---

The sun rose on another bright day in the Vaalin Union. As flowers danced amidst a windy ocean of green fields and rolling hills, the life that pulsed through the land marked a welcome beginning to the spring season. For many it was a day like any other, but for those traveling along Vaal Nero's vibrant plains and coastal cliffsides, it marked a turning point in history - for today, Wingram Academy would open its gates for the very first time, and allow a new generation to take the reins of their lives. Vaal Nero's northern roads had not seen such use in quite some time, as carriage after carriage had tread along the well-worn paths north of the clerical city for days by now. The symbol of an angelic wing and a lance crossed in an 'X' pattern would be engraved on each, immediate recognition given to the vast caravan that carried unknown variables within. The majority of students would find themselves as passengers in these carriages, each compartment large enough to fit sixteen students. Should any students try to interact with the staff steering these carriages, they would be met with blank-faced silence by these well-dressed coachmen in brown suits and top hats, fully committed to their role and their role alone.

The time was 9:00 AM, and the caravan of hopes and dreams had reached its destination after a tiresome yet uneventful two day trip from Vaal Nero's streets. The carriages would line up along the outskirts of the almost ethereal, village-like campus below. Overlooking from rocky green cliffs, the school was nestled away comfortably inside of a descending canyon of sorts, a waterfall on the horizon completing an almost otherworldly look to this place. As the coachmen each left the carriages and opened the doors of each compartment to allow students to flood out, the former carriage drivers formed an orderly line at the front by the cliff. One by one, they would reach raise their right hand skyward - and as the last of the twenty coachmen did so, a brilliant light would emerge from the ground beneath their feet.

The stone and grass would crumble away, revealing a bridge of solid light that began to form with elaborate archways and jewel-encrusted railings. It would quickly stretch down, all the way to the campus below; upon touching the campus grounds, it would all at once lose its heavenly glow and turn into solid oak. Upon this transmutation, the coachmen would step away from the wide bridge downward, raising their arms towards it as if beckoning them to descend. Many students would appear confused by this, uncertain, while others either cautiously or brazenly began their descent.

"Welcome to Wingram Academy," a woman's voice would echo from below, deeper down within the academy, yet loud enough to be heard rippling across the entire student body. "Orientation is to begin in the auditorium at 10:00 AM sharp. We're already a little past nine, so I trust you all understand what that means, yes?"

A silence, for but a moment, would linger from the woman - as if either giving time for the words to set in or for a response - before she would continue with the same boom.

"The first day of any job is always the most chaotic, so your first task as a student of Wingram will be to take your seat in the auditorium on time. Those who arrive even a second late will be taking a carriage home immediately and may try again next year. Best of luck!"

But why?

Punctuality was important in the military, but this wasn't a military academy. Even if this academy for 'heroes' sought to instill 'heroic ideals' unto its first batch of students, punctuality wasn't something that mattered in that profession either. It completely confounded Otis, in truth, the strangely harsh punishment for not being present for the very first second of orientation. What could be so important in that first second? In those first ten seconds? In perhaps, even a whole half minute? It was the sort of lunatic behavior that he expected out of prison guards, who had nothing better to do than to abuse what scraps of power they possessed. Or bad teachers, perhaps, who conflated politeness with capability, when such qualities had nothing to do with each other. And what would they even do if one of the carriages had ended up being late?

On the other hand, however...

As prestigious and well-funded as Wingram Academy was, resources were ever-finite. There were limits present, from something as simple as food to something as unalterable as the amount of time in a day. If this was a matter of 'arriving on time or you'll be expelled', then from another angle, one could say that this was a matter of 'causing as many expulsions as possible in order to monopolize resources'. What other reason was there, for one to give a little less than an hour for the mere task of reaching an auditorium? Otis toyed with that idea briefly, his amber gaze glancing over the other students present. They were all 'talented', but only a few were talented. Over the rise and fall of sun and stars, over the decades and centuries that have cycled past Castalia, it had never been the masses that decided the fate of the world. It had only ever been individuals. The Clockwork Empress. The Star-Eater. Klara-Astra, the Ever-Present.

He looked them over, one by one, and nodded.

There were too many. There were never that many. So he would withhold his question, and operate under his hypothesis.

'Reach the auditorium. Seal it.'

"Show me wonders of this world."

The gateway opened, and from it, the Strigidae called forth one of the simplest creations: a wooden board with four small wheels. It clattered against the ground before he stomped upon it, flipping it up upon the railings of the downward-swinging bridge. Then, Otis joined that wooden board up there, and with a terrific squeal, he dropped, sliding down upon the railing at a breakneck pace that could only be rivaled by those willing to dive into freefall.

Sparks scattered in his wake; the Seeker sought nothing more than monopoly, and they should all thank him for not choosing direct violence as his method of achieving it.

Ciara Ventura

She woke with a start.

It had been two days she had rested by the cliffside, sitting at the outskirts of Wingram Academy. The artificial leylines running below this area affected her less than when she moved from Vaal Kastrix to Vaal Shakta. She was grateful, but also somewhat disappointed. The natural leylines and overflow of essence, at least what was left of it, was unmatched between Vaal Shakta and this academy.

Regardless, she was here early, having traveled by night from Vaal Shakta through the shadows, reaching the northern areas of Vaal Nero in under a few hours.

Her eyes flickered from her cold fire to the line of marked caravans coming along the cliffside. This was the source of what woke her. The other students had finally arrived.

She stood, her loosely curled black hair swirling in the breeze as the coachmen gathered at the cliff's edge. Her breath caught as she felt the sudden surge of essence as a bridge of light formed, leaving her feeling light-headed as it cooled down into solid oak.

The booming voice echoed through the canyon and cliffs. It called for all students to make their way to the auditorium, quickly. She waited for the student body to shuffle past her, hoping to slip silently into their ranks.

That's when she felt eyes on her. Bright, and sharp.

"It's dark... so peaceful." Said the Voice. She nodded to herself, noticing it as well. There wasn't a lot of light coming off of him. Instead, it was tinged with darkness, with a pressured refinement that caused her head to tilt curiously.

"Get closer, I want to enjoy this." The Voice whined.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked away harshly. "Would you shut up?" She thought.

"Show me wonders of this world."

Her eyes were drawn back just in time. In an ethereal flash, he took off like a kite, sparks flying off into the air as he rocketed down the bridge's railing.

"Why is he...?" She thought, watching his figure quickly recede into the distance.

The Voice laughed. "It's dark, it's dark! Go, go go!"

"We're not-" She thought in protest, taking a step back.

"Shut up and go!" The Voice suddenly bit out, venom dripping in the thought.

Ciara visibly stiffened, and her soft amber eyes narrowed. There wasn't much she could do when the Voice was like this. She took a couple steps forward, an idea forming in her mind. And, as quietly as possible, Ciara fell off the edge of the cliffside. She pursed her lips together, wind tearing through her hair and clothes as she plummeted. She looked up briefly, seeing the bridge get smaller and smaller. Her speed picked up. As the ground came up to meet her, black tentacles reached out from her shadow, and pulled her in.

In a split second, she was flying across the bridge, using a shadow from the railing with which to launch herself and tentacles to adjust her trajectory at the last second. She could see the student riding the railing on their board, and she was quickly catching up to them.

Her eyes narrowed against the wind whipping her face, the end of the bridge in sight, and Wingram quickly growing in size. The auditorium was nestled further within the academy grounds. She planned to hop from shadow to shadow and make her way to the Auditorium as quickly as possible.

That was, if she managed to land safely.

It was dark within the confines the carriage. After being ushered in by his parents, Chunji sat silently still for approximately several hours. As the carriage made several stops, so did new passengers came in. At first they attempted to make light conversation with him. Their attempts failed miserably as Chunji didn't respond to any of their prompts. They knew he was at least listening judging by the brief look he sent them, but he returned to looking straight at him. His soon-to-be possible classmate that sat opposite of him had to look awkwardly away the entire ride.

Though soon enough the carriage stopped. The carriage man opened the door and promptly left to form a line with his fellow carriage drivers. While being the closest to the door, Chunji was the last one to leave as all the other students vacated from the carriage first. Not that he knew why, perhaps they were interested in learning more about the academy. Chunji followed suit of his classmates and winced as the early sun shined on his face.

Though suddenly things came to a stop. A voice beckoned the crowd of students. Not that Chunji cared that much, he needed to get to his destination. Weaving past the waves of students, her words finally caught his attention. Get to the auditorium by 10:00 AM, otherwise you're expelled. If he remembered correctly his parents told him to enroll into the academy.

And that he shall.

Immediately upon those words, Chunji acted quickly. Elbowing the person directly behind in the center of the chest, it caused the caught offguard student to lose their breath. However, another student would soon take their place, so before that could be done Chunji began rushing forward. In the human body they're several spots which cause the body to tense or lose function. Seeing that his entry to the academy was threatened, Chunji didn't hesitate to exploit that.

Whenever an arm came his way, he raised it up and punched the armpit. Whenever a leg were to try to sweep ahead, Chunji made sure to catch their foot and push them behind him. Chunji made sure to be careful with his actions. The last thing he needed was to accidentally trip someone into a crowd of stampeding students. He wasn't sure of the academy's policy, but he was sure that murder would be widely frowned upon.

Either way, he was slithering through the crowd at a pace. Whenever someone came to obstruct him, he made sure to remove them from his path. Failure, was after all, not an option.

A race to the auditorium? Curious. No doubt that the threat of losing one's place at the academy would prompt a mad scramble to begin in the next few seconds. Certainly not the High Bishop's style, at first glance. A desperate stampede in the name of competition didn't quite seem like something he would approve of. Either there was something beyond this or he wasn't particularly involved in how the school was run.

Regardless, it seemed as though she didn't have a choice at the moment. With a resigned sigh, Iraleth joined the rush of prospective students, starting to simply shove through several with a combination of her natural height, muscled form, and plate armor providing bulk. She didn't employ direct violence, of course. But she didn't let anyone in her way slow her down, either.

A few moments of the obvious approach told Iraleth it wouldn't pay off in the long run. There were simply too many students in the way for her to keep this up for the better part of an hour to reach the front of the pack, or close to it. Anything less was too much of a risk to not be able to make it into the auditorium. And she'd sworn to her father she would succeed. His hopes and the legacy of his dead fellows were riding on it.

Fine. She'd invoke her Ethos, then. After all, this was ostensibly an academy intended to train everyone enrolled in such. There was little reason to restrain herself that she could see. A sweep of her plated arm shoved aside those nearest to Iraleth. She would need the space. The other fist clenched, held in front of her.

"On borrowed wings."

The Inheritor's armor materialized around Iraleth in a flash of light, revealing an eight foot-tall holy warrior completely encased in gleaming plate. Wings of light spiked out from the armor's back, and Iraleth took flight, literally soaring above the rest of the competition as she made her way towards the auditorium.

From the sidelines, in the shadows, Hildegunde watches. Such is her domain as a huntress. Even if not on the job, it is where she finds herself most comfortable. Unseen, unnoticed, until she is ready to strike.

The open chaos is strange; equal parts enthralling and confusing. Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks. 'Proper' society is such a strange beast. This feels like a test of some sort, but she is too out of her depth here to figure out what is being tested. This place is supposedly for heroes - does this mean those who have resorted to violence to secure their spot are already being marked? Or is it truly as it seems - a simple measure of determination and punctuality? Questions, questions. Questions and not enough actions. Whatever the answer, she needed to move, and fast.

Pulling her hood up, she uses a simple codeword. Obscure. She can't imagine what she's going to do is particularly terrible, but just in case this is a morality test, she'd rather not be easily identified. It's not illegal if you don't get caught and all.

She inhales. Points a rifle to the sky. Shoots. Trips someone.

She does not wait to watch her results. She's too busy concealing her rifle and hurrying off.

It's all showmanship, but she hopes if nothing else, it'll cause a ruckus for those who are dumb enough - or, perhaps, smart enough - to care. And that the poor sucker she tripped will be okay. He, like her, was furthest away from the belly of the crowd - it's unlikely he'll be trampled. If nothing else, the sound of a gunshot alone will inevitably cause just enough panic -even if for a moment - that it'll give her leeway.

And a moment is all she needs.

To put it bluntly, it was abject chaos. While many students made their way across the bridge, some never even achieved something so basic. Many faces in the crowd succumbed to basic pitfalls such as their own peers shoving, tripping and punching them. For every frustrated cry and scream of, "Watch it, asshole," and similar colorful language, there would be another face in the stampede causing even more mayhem. To what end depended on the person, of course - most out of desperation or panic, some for efficiency, and even further still, some that clearly enjoyed the downfall of others. Who could have possibly foreseen that cramming over three hundred of the most gifted potentials in the world in one place, under threat of expulsion, would lead to this? Surely not the faculty of Wingram, in this moment.

---

@AThousandCurses@Sifr

BRIDGE

As a gunshot rang out alongside blinding light, significant parts of the crowd early on by the start of the bridge would duck and take cover on instinct, observing the scene with caution and taking up defensive stances. One scream would ring out in that brief moment of silence delivered by that shot - a boy, screaming, "Aghhh! I think I went deaf, I can't hear, I can't hear! Can't see nothin', neither!"

For the majority who crossed the bridge, life would be hell. Halfway across, pushing and shoving, a handful of students unleashed their abilities and began a battle royale right then and there. It was only a few at first, but a chain reaction quickly spread across the panicked masses - nobody wanted to be the one caught defenseless, and so Ethos after Ethos was called forth, a lightshow on display on the surprisingly sturdy bridge.

One individual in particular at the very front of the bridge group, a half-elven girl in frilly pink, was preventing the advance of most. Her touch seemed to age people rapidly, almost mummifying them into wheezing heaps on the ground. It was clear she took great joy in this, halting the advances of many even to her own detriment as she slowly made her way across the bridge while keeping trained on those behind. "It's a shame, really," she would spit out with a cruel sneer as yet another unfortunate soul fell feebly to the ground, his transformation from boy to wrinkly bacon-man occurring in mere seconds. "We're all special in our own ways, and yet some are simply... better suited for this."

---

@ERode@Estylwen@Psyker Landshark

PLAZA

Avoiding the majority of the chaos through their respective means of unique travel, the Strigidae, the shadow and the knight had successfully cleared the explosive violence that erupted on the bridge. Otis and Ciara would find themselves on campus grounds, in what seemed to be a plaza complete with a fountain in the center. Directly ahead on the other end of the fountain further down was a cluster of red buildings, and to the left was a circular walkway that seemed to round onto another area of the campus. A crudely drawn cardboard cutout of a smiling stickman was leaned up against a bench by the fountain, its stick arm drawn in black marker pointing towards the walkway, and in its other hand a cardboard sign stapled on that read in red marker, "AUDITORIUM THAT WAY," with a big smiley face drawn at the end.

However, as if in response to the arrival of individuals who had crossed the first threshold, doors from the cluster of red buildings would burst open. From those doors, countless wooden mannequins would sprint out wielding various cooking tools like pots and pans, smacking them eagerly against their hand-crafted limbs like mobsters approaching their mark. All at once they would mindlessly rush at Otis and Ciara, taking swings as soon as they'd get in range - clumsily, slowly, as if toddlers taking their first steps more so than serious threats. "You can't always hire the best help," the unseen, self-assured voice of the woman who had made the earlier auditorium declaration would emanate from somewhere farther within the campus. "But I can definitely say that our Mannekin will be tailored to suit all of your 'make-you-wish-you-were-home' needs. The beatings won't be too severe, for what it's worth~."

Iraleth would find herself positioned above all this at the same time, of course, witnessing the emergence of mannequin chefs swinging like drunken bums. The direction of the wind near her would feel odd, however, as she'd hear the sound of labored breaths from behind her quickly approaching. Were she to look, she would see a boy spinning around in the air at a rapid pace in her direction with winged boots, picking up speed with each rotation. His eyes seemed fit to bulge out of his head, screaming and crying as he bolted in her direction like a sentient torpedo. "Please, please, Klara a-above," he would blurt out as he closed within speaking range of Iraleth, his mouth agape and his gaze pleading. "Please stop meeeeeeee!"

Gunshot behind him. He made the right choice to take initiative and drop first. Another burst open their wings, the third dove into shadow. But the rush for the bridge turned into a pot of crabs, a quagmire that prevented an easy escape.

Otis loved being right.

He didn’t quite love the sensation of his knees grinding into dust as his muscles struggled to endure the duress of having to maintain perfect balance upon the railing as his skateboard grinded down it, but he possessed focus enough to see his decision through, his goggles slapped over his eyes and his teeth bared into a subconscious snarl against the forces of gravity and drag. The descent had perhaps been only a few minutes at most, but it was almost pleasurable when the bottom met the wheels of his skateboard, the axles squeaking as he killed his momentum and finally stood up straight. A fountain plaza. A hastily-drawn sign, pointing in one direction. An army of wooden mannequins, possessing bludgeoning tools.

And, of course, the voice of the woman who started all this.

Otis pulled out his own gun, the light catching the gleaming barrel and the gilded etchings. Without hesitation, he pointed it towards the gloomy-faced shadow-dancer that had joined him at the plaza and pulled the trigger. A flash of light, a crack of thunder, and the closest mannequin to her was sent flying back into two other of its kin, a bullet cratering its chest.

“A truce,” Otis spoke, his free hand drawing a symbol in the air. “You’re faster than me on the ground. Go in the direction of the sign, I’ll go opposite. If you find the auditorium, contact me. If I find the auditorium, I’ll contact you.”

It was arcane magic, strict and regimented, but possessing a utility and reliability that other schools could not. A moment later, the raven-haired girl would feel a sensation very much like ‘knocking’ on the inside of her skull. If she ‘opened’ her mind, Otis’s voice, edged with only a tinge of impatience, would resound.

“Do you agree?”

A simple thought-sharing spell.

Of course, perhaps he wouldn’t have to do this if he simply trusted that the path of most resistance offered a suitable reward at the end, but, well…the Strigidae had a good headstart. He could indulge in his curiosity and suspicion just a little bit.

The minute a bullet rang out on the bridge was the moment Chunji immediately knew he would need to improvise. Tilting his head to the left, he narrowly dodged a fire ball that would have set him on fire. A silver arc almost sliced his shoulder open if he didn't immediately draw his sword. The student that swung at him flinched back as if he hadn't expected resistance. It was attributed to the apparent confusion he was suffering from, but Chunji was going to exploit that.

In the next instant, the student found themselves unable to move their arms. Blood bled profusely from their elbows as Chunji withdrew his blade. With the threat temporarily neutralized, Chunji had once again parried another blow coming at him before dishing it back at the newcomer. Though with the chaos, Chunji was able to wade through the crowd more easily while deflecting chaos-induced strikes. With the students taking an effort to each other out, it meant there was a lot of more room to work with.

That was until Chunji stepped on something weird. Acknowledging this sudden change of terrain, Chunji looked down. What he saw was a senile old woman below him. A frown graced Chunji's face as he tried to recall whether or not the elderly were allowed into the academy. The question was soon answered by the trail of mummified people that laid before him. On top of the carpet of the drained laid a frilly, elf who seemed to enjoying herself.

Chunji had studied elves before. While the differed in the physiology of a human, their anatomy were relatively the same. She was also no doubt the source of the problems and an obstacle in his path. Was it an ethos or was it some sort of magic? Chunji was leaning more on ethos considering there was no evidence of an incantation nor evocation. Regardless, she was in the way, so naturally he would have to remove her.

Kicking up a dagger from one of the fallen, Chunji proceeded to throw it at the elf. The movement of his body was optimized to allowed him to put greatest amount of force possible in his attack. Where it would land? The arms and legs were too far from his liking to hit, so he only had one choice. The body. The elf had her back to him, so where it would hit was quite obvious. Chunji aimed for her spine as the dagger sailed through the air.

The fire of a distant gunshot. It was lost amid the display before her disbelieving eyes.

A cardboard sign pointing the way to the auditorium, nearly knocked over in the rush of puppeted mannequins wielding all manner of mad chef tools.

But she had to be honest, these threatening mannequins were the best thing to happen to her. She could use them. Spinning slightly in the rushing air, her foot came to rest on the chest of one mannequin before smashing it backward, toppling two to three other puppets as they broke Ciara's fall. She lept back as more mannequins closed the gap, her feet firmly set on the plaza grounds.

"The beatings won't be too severe, for what it's worth~." The same, unseen voice. Ciara had to assume it was one of the teachers of the school. She made a face, staring down the mannequins preparing to lunge at her, having recovered from 'softening' her landing.

That was when a glint caught her eye.

Her eyes widened as a distinct clap of thunder rang out, pinning her heart to the floor of her ribcage. Smoke blew off his gun as her eyes recovered from the flash. She followed the line of sight, watching the mannequins get explosively sent back again. Perhaps this time, they wouldn't be so keen to stand up as quickly.

So he wasn't aiming for her. Then... why?

“A truce,” he said simply.

A smile that wasn't her own pulled at the corners of her lips. A Voice that wasn't hers cackled madly in her mind. She wasn't sure if it was intoxicated from the prospect of nearly dying, or if it was simply excited to work with a dark aura.

"We can't die." The Voice chided her. She could feel the gleeful pride in its voice.

"Real shame, that." She thought wistfully, trying to keep track of two conversations as the dark one spoke to her.

There was a knock in her mind, which she 'opened' the door to easily enough. A trip in Ciara's mind was, well, unlike most minds. If one had to describe it, there was the presence of Ciara, and then there was something else. Like a sea of oppressive black from which angry red eyes stared out in a haphazard manner. Like a patchwork of different entities.

The Voices were immediately silent, simply staring hard as the dark aura's voice resounded in Ciara's mind.

“Do you agree?”

Ciara's head tilted curiously. It was... interesting, to say the least. She was used to hearing voices in her head, but not like this.

"I agree." She thought, quickly and simply, detecting the impatience in his tone. Amidst the battlefield, there was no time for reason. Even if a part of her wondered if the dark aura would notify her if he found the auditorium.

She would have to trust him on this.

Howling from above. She looked up just in time to see. No, to feel. It was, it...

It couldn't be.

"I want it!" The Voice shrieked in Hunger, forgetting its game of playing silent while 'guests' were in Ciara's mind. "Give it to me!"

The Voice was, of course, echoing the very thoughts Ciara was having, staring up hungrily at the aura of the half-elf, soaring above them. It was so crisp, so bright and clean, so full of delicious, delectable Light. And, it just so happened...

Her bouquet of Light was getting torpedoed by a reckless child with winged boots. Any second, they would collide, and her Light would be hurt. Her precious, precious Light...

"Save the Light! I want it!" The Voice howled in visible agony.

Ciara wiped her chin of the drool that had escaped her mouth unbidden, her eyes scrambling. As quick as a flitting shadow, black tentacles soared up into the sky. With pinpoint accuracy, they latched onto the ankle of the boy, stopping his senseless spinning in the air. The tentacles pulled, lowering him a few feet in the air so he cleanly flew a hair's breadth underneath the beacon of Light, saving both of them from a harrowing accident.

Visibly fighting with herself, she let go of the boy and retracted the tentacles, stepping back and disappearing into her shadow.

"What are you doing?! The Light is back there!" The Voice snarled angrily.

She was maddeningly Hungry, but she had a job to do. The dark one, the auditorium. She had to find it. That meant ignoring the Voice. A dangerous thing to do in her line of work. But she knew, deep down, she could never give the Voice what it really wanted.

"Ha, you think I don't know the Light will be here in our new residence? You just wait." A deeper, darker Voice spoke, more intelligent than the previous.

She shivered, her shadow trembling a bit as she moved. She really disliked this Voice whenever it showed up.

She appeared for a split second on the walkway, emerging from the shadows there before disappearing again, appearing again within the next area of the campus. She kept her eyes open for another sign, or any indicator of where Wingram hid their auditorium.

She heard him before she saw him. Some foolish boy, relying on an artifact he couldn't control. Part of his Ethos? Or just some sort of magical relic? Either way, it didn't matter to her. With a sigh, Iraleth temporarily dismissed her shield, raising her now-freed left arm to prepare to catch her prospective fellow student...

Only for him to be grasped by shadowy tentacles. Iraleth's combat instincts kicked in as she whirled around at the obvious display of dark magics, her shield immediately materializing back onto the Inheritor's armor. The tentacles traced back to...a figure that vanished into shadow? Only slightly less confusing was the boy flying straight now directly under her. Was the caster...trying to help? Iraleth frowned beneath her helm, letting the flying boy go. Whatever was going on, she didn't trust it. But even the most delusional Umbralist leftover wouldn't have been stupid enough to expose themselves like that for the sake of another. Something to look into later.

For now, Iraleth prepared to descend and make her way down towards the Academy proper, but something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Back towards the bridge, student after student was collapsing in front of some pink figure. As she closed in to investigate, Iraleth caught further details. A fellow half-elf, in a frilly pink abomination of a dress. Her touch aging and withering. Arrogant boasting. With a snarl, Iraleth flew full-speed down towards her target, intent on teaching her a lesson. Some small voice in the back of her head reminded her of the entrance test, but the rest of herself ruthlessly quashed it. This girl was needlessly endangering her fellows. For what? A spot at the Academy? Disgusting.

"CEASE." Her voice boomed as she slammed down into a landing at the foot of the bridge, some distance away from the other half-elf. Iraleth raised her sword, pointing the tip towards the girl, her aura in full effect.

"For your own sake, I hope whatever your Ethos did to these people can be reversed. Do so, or face judgement."

Suckers.

Quickly capitalizing on the confusion and fear she had orchestrated with her false threat, Hildegund rushes past the stalling crowd. Briefly, she considered cutting time by going through the crowd, before deciding to stick to the perimeter. This was probably the right choice, she decides, given the abject chaos and violence that has followed her little stunt. She keeps a particular eye on Chunji, who seemed to cut through the crowd with ease and silent determination, marking him silently as a large threat. She would not turn her back on him; indeed, she even slowed her progress, so as to keep behind the man, and not in front. After all, the safety of the border would dissipate on the bridge.

As it was right now, Hildegunde silently enjoyed her relative safety on the perimeter. Free from the brawl, the most Hildegunde had found herself having to do was occasionally duck and weave the occasional blast or flailing arm that would find its way past the crowd. The woman would soon, however, come to a fearful halt herself before she reaches the bridge. She watches the half-elf with narrowed eyes, observing her carefully. The joy she took was equal parts horrific and confusing - she was surely loosing leeway by staying behind and doing this. What was she trying to accomplish? A total monopoly on seats? Did she even care, or did she just want an excuse to revel in her own power?

Then, another equally mind-boggling half-elf joined the picture.

Stupid. She is so stupid. What is she trying to do? Get herself killed? That girl had the opportunity to gain a headstart, and she just wasted it. Turned back, and for what?

She glances at the lack of ink marks on her hand for a split second. The words Freikugeln threaten to leave her lips, but she bites down on her tongue. She only has two controlled shots after all; she best not waste it. As it were, no one was crossing the bridge yet, and who knows what lay ahead. Besides, she still wasn't sure what sort of test this was, and if it were a test of character, she doesn't want to blow it.

She waits and watches as Chunji's stolen dagger flies, breath still.

@AThousandCurses@Sifr@Psyker Landshark

BRIDGE

The curves of the frilly half-elf's mouth extended almost unnaturally upward as she laid eyes upon Iraleth's crashing entrance. Perhaps the idea of heroism amused her, or perhaps simply seeing a shoe-in for early arrival sacrifice their advantage so easily was what caused a sadistic glint to shine in her eye. "I must say it's rather embarrassing to make such demands of a girl you just met. We're all just having fun, after all. No manners were taught to you, in the hole you crawled out of to learn the common tongue?"

With a chortle and an exaggerated movement to cover her mouth with the back of her hand as she giggled, eyes firmly planted on the righteous warrior before her with nothing but condescension and disdain, it was in that moment that a wrench - or more accurately, a dagger - was thrown into her plans. In her moment of revelry, attention was diverted away from the crowd she had been so gleefully keeping at bay behind her.

Thunk.

All at once, the sound of squealing, satisfied laughter was replaced by pained wails. For those in the vicinity to witness, they would see the girl that was seen as an immovable wall mere moments ago crumple against the right side railing of the bridge - a fresh wound oozing out of her back, staining her orchid dress a morbid crimson. The strangest thing would be the disappearance of the very dagger that was expertly embedded into her spine. Only Chunji would have seen it in full: his strike landing true, but his projectile seeming to disintegrate into dust almost as quickly as it made contact with the girl's flesh. In the end, blood was drawn, but the wound did not reach bone.

The half-elf would turn back towards the crowd that had its morale boosted by the staggering hit, slowly advancing once more. One girl in the crowd in particular, walking with a limp and a cane, would give Chunji a thumbs-up, having seemingly witnessed the boy's attack. "Good one, kid. Send a few more like that her way and we'll all be sittin' pretty before we know it, yeah? Or maybe the vultures who smell blood'll hone in on her first," she would muse with an amused shrug, before stopping mid-step and pausing with a finger tapping against her chin, eyes skyward. "Hmmm... on second thought, vultures don't smell blood, yeah? Not like that at least. Sharks're what I was thinkin' of. Eh, I'll workshop that one."

Before the crowd behind the frilly prune-maker or the wrathful knight in front of her could move to fully capitalize on the injury, however, a potent gust of wind arose and knocked the unsuspecting off their feet. At the center of this gust, near the distraught frill-elf, appearing as if out of nowhere, was a boy in the trendy Shaktan attire known as the "t-shirt and jeans" combo. Levitating above him was the upper half of some kind of phantasmal giant clad in golden armor, with four arms each bearing circular shields the size of a human torso. With a sigh, the boy scanned the area while the giant seemed to fend off and block haphazard attacks sent towards either the boy or the injured half-elf. "Gods' sake, Chloe. We can't be putting ourselves this far into the spotlight, let's tone it down."

"Easy for you to say! Look at what they did to me," she would complain with a groaning response, pointing at her bleeding back and slightly torn dress. "They'll all pay! That knife thrower, wherever they are, and..."

She would point at the towering knight ahead with a vengeful glare replacing her previous amusement. "You. This all started because you distracted me with your righteous nonsense! How dare you!" She would stumble away from the railing and begin stomping her way towards Iraleth, enraged. If she got within range of the knight, she would immediately attempt to clamp a hand down onto her in any way that she could.

With his hands in his pockets and a slouch in his posture, the boy at her side would direct his attention towards the crowd still being fended off by his seemingly autonomous ghostly golden torso - not wounding anyone, but simply repelling advances and blocking attacks. The boy would sigh as his eyes met the crowd, looking towards Chunji and pointing a half-hearted finger his way. "Guess it's us then. Maybe it was a good idea to wait and let my idiot friend steal the show for a while after all. You 'n I, knife thrower." He would take a crouched stance with his fists extended outward, as if a martial artist squaring up with his opponent for a duel in the ring. All the while, his golden guardian would be on watch for any unexpected attacks from the crowd.

---

@ERode

PLAZA

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhh!"

After the conversation with Ciara had reached its conclusion one way or another, the loudest thing that Otis would hear in his immediate vicinity was the terrified screams from above. Were he to draw his gaze to the source of the noise, he'd see the spiraling, tumbling, descending figure of a boy with winged boots. Like a bird with only one wing, he fell in a never-ending spiral until he crashed with a cratering impact into the fountain of the plaza, splashing the fountain's contents everywhere and destroying a chunk of the marble statue at its base. He would see the boy, seconds later, crawling his way out of the wreck, covered in rubble and soaked like a wet dog. He'd desperately scramble to his feet and begin rummaging through his messenger bag as if he didn't fall from the sky moments prior, eventually fishing out a glass bottle with a satisfied smile. This smile turned to a frown quickly, however, on account of its broken state, a thick red liquid dripping from broken shards. "Nooooo," he'd whine, throwing the useless upper half of the bottle off into the distance, tears of defeat slowly emerging from his eyes. "Why do they need to seal potions in glass bottles, seriously?! What's the world's economy coming to, for real?!"

He'd soon glance towards Otis after observing his surroundings, and sprint over to him with his hands above his head to signal he wasn't possessed of malicious intent. "Heeeeey! I don't know anyone here, let's be friends!" He would shout this while, of course, remaining ignorant of the new wave of kitchen mannequins running out of the open doorways that the prior had rushed from. At the very back of this wave, a mannequin with a chef's hat and a comically oversized rolling pin wielded like a greatclub would walk out. It moved differently from the others - more lifelike, and with some confidence in how it wielded its chosen weapon. For now it'd stand back, its faceless gaze focused on Otis and what he would do next. In the meantime, more of those chefs would be sprinting straight for the clueless boy and, by extension, Otis himself.

---

@Estylwen

WALKWAY

Rounding the walkway, Ciara would find herself with many options thrown at her all at once. To her immediate left would be some kind of circular stage with multiple sigils drawn overlapping with one another and a very distinct golden pillar in the center. A signpost near the small bridge leading towards it would read "Leyline Attunement Zone," and even looking at the pillar itself would give the distinct feeling of otherworldly yet invisible power.

To her right, she would see a larger red building with a golden plaque above the doorframe that read, "Main Building." An older man in a brown cloak with its hood up would be seen sweeping the floors nearby, with masterful wrist flicks expertly deflecting dust and debris to other, less visible parts of the campus grounds. He'd take note of Ciara, waving her way with a smile. He wore leather armor under his cloak, shown now for the first time as he turned to face her, dressed like a rugged adventurer. He seemed aged, probably in his mid forties, but even through his wrinkles there was a smirk of self-assurance and a glint of hard-working sweat dripping down his rugged chin stubble. Lastly, there was a rusty pin on his cloak near the chest that read "Janitor."

He leaned against his broom with a sigh. "Heavy workload for all of us," he'd grunt out with a tired yet playful tone, sending a knowing look in Ciara's direction. "But for the 'light of the future' like you guys, I guess that's to be expected, eh? Shit's rough."

While still looking towards Ciara, the man would point behind him at the door that gave away its location as the main building. "Ya didn't hear it from me, but the auditorium's somewhere in there. I mean, probably, anyway. I just sweep the floors, I dunno about what ol' Miss is thinking, dropping you kids in an impromptu battlefield like this, but it sucks. Back when I was a kid, I just had to worry about which crayons tasted the best."

With a shrug and a smile, he'd lean against the wall by the door, broom clattering to the ground as he shoved his hands into his pants' pockets. "Blue, by the way. The blue crayons definitely tasted the best."

Further down the way past the door labeled "Main Building," a pathway that seemed reminiscent of a city street would find itself directly ahead, and in a branching path just before the entrance to said street, a descending walkway veering downwards out of sight.

As twisted and disturbed and populated as Ciara’s mind was, however, Otis did not receive any of that. He was a magus of the arcane, after all, not some primal numbskull or a deluded occultist. The essence he manipulated held strict guidelines and protections. Only thoughts were shared, not the mind that projected such thoughts, and when the dark-haired girl agreed, he turned, prepared to leave.

“Heeeeeey!”

He was not going to turn for that idiot. He was, perhaps, even in the mood to finish what the statue clearly could not. The revolver clicked, cycling to its next bullet with musical precision. The winged knight had flown back up, his partner had disappeared into the shadow. His opponent was fumbling about, as if wholly unaware of the situation he was in. Soaked to the bone, having lost his stock of potions. All the Strigidae would have to do was turn around quickly, fire for center mass. But…

The Chef looked like it may present a greater problem.

“Potions go into glass bottles because glass is non-reactive and transparent. Easy to identify and no chance of the concoction changing over long periods of time.” His eyes etched the image of the doors that the Mannekins came from into his memory. A spot to return to, if something unexpected happened to his partner. And as for this one? He slipped his hand into his bag, retrieving a small ball wrapped in plain wax paper.

“Catch. It’ll help with the pain.”

It wouldn’t. It was just hard candy. But if doctors could lie about it, so could Otis.

“I’m going the opposite direction. Keep up and explain how your shoes work. Is it a magical tool? Your Ethos? Or just magic? What ‘words’ constitute it? What’s your name? I thought Wingram took only the elites, but you seem lacking in that eliteness, so what are you good at?”

Each question was punctuated by another kick against the ground, Otis clearly accelerating away from all the trouble behind him to go the exact opposite direction that the sign recommended. Whether wing-boy kept up or not was up to him, but if he didn’t? Well, maybe he should’ve taken his time on that bridge instead.

The comedy of errors went on. Iraleth set herself to confront the girl, evidently going by the name of Chloe, before a knife stuck into the frilly dress-wearer's back and an apparent friend came to reinforce her with his own Ethos. She tsked beneath her helmet. Whatever that golden giant was, it was a better match for her than this girl. But she'd already set her path.

For a moment, Iraleth legitimately debated whether to end Chloe's life. She'd killed before, accompanying her father to deal with criminals and cultists. If this girl's Ethos was irreversible, it was more than enough cause to slay her for crippling dozens before their time. And yet...

She found herself imagining the High Bishop's face. His likely disappointment that Iraleth would cause a fatality at his new school, on the very first day, no less. All because she decided to enact her own judgement before higher authorities did. Fine. She'd settle for beating the brat unconscious.

The other half-elf came lurching towards Iraleth at ordinary, mundane speeds, and the knight found herself disappointed. Iraleth flapped her wings of light and rose into the air, staying out of reach.

"Your arrogance disgusts me. Count yourself fortunate that I will leave your fate in the hands of others." She spat downward before manipulating light Essence into divine magic to send half a dozen holy bolts crashing down towards Chloe. Given that Iraleth was refraining from killing her, she deliberately underpowered her magic, not even enhancing it with her Ethos, so that they would aim to give light burns to her hands and ankles and prevent Chloe from moving her limbs, rather than incinerating her outright in holy fire.

Direct hit.

The dagger planted itself into the elf's back just as he had intended. What he did not foresee was the fact the dagger started to deteoriate into nothing more than dust. It was definitely an ethos in play and the chances of being time related were confirmed. Unfortunately, the injury didn't seem to cripple her given the fact she was still standing. There were still plenty amount of weapons from their deprived owners, that he could throw at the elf.

Chunji's made no effort to acknowledge the girl's compliment, but took note of her. How was a girl with a lame leg able to get this far? It made Chunji wary of her, but his attention was drawn elsewhere. A sudden gust of kicked through the bidge. Chunji stood his ground and witnessed one of the elf's, Chloe her name was, back her up. Accompanying the elf's peer was a strange armored abberation. Despite consisting of the torso and up, it possessed a strong build, and was armed like a fortress. Impregnable would be one word to describe it.

It seemed he was to be his opponent now. Chloe, the elf, flew off to confront someone in the sky. Chunji observed the situation. His opponent got into a fighting stance. The abberation above him was seemingly on the lookout for outside interference, but there was a possibility that it could intefere when he made the first move against his opponent. The crowd behind him seemed more or less content in watching the battle.

There was pause in the battle. Chunji only stood there with his hand gripped onto his sword. Then a flash of light radiated above them. In that instant, Chunji dashed towards his opponent armed to strike. Before he reached there, Chunji grabbed a stray shield and tossed it like a disc at his opponent's head. It was nothing more than a momentary distraction as Chunji started to circle around his opponent.

When it came to martial artists, their stance were crucial to fighting. The same logic applied to swordplay. If Chunji broke his opponent's stance, then he'd have the momentum in the fight. To this effort, Chunji swung his sword. First swiping his sword against his opponent's legs, he then brought down his sword to strike down his opponent's shoulder.

Wingram Academy, Walkway
@Nanaya @ERode

---

The quietness in her mind after ghosting away from the plaza led Ciara to believe one of two things. Her new friend had excellent mastery over his inner thoughts. Or, the inner rantings of a mad mind weren't shared. Only willful thoughts.

At this revelation, the Voices relaxed a bit as Ciara took in her new surroundings. Briefly, she looked behind her. It was peaceful, despite the utter chaos she could hear faintly echoing through the campus. None of the mannequins had followed her, to which she was grateful. They had focused all of their attention on her new friend, she assumed.

She had to attribute the otherworldly stillness of the moment to the raised circular platform with its "Leyline Attunement Zone" sign. It had caught her eye the moment she stepped off the walkway.

The next thing that caught her eye was the humbly dressed man sweeping the pathway. He waved, and she self-consciously waved back. She stared at him curiously as he spoke, taking in his worn and slightly torn leather armor and his tattered cloak. Most importantly, she took in his aura. Curiously enough, it was simply... heavy.

"It's not appetizing..." The Voice, childlike, had a slight whine. She had to agree. She couldn't tell whether this man's aura was light or dark. She could only tell it had a certain... quality to it. She couldn't place it.

"Ya didn't hear it from me, but the auditorium's somewhere in there. I mean, probably, anyway." he said nonchalantly, to which Ciara faintly smiled at.

If that was true, it meant her search was nearly over. She wanted to confirm it for herself, and then she would let her new friend know. The dark aura didn't actually shoot her, after all. Clearly, in this academy, good friends meant either facing a swarm of 'mobsters' alone, or having someone else take the brunt of the attack.

For Ciara, that meant quite a bit.

"Blue, by the way. The blue crayons definitely tasted the best." The man said, hands tucked in his pockets. She watched the broom clatter, wrestling with herself to refrain from catching it with a tentacle. She disliked senseless noises, after all. She had to assume it was impolite to mess with a tired and trusted tool of someone who worked at the academy, and so left it be.

As he spoke of blue crayons, her head tilted curiously. For a split second, her mind blinked out, and she vividly saw little hands scrawling over a tattered piece of parchment with the worn stub of a blue crayon.

She blinked, her eyes tightening subconsciously. Memories were... hard to remember.

There was a pause as the man fell silent. Her head perked up. It was her turn to speak. Her eyes flickered to the "Main Building," down the walkway, the street, back to the golden pillar, before settling back to the man.

"I think... I'm in the right place, then." she said softly. "Thank you."

This rugged adventurer put her mind at ease a bit, but she had to remember the events leading up to her arriving on the walkway. Nothing in this academy was as it seemed.

Now, she was faced with a dilemma. Her eyes stared longingly at the raised platform with its golden pillar. She ached, yearned for, and was beside herself with raw emotions. She had to go touch the pillar. It wasn't out of want, but out of necessity. After all, she had spent two days sitting on the outskirts of the academy, trying to adjust to the artificial leylines here. If there was a way to calibrate herself even more closely, preferably without falling paralyzed for an unknown length of time, she had to have it.

Her eyes shifted back to the main building.

No.

She had a mission. The chaos of the campus grounds wouldn't allow her to think too selfishly. She had to locate the auditorium. Quickly.

Ciara stepped up closer to the main building, turned, and gave the man a polite bow. "Thank you for guiding me, I'm going to go look for the auditorium now."

As she stood, she lightly smiled. "I'm Ciara, by the way."

With that, she opened the door to the main building and entered, eyes tentatively scanning for another indication of where the auditorium was, if the cloaked man's information was right.

Haha noooo don't leave her fate in the hand of the others you're so sexy aha.

By all accounts, Hildegunde had no right to be angry at this stranger. But watching her jeopardize her spot, then her life, only to try and leave like that? For better or worse, Iraleth is going to plague Hildegunde's mind for a long time.

That wasn't important right now, however. What was important was that Chunji and Iraleth have the two big threats distracted, and she might not get another non-lethal chance at crossing that bridge. Chunji being behind instead of ahead of her would be a problem, but he at least seemed reasonable, unlike the half elf. She can deal with him by giving him space - and that was assuming he survived at all.

She inhales and makes a mad dash, hoping to get ahead while the others are distracted. Hoping that it would be enough.

If it weren't, however, she was prepared. Prepared to do the heinous, and prepared to come up with her defense. She needed not point her rifle; the bullets would always find their mark. While she couldn't be sure how the half-elf's ethos might interact with her own, it was her best bet at guaranteeing safety. The thought becomes a mantra as she dashes, muscles burning, heart racing.

Chloe. Brainstem. Freikugeln. Chloe. Brainstem. Freikugeln. Chloe. Brainstem. Freikugeln. Chloe. Brainstem. Freikugeln. That last word feels like a caged animal, bashing against iron bars, begging to come out, to be said. And indeed, the moment Hildegunde perceived any threat towards her - or Iraleth - she would utter it. Along with a few other choice words.

@AThousandCurses@Sifr@Psyker Landshark

BRIDGE

The fight between Chloe and Iraleth would end as a rather sad display. The moment that Iraleth took to the skies once again, Chloe was like a deer in headlights. It was at that moment it was obvious the girl had no plans for those that claimed superiority of movement, or perhaps even that she was not accustomed to being challenged in her power at all. "Wait, that's not fair! Get down here and fight me on an even playing field, plebeian!"

Unfortunately, Chloe had no answer to the barrage of divine bolts that rained down upon her. Targeting her in nonlethal areas did not spare her the pain in the moment, attempting to conjure some kind of defensive spell to retaliate and coming up empty-handed. For a brief moment, a small shield of energy briefly came into being, but it quickly vanished entirely the moment that the first bolt struck her, the first singe of harm on her body causing her to scream out in agony, crumpling and making herself an easy target for the remaining blasts. "N-No, wait, I can't- Aghhhhh!"

As the last of the bolts landed, Chloe tumbled to the floor of the bridge, conscious but clearly too wounded to move very far. "Rio... hel-help me, I can't move... I need help now...! Get me up so I can go take that lowborn out, n-now...!"

The one she was looking and slowly crawling towards was preoccupied, however, seeming to take his opponent head on with his full attention. "Stance of Earth, grant me balance," Rio would mutter with a deep exhale as he observed Chunji's approach, digging his feet into the ground of the bridge. When the shield was tossed, he would give it a backhand, his strike seemingly reinforced beyond regular human means - there was no damage to his hand from such a strike, nor did he wince from the impact, and yet the shield would partially crack around the edge as it tumbled away.

In a move that would perhaps be seen as unwise if not outright psychotic, the boy would not attempt to dodge the swing at his legs - rather, he looked Chunji dead in the eyes as the strike was delivered, bleeding from the hit but remaining supernaturally stable on the ground. As Chunji went to deliver a strike to the shoulder, Rio seemed decisive in his next move: he was aiming for a direct fist straight to Chunji's chest. "Let's play a game of chicken, then."

Rio made no attempt to dodge, and both his stance and expression remained firm in this decision as his punch aimed towards Chunji's torso at the same time that a sword swing would be brought down upon him. Should the punch connect, the impact would be powerful enough to send Chunji backwards and, depending on how direct the hit was, potentially crack bone. The sword swing would strike true in Rio's shoulder should Chunji not pull away, cutting as intended - and yet Rio's limbs would not be disabled in the way that would normally be expected of one cut so precisely. It was as if his body was enduring these hits while maintaining maximum function, whether through magic or some other unforeseen method.

As that extreme violence broke out, Hildegunde's path ahead was relatively unobstructed. Many would cautiously attempt to circle around the chaotic battles before them, but only she would be so bold as to dash ahead so quickly. Rio would make no attempts to stop her, focused entirely on his duel, and his shield-wielding giant was similarly busy fending off other students while slowly being pushed back and overwhelmed by sheer numbers. As Hildegunde sprinted past Chloe's writhing body on the ground, she would see the desperate diva uttering a low, "Noooo, I was here to thin the herd... you're not worthy of going beyond this point, peasant...!" However, she was too slow. She would feebly reach out an arm to attempt to latch onto Hildegunde, but with the kind of speed that even the elderly could avoid at a leisurely pace. It wouldn't take an experienced war veteran to realize that this particular combatant was out of this race without proper healing or carrying.

Hildegunde would successfully advance to the end of the bridge and, by extension, the plaza; assuming, of course, that Iraleth did not have other plans at that moment. She would witness broken mannequins scattered about, a fountain cracked and leaking out water and with a partially broken statue in its center, and most notably, a wave of mannequins with various kitchenware that would run at her with the intent to harm.

---

@ERode

PLAZA AND RIGHT WALKWAY

The lost, wingless boy chomped down hard on the candy with a sickening, loud crunch, as if the boy were chewing on a rock. He fumbled after Otis, not quite keeping pace, but doing his best to at least maintain the same amount of steps taken. His breath would be ragged and uneven as he followed, but he let out a satisfied chuckle as he ran. The sigh of satisfaction would be enough to show that perhaps placebo was the strongest medicine, at least for this lost soul. "You're a miracle worker, my man! My fellow! My chosen chum! A real doctor in the rough, for real! Haha~!"

As Otis barraged the boy with question after question, the Strigidae would almost smell smoke cooking behind him. If he were to so much as glance, he'd see the wing-booted boy with drool dripping out of his mouth in confusion and sensory overload, smoke seemingly coming out of his ears - his mind overclocking simply to comprehend all of Otis' inquiries in full. "Uhhhhh... ummm, uhhh, grrrrhhhh," he would struggle and strain, all of the wrinkles of the poor boy's brain shifting and burning at one hundred percent capacity. "Your words are funny and strange, chum. I do not know how to respond to them," he would blurt out after a moment with half-hearted commitment, pondering something deeper.

It was as they would flee to the opposite side of the plaza and round the corner to another walkway that the flightless birdbrain would snap his fingers as if coming to a realization. "Oh! Yes, of course, you want to know what my superhero powers are, right? Of course, of coooourse, I'm so dumb," he would chuckle to himself, smacking himself in the forehead as the duo came to what seemed to be a courtyard. Within eyesight immediately, a building to their left labeled "Cafeteria" above the door would stand out, as would a small bridge downward to their right with a sign at the entrance reading "Playground". Finally, a path straight ahead would lead down what looked reminiscent of a city street, clusters of buildings off in the distance.

As the boy stops to catch his breath while looking across these different paths, he'd sigh and compose himself, the smoke of thought dissipating. "Well, I'm Davil. I'm going to be a hero for the Union and finally unite Mirris and the Union in a time of ultimate peace where good guys can all rise above the sins of the past! And, uh, as for my other stuff..." He would trail off at that, finger to chin, reluctantly keeping up with Otis should he choose his given path by this point, completely breezing by the casual insult to his elite status. "My shoes are just to help me control my Ethos. In truth, my Ethos lets me fly for thirty seconds per day!"

With pride he'd give a thumbs up, though his brow would furrow soon after. "Well, kind of. See, it takes some building up, so the first ten seconds are take-off. Then landing safely usually takes me another ten. Then if we account for the time it takes me to gain control after the initial burst of speed... it's more like my Ethos allows me to fly where I want for five seconds per day! I'd like to think it's pretty powerful - my mum always tells me so, anyway."

Continuing to follow Otis down his chosen path should he choose one, he'd follow up. "I don't know my prime essence's codeword yet, but the activation phrase of my Ethos is 'Linearic Liner,' even though I reckon I don't fully know what it means. Not that it'll work now that I've used up all my juice for the day, so I guess I'm stuck running to the finish line with my new best friend, ahaha!"

---

@Estylwen

MAIN BUILDING

As Ciara observed the janitor's aura, the oddest thing would happen. For a brief moment, as if briefer than a blink, Ciara and her inner mental observers would feel the slightest flicker of something that could only be described as... elderly and foreign, peering back from beyond a veil of unknown distance. As the janitor minded his own business and Ciara tried to gauge his aura, it's as if something stared back at her as well - and though it wasn't apparent what, she did feel one thing gently shudder through her bones in that moment: hatred. The instinctual, natural-born hatred of a lifetime of scorn against a fated enemy, rippling through Ciara's body and, for a moment, peering into her own essence. It was as if she was by the ocean, the crashing of waves and the roaring of a distant beast ringing in her mind. This feeling would recede quickly, as quick as a single blink, but in a single moment it would have almost felt as if minutes of wordless grudges were exchanged upon a simple brushing of essence on essence. The janitor would not seem to react to this at all, simply staring into the moving clouds above, presumably dreaming of better days.

She would hear a chuckle from the man, as she prepared to enter the building. "Fitting name. I'm Michael, the janitor. I'll see ya around, kiddo. Hope you're one of the good ones," he'd utter as he pulled out a cigarette and began to light it. "It'd be nice if ya were."

Upon entering through the doors, Ciara would be met with an area that resembled a foyer, with a receptionist desk a few feet away as she stepped inside. Hallways would stretch on to the left and right, and stairs behind the left and right of the receptionist desk would each converge into one stairway going to the second floor. A mannequin would be planted in the chair of the receptionist desk, looking right at Ciara despite its featureless face. Slowly emerging from around the corners leading to the hallways on either side, more Mannekin would appear - these ones wearing long black flowing overcoats and carrying baseball bats. "Came to the wrong school, fool," Ciara would hear over what sounded like a loudspeaker echoing through the building. It was the nasally, whiny voice of a boy who sounded as if he had already won a game that nobody else was competing in. "Turn back now and the Mannekin given to me will not destroy you so mercilessly! I'm a merciful god, so I'd rather not have to thrash you, you see."

Would Ciara decide to stand her ground, the Mannekin would each rush her with their bats, closing the distance with speed faster than the chefs outside.

Perhaps Wingram was a mistake.

That was the conclusion Otis fell upon as he shot a backward glance towards the boy and saw that a short sequence of simple questions was enough to cause his brain to short-out, reduced to a drooling buffoon that could hardly run in a straight line. And a race like this to the auditorium? That was more liable to benefit athletic idiots and violent barbarians than the scholarly and astute. Was this the true essence of Wingram Academy? Not a place of higher learning, not even a place where one could delve into the mysteries of the ‘talent’ called Ethos, but rather a breeding den of brainwashed goons who’d raise their blades for ideals not their own?

Well, soldiers had their place in society. The crown needed excess fat, hands that could dirty themselves in their place. Loyalty from a zealot was far more useful than the mercenary calculations of a disillusioned veteran.

Far more useful to Otis as well.

Davil of the Vaalin Union, who sought the conquest of Mirris. He possessed shoes that aided in the control of Ethos, something that Otis himself had never required or even considered before, while his ability itself was flight for 30 seconds every 24 hours. No data on speed, but control certainly needed to be improved for utility. Activation phrase is short, as far as phrases went. Linearic isn’t a word, and Liner referred to the fabric used to protect the inside of a garment. Perhaps it would improve after understanding one’s prime essence. Perhaps it wasn’t an Ethos meant for flight to begin with.

His mother believed in him. Optimistic, or perhaps just there to not hurt his feelings. He made it to Wingram as a prospective student anyhow.

Alright.

“I’m Otis Tan Arillo.” The wheels churned as he continued to skate forwards, down the next cluster of buildings in the distance. Cafeteria was mapped. Playground couldn’t be mapped, but it was unlikely that it would lead to a possible auditorium. The Strigidae bent his legs and leaned forwards, accelerating over the well-paved roads. “And you’ll pass this test, so long as you keep up with me.”

If the dark-haired girl betrayed him, he could always seek her out. The telepathic link, in the end, was simply a test of trust, the veneer of an alliance.

“In return, Davil, give me one week with your shoes and your Ethos.”

It was just scientific curiousity. Nothing more.