"I've had... massive dreams since I was a kid." Elian kept his eyes locked on the brass watch in his hand. The dim light of the room flickered across the scratched glass of the timepiece.
"I always imagined myself as that grand commander at the vanguard of a massive army. I was going to be a hero with those legendary soul weapons and aether arts I saw depicted in books. I was going to change the way the Pillars look down on the Vallis family."
Vane sat quietly on his thin mattress, listening to the boy with grave seriousness.
Elian pushed back his sweat-drenched black hair with trembling hands. He pushed his slipping glasses up his nose with slender fingers and swallowed hard before continuing: "Right before I came to the academy, my father pulled me aside... and had a talk with me. He told me I would never learn aether arts, that at best, I could be an ordinary logistics soldier for the Royal Army... And even getting into that army is impossible due to Pillar differences."
Vane frowned, unable to fully grasp what the boy meant. "What do you mean? Why is it impossible?"
"The royal family's active military consists of the Sixth Pillar, Vane," Elian explained, a bitter resignation in his voice. "When the kingdom was founded, the Sixth Pillar swore absolute loyalty to the first king and the Leynthey family. In return, the first king exempted his own family from these democratic races for the throne. As long as the First Pillar approves, the rulers who ascend the throne from other pillars also continue to use them as their active military. Don't you even know this?"
Vane shook his head. The scrawny boy let out a deep sigh and continued: "The day I realized I couldn't use aether arts on the battlefield, all my dreams were shattered, Vane. I asked my father why he hadn't told me this sooner. Do you know what he said?"
Vane could see the deep pain in the boy's eyes.
"I didn't want to ruin your happiness," Elian said, his voice trembling.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes hard with the heel of his hand. "At the end of it all, I came here. It didn't take long for me to realize that my body or my blood wasn't suited for war in any way. So... I dedicated everything I had to sweeping up whatever theoretical knowledge I could find. My father expects me to become a merchant like him and take over the business after the academy ends."
"And what do you want?" Vane asked calmly. An intriguing kid, he thought to himself, looking at his broken but unyielding state.
"I want to command soldiers, Vane," Elian said. As he put his glasses back on, a strange, unextinguished fire flickered in his eyes. "I have to get myself into that army somehow. Even if I can't swing a sword at the vanguard... I want to be the mind directing those skilled warriors from the backlines."
Vane gave the boy a genuine, admiring look. "I support you, Elian Vallis. I will be rooting for you to reach that dream."
"Really?" Elian startled in surprise, his cheeks flushing. "You're... not going to laugh at me?"
Vane let out a genuine bark of laughter. "Hey, I'm the King's unwanted child, thrown out of the palace like trash. You realize that, right? Everyone has dreams, Elian. And the person who can dream has already taken the first step to making them a reality."
Elian had turned beet red from embarrassment, but a sincere smile appeared on his lips. "T-Thank you, Vane."
"I understand everything, Elian. So, what is your soul weapon? I'm just asking out of curiosity." Vane genuinely wondered what shape the soul of a boy with such tactical goals would take.
Elian suddenly pulled the brass pocket watch in his hand toward the depths of his soul. The watch vanished in a cloud of golden dust. "There," he said.
"No way!" Vane blinked in surprise. "So, what does it do?" he couldn't help but ask. Did it slow down time or something?
With a genuine, shy smile, Elian reached out his right hand, the aether condensed again, and the pocket watch materialized in his palm. He held it by its chain, started dangling it toward Vane, and answered in a deadpan voice: "It swings."
They both burst into laughter that echoed in the room. The first day in room 404 ended with this warm and absurd moment right in the middle of hell.
Morning didn't begin with sunlight filtering through the window, but with the deafening, bone-rattling hiss of the massive steam boilers on the floor below.
When Vane opened his eyes on that thin, hard mattress, his body was stiff, his forehead slick with cold sweat. It wasn't the damp heat leaking from the aether pipes that kept him awake all night. It was the nightmares. The moment his mother collapsed onto the wooden floor in a pool of blood, the lethal gleam of Kael's poisoned dirk in the lightning flash... When he sat up, panting, he saw that Elian was already awake. The skinny boy was sitting at the edge of his bed, polishing his soul weapon—that brass pocket watch—in an obsessive rhythm.
"I couldn't sleep at all," Vane murmured, his voice carrying the heavy, exhausted tone of true insomnia. "The sound of these pipes... It's like the mountain is breathing beneath us."
Elian sent the watch back to the depths of his soul and quickly stood up. "You'll get used to it, Vane. Come on, we need to go down for breakfast. If we're late, there will be nothing left but the ashes from the boiler room."
The dining hall was where the Academy's ruthless social map was drawn most clearly. The hall beneath the massive stone arches was deafeningly loud. As Vane grabbed his tray and followed Elian to an oak table in the darkest corner, he knew his stomach would only be receiving tasteless, gray oatmeal and a piece of thigh meat of questionable origin.
Smack in the center of the hall sat Prince Julian and the Main Heirs of the Ten Pillars. At the farthest table was that massive bull Caelum and his lackeys. Caelum was holding a giant animal bone, tearing into the meat like a wild wolf, when his bloodshot eyes found Vane in the crowd. That disgusting, predatory smirk crept onto his lips. Caelum waved the bone at Vane, muttered something to the boys beside him, and a boisterous, degrading roar of laughter erupted from the table.
Elian turned pale, his hands trembling as he spooned his oatmeal. "They're looking at us... Vane, for God's sake, be invisible."
Vane shrugged, calmly averting his gaze to his plate, and continued to eat his disgusting-looking food. He simply didn't have the energy to dwell on Caelum's provocations. Contrary to its appearance, the food is actually quite tasty, Vane thought as he swallowed a bite. Or maybe it just feels that way because it's the first real meal I've had in days.
Right after breakfast, the bells rang bitterly. Vane and Elian slipped through the fringes of the massive crowd and entered the "Theory Amphitheater."
This was a colossal amphitheater reserved for the Academy's third year—the seniors. The other nobles had been here for months, receiving training on what they could do with their shaped soul weapons. Vane, however, having just arrived at the academy, was thrown directly into the middle of this hell, right among the seniors, without a single lick of basic training. He sat in the very back row and blended into the shadows of the wooden benches.
Professor Vance stepped up to the podium. This man was from House Galea, a vassal of the Sixth Pillar (Storm) that trained the empire's border legions. He slowly scanned the amphitheater with the rotating mechanical aether-optic prosthesis where his right eye used to be. The hum of the room was cut like a blade in a single second.
"Your third year," Vance said, his voice mechanical and ice-cold. "For two years within these walls, you have etched the immutable laws of aether into your minds. Most of you are ready to be assigned to the border legions or the industrial towers. However..."
The professor's rotating mechanical lens stopped with a click and locked onto Vane, sitting in the back row, like a hunter. "...it seems we have a 'guest' joining us today by Royal decree, placed in the senior class due to his age, but with a mind as empty as a baby's."
Hundreds of heads in the amphitheater turned backward simultaneously. Most were giggling, while some openly laughed.
Professor Vance smiled slightly; it was a smirk filled with nothing but pure mockery. "Therefore, for the sake of this monument of ignorance, I am forced to briefly repeat the Basic Theory we covered years ago. Listen closely, perhaps you'll find it amusing as well."
A fresh wave of laughter rose from the class. Vane, however, kept his head held high, focused on the lesson. He didn't care what the crowd was laughing at. I don't think there's anything to be ashamed of, Professor, he thought to himself, calmly. Not knowing isn't a shame; refusing to learn is. He chuckled softly in his mind. He was here to gather information; the insults were just background noise.
"Aether," the Professor began, slowly emphasizing the words as if mocking Vane. "Is not a simple energy as the commoners outside believe. It is the invisible blood of the universe. And only the Ten Pillars and those bound to them by blood have the right to command this power. For a mud rat on the street, aether is just a battery. But for us, aether is power itself."
Vane took a deep breath.
They call this power, Vane thought with pure logic. But this is nothing more than monopolizing knowledge. They locked the weapons and aether arts in their ivory towers in the Private Wing, and then they turn around and play gods to us. How pathetic.
"When you reach the age of eighteen," Vance continued, pacing the podium. "Your soul crosses over into the physical world. This is your Soul Weapon. It is the materialization of who you are, of your lineage. It is a focal point through which you direct aether." Professor Vance raised his hand, and a glowing, flawless sword formed of pure blue aether materialized in his palm. "He whose weapon is weak, his aether is also weak. He whose weapon is flawed... is a mistake of the universe."
As he dispelled the sword like smoke, that mechanical eye was on Vane again.
At the final sentence, Vane's chest tightened imperceptibly.
My weapon, Vane thought in the dark room of his mind. A rusted dagger. A rotting lump of iron that doesn't shine. Why is it like this? Is my blood truly so cursed, so weak? A mistake of the universe, he says... He narrowed his eyes slightly, quickly gathering his mind. Even if that's true, I need to find a way to turn this mistake to my advantage. Flawless weapons are only as flawless as the hands that wield them.
"Review is over," Professor Vance declared abruptly. "I won't waste any more of your time with this empty theory. We are descending to the Obsidian Arena to materialize your weapons."
The students in the amphitheater stood up with excited and tense whispers. Elian's breath hitched. "Vane," he trembled. "The Arena... You saw the way the Professor looked at you. Something is definitely going to happen down there."
Vane slowly stood up. He had a thoughtful but calm expression on his face. Panicking would do him absolutely no good.
"I'll handle it somehow, Elian," he said, comforting the boy.
His steps were heavy as lead as he walked toward the massive doors of the amphitheater. The gears of this hell his father had thrown him into were now truly beginning to turn. And Vane was weighing in his mind whether he could survive in that bloody arena with the useless, rusted iron in his hand.
When Vane stepped onto the massive, black-sand-covered floor of the arena, his eyes widened in surprise.
The arena wasn't empty... and there was a familiar face practicing.