Sat in the school's library at a desk placed near a shelf brimming with tomes, Eric read in silence. He turned each page with measured grace, one after the other, and though his countenance betrayed nothing, he was utterly enraptured by the tale. As he became more engrossed and neared the story's climax, he was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a black cat. Perched upon the window sill adjacent to where Eric sat, the feline stared with uncanny intent. The boy rose, unlatched the window, and ushered the creature inside.
"What do you want?" he asked, his tone laced with a subtle undercurrent of irritation.
The cat leapt gracefully inside, landing upon the very table where Eric had left his book. Its gaze fell upon the open page, lingering upon a single passage that seemed to radiate with weight.
"I will embrace the hatred of the world, if it means I can carve a difference," the words echoed from the book.
Eric repeated, his voice steady, "What do you want?"
The cat exhaled a weary sigh, its eyes shifting toward the boy.
"Nothing of great consequence. I merely came to warn you—they already suspect you. It would be best to divert their gaze before their prying becomes more dangerous."
"By 'they,' you mean Tristan and Garfield? So, they are the Headmaster's eyes."
A sly smirk curled upon Eric's lips as he lowered himself once more into his seat, resuming his reading as though the revelation carried no weight. The black cat was unsettled by his composure. Even faced with the possibility of discovery, Eric's calm was unbroken, his indifference unsettling.
"So then, what is it you intend to do?" the cat pressed.
Eric stilled his hand upon the page and looked up.
"If they desire someone to bear the blame, I shall grant them that singular figure upon whom they may cast their suspicions."
"What are you planning?" the cat asked again, curiosity sharpening its voice.
A low chuckle rumbled from Eric's throat, and a menacing grin fractured his usually stoic and expressionless face. Closing the book, he marked the page with precision, tucking it under his arm before rising. Without another word to the curious feline, he strode away. As he exited the library, his gaze caught sight of Tristan and Garfield leaving the Headmaster's office above, across from him on the opposite side of the vast hall.
"So, you've chosen to meddle in affairs that do not concern you," he murmured under his breath. "I do not fault you—I fault the one who commands you. Yet I cannot afford exposure—not yet, not until my purpose is fulfilled." His eyes narrowed as the two boys descended the labyrinthine staircase.
Eric intercepted them upon the winding steps. Their faces betrayed surprise, tinged with the uneasy fear that he might already know of their intrusion into his room.
"Tristan—come with me," he said coldly.
"Why?" Tristan asked, his voice laced with doubt.
Distrust colored Tristan's thoughts; the idea of following this lanky figure anywhere felt ill-fated. He could easily imagine darker possibilities. Though Eric's frame appeared lean and frail, there was no mistaking his superiority over the inexperienced Tristan. Both boys sensed unease at his sudden desire for their company.
"You claimed you wished to join the Disciplinary Committee, am I correct?" Eric inquired.
"Yes."
"Then follow me—I will take you to the Committee's room."
They obeyed his lead, yet Eric soon paused and turned his gaze upon Garfield. His expression was sharp, unwelcoming, almost devoid of warmth.
"I did not summon you. So why follow, when your presence was never invited?" His words struck with the force of a blade.
Garfield faltered, shaken by the eyes that bore into him. They were not unfamiliar; they were eyes he had seen countless times during his childhood in the orphanage—eyes that marked him as unwanted. He lowered his gaze, a shadow of sorrow clouding his features, until a reassuring pat on the back from Tristan steadied him.
Tristan gave a gentle nod and walked on with Eric.
As they traversed the labyrinthine corridors and endless spirals of the Academy's cursed stairways, Tristan's thoughts drifted. If the committee members resembled the nobles he had encountered, they would surely be disdainful and unkind. Yet his purpose was not to seek companionship, but to discern whether they might be implicated—whether they were among those responsible for the strange illnesses plaguing students.
"So, what are the other members of the committee like?" Tristan asked at last.
The question served not only as idle curiosity, but also as a probe—he wished to detect some trace of malice or contempt in Eric's voice.
"They… command respect," Eric replied flatly. "There are four others. Each chosen by the nation's two most exalted Pillars. Their selection alone is proof of their superiority."
There was no reverence in his tone. No loathing. Nothing.
Tristan gleaned nothing from the hollow cadence of Eric's reply. Still, something in his words stirred Tristan's curiosity.
"The top two Pillars?" he asked.
Eric turned sharply, his face a mask of faint irritation.
"How could you not know of them? Even those from the Low District understand who reigns at the summit."
Tristan had no answer. He could not reveal that he was not of this world.
"My mother… never taught me much," he offered in hollow excuse.
Eric turned back, continuing his stride down the shadowed passage, his voice now carrying with it a hint of authority.
"In second stands Aries, housed within the Second Sector of the High District. Yet in first, revered as the strongest and the unyielding shield of Constella—Orion. They reside in the Third Sector."
He went on.
"Until recently, Aries stood unmatched. But that changed when a single woman ascended Orion's ranks. She accomplished what was deemed impossible, conquered trials no mortal dared face. Her fame eclipsed all, and she became the beacon of an entire nation."
Tristan leaned forward, intrigued.
"What is her name?"
"Adel Vermillion," Eric answered.
Tristan's expression soured with disappointment. Another Vermillion. His dealings with the others bore only bitterness; he could not imagine her being any different.
"Once, Aries housed legends. Even our Headmaster was counted among them. But now, all eyes turn to Orion—for Adel Vermillion stands as their guiding star."
"What Pillar do you belong to?" Tristan asked.
He had glimpsed Eric's collar before—a dark blue shade, striking and strange against his vivid orange hair.
"Aquarius," Eric replied. "But my duties will not begin until the end of my second year."
"Is that the same for everyone—that after two years they join their chosen Pillar?" Tristan pressed, his curiosity growing.
"For some, yes. For others, no," Eric explained. "Those two years are your trial. They are the crucible in which your worth is weighed. If they deem you unfit, you are cast aside like refuse—discarded in an instant."
Tristan's understanding deepened. This world's hierarchy was merciless. The Pillars acted as guardians, enforcers of order, protectors against the horrors of the Fallen Star beasts. The Academy's students were merely trainees—assets to be sharpened, tested, or broken. The Selection Game was no ceremony; it was judgment. Those unworthy were nothing more than shattered tools.
Eric halted his steps, his voice breaking the silence.
"We're here."