"Enough," the instructor declared, already by our side, his fingers gripping the bastard's blade. "Tsk," he clicked his tongue, withdrawing his sword before striding purposefully down the arena.
I wouldn't lie— for a split second, despair gripped me as the blade inched toward my neck. "Someone get this kid to the infirmmary," the instructor bellowed as he spotted blood pooling at my feet from the gash across my chest. Owen hurried up the arena to lend me his shoulder, and soon we were en route to the infirmmary. "Man, you fight like shit," Owen chuckled.
'Ouch' would be too mild a reaction; at least it was better than how Aurora described it.
"If you don't mind, I could teach you how to fight," he offered. My heart gave a slight feeling of warmth— ulterior motives or not, he was trying to be a good friend.
"No, but thank you; someone else has already volunteered to train me."
"What!? Who?" he asked, baffled.
"Come closer," I beckoned. He leaned his head closer to mine. "Closer," I repeated. He looked at me, skeptical and wary, although our hands rested on each other's shoulders so that our heads were already nearly touching.
"You… you don't swing that way, so you? Be-cause I definitely don't," his body shuddered in disbelief.
My lips twitched involuntarily. "No, I don't swing that way—and even if I did, what makes you think I would go for you?" I retorted, my tone laced with more spite than I'd anticipated.
"Hey! What do you mean by 'why would I go for someone like you?'" he protested.
"Exactly what I meant."
"Tsk," he clicked his tongue before asking, "Who did you say volunteered to train you?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Of course I do— why else would I ask?" he said, exasperated.
"It's… cla…ssi…fied," I stressed, maintaining a straight face.
"Then why was all the buildup for nothing?" His face scrunched up in annoyance. I was becoming ever more candid with this guy—I almost chuckled at the realization. After my parents' deaths, I had become a full-blown sociopath, and my awakening only heightened that tendency. I had never had any real friends, not in the orphanage nor after I moved out.
Owen was the closest thing I had to a friend, which reminded me that the locks on my emotions were slowly unraveling.
Soon we reached the infirmmary. As soon as we stepped through its doors, the healer, whose name I did not know, blurted, "You again!? Last time you were here, you redecorated a room, and I told you I'd better not see you here again."
"What does she mean?" asked Owen, but I chose to ignore him.
"The little runts are here once more to disturb my peace," she murmured in a barely audible tone. Some lazy healer she was—wasn't it supposed to be her job?
"Lie down over there; it won't take long so there's no need for a full room," she gestured to a bed at the far side of the room. Owen supported me as we trudged to the bed, my blood dripping onto the pristine floor. Now that I think about it, I had spilled my blood all the way from the combat grounds to the infirmmary—a great deal of it, by the way.
After I was laid on the bed, she hovered over me, her palms emitting a warm, golden glow that enveloped my entire body. "Wow, your assailant really did a number on you. Six broken ribs and a cut across your chest deep enough to reach the bone," she summarized.
Indeed, she was right. That bastard was clearly planning to kill me—though it could never have happened with the instructor around. I didn't know the actual strength of Instructor Blake; he was definitely a Rank 1, yet he stood leagues above Instructor Cornwell. I would almost believe it if someone said he was nearly transcendent. He had never unleashed his aura before, but I could sense he was immensely powerful.
The warm glow surrounding me grew stronger and brighter. Under its touch, I could feel my broken bones rearrange and my flesh mending together. After half a minute, I was restored completely.
"Thank you," I said as the glow receded.
"You're welcome, but I'd better not see you here again. The next time you come in, I'll refuse to heal you," she admonished.
"Hey, isn't that supposed to be your job?" quipped Owen, who had stood silently by. "Did you just say something, little kid?" she snapped, turning fiercely toward him as her Rank 1 aura erupted.
What the hell—she was a Rank 1? Wait, are all instructors Rank 1? Does that include the pot-bellied history instructor and the wiry piloting instructor? No, I refuse to believe it—there's no way Instructor Charles is a Rank 1; his belly is far too big for that.
"No, I meant it's up to you to decide who you heal," he replied shamelessly. "Besides, with a lady as beautiful as yourself, how could I dare mean anything else?"
"Thought so," she hummed. "Now, get out of my office."
After we left the infirmmary, I reproved, "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut."
"Hey, I was right! And how was I supposed to know she was such a scary Rank 1?" he protested. "You don't know this, but the chasm between Rank 2 and Rank 1 is far greater than the gap between Rank 2 and 5. The immense power a Rank 1 attains upon breakthrough turns them into walking calamities. Why do you think Instructor Cornwell had to fight that New Eden guy far from the Military base? Rank 1s are scary as fuck—the aftereffects of their battles alone could obliterate anyone below Rank 2."
I hadn't realized the difference was so vast. If it was this significant between Rank 2 and Rank 1, then what enormous gap must separate a Rank 1 from a transcendent rank?
"Where are you going?" I asked as Owen took a wrong turn.
"Ain't no way I'm going back to combat class, so I'm heading to the cafeteria in advance."
"Why?"
"The real question should be, 'Why not?' We could claim we stayed in the infirmmary longer than expected. Plus, classes aren't really all that important—the true trials of the academy will soon begin."
He was right; the academy wasn't about sitting in classes. Its purpose was to groom bloodline holders for an 'if things went wrong for humanity' scenario, and history has shown that things almost always do.
"Let's go," I agreed.
Before long, we found ourselves in the empty confines of the cafeteria. Observing it closely, a thought occurred to me. "Hey, apart from you, I've never seen another noble dining here. So where do they eat?" I asked. Although the cafeteria was for all first years—normal, elite, and special cadets alike—I had never once seen another noble here apart from Owen.
"You don't know?" he responded, perplexed.
"Should I?"
"Everyone knows that the nobles' cafeteria is separate—just up there," he pointed to the floor above us. "Stupid, I know," he continued. "Same classes, same dorms—I couldn't for the love of everything understand why nobles have a different cafeteria."
Every class and dorm, whether special, elite, or normal, accommodated both nobles and commoners. I still couldn't see why a separate cafeteria was warranted, but that was not my problem—only my curiosity. I also realized that this explained why the cadets kept sneaking glances at our table. I had initially assumed it was only because Owen was sitting with me, yet it now seemed there was another reason, which was nobles weren't supposed to be here in the first place.
After that, Owen persisted in pestering me to reveal who had 'volunteered' to train me. And oh, was he a chatterbox—by the end, I had to tune him out. There were still about an hour and twenty minutes before lunch, so I endeavored to make the most of it by entering my bloodline plane. It remained as it had been before, except for the addition of seven stars above and the silver territory that pulsed rhythmically.
I would soon begin condensing my eighth star—it wouldn't be long before my body and bloodline plane became fully accustomed to the seventh star. After each condensation of a star, a bloodline holder must wait until their entire being acclimates to the new star before attempting another, lest the completed star collapse.
I resonated with my 'beholder of reality' bloodline as I sought the best method to test it without endangering myself or my surroundings. After a lengthy period of fruitless pondering, I returned to the material world.
"Thought you were going to stay in there forever," quipped Owen as soon as I opened my eyes. Cadets were already streaming in, and it seemed I had spent longer than anticipated.
After lunch, we headed to our last class—something about alien races or somethin'. Three weeks ago, I hadn't had the luxury of attending since it was the first day, and for obvious reasons, I wasn't present during the preceding two weeks. This was pretty much the first time I was attending.
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A/N:
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#Your gift is the motivation for my creation.
Grace mi hand with them powerstones.
I appreciate any criticism and ideas.
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