A blonde boy made his way down the burning shelves, walking with purpose. He was pissed at the fact that one of his enemies was alive and somewhere around here. He could not wait to get his hands on him and show what he was made of.
But the fact that he was trapped in this nightmare, this rift that supposedly changed its classification into a Beta rank, nudged him even further into frustration. Why the hell was he here? This was supposed to be a simple clearing. Just because of his greedy brother and some organization, he was trapped in this hell. Was he going to die here? He had not even signed up for this. This was only supposed to be a silver badge hunting excursion, not a plot to overthrow the whole kingdom.
He grumbled under his breath in search of anyone he could take out his frustrations on. That girl, Clarissa, who accompanied him. Lucid. Any silver badge would do.
He was pissed.
He spotted an archive-like building, fallen among the debris. Flames parted just enough to show the building as a whole. He went there to take a look, thinking perhaps he could find someone inside.
I cannot stand this heat. Tsk. He spat as he walked with his hands in his pockets, all nonchalantly toward that building.
He stared inside. It was dark, a circular opening. The shadow was a stark contrast to the heat outside. It felt nice. Cooling.
He looked down, appreciating the feeling, until his gaze landed on a group of silver badges. Their expressions were rough and hostile.
His face twisted into a mischievous smile.
"Ahaha! You lot have the honor to die by the Fenshore house!" he declared as he extended his hand where the artifact gemstone should have been.
The student body prepared themselves, tensing for a fight.
A moment later, the blonde boy sat on the ground. He had a huge bump on his head and lips so bruised beyond recognition you could not even identify his face properly. A bald boy crouched over him, his expression dark and intimidating.
His face was scary, similar to a certain someone whose features were obscured. This one was hidden behind the shadow of his brows, his eyes barely visible.
It scared him. It traumatized him.
He pulled his hands up in defense, voice cracking.
"No, wait!"
"Relax, Alaric, is it?" the bald boy said, his voice calm but firm. "You made my life and the lives of our comrades a living nightmare. But I will not kill you. Matter of fact, are those not your friends?"
He threw his thumb back toward two figures standing in the shadows.
There stood the square-chinned boy and the other latent he had spent most of his school time with, causing havoc and bullying silver badges together.
His face immediately relaxed in relief.
"Oi, it is you guys!" he said, scrambling to his feet. "Where the hell have you been?"
Alaric stopped. He looked down at their uniforms. They brushed the back of their heads in awkwardness or shame.
"Y... you," he said, almost in disbelief. "You lot are silver badges?"
He knew them as his good black badges. He was certain they came from reputable noble houses. Could all of that have been a scheme? A lie?
The bald boy and another cloaked figure stepped behind him. They seemed rough, like they had been shaped with rigorous training. He looked back. Perhaps it was that sour feeling of defeat or whatever it was, but he looked behind him for reassurance. He had his two bodyguards. They could stop these silver badges now.
Alaric threw a hand up.
"Alright, throw a fireball and show these idiots what happens when they mess with nobles!"
Nothing.
He looked back.
They were shaking, trembling like leaves in the wind.
Once a silver badge, always a silver badge, I guess, he muttered under his breath, disgusted.
A strike hit the side of his head, knocking him sideways to the ground with brutal efficiency.
Moments later, Alaric sat once again in that familiar spot. His head had a huge bump, and his face seemed more bruised than ever. These silver badges were clearly not to be messed with. They seemed to have had a rather interesting professor, one who taught them well.
He sat there, defeated. The others, his square-chinned friend and the latent stage companion, tried to approach him. He shot them a menacing glare as if he had been betrayed. What was he doing, muddling with silver badges who turned out to be frauds?
I swear, when I make it back home, I will hang all of you lot! he thought furiously.
Make it back home? Could he make it back home? The situation was hopeless by now. Fire everywhere. The unfaithfuls were growing stronger. And there was no sign of the organization or his brother. This had gone to complete ruin.
"Oi, Alaric," the bald boy said, breaking his thoughts.
"We have to go."
"We estimated there is a disturbance at the far edge of the rift. Not sure what it is, but we are basically sitting ducks here."
He gestured with an open hand toward him.
"I know that silver badges and black badges do not get along that well, but come with us. The more, the better our chances."
Alaric looked at his hand in disgust. Yet this was the first time someone was speaking so freely to him, as if placing hope in him. It was a complete difference to how his brother would act, synthetic under the guise of sympathy, or how butler maids or other kids spoke to him with fear and respect. This was heart to heart, a commoner transaction of equal parties.
It made him mad, but he could not quite grasp why it made him feel different. Strange. Almost respected in a way that felt genuine.
"Tsk." He swung his hand away, smacking his lips, ignoring the offered hand.
The bald boy withdrew his hand slowly, then nodded.
"Suit yourself," he said, turning to walk away. "But if you change your mind, we will be heading toward the northern edge. Do not fall behind."
Alaric watched them leave, these silver badges who had just beaten him senseless. His so-called black badge friends stood behind him, still trembling, still useless.
He sat there in the cooling shadow of the archive, bruised, humiliated, and for the first time in his life, uncertain.
Perhaps the world was not as he thought it was. Perhaps silver badges were not as weak as he believed. Perhaps he was not as strong as he pretended to be.
The thought made him clench his fists in frustration.
But as the flames grew closer and the heat intensified, he stood up slowly. He looked toward the direction the silver badges had gone.
He did not follow them. Not yet.
But he did not walk the other way either.
He stood there, suspended between pride and survival, between the world he knew and the one that was being revealed to him in fire and blood.
And for the first time, Alaric wondered if he had been on the wrong side all along.
They walked through the narrow burning archives, a group of students consisting of six silver badges and one black badge. Alaric was lagging behind, his steps hesitant and measured. The tension in the air was something that could be felt even between them, thick as smoke, but they kept going nonetheless. The group moved forward with wary glances cast over shoulders.
Alaric looked at the two leading the pack. The bald-headed boy with the sword strapped to his back and the cloaked girl with the dagger at her hip.
"They run things here," someone muttered.
"Alaric, what should we do?" another asked, voice low.
"Yeah, we're not spineless like them," the square-chinned boy said with false bravado. The other one whispered to Alaric, matching his pace. "We should make a move. Show them we're not weak."
Alaric's face contorted with sudden rage. Who the hell were these ones to tell him what he was going to do? To give him orders like he was some common follower?
"Hey," he said, voice sharp.
"Yeah?" the square-chinned boy replied, turning toward him.
Immediately, he was met with a punch so hard his jaw almost snapped to the side. The force carried him forward, stumbling. The other boy looked scared, raising his arms as if to stop Alaric from continuing.
"Alaric, calm down! It's us!" he pleaded, voice cracking with fear.
"Yeah, well, you guys are nothing but filthy silver badges," Alaric spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Don't forget your place."
Just as the others were about to intervene.
A raw screech could be heard in the distance. More like a roar. It echoed through the burning archives, reverberating off stone and wood.
"What the hell was that?" someone whispered.
The group looked around, scared, on their feet now. Their backs turned toward the sound. The bald boy raised his sword, ready to face whatever the source of that thing was. His hands were steady, but sweat dripped down his temple.
The same could not be said for Alaric, who scrambled forward, reaching for his artifacts. They were not there anymore. He had lost them. Panic seized his chest.
The creature stepped through the shelves with deliberate, heavy steps. Its skin was more flame than flesh, strength and rage emanating from every movement. It fixed its gaze on the seven students. It had the form of something between a boar and a bear, but it was quite large. Flames licked across its body, and purple eyes seemed to burn through the smoke, staring directly at them with predatory intelligence.
One of them yelled, voice shaking, "This one's without a doubt a C-plus rank!"
"What do we do?" another stammered.
The words were directed at the bald-headed boy and the cloaked girl. The leaders. The ones who supposedly ran things here.
The bald boy stepped forward, sword raised. His voice was steady, commanding. "Form a line. Silver badges, flank left and right. Keep your distance and wait for an opening."
The cloaked girl moved to his side, dagger gleaming in the firelight. Her voice was quieter but no less firm. "Do not engage unless it charges. We conserve our energy."
Alaric stood frozen, his hands trembling. He looked at the creature, then at the group forming ranks. His pride warred with his fear.
The creature roared again, louder this time. Flames erupted from its mouth, scorching the shelves around them. The heat was unbearable, suffocating.
"Move!" the bald boy shouted.