Misaiya was lost and late.
It was the first day of lessons. In Suanneipua his teachers and classmates would have surely waved it off with perhaps a bit of teasing for that very reason. In Genelogia, in Avalice? He wasn’t guaranteed anything.
Let us review Misaiya’s day till now. He had arrived breathless in front of the school in the early hours of the day, before sunrise—not by some immaculate scheduling but rather a cascade of delays courtesy of poor weather in an earlier leg of his journey to the north-west.
That had culminated in an unforgettably unenjoyable double-time overnight trek at the coldest temperatures he’d ever experienced through an unfamiliar city just to get to the gates. Apologies, explanations, and negotiations (read: pleading and prostration) with the staff eventually got him through and into the dormitories.
A hot shower and a change of clothes soothed his thudding heart and tight muscles. He was tired beyond belief, yet not sleepy at all. With nothing more to do, and unwilling to enter his room and disrupt his two roommates‘ rest, Misaiya had left his luggage beside the room door and began a self-guided tour of the campus. Viewing the cherry blossoms against the dawn backdrop; strolling around the open spaces and through the hallways; marvelling at how cold and dry even spring was, despite being milder than winter, and how much real brick and cobblestone there was; the chill had made him start to long for his hot and humid home with its notorious and oft-complained-about climate. It had been but two hours since arrival; yet, he was already feeling homesick. Chapped lips, numb fingers, and sore feet from all the cobblestone paths were a too-physical reminder that - yes, this is Genelogia, this is a country far from home, this is his new home for the foreseeable future.
The sun had risen high in the east. Its light was bright now, and suitable for writing, Misaiya thought, and he had just found some paper to pen a letter home when he realised another pressing matter.
He had a quarter-hour until the school day commenced and not the foggiest idea of where he was meant to be.
Whatever section of the school he was in was quiet and unpopulated. Perhaps it was an unused area, or simply isolated from most human traffic, or everyone was already assembled where they were meant to be. It took a few frantic and precious minutes to so much as find someone else - a member of the non-teaching staff, it seemed, who kindly directed him towards where the welcoming ceremony would take place.
And so, with a grateful word of thanks, Misaiya made for the academy plaza, unaware that the rest of his class was at or headed for the lecture hall. Racewalking on cobblestone was a strain on the soles of his feet and his shoes, but if he intended to stay in Avalice it was clearly a pain he had to come to terms with, he thought. At least he would make it on time.
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The plaza hadn’t even come into view yet when he concluded that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding.
Crowds by nature are very noticeable. Even if some draconian disciplinarians miraculously managed to suppress all noise from the gathered teenagers, the atmosphere would have felt
different in some way. Call it instinct.
There was no such atmosphere around the plaza. A better magic user could have sensed already - there wasn’t a crowd at the plaza. Misaiya crested a slope and confirmed that, unsurprisingly and most unfortunately, there was no one there. Rows and rows of seats were carefully positioned and arranged all across the space, clean and undisturbed; the ceremony must not have occurred yet. By induction, everyone was probably supposed to report to their classrooms to take attendance and meet their teachers first. Good, now he knew what place he was meant to go to.
He
didn’t know
where said place was. He didn’t see anyone around either, what with classes having already begun and all. He spent half an hour searching, and had finally found a teacher who’d cordially given him directions when—
”All classes, please report to the academy plaza for today's welcoming ceremony…”The teacher laughed; Misaiya laughed. The teacher went away and Misaiya started tying his sling into a noose, then remembered that the cord would snap anyway and put it back in his pocket. Then he went back to the plaza and seated himself on a place marked out for Class C - for Camellia.
Camellia: what a pretty and refined name. The tea flower. The ornamental varieties were boisterous and colourful - he’d seen a whole garden in bloom before - but it was the plain ones, with little white flowers. Those were the greatest. The ones which were grown in plantations and had their leaves plucked and crushed and dried and made into — tea! Pulled tea was his favourite, without sugar and dairy of course. And, and…
And he was just distracting himself from reality. Enough of that filibustering.
So far the staff had given him so much leeway he could fit his five-foot pole through with room to spare. There was no way Avalice had neglected to inform him of the planned timetable and events for today. Buried somewhere in a letter or pamphlet or some-such there probably lay all there was to know about the first day of school. There was only one negligent party here, the one who had the most at stake and the least excuse.
It was now forty minutes or so past the appointed reporting time. He hoped that maybe the teacher hadn’t done a roll call yet, or that he would have mercy on his sinful soul. Hah, as if. Misaiya braced himself for expulsion, even as he charted a way to save his miserable hide.
As other classes shambled in, he got up from his seat and ambled around for a bit, mixing in with the masses until he saw the rest of Camellia begin to sit at their designated spots. One young man broke away and found himself a spot beneath a tree; the teacher, or so it appeared. He was a sort of baby-faced fellow, who could have scarcely been more than twenty or twenty-one. A prodigy, or a substitute? Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he was kind enough to close not just one, but both his eyes, presenting quite the opportunity. Time to roll.
With hitched breath and a laborious pounding in his chest, Misaiya filed in behind a very blue classmate, fearing the teacher’s gaze yet unwilling to turn and look for fear of appearing suspicious. The cold had been dispelled temporarily, replaced with a feverish heat as warm blood surged to his face, carrying adrenaline with it. Then he lowered himself onto a vacant chair, not wholly balanced but gentle enough still. It was finished.
He’d done it. He’d preserved his dignity and (probably) snuck into class despite being late. He’d survived!
Misaiya rode that rush through the whole ceremony.
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The principal’s address brought to mind one of the reasons he had settled on Avalice. The question of what on Alrune sort of pedagogy would result in a measly
5 per cent graduation rate (and a desire to best those odds). Either admissions was way too slack (which he certainly would not entirely deny, case in point: yours truly), or the instructional standard was very inconsistent, or they had some absurd set of passing criteria. Or perhaps it was a plot to artificially limit the supply of graduates, resulting in a sense of exclusivity and prestige, that would in turn attract more wealthy fee-paying students - what a nefarious money-making scheme. If only he had the audits to prove it.
Next was the introduction of the ‘Miracle Seven’, though he would immediately note that there were only six onstage, and… wow. In a place like this? Was that really h— oh. That large sash, and the material too at second glance: probably a kimono, then. Not that that was any less unusual-looking. The kimono itself was simple, lacking the patterns and decorations typical to the garment. It was as if it were a foundation to be embellished and ornamented by the rest of the elaborate outfit, which almost seem to dwarf the one wearing it - the shortest member of the Seven.
Misaiya was wearing something broadly similar, a grey coat over a white and red two-piece robe, consisting of a crossed-collar top with relatively narrow sleeves and a pleated mid-waist skirt that reached down to his ankles. A little jade tassel hanging from his waist sash served as the sole accessory. If you asked an expert or a traditionalist they would deem it casual everyday attire, but most of society regarded it as good enough for at least semi-formal occasions. Until today he’d always considered the fabric too thick and stuffy to be comfortable. Now he wished for at least another layer or two.
Amidst the terrifyingly loud cheering of the crowd were some names being yelled out. ‘Lancer’, ‘Hanau’, ‘Oleander’? Misaiya could not quite make out some of the sounds, but they must have had some fervent fans. These must have been the names of the Miracle Seven, and though he could not say for sure which belonged to whom, the kimono-wearer was most likely ‘Hanau’, spelling to be confirmed.
It was interesting and quite the relief to see something familiar in an unfamiliar land, for sure, and Misaiya would love to get to know ‘Hanau’. But, it would be more prudent and proper to get acquainted with his immediate classmates first, and so upon the class’s dismissal—though what did the teacher mean by ‘embarrassment’? A minor affair, he prayed—he sought out one of his fellow Camellians (chameleons?) to form some good ol’ social links.
After a little eenie meenie and wandering about, Misaiya found his mark: the blue-haired blue-clothed blue-everything fellow he had seen earlier, during his stealthy infiltration. He had missed the introductions and interpersonal drama of the morning, so he did not know the boy’s name and character. It however seemed like the latter would not be an issue - the boy would apparently make for a very poor poker player.
It showed in his body language, his candid cheer and darting eyes, like a tourist or an explorer with too many sights to see. Or a window-shopper gawking at luxuries way out of their price range. Or a whole multitude of things, point being—he seemed innocent and honest, and must have been a fellow first-year or an easily-impressed senior. Misaiya was no interrogator or cold-reader and he didn’t need to be one to tell that much. It was decided.
Kress Alstein would be the first schoolmate he would talk to.
Such a short boy would normally easy to lose in the sea of people, but his hair’s vibrant hue stood out like a beacon. Soon, Misaiya was beside Kress in front of the club stalls, as if inadvertently pushed there by the stream of passers-by.
Casual.The noise of the clubs and crowds. A greeting barely standing out from the background.
”Hello.”Can’t go wrong with that. Should be a bit louder, though.”You’re from Camellia too, right? I missed the morning session. I’m Misaiya, a first-year. May I tag along?”Perfect.
