One Week Later
Lieutenant Pengal Shimerone had been waiting at the skydock for several hours now. He was standing at the edge of the pier, dangling his feet off the side—one step away from falling into the never-ending depths of the infinite sky that stretched on below.
The hubbub of daily life in Farrah's commercial district engulfed him from behind like a rogue wave; the honking of steam carriages and the hissing of exhaust vents muddling together to form some unholy symphony that seemed oddly comforting to a native of Farrah like Pengal.
Then, in the distance, he saw it approach. A skyship with a large, pointed bow and a broad stern streaked across the sky. Fans spread out across the ship's two sides like the scales of an accordion, jetting out thin plumes of steam as it barreled toward the dock. The ship was painted gray, save for the singular number 'zero', spray-painted onto the bow in a vibrant red.
Workers at the skydock instantly turned their attention toward the incoming ship, leaving their stations to prepare for docking procedures. A few short moments later, the skyship stopped parallel to the pier, and a medium-sized ramp—three meters across—slanted down from the deck.
"You've arrived," Pengal smiled. "I hope the journey from the capital wasn't too arduous. I hear that the weather along the main aerial line has been quite pleasant for the past few weeks."
"It wasn't too big of a deal," a gruff, old voice spoke up from the deck. Down the ramp walked an average-sized man—his wrinkled face belied his age, yet his hair was dyed a youthful black. His face was clean-shaven, but his lips were twisted into a perpetual frown, and a dark, dusty eyepatch was strewn across his left eye. "I hope you didn't call me out here on a whim, Lieutenant."
"It wasn't a whim," Pengal smiled. "I truly believe we have something special on our hands, Gunther." Pengal gently placed his hand on Gunther's shoulder, ushering him away from the pier.
"You shouldn't call me that anymore," Gunther mumbled. "It's Elite Officer Voss now." He peeled Pengal's arm from his shoulder, continuing to speak. "...You didn't need to bring in an analytical seer from the capital like me over a commotion between two youths. What's your real agenda here?"
"You'll see soon enough. Just be patient and wait five more days. All will be revealed." Pengal offered another smile, exiting onto the main street with Gunther by his side.
"Watch your tone," Gunther narrowed his eyes. "...Although we were once equal colleagues, I am now a member of the capital's elite squad. Even as an ordinary officer, I outrank you. I would appreciate it if you could be less ambiguous about this whole ordeal. And I'm not asking as an old friend."
"Sorry, gramps," Pengal shrugged. "...I think I'll have to keep a few details to myself. And I think it's too late to worry about my ambiguity—I mean, you've already arrived in Farrah." Pengal took a step toward Gunther with a sly smile painted on his face. "...And be honest, your curiosity is piqued, is it not?"
Gunther held Pengal's gaze for a few seconds before looking away with a dejected sigh. "Alright then, have it your way." He started to walk away. "...But this is the last time I hear you out. So whatever you want to show me… you better hope it's impressive."
* * *
"How's it going?" Eyra crossed her arms behind her back, leaning over to stare at Ansel's closed eyes head-on. "Ansel? Yoo-hoo, can you hear me, or what? Have you gone deaf or something?" She asked, waving her hands in front of Ansel's face before blowing a puff of air toward his nose.
"Cut it out," Cerua—who was standing beside the struggling Rotteger—interrupted. "...Looks like he's in the zone again. We're better off just leaving him be." Cerua brought her arm up to shield her eyes from the sun as she glared down at Rotteger. "And you… still haven't found your void yet?"
Rotteger was seated in a lotus position, his body drenched with sweat. His eyes were clenched shut with all the strength he could muster, yet he hadn't been able to reach the end of his conscience, where his personal void resided. "Sh-shut up!" He blurted out, his voice strained. "You don't understand how hard this is!"
"It really is quite difficult," Eyra supported Rotteger. "Ansel's a weird case. He practically reached his void first try. Now all that's left is to filter out all the distractions… and soon, he'll be able to perform a resonant strike. But still, his fundamentals are a bit… lacking."
"Well, he doesn't need to rely on normal palm strikes. As long as he gets one good resonant strike in, he should win against Dominic." Cerua added, nudging Rotteger's back with the tip of her boot. "...Maybe you should just give up."
"I can't! What kind of intellectual am I if I can't analyze my own mind!" Rotteger complained, refusing to let go of his fruitless searching. "When my pride is on the line, there is nothing in this mortal plane that could possibly stop me!"
"God, how corny…" Eyra groaned. "Look, Rot, finding your void isn't about analyzing your own mind or whatever. It's kind of a vibes-based thing. Just find it. At least, that's what I did."
"Just… find it? Vibes-based thing?" Rotteger repeated. "...Do you truly understand how little sense you're making right now? In the entire universe, no such thing as a vibes-based thing exists!"
"I'm going to kick your face." Eyra spoke bluntly, preparing to step toward Rotteger's trembling form, when a sudden gasp caught her attention. Ansel had opened his eyes and was now panting heavily, clutching his head.
"Haahh…" Ansel let out a relieved sigh, slowly lowering his hands onto the ground. "...How long was I out?" He asked, tilting his head upward to meet Eyra's concerned gaze.
"You were in the zone for around… a minute or so. Did you make any progress?" She asked, offering a hand to help Ansel stand up.
"A minute? It felt way longer." Ansel gulped. His throat was dry—unusually dry. Had it really only been a minute? "I think I'm close to completing my void now. I've cleaned up around half of the colors."
"That's no good…" Cerua shook her head. "You only have five days left until the spar with Dominic. How do you expect to clear out the remaining half in that short a timeframe? I mean, a whole week has already gone by since we started training."
"Cleaning up should become easier as you keep going," Eyra said, letting go of Ansel. "...So you still have a chance. Just make sure not to overdo it. If you stay tucked inside your own mind for long enough, you might just end up getting trapped."
"What!? Trapped?" Rotteger shot up, his body stiff as a board. He quickly dusted off his shorts before adjusting his glasses with a trembling finger. "I take back my previous statements… I am intelligent enough to know that risking becoming a vegetable to learn a martial arts technique isn't a worthwhile trade."
"Does that mean you quit my class?" Eyra asked, an amused look on her face.
"Well, I suppose I can still learn the basic movements. It just seems as though… the resonant strike has too volatile a learning process. From the glimpses of my mind that I've seen through meditation… I would like to avoid being trapped in it." He murmured, "...It is a rather boring place."
Cerua glanced at the sky, where orange hues had begun to creep past the horizon. "We still have a couple of hours left before nightfall. Ansel, do you still plan on continuing your meditation today?"
"Yeah," Ansel nodded. "...Whatever it takes."
'A dangerous way to live.' The words echoed within Cerua's mind. Ansel's training over the past week had been relentless. It was a mystery how he had managed to balance physical and mental training while pursuing his studies as well. Even though Ansel's eyes shone bright with determination, Cerua knew a deep exhaustion lingered somewhere in their hazel depths. "Are you sure? You seem to be pushing yourself too hard."
Ansel fell silent. He opened his mouth to speak—to rebut Cerua—but decided not to. He had been working harder than he ever had in his life. All that effort condensed into a single week—it was exhausting in more than one way. Was one night of respite really too much to ask? "...Actually, I might take tonight off. I think getting some good sleep could help with my meditation tomorrow."
* * *
"Well, well, well. Look who it is! You actually came!" Board Director Six beamed from their throne, perching their small head on their fist as they peered down at the small figure of Pengal, who had returned to the Great Dome.
"You get too excited whenever we have visitors," Five—the silhouette of a thin woman decorated with flamboyant, translucent robes—spoke up. "You need to stop acting so cute. You're a member of Farrah's United Academy's Board of Directors, you know?"
"Hmph! You're telling me to stop acting cute?" Six huffed. "...Well, cute is who I am! The moment I stop acting cute will be the moment of my death! Telling me to stop acting cute is like me telling you to put on some proper clothes!"
"W-what?" Five stammered. "What's wrong with my robes? Do they look ugly?"
"Everyone's been thinking the same thing about your robes, Five…" Six droned on, suppressing their giggles. "They're practically see-through! We can see everything!"
"Silence." Four called out. The entire dome went quiet, as if the very particles in the air had come to a standstill at the sound of their voice. "Lieutenant Shimerone," Four spoke. "...For the past ten days, we have been monitoring your actions."
Pengal remained silent.
"What exactly is your relationship with the first-year student Dominic Faye?"
"I'm his mentor," Pengal replied, his expression unchanged. "He is nothing more than a catalyst for the spectacle you're about to behold in five days, I assure you. Was that your only reason for summoning me here today?"
"We've also heard that you summoned the elite analytical seer, Gunther Voss, from the capital," Four said, an icy undertone creeping into their voice. "Is it true?"
"Yes, it is," Pengal nodded. "Not that it's any of your business. He's an old acquaintance. He was the one who toured me around the second squadron's headquarters when I first joined. Is it really that wrong for me to spend time with an old colleague?"
"Hehe." For the first time, Four chuckled. "So that's the game you're playing? Alright. Smart and ambitious… you live up to your family name, Lieutenant Shimerone. I suppose… when you achieve your goal… you will owe us a favor for allowing this whole debacle to take place."
Pengal's brow furrowed. Refusing the Board of Directors could jeopardize his entire plan. "I suppose so," he replied tersely. "...Anything within my capabilities."
* * *
Samson's eyelids slowly drifted open. His vision was a vague field of blurry objects swimming across a multicolored sea. One incessant sound pierced through his groggy mind—the beeping of a heart monitor.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…
It read 122 beats per minute. Samson slowly sat up, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. His whole body felt hazy—as if he were a lone spirit possessing a mismatched vessel. "Where… am I?" he asked, his voice unusually weak.
Gathering the energy to turn his head, he noticed a familiar figure waiting by his bedside.
"Mornin', little bro."
Samson raised an eyebrow. "...Donnie?"