Ansel's eyes fluttered open. The shrill scream of his alarm clock was silenced as he reached over, slapping the device with his palm. Immediately straightening up, he caught his own reflection in the mirror. He was in his pajamas—his hair tousled, and the bedsheets pooled around his waist.
Though his attire was disheveled, there was an undeniable spark of excitement in his eyes. 'My first proper day at the academy...' A slow smile crept across his face and he tore open the thin package sitting atop his desk. It contained his personalized timetable—delivered by admin during the dead of night.
He had been too tired after the events of orientation day, and had decided to sleep before checking out his classes. Throwing the packaging paper aside, Ansel examined his laminated timetable, scanning for his first class: "Tuesday morning..." His face lost its color, "...literature."
* * *
Ansel arrived at his literature classroom in the academy's academic building. The classroom had an elevated dais at the front, accompanied by a small lectern. Wooden desks were arranged like an amphitheater, providing ample room to seat the class's 33 students.
The professor was yet to arrive, so Ansel took the time to search for any familiar faces amongst his peers. The first person his eyes noticed was a boy with glasses—his black hair combed into a neat side part. The boy was small in stature—seeming to be thinner than Ansel, but was seated at the very front of the classroom, stationary already organized.
It was the same boy who was watching the match between Dominic and Samson the previous day. Calling back Eyra's words from the orientation ceremony, Ansel let out a slow breath, "Hoooh," and made his way towards the boy.
Placing himself in the adjacent seat, Ansel decided on a simple greeting. "Hello. Do you... uh, mind if I sit here?"
"Hm?" The boy turned his head, pushing his glasses up the ridge of his nose with a finger, "No, no, not at all." He shuffled his stationary to the side, making room for Ansel. "You were present at the sparring match yesterday, right? I recall Dominic asking you to spar."
"Yes, I was there." Ansel's tone went flat—failing to hide his reluctance to discuss the previous day's events. "My name is Ansel, by the way. Ansel Einchalle."
"Ansel Einchalle, hm?" The boy extended a hand, "I'm Rotteger. Rotteger Voss. You can call me 'Rot' if you want, I don't mind. Just call me whatever you want."
"Rot?" Ansel asked, his eyebrows slightly rising, "...so is it okay with you if I call you Rot?"
"Yes, it's fine with me." Rotteger nodded, staring at Ansel's palm. "...do you mind if I read your palm?"
"...I don't mind. But, I thought palm reading was just superstition." Ansel laid his hand flat down atop the desk. "It sounds fun though, so go ahead."
"Heh," Rotteger adjusted his glasses, "...superstition? Where did you hear that from?" Rotteger raised his left palm, tracing the wrinkles on his skin with his right hand's index finger. "My family's blessed with the broken chord of sight. And extreme intelligence, of course... hehe. For me, I can interpret the meaning behind the lines of your palm... they're not just wrinkles, you see."
"Wait... you mean palm reading can actually tell you your future?" Ansel's eyes widened.
"Well, it depends. The same wrinkles you see on my palm are not the wrinkles I see. To be more specific," Rotteger leaned closer, "I observe your entire timeline, condensed into a string across your palm. It's vague, fuzzy, and blurry, but I can somewhat make out important events with a... certain degree of accuracy. Well, excluding time of death of course."
"That's amazing..." Ansel's mouth widened in shock, "I didn't know somebody could even have an ability like that." Ansel brought his palm closer to Rotteger, "What does my palm say?"
Rotteger leaned closer to Ansel's palm. His pupils stayed perfectly still, showing no sign of following a string across his hand. He was just staring, a completely blank expression thrown across his face. "I—"
The door burst open and a tall woman strolled in. She was wearing a large dress that obscured her figure and accentuated her dark skin. Her hair was black and curly—each twist and spiral vividly pronounced, flowing down and barely touching the floor of the dais. "Good morning, first-years."
The woman placed her elbows on the lectern, "I am Professor Helga Armistice. I will be your literature teacher this year. I know well the attitude that most students your age have towards studying the English language. Trust me, I was a student too once."
With her fingers drumming on the lectern, her gaze swept across the class. "Don't worry, I'll make it fun. So put some trust in me, alright?" She cleared her throat, "Okay, let's start with attendance."
Ansel, whose attention was momentarily captured by Professor Armistice, turned to look at his friend. Rotteger's expression was still utterly blank, staring at the spot where Ansel's palm once rested. "Rot... are you alright?"
Rotteger snapped out of his trance, looking at Ansel with his brows furrowed. Then, he broke out into a sheepish smile and laughed dryly. "Yeah, sorry. I just got caught up in my head again."
"What did my palm say?" Ansel smiled eagerly.
"Nothing important. Don't worry."
* * *
Ansel's next class was History. The history building's architecture was old and rustic, whilst still containing a subtle grandeur. The classrooms inside, however, were practically identical to the academic building's.
Arriving at the classroom, the first familiar face he noticed was Cerua. She was sat in the far corner of the room, her expression stern as usual.
Ansel considered approaching, but decided not to upon seeing her fierce expression. 'She looks too concentrated... and I don't even know her that well.'
Just then, Cerua quickly glanced at Ansel, an unreadable look in her eyes. Just then, as Ansel turned around, he caught a glimpse of Dominic entering the class.
The classroom fell silent. Dominic had basically gotten off scot-free after pummeling Samson. The Faye family obviously had connections with the school board—and that soured the students' attitudes.
Locking eyes with Dominic, Ansel froze on the spot. Dominic, however, maintained a calm expression. "Morning, Ansel!" He waved with a friendly smile.
"M-morning..." Ansel spoke up, his voice soft.
"I didn't catch you in the dorm wing this morning. You must have left pretty early, huh?" Dominic continued to smile, patting Ansel's shoulder.
"Yeah, I did." Ansel gulped, standing still as Dominic walked past him.
"Cerua!" Dominic waved, "...mind if I take that seat next to you?" Dominic walked over towards Cerua—leaving Ansel alone as if nothing had ever occurred between the two of them.
Cerua stiffened as Dominic approached, slightly shuffling closer towards the wall. "I would appreciate it if you didn't..."
"Oh... why is that?" Dominic raised an eyebrow. The classroom turned its attention towards the interaction between Cerua and Dominic.
"Because..." Cerua clenched her eyelids, before jabbing a hand in Ansel's direction. "The seat next to me is reserved by that guy."
"Huh? Who, me?" Ansel blinked twice in shock, almost dropping the stationary held in his hands. Swiftly registering Cerua's death glare, Ansel stumbled towards the adjacent desk and sat down, offering Dominic a resigned smile. "Ha ha... sorry about that."
"No, it's fine." Dominic's face was eerily calm—bordering on cold. He wasn't looking at Ansel, but at Cerua instead. "Do whatever you want." The class let out a collective sigh of relief as Dominic walked away from the pair.
"..."
An awkward silence stretched between Ansel and Cerua. Cerua's hands came to cradle her head, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes. 'Why, why, why don't I have any of my friends in this stupid class?!' She mentally screamed, gritting her teeth.
"Uh... hello." Ansel spoke, stealing a glance at Cerua's state of mental agony. "It's nice to meet you... I'm—"
"Ansel Einchalle." Cerua finished Ansel's introduction for him, regaining her composure and turning to meet her new desk-mate's gaze. "I remember you from yesterday."
"You do? I mean, oh... right! Yeah..." Ansel bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. 'How do I even begin to talk to someone like her?! Talking with Eyra was easier than this!'
"So, what's your ability?" Cerua asked bluntly, leaning back in her chair. Her black twin-tails shook gently as she gazed at Ansel with a critical expression. "You were admitted into the school without having to do the entrance examination, and apparently you're also the son of a councilman."
'Everyone already knows...' Ansel sighed. Farrah's local council was big enough so that one council member wouldn't be able to draw a majority interest. The only notable individual was the council's speaker—who maintained order amongst the 100 seats.
The Code of the Councilmen—erected during the early days of the Federation, was meant to ensure that no specific councilman would be able to solely wield power over the masses. The councilmen themselves had an individual authority over the citizens, but they were seen as equals in the council-room. Hakim wasn't a particularly notable councilman—but the sheer fact that he was a member of the local council was enough to stir rumors of nepotism regarding Ansel.
"My power..." Ansel trailed off as Cerua began to take a sip from a plastic water bottle, "...I don't really know what it is, to be honest."
Cerua choked on the water, "Hmmphk?!" She coughed, spraying water across her desk. She gripped the edge of her chair with one hand, as the other wiped across her mouth. Her eyes, turning to meet Ansel's, were incredulous. "...what?"
"Oh..." Ansel reached into his school bag—which was tucked neatly in the space beneath his desk—"... do you need a tissue?"
"N-no, I'm fine!" Cerua's fingers dug into her chair. "..."
"It's okay," Ansel added, continuing to rummage through his bag, "I always keep a pack on me, just in case of a situation just like this. My mother was actually the one who—"
"...One tissue."
After cleaning up the mess on her desk, Cerua chucked the damp tissue into the bin and returned to her seat. She sat down and let out a long breath. "Hey," her voice was low, "...what the hell did you mean when you said you weren't sure what your ability is?"
"I haven't been able to use my ability since I first used it—when I was seven years old..." Ansel clenched his fist, "...well, I do remember having a similar experience when I was a baby, but that memory is just a blur to me."
"You're fourteen now, right?" Cerua continued without waiting for Ansel to answer, "...and you haven't been able to use your ability for seven years straight. Makes me wonder if you even have an ability."
"Sometimes I wonder the same thing too..." Ansel tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
Cerua followed Ansel's gaze with a puzzled expression. 'Who even is this boy? How could he admit something like that without even the faintest hint of shame?'
"Do you think I got into the academy just because my father's a member of the local council?" Ansel spoke without looking away from the ceiling. As he began to speak his mind, he could feel the shackles of self-doubt ease their grip on his heart. "I don't blame you, or anyone else for thinking that. I would probably be thinking the same thing in your position."
"Did you choose to come here?" Cerua asked, "...you might get the tiniest bit of sympathy if you say you enrolled here against your own will. Most of us have strict families who shove their expectations down on us..." Noticing her tone was becoming more personal, Cerua cleared her throat, "...some people may relate."
"No, I chose to come here." Ansel finally turned his head to look at Cerua, "I thought being a Unity Officer sounded fun. And I was really happy when I found out I might be an accessor."
"You thought it would be... fun?" A flicker of anger shone in Cerua's eyes, "Being a Unity Officer isn't the same as playing hero, you know? You fight with your life on the line, and eventually... you'll have to take someone's life as well. You don't get to be friends with everyone and live happily ever after."
"..." Ansel shifted his gaze to some indiscriminate point at the front of the classroom. "I think I'm starting to realize that."
"So you're going to drop out of the academy?" Cerua nodded, "...well, if that's what you want—"
"No, I'm not dropping out." Ansel smiled, "I'll stay here, and I'll train way harder than ever before. I'll prove to everyone that I'm an accessor, and that I deserve to be here just like everyone else."
"You...—"
"I know I might sound arrogant, but I really want to try my best. I've been given a once-in-a-lifetime chance, so I'd be a fool not to make the most of it." Ansel straightened up, "So yeah, I think I want to stay here." It felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The chains around his heart eased a little once more, their presence becoming fainter. '...and when I prove myself, I'll ask the board to make me a normal student. I want to earn the right to be a Unity Officer, instead of getting by on Uncle Pengal's free ticket.'
Cerua found herself staring at Ansel's profile for a few ephemeral seconds. Though she refused to believe it, a begrudging sense of respect was already forming within her heart. "...when Headmaster Xerxes said our chords don't limit us, yesterday... just like our minds and bodies don't limit us either..." Cerua closed her eyes, exhaling again before a genuine, soft smile played across her features, "I think he was talking about our attitude. Our resilience. If you keep going on with that same mindset..."
Cerua shook her head, forgetting the rest of her words. A comfortable silence settled between the two, as the classroom waited patiently for the arrival of their professor. "I hope you prove yourself."
"I will." Ansel nodded, determined. "But there's something I have to do first..." Ansel's gaze swept across the class once more, landing on the back of a figure sitting rigid in the front row. 'Dominic. I think I'll take you up on that sparring match.'
* * *
One Day Ago (Orientation Day)—The Great Dome
The evening sun was filtered through the arch-shaped windows scattered around the dome's perimeter, painting the sunlight with a vibrant orange hue. Lieutenant Pengal Shimerone stood at the center of a massive circular platform, measuring in with a radius of 100 meters.
In front of him sat seven chairs—each chair the height of a two-story building. Atop these high thrones sat the silhouetted figures of seven people, basked in the orange light. They were the board of directors.
Their identities were hidden. Their voices were modified through a speaking device. Each training academy had a similar board, hidden within the shadows. They were unshakable, just, and pragmatic to a frightening degree. The only way to distinguish between each board member was through their locations on the platform—with the members being titled 'One' through 'Seven' going left to right.
"Lieutenant Pengal Shimerone of Farrah's second Squadron," One spoke up, "...we have been awaiting your arrival."
"I hope I didn't make you wait too long," Pengal nodded. Though the board of directors were shrouded in mystery, they stood on equal footing with all ranked lieutenant or higher. This meant that Pengal could adopt a casual tone, but he couldn't risk outright disrespect either. The board held the upper hand in the conversation, after all.
"Did you bring the boy with you? I want to see him. Does he look cute?" Six spoke up, their silhouette bouncing up and down with frantic energy.
"Enough of that, Six." Four's voice reverberated through the Great Dome's steel shell. The other council members were utterly silenced as Four began to speak. "Lieutenant, the boy.... how is his progress so far?"
"He is yet to activate his ability. However, he has been educated in the basic history of the accessed arts and the Unity Force. In order to speed up the process of activation, I believe methods such as introspective meditation and—"
"Seven years, and he still can't use his ability?" Four shut Pengal down. "You are staking your reputation upon this boy, Lieutenant. Please do not tell me you brought some powerless doe into the hungry jaws of the academy."
"Board Director Four," Pengal exhaled sharply, "I was made lieutenant of the Second Squadron due to my analyzing capabilities. I know how to evaluate someone's worth."
"So you truly believe that the child has broken the chord of temporality?" Four hummed, "...if his nature proved to be true, it would send an uproar through not just the Federation, but potentially The Sky Empire as well."
"I'm well aware of that. That is why I am staking my reputation on Little Ansel."
"I see. Yet, though we can acknowledge your belief in the boy, we find it hard to place our faith in him without seeing any definitive proof."
"Spare him two weeks."
"Two weeks?"
"Give or take a few days. Because I know how to activate his ability. When he finally achieves activation, we will get the answer we've been searching for. My reputation would either fall apart, or the whole sky will get upturned once again."
"Hmm..." Four took a moment to think, their silhouette stroking their chin. "...Do you mind sharing your method with us?"
"It's simple," Pengal smirked, "...we push him to the brink."