice in the mandatory gathering at the Leyline Attunement Zone tomorrow after lunch. There will be no questions answered on this matter until tomorrow, but I would ask you each to converse with your peers to think on which values align with yours."

With that, Raja's left arm turned at an upward diagonal as if making half of an X, her hand flat as if ready to chop, and held it there. "'A hero, stalwart and kind.' That is the motto of Wingram, and this is the salute. Regardless of your choice tomorrow, you will all abide by those words no matter what befalls you. Together, we'll pick up the pieces that our predecessors couldn't."

The familiar figures of the carriage drivers arrived through the doorway, lining up with militant efficiency at attention. This time, there was a key difference: they were all Mannekin, still dressed in the same clothes as the drivers from earlier.

"For now, though, off with you all. There are three primary dormitories, and these fine fellows will see you all there safely. Think on today, think on tomorrow, bond with your Adapa, bond with each other... the specifics of your free time are in your hands from now on, and we will not police you heavily on such matters. Be off, and be well."

At the Principal's dismissal, Chunji rose from his seat and began following the mannequins. The first step had been made, though there were many more to come. For now, it was time to familiarize himself with the grounds of the academy. Chunji had an overview of the academy when he was locating the auditorium, but learning in a time of battle wasn't the ideal way to memorize the ways around.

There wasn't much Chunji paid attention to. He didn't bother responding to any prompts of communication, nor did he hear anything come from his Adapa.

Speaking of his Adapa, after it greeted him and stated their service, it promptly disappeared. Short, concise, and blunt. It was something that Chunji could follow.

Though it was a living being, no? Even if it wasn't human, it still had a conscience. Since there were multiple Adapa, Chunji figured naming his would help him distinguish it from the others. But what name would be fitting?

The room that had been assigned to Chunji was at the end of the hall, which was a minor inconvenience, though the room was satisfactory. A bed, desk, and all found within the room. Taking a seat at the desk, Chunji allowed himself to relax. Without a certain Shadow Witch yanking away his chair, he was allowed ample time to check himself for injuries before addressing the issue from before.

"Adapa."

The Grimoire appeared beside him. 'Hello, Chunji. How may I assist you?'

A mental message, something similar to what the owl boy had done when he linked their minds together.

"Your name shall be 'Dayin.' If you already have another name, then please state it if so." Chunji wasn't good with names, but he felt Dayin would suffice. In his language, it meant 'print,' and the Grimoire was, in fact, a book.

"Affirmative. The name 'Dayin' has been registered. Is there anything else I may help with?"

Chunji shook his head. At the sign of his dismissal, Dayin disappeared back into his being. Comparing it to back then, it wasn't mocking nor inquisitive. If anything, it reminded him of the clockwork of Rekordia, robotic. Its tone didn't betray any depth of emotion, which meant what Principal Raja said was more or less correct. It suited itself to his personal needs. Something that Chunji felt was a little wrong.

Whatever the case, it was only past 10:00 AM. There was still much to do until tomorrow's meeting. Getting up from his seat, Chunji began to travel back into the academy.

Wingram Academy, despite its messy introductions, was still an academy. It had a trove of knowledge for any staff or student that could access it at any time. That being said, Chunji's first stop was going to the library. He needed to learn more about healing since it was inadequate. He needed to rectify that problem.

It probably wouldn't take him that long to locate it, but the only problem was finding the books. However, that could be rectified by talking to the librarian in charge.

@Estylwen@Psyker Landshark

The voice that greeted her was not one she wished to hear. Unlike last time, however, she found herself able to at least communicate her thoughts mentally.

Fräulein Nachtnebel.

You.

But of course. Is it not fitting to accompany and serve you? My will is your own, for as long as you can maintain such a thing.

You have no such power. We both know what you are, little wisp, and you are not what you make yourself out to be. There's a mocking laugh, and for a moment, Hildegunde is full of doubt. The woman had warned about a wildcard, but this was...this was a bit much. She clenches her jaw, eyebrows furrowing. No, no. This was her own mind playing tricks on her. Dozens of other students had these things. It must be her brain's backwards-ass way of helping her in some roundabout way. The way fear drives prey away from danger.

Laugh then, bitch. 'Cause until I fall, you're mine. More laughter, and another wave of doubt. She silently decides she'll keep quiet about whatever it is she's got going on, just in case this is something worryingly abnormal.

And for the record, my first command is for you to shut your fuckin' mouth and do as I say, unless I explicitly ask for your input.

The laughter dies instantaneously. Eeriely so. She expected more resistance.

Hildegunde turns her attention back to reality, frowning as Raja goes on. She cares not for binaries or loyalties, and as someone who lived on the outskirts of Seer's Loft relatively sheltered from society at large for the majority of her life, she is at a loss. Nonetheless, she copies the salute, before turning away. Her eyes flick towards the two girls she had accompanied herself with moments ago, but she immediately regrets doing so. Looking away from them now, she turns her attention to her Adapa.

You. Speak.

I'd like a name other than 'you', Fräulein Nachtnabel.

Hildegunde rolls her eyes.

What would you like to be called, then?

She can feel it curl its fiery lips in her mind's eye. Freischütz.

Freischütz. Marksman. Her prime essence. The figure from her fairytales. The one whom, in some accounts, would become a devil himself, after piercing the hearts of his beloveds. One and the same. She almost rolls her eyes a second time.

Okay, Herr Freischütz. Help me with whatever nonsense this faction stuff is.

I know you care not for false binaries, liebe Frau. So I ask instead, not what you believe, but how you'd like to be believed. What reputation do you wish to have? And more importantly, which can you live up to? As a hunter, I think there's one clear choice.

Which is?

That which your Ethos is better suited to.

Sword of Wund. Her heart sways slightly towards Shield of Nero now, if only out of spite. But there is still doubt. Much of her values went one way or another; almost all of which were situational. She might very well turn back and discuss with the others. On the other hand...spending more time with them means the risk of growing attached. Hildegunde can feel Freischütz smile at that thought.

You are dismissed, Herr Freischütz. She reluctantly approaches Ciara and Iraleth, pointing at a carriage.

"You must both be tired. Wanna find the dorms together?"

Dark cellar. Small form. Encaged. Two forms.

One. North Rekordian accent. Tall. Masculine. Settling a debt. He was that debt.

Two. Small. A beautiful, but unaccented, voice. Slight as shadow. Eyes like emeralds, and, from behind, a giant eye, splitting that murky void. She succeeded in something. She was working for someone. She needed him for something.

Goetia will fall.

…

Oh, this was exciting! Did all Adapa possess such curious memories? What was Goetia? A person, a place, an event, a star? He had lost his smile, that thin smile that surfaced from cruelty and obsession, but his eyes were still alight with a brilliant curiosity. There was no reason for him to record this on his notebook, not when he had seared that misplaced memory into his brain, not when he knew not how dangerous this knowledge that he came across was. How much did Principal Raja know about these Adapa? He’d have to do further research, see what the libraries of this Academy contained. But for now…

He turned to face the scarlet-eyed grand caster. “Will and determination are inconstant things. I’d rather not test those qualities.” A lie, in truth. The Strigidae was, at the very least, self-aware enough to understand just how stubborn and set in his own ways he truly was, as a mortal upon Castalia. And in that same vein, he was aware too, that of the Sword or Shield, it mattered little where he was placed. Binary divisions were nonsensical in nature. The metaphor of sword and shield itself fell flat. What was the worth of a shield if it couldn’t be used to keep others out? What was a sword if it did not extend one’s reach? There was knowledge and faith, dwelling in every culture and civilization. Rekordia’s Clockwork Empress had fostered a nation of those who subsisted only due to the benefits of science, and yet in turn, she had cultivated a religious fervor that placed herself as an idol worthy of worship.

And, that motto…

Well, he was no hero, nor was he kind, but Otis could be stalwart, at the very least.

With the meeting adjourned, the Strigidae left his seat, casting a glance over to the Mannekins that arrived to take them off to their new place of residence. Ciara had sat beside him, and he turned towards her, a flicker of interest forming with regards to how her own Adapa had meshed with the deep darkness that dwelt within her Ethos. Did she consume it, like a star tossed to the void? Or did she let it shine still, so that she still had something to guide her in the night? A touch poetic for his tastes. There were greater matters to settle.

“I will join the Sword of Wund.” The qualities the factions championed mattered little to him, but their names held weight enough. “Many others will join the Shield of Leuvalt.” There was no doubt in his tone there, nor any hesitation as he lifted his gaze and turned it towards that red-haired princeling upon his throne of gold. “Because you will join the Shield of Leuvalt.” Because if Valen was as great as he proclaimed himself to be, he would be the perfect whetstone to sharpen Otis’s tools against. And if, out of contrarian desire, that princeling chose to align himself with the Sword instead? Then that too, informed greatly upon his character.

“If you wish to extend our truce, Ciara, join me.”

That was all he had to say as Otis strode off, leaving with a final remark towards that paladin, smoking and bleeding upon the wood she sat. “And you should seek to become a Shield yourself. We need both to shape this school.”

Those last words lingered in his wake...at least until Otis suddenly turned back, strode past the trio of girls again, and held his hand out to Davil.

"You've made it into Wingram. So give me your boots."

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr

---

"Sucks to suck, I guess."

Ciara watched Michael cart out the few students stuck in slumber. The faculty staff didn't seem worse for wear, though she had no idea how he planned on tackling the impossible task of cleaning the auditorium.

Oops.

As Principal Raja spoke, Ciara listened, feeling the coalesce of new essence in her system. The Adapa. A curious object that had made her cry. Though she was loathe to share her headspace with yet another Voice, the principal mentioned this one was subservient. She could use that.

"You mean we can Eat it."

"I doubt it's terribly tasty, with how it brought me back to that time." She thought.

"Doesn't matter if it tastes like chalk. I want essence." The child-like reply was curt and stubborn.

"If you want to Eat me, that's okay." Ciara heard a new Voice in her mind, soft and whispery. The Adapa. "But you may find I'm of more use to you alive."

Ciara allowed herself an intrigued expression. She could feel the Adapa's fear despite its cool tone. It was really worried about getting Eaten.

"Why should I keep you alive?" She thought, a tiny smirk flashing across her lips.

"I can put you in direct, instant contact with other students."

"Eh. I can teleport to almost anyone, anywhere. Try again."

The Adapa seemed to squirm in her mind, at a loss for words.

"I'm Hungry." The child-like Voice chimed in, enjoying the game.

"N-no, don't Eat me! I uh, I can offer advice. I have knowledge of battle strategy. I know lots of things. Please!"

Ciara tilted her head, pausing for a long moment.

Then she shrugged. "Fine, I won't Eat you. Yet."

The relieved sigh was overpowered by the instant complaints of the other Voices in Ciara's head, to which she narrowed her eyes at.

"That's enough." She thought.

"What about the light?" The child-like Voice drew her attention to the knight, struggling to sit upright in her seat, exhausted and devoid of enough prime essence to fight. "We will never find it in such a sorry state again. Now's our chance."

Ciara's face turned cold, watching the knight as the Voices continued to pressure her. There was a part of her that furiously thought of ways to take down the knight, right there and then. Ways to destroy all the witnesses, fantasizing about finally Eating, finally being satisfied from this burning Hunger.

Her eyes reluctantly shut. "We're not going there."

"So you decide to attack it when it can fight back? You want to struggle with your meal?"

"I haven't decided on anything." Ciara snapped, standing abruptly from her seat as the lecture concluded. Her eyes gazed over the principal, taking in the motto and salute. Structure, rules, order... She curled her lip at it, immediately feeling the tight constraints of the orphanage all over again. But, instead of voicing her distaste, she turned away, glancing at her fellow students.

The boy with the glasses moved almost instantly, gone from the room. Fair enough.

Otis stood beside her, glance cast between her and Valen. “I will join the Sword of Wund.”

Her eyes glanced at Valen briefly before returning to Otis as he continued to speak. “If you wish to extend our truce, Ciara, join me.”

Interesting. The Sword of Wund was already an intriguing option for her. What did Otis stand to gain from aligning with her, though? Besides having the ability to destroy the auditorium's wooden assailants and swallow its chairs with help like hers. It was a smart move, but-

"You're overthinking it. Always align with this darkness. You noticed it didn't flinch when the red 'it' threatened annihilation of those disgraceful liars?" A deeper, more calculative Voice.

"Not necessarily a good thing..." She thought.

"It's calming, though. Isn't it."

She had to admit, it was. If the Voices relaxed at the thought of chalk getting annihilated, even if it was wrong, it gave her mind respite. That was something worth noting. It means the Voices and the dark one, Otis, might be closer aligned. Perhaps sticking with Otis would spare her some headache down the road if the Voices were more soothed.

Her head tilted, "Adapa, what do you think?"

A blue-ish, whispery presence came closer in her mind, and the Adapa spoke. "From what I understand, the Strigidae has assisted and saved you from a terrible beating twice. You have no reason to distrust them."

"It." The calculative Voice corrected.

Ciara paused, considering this, before turning to Otis. She had her answer.

"Very well." She said with a nod.

Otis walked off before turning back and confronting Davil. Good. She had an opportunity. Her grimoire appeared in a blue flash, opening to a blank page. She nodded to Davil, Otis, the knight, and the hunter.

"If you want, put in your contacts so we can keep in touch."

That was when the hunter also spoke up. "You must both be tired. Wanna find the dorms together?"

Her eyes glanced at the knight, then back at the hunter, feeling somewhat comfortable. She could never say no to being in the presence of the knight's delectable light, and the grey of the hunter's aura had tasty bite-sized pieces of light that were pleasant to be in the presence of as well.

"Maybe we can Eat both."

Ciara stared flatly as the Voice spoke, then pursed her lips and gave the hunter a nod. "Sure."