In the Uptown district Ivory heights :
Sir issac you summoned me. Sir issac a middle age man, his once-dark hair now thinning and receding at the temples, leaving a wispy fringe that barely resisted gravity. His posture had long since surrendered to years of study and indulgence, shoulders stooped and back curved like an old book left on a crowded shelf. "Yes, I did, you fool!, What took you so long to prepare?" His eyes gazed sharply at his hired servant. The servant, by name Ledger Frinch, had just woken from his rather pleasing sleep where he dreamt himself in the shoes of the man sitting before him. "Sir Isaac, I was monitoring the hedges as you requested this morning and rushed here immediately," he began. "You uttered my name," he continued, "but due to the largeness of your mansion—evident from your obvious wealth—it took quite some time." (Idiot, why don't you go and fucking die? Look at the stairs you're making me climb! Do you think I am a cultivator?). "I suppose that is true. Forget that. I want you to call upon a shaman—there is a bloody spirit in this house." (Is this man finally getting retarded?). "Sir, a spirit, you say? Where?". "In the basement. I heard it wailing and screeching like a nail being dragged across the tiles. The voice… I think I recognize it, but I'm not certain. It doesn't matter—the talisman I bought might not hold it back for long. Call a shaman." "Yes, my lord. I will do as you request." genuine happiness grazing his face ( I am going to be rich!. As if a bloody ghost exists—if it did, your bottom would be prettier than the hostess in the red light district.)
"In the Middle Town district, just beyond the bustling streets, near the sprawling Azone Fields, life moved at a steady, practical pace."
Sebastian lay sprawled in his bed, his expression teetering between pain and a fleeting look of sadness. The discomfort came from a mix of hunger and the unfortunate news that his father had been declared missing—again. Only this time, the notice had the word permanent stamped on it.
His father had been part of the navy and had been sent on a mission to the west, across the sea that separated their country from the feral lands known as the Scorched Barrens. To begin with, the outer edges of those lands were encased in thick, impassable ice—cliffs and sheets that had proven horrendously difficult to scale. Yet somehow, the name "Scorched" had stuck. Sebastian could only shake his head at what he considered stupidity.
As for his father… yes, a navy man, and one of the best, apparently lost at sea. Truly confusing—should he say "lost," as his father was a top-ranking official, one of the finest captains to ever command a ship, and yet somehow gone forever to the greedy hands of fate? Absolutely ridiculous. Even more ridiculous were the greedy supervisors, his father had earned thousands of mythril for, yet now that he had been declared lost, they simply abandoned him and his mother. Standing up from his bed, Sebastian staggered toward the shower—one, to clear the fog of sleep from his brain, and two, to try and silence his stomach, which seemed to have declared war on him overnight. It grumbled and rumbled with such enthusiasm, he half-expected it to start playing a marching tune or sprout little horns. By the time he stepped under the water, he was fairly certain that if he ignored it much longer, the neighbors would start leaving tips for the "morning horn player" next door.
The shower was short, and down he went to prepare breakfast. The usual cereal and milk—not warm, which he found horrendous, but ice-cold. Taking the bowl, he sat in front of the television to watch the morning news, trying to keep tabs on current affairs.
His phone rang. On viewing, it seemed to be from his mom.
"Morning, Mom."
"Hello, Seb. I hope you've eaten."
"Currently in the act," he replied, his voice softening a bit.
"I hope you're doing okay. I'm not going to lie—I think you should stay home for a bit. I'll try to get a part-time job if necessary."
"There's no need for you to do that. Concentrate on your schoolwork. I'm doing okay. Your father's disappearance, as far as I'm concerned, is temporary and will be rectified in the future, knowing him. That guy was—and will continue to be—a cockroach: unkillable and sneaky."
"I suppose that's true," he said.
But his mom cut him off sharply. "No, Seb. I want you to focus on your schoolwork so you won't ever need to join the army."
He knew why she said that. The army's entry requirements had been lowered—so low that anyone with a half-decent AP score could get in. Because of that, most people applied, or at least considered the pathway.
The call ended, and he dropped the phone with a sigh. Heading upstairs, he got himself into uniform before setting off toward his college, known by its name: Phoenix High Wing.