Chapter 11: A Test
Amon's gaze, sharp and unwavering, tracked the rhythmic thrum beneath Callistratos's skin. The old man, a weathered testament to countless infirmary hours, held his wrist steady. A faint scent of medicine clung to Callistratos, a metallic smell that filled the quiet space. Sunlight, fractured by the grimy windowpanes, cast long, dancing shadows across the worn wooden floor.
"Count the beats for thirty seconds and multiply them by two; this will give you the beats per minute." Callistratos's voice, a low rumble, filled the silence, each word measured and precise. "If the beats are irregular, then count it to full sixty seconds. The normal rate for a normal human is sixty to one hundred BPM."
Amon absorbed every syllable, his focus absolute. The air in the infirmary, thick with the scent of antiseptic and old linen, seemed to hum with the weight of the instruction. He watched Callistratos's gnarled fingers, tracing the subtle contours of his own wrist, demonstrating the exact pressure, the precise placement.
"You try to do it." Callistratos gestured with a slight tilt of his head, his eyes, dark and knowing, fixed on Amon.
Amon mirrored the gesture, his own fingers, slender but firm, finding the delicate pulse point on his wrist. His mind, a finely tuned instrument, split. One part,
"Teacher Callistratos, my BPM is eighty." Amon's voice, calm and clear, broke the quiet.
Callistratos offered a brief, approving nod. "Now come here, and read mine." He extended his arm, baring his wrist.
Amon approached, his movements fluid. He placed his fingers, light but insistent, on Callistratos's wrist. The skin felt warm, slightly rough from years of labor. He concentrated, feeling for the faint, insistent drumbeat beneath the surface. Thirty seconds passed, marked by the internal clock of his mind.
"Seventy-eight BPM, sir." Amon straightened, his gaze meeting Callistratos's.
Another nod from the old man. "Tell me what you have learned today."
"I have learned how to do a proper diagnosis of any physical injury." Amon articulated his response immediately.
"Okay, let's wrap it up for today." Callistratos shifted, a slight rustle of his white coat.
Amon nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. He stood, a silent grace to his posture, and offered a polite farewell to Callistratos. He turned, his steps light, toward the infirmary's exit.
"Kid, why did you join this class?" Callistratos's voice, surprisingly sharp, stopped Amon at the threshold.
Amon turned, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. "What do you mean by why, sir?"
Callistratos rephrased, his gaze unwavering. "Don't you think a combat class would have been more effective for your survival? This class is good and all and is important, but none of the students in the academy choose this class because, even if they learn how to stitch a person so that he remains alive, without proper tools, it will be very difficult, especially in a place like the Dream Realm."
Amon understood the implicit question. A medic, however skilled, was a liability in a combat situation if they couldn't defend themselves or pull their own weight. "Even if I learn how to fight and could perform a move here, it does not guarantee that I will be able to do it when necessary." He continued, his voice steady, "Also, I have an ability that allows me to store objects, so the problem with equipment is not a worry for me." His thoughts drifted to other reasons: his poor stamina, the way his body quickly fatigued under sustained exertion, a stark contrast to the athletic prowess he'd possessed in his previous life. He also held a deep-seated belief: if escape was an option, conflict was unnecessary. But those were secrets he kept guarded. He could also become intangible.
Callistratos looked like he wanted to press further, but a sigh escaped him instead. "Okay, you can go now."
***
The cacophony of the cafeteria enveloped Nephis as she pushed through the double doors. The air vibrated with a thousand conversations, the clatter of plates, and the scent of various culinary creations. Her eyes, accustomed to scanning for threats, quickly pinpointed the source of a concentrated hubbub. A knot of students, their faces alight with amusement and anticipation, surrounded a central table.
Amon stood at the heart of the group, a natural magnet for attention. His head was tilted slightly, a pleasant, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. His fists, both clenched, were held before him. A young man, his eyes wide with concentration, peered at Amon's hands, then pointed a hesitant finger. Amon's hands unfurled, one revealing a glinting coin, the other empty. A wave of laughter, light and unforced, rippled through the onlookers.
Amon's thumb flicked the coin skyward. It spun, a silver blur, before vanishing into the quick blur of his hands. He made an exaggerated gesture of catching it, then presented his closed fists again. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice laced with playful challenge.
Caster, a lanky boy with an intense gaze, watched from the periphery, a flicker of envy in his eyes. He longed to be the focus of Amon's attention, to engage in this playful deception.
The man from before, his brow furrowed in thought, pointed to Amon's right hand. Nephis, her perception honed to a razor's edge, had already tracked the coin. She'd seen the subtle, almost imperceptible flick of Amon's left wrist, guiding the coin into his left palm. The man's guess was wrong. Amon opened his hands, revealing the coin nestled in his left.
"Bro, how?" The man's shout was a mix of frustration and awe.
Amon's laugh was a soft chuckle. "Skill issue, man." His eyes, however, had already found Nephis in the crowd. A spark of recognition, then a widening of his smile. "Does Miss Nephis want to try her luck?"
Nephis met his gaze. His smile was carefree, almost nonchalant, yet something in his eyes hinted at depths she couldn't quite pin. She didn't speak, merely offered a crisp nod.
"Okay, then." Amon tossed the coin again, the silver disk arcing high. His hands moved, a blur of motion. Nephis's eyes, like Caster's, followed every nuance. She saw it again, the subtle flick, the coin migrating to his right hand this time.
Amon, noticing the intensity of their gazes, decided to execute his plan.
Nephis's finger, steady and sure, pointed to Amon's right hand.
Amon's eyebrows arched slightly. "Miss Nephis, do you really believe that the coin is in my right hand?" His voice was a soft challenge.
Nephis's chin lifted, a silent testament to her confidence. A simple trick, easily deciphered.
"Do you really believe it?" Amon pressed, his voice a low murmur.
"Yes." Her answer was firm, unwavering. She had seen it, the undeniable movement.
Amon's smile broadened, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. "Then you are wrong, Miss Nephis." He paused, allowing the words to hang in the air. "Do you not wanna take another guess?"
A voice from the crowd cut through the tension. "Don't believe her, Changing Star."
*So that's her True Name,* Amon thought, a flicker of interest in his expression.
Another chimed in, "Yes, before you came, he tricked others the same way, when they chose the correct hand."
Amon interrupted, a playful glint in his eyes. "Shhh, let Miss Nephis decide."
"We know your tricks, Amon." The shouts grew louder.
"Yeah, open your hands," a girl insisted, stepping forward.
Amon feigned a sigh. "You guys are no fun." He looked at Nephis, a performative shrug. "Don't say that I didn't give her a chance." He opened both his fists, palms facing outward. They were empty.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Nephis and Caster, too, registered a flicker of surprise. Everyone was momentarily stunned.
"I already told you, didn't I?" Amon's voice was a soft, knowing murmur. He then pointed to the man who had guessed first. "But you have it."
The man recoiled, shaking his head in vehement denial. He even held up his own empty hands, palms splayed.
Amon began to move, a slow, deliberate approach toward the bewildered man. Nephis, Caster, and the rest of the group followed, drawn in by the unfolding mystery. Amon stopped before the man. "Show me both your hands," he instructed, his voice low but clear. Before the man could react, Amon held up his own hands, turning them over, showing their emptiness. He even tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, revealing bare forearms. "Now, clasp both your hands as tightly as you can."
The man, still in a daze, obeyed. Amon placed his own hands atop the man's, a theatrical flourish as he began to caress them, a slow, circular motion. Caster watched, his face a mask of intense concentration. *Why are you doing it to him only? My hands are the same,* he thought, a familiar pang of envy.
Amon noted the various expressions: anticipation, confusion, and a growing sense of wonder. Only Nephis remained stoic, her face an unreadable mask. *Does she not like me?* Amon wondered, catching a glimpse of her impassive features. *And Caster, even if you stare so much, you wouldn't be able to understand it,* he chuckled internally, amused by Caster's intense focus on the clasped hands.
"Open them." Amon's voice was a quiet command.
The man slowly unclenched his fingers. As his hands parted, a glint of silver caught the light. The coin, impossibly, lay nestled in his palm. A collective gasp, then a chorus of shouts erupted. Everyone, including the man himself, stared in disbelief. Nephis, however, remained impassive, her expression unchanged.
The group surged forward, a cacophony of questions. "How did you do it?"
Amon offered a wry smile. "Magic," he declared, fluttering his fingers with a dramatic flourish.
"Come on, man, don't be like that. We wanna know too." The pleas were insistent.
Amon retrieved the coin, a small, silver disk. "It's my aspect ability. I have already told you guys." He held the coin in his palm, then, before their eyes, a shimmering golden ripple appeared, consuming the coin. A moment later, from his other hand, the same ripple materialized, and the coin reappeared, solid and real.
"How could I forget your aspect ability?"
"It was so obvious." The crowd groaned in mock exasperation.
A girl stepped forward, her expression one of mock seriousness. "So you have been cheating the whole time."
Amon met her gaze, his face perfectly straight. "Have you never heard of the proverb?"
"What proverb?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"If you are not winning, that means you are not cheating hard enough." Amon's voice was utterly sincere, as if imparting profound wisdom.
The crowd erupted in laughter, a joyful wave washing over the cafeteria. Amon had a knack for it, this easy charm, this ability to put people at ease. It was a talent he'd possessed in his previous life as well, a natural magnetism that drew people to him.
Nephis watched Amon, captivated by his effortless command of attention. To her, he was an enigma, perhaps even a kindred spirit. She saw it in his eyes – a depth that mirrored her own, though hers held unwavering conviction, and his, while shallow on the surface, hinted at something equally profound beneath.
*So this is how the Veil of Mystery works*, Amon mused, observing the reactions. *But why didn't it work on Sunless and Nephis?* He had orchestrated the entire charade to test its limits. It seemed to prevent thoughts about him from forming connections, not tampering with memories themselves, but with the cognitive links. *Did it fail on Nephis because she has a True Name? So Sunny has one too?* These thoughts flowed beneath his warm smile, his outward demeanor unchanged as he continued to charm the crowd.
[A/N: I know u guys are unhappy about the true name, but the 'for blessings' is very important, and the academic arc will be like 2 or 3 more chapters. This is important because it will help me to really show his character.]
[A/N: plz comment and review]