Act 1 - Arc 1 - Chapter 7

The chaos was immediate. Several from the group of hooded elders began shouting and gesturing. Sir Forlen’s face was aghast. Lance, for his part, sat silently. But the overwhelming sound came from the surrounding buildings. Foil had not realized how many students had been watching from the windows but the wails and shouts and, in minute proportion and for some unfathomable reason, the cheers that erupted from all sides deafened him.  He could not hear what the hooded elders were saying nor parse any meaning from the cacophony. Before long all four of the doors marked the cardinal exits from the central plaza burst open to release the thousands of students, ranging from young children to the adults remaining after Assignment, that subsequently flooded the plaza to ruin any further chance at reclaiming propriety.

Faculty and security managed to establish an impromptu barrier of humans and Essence to prevent the crowd from overrunning the proceedings. One of the elders ripped away the booklet that Sir Forlen had been reading from and shook out its loose pages. Cynthia leapt from her seat but was frozen between running to Foil and watching the arguments on the stage play out. She was shocked and euphoric and terrified all at once. The other sitting students (Cassian, Aleksandra, Frayle, and Perrin though Foil did not know who was which) were generally nonplussed but all reacted differently. A tall dark skinned girl was laughing, an even taller man sat with perfect posture unreactive, a lanky pale boy glared daggers into Foil with burning red eyes, and a small red-haired boy drew his feet up onto his chair and chewed his nails anxiously. Lance, still, said nothing and did nothing.

Sir Forlen and the elders finished their intense discussion. Several hooded elders left the stage and disappeared into the crowd. Sir Forlen took to the podium and hushed everyone. They didn’t listen. He hushed again, then began yelling. His magically-loudened voice finally had the desired effect and the plaza calmed from riotous chaos to discordant milling. Though the ambient noise remained loud, it was no longer deafening.

Was this all because of me? Foil wondered. Lance was beloved, and obviously the choice for octo-vincere, but this level of outcry seemed disproportionate. Foil suspected there were other forces at play. Politics he had not been privy to, social factions he had never been a part of. Even if he had been, he had never intended for this to happen. But his intentions were worth less than mud in the face of his fait accompli, and as he sat in his chair bearing the hisses and insults thrown his way by the surrounding students he made the choice to harden his heart. He was evil. The villain of thousands of people. He tore down the Academy’s hero in the worst possible way only to enrich himself. This is what everyone would be saying, anyway, and the truth was barely better and in many ways worse. Foil did not notice, but Cynthia watched him experience this revelation. His determination bled through on his face and she saw the certainty building in his eyes. She would later tell him that it was the first time in many months that looked as if he had purpose.

And purpose he had, indeed. If Foil had a single trait in abundance it was will. He had made mistakes, existential mistakes, but he would make no more. He had said before that he would say or do anything to protect Cynthia, but at the climactic moment his hesitation had made things worse for everyone. If he continued to hesitate, or worse, backtracked by admitting his crime and recanting his position, the situation would only deteriorate. It didn’t matter what Foil wanted anymore; it only mattered what he needed to do to maintain his Assignment.

The hooded elders who had left the stage returned, shoving their way through the crowds of curious and excitable students. Several lost their hoods in the fray, revealing senior faculty members that most knew by name. They approached the hooded elders who had remained and gathered them in a tight circle. After a short time two brought an unidentifiable object to Sir Forlen. He said nothing, but stared at whatever they were shielding with their hands. He started to argue with the two elders but they talked him down. Foil’s breath caught as Sir Forlen returned to the podium. This time, the hundreds of students lining the windows (unabashedly this time) and surrounding the chairs and stage were so quiet that Foil could hear birds chirping overhead.

“I apologize for the delay. In light of the...unexpected circumstances, the gathered students will receive a negative mark only if they do not disperse within 10 minutes.”

A negative mark was worse than its name: a student that obtained merely three was Exiled on the spot. Not a single person presumed to call Sir Forlen’s bluff, and the crowd thinned considerably. Nobody disappeared from the windows, however. Neither did the faculty and guards from the plaza.

“We have discussed with the Oracle and Archivist to confirm that the Assignments that have been given so far have been accurate. They have been. There are no errors in any previous Assignments for this year.”

Foil could hardly believe what he was hearing. Every person in the plaza, students and faculty alike, were now looking at him. The tension in the air was palpable, but his decision to remain committed to his lie helped him steel his nerve. He donned as close a nonchalant attitude as he was capable, and stood slowly. So too did his teammates, leaving only Lance sitting. There was a chance that the other peg, the one that Foil had replaced Cynthia with, would have been Exiled. But there was only Lance sitting in the center of the chairs. Whoever had discovered Foil and placed the pegs in the empty divots had simply stabbed the knife Foil had dangled above Lance’s heart.

“Before we conclude Assignment, there is a matter of great distress to suffer through. Each year the Academy, in order to maintain its meritocratic edification and fulfill the vital tradition passed down by our forefathers, accepts that one student will fail our process. This student will be Exiled. No current or past student member of the Academy may interact with an Exile, nor professors or leaders provide them with any resources. We hope that this trial will reveal and refine the Exile’s virtues, and that they may return changed and refined.

“This year, the Exiled student will be Lance Sirius.”

Foil could hear the gasps cut through the silence. Multiple people started crying. Lance stood gracefully, unfolding his legs and straightening his back with the dignity of a diplomat. Though his eyes shone with emotion, he smiled. Exiles were ordinarily shuffled out of the ceremony without acknowledgement of their station, but Lance, beloved and respected as he was, was provided an exception. He spoke after only a moment of thought:

“It has been beyond an honor to grow up with you all and learn the ways of the world. I shall embrace this trial and become stronger for it. And I promise to you all that I will be the one to retrieve the Gate Keys, defeat Odian, and save the world.”

He spun on his heels and began making his way out of the plaza. The guards did not bother to escort him; Lance would not betray the tradition of the Exile. He would leave through the far gate, through the outer ring of the northern ring, and exit the Academy’s main gate. As he reached the edge of the lines of chairs, however, he turned with the briefest of movement so that only Foil saw his expression. They locked eyes, and Foil witnessed the burgeoning hatred that would forever fester within Lance’s heart. He made one more comment to the assembly, but Foil knew it was for him.

“I will be back.”

**

The glory of earning the highest Assignment of his cohort dulled with the banality of the next few hours. Foil walked up to the stage and received his official Assignment in the form of a small piece of stiff paper with his name and station before being shuffled into several offices to sign paperwork. He didn’t bother to read much of it, though Cynthia and the small red-haired boy pored over the documents together. The small writing room where they spent most of the time was stuffy and warm, with walls of light gray wood panelling and floors of flat woolen carpeting. Outside the writing room Foil could hear the frittering of dozens of administrative aides as they prepared for the graduation banquet and, likely, trying to put out the fires caused by Foil’s antics. There was at least one aide in the room with Foil and his team at all times; sometimes an older woman wearing a dress, sometimes a younger man wearing multiple layers of wrapped clothing, but always one of the two or both.

Eventually the last paper was signed and the entire group was again shuffled with little fanfare into an adjoining room. They were expected, as the male aide explained in curt terms, to remain out of sight for the hours remaining until the feast. He closed the door behind him as he left, and Foil imagined he could hear a key turning in the lock. This room was much more comfortable than those before, at least, with dark plaster walls leading up to a tall ceiling embossed with swirls. The floor was a hard metal, but there were several benches with comfortable cushions lined against the walls. Short windows ringed the room in a diagonal pattern upwards in a way that allowed multiple thin rectangles of sunlight to spin around the room like the carvings and windows themselves. It had been recently cleaned and its smell, to Foil, was reminiscent of the minty scent present in the Archivist’s shrine room.

For the first time since the Assignment ceremony, Foil was alone with his squad. He turned from the door to look them over in earnest. He had heard them addressed individually during the bureaucratic meandering, so he at least knew each person’s name. Cassian sat straight-backed against the far wall, watching Foil (or the door) with intense eyes. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding expression, but the hands on his knees and quick blinks betrayed his impatience. Frayle relaxed cross-legged on the ground in the corner to the right of Cassian, eyes closed in meditation. His long hair draped down his shoulders to reach his hands cupped in his lap. Perrin was also sitting on the ground, legs spread as he tinkered with a pile of small objects; upon closer inspection Foil realized he had taken several pens (and… a lock?) from the writing room and deconstructed them. Aleksandra laid on her back across the entire bench on the right wall, flipping a small coin from between her fingers into the air before balancing it on her nails. And on the left bench, leaned over the side closest to Foil, Cynthia had somehow managed to already fall asleep.

Foil took a heavy breath in and held it. These were to be his teammates, his partners, for the rest of his life. He would need to trust them body and soul and they him. Yet they were, at best, delinquents. Cassian seemed to be the exception, but Foil didn’t sense any allegiance from the man. Still, Cassin was likely his best chance to develop an ally, so Foil crossed the room to sit next to him. Cassian was taller than Foil by nearly half a foot, and the difference was not lessened when sitting. As Foil sat on the bench, with ample space between them, Cassian’s eyes did not waver from the door. The only sound in the room was the light metallic flicking of Aleksandra’s coin.

“So… I guess we’ll be working together,” Foil ventured.

His voice was loud in the silence. All eyes flipped to him. Frayle opened his. Aleksandra stopped tossing her coin. Even Cynthia looked at him curiously.

“Yes, Captain.” Cassian responded, tone even. His eyes did not leave the door and his hands remained on his knees.

Foil did not enjoy being called “captain.” It felt wrong, even beyond the obvious reasons.

“You don’t have to call me ‘captain’, Cassian,” Foil said. “We aren’t technically a team yet. We don’t even have a name. My name is Foil.”

“I know your name, Captain.”

“Then-”

“Our name is Keyseeker Squad C4R08.”

“That’s not a-”

“And we are a team. The paperwork was our initiation.”

Foil could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Cassian turned his head to look down at Foil. Everyone in the room was now staring at him, and only Cynthia’s eyes were sympathetic.

Aleksandra twisted so that her legs kicked in the air while she dangled her head off of the bench upside-down.

“Did you even read the lines you were signing?” she taunted. “Are you illiterate?”

Frayle spoke up from his corner. “Not illiterate, just an idiot. And a cheat.”

The heat rose in Foil’s cheeks to join the blood. He was getting angry, and defensive. He wasn’t prepared to deal with direct accusations so soon. Foil opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Cassian.

“STOP.” he commanded. His voice was strained, undercut by anger; but it was directed at Aleksandra and Frayle. “Do not disparage our captain. You do not have to like him, but it is our duty to work under his authority.”

Aleksandra sneered. “Please, if you really think I’m going to listen to anything he or anyone else says-”

Cassian was already on his feet and in the quick few strides to cross the room Aleksandra flipped herself into a reasonable sitting position. She relaxed her arms on either side of the headrest behind her and stared up at Cassian defiantly. Foil hesitated. Should he help Cassian? The two were almost certainly about to fight, the air was too hot. Would getting involved make things worse?

“Um…” a timid voice peeped. It was Perrin. He had managed to combine the pens and the lock pieces into a little figurine of a soldier. Cassian and Aleksandra turned angrily towards him.

“I think… it would be a bad idea to start fighting. If we start disobeying our captain or ignoring orders before we graduate, the contract said that would be something called… ‘dereliction of honor’ and we would all be Exiled…”

The room was utterly silent, feud temporarily forgotten. Perrin continued, pausing less as he gained more confidence. “I wasn’t really planning on being Assigned here… I wasn’t too sure I wasn’t going to be Exiled, to be honest. But now that I’m here, there are a lot of things I want to get out of this. We can always just disband as soon as we graduate, right? Don’t you want something out of this Assignment, too?”

Aleksandra blinked, then squinted her eyes as she thought.

“Are you telling me that he,” she asked pointing at Foil, “has permanent blackmail on us until we graduate?”

Cynthia interjected then. “For all intents and purposes, yes. That was in the contract, too. The same contract only he and I actually read.” She raised her eyebrows at Aleksandra. “Or are you the illiterate one?”

Aleksandra’s left eye twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She thought for a few more seconds, then smiled.

“No, darling, I’m not. And if you’re right, you’re right.” She leaned on the bench to look at Foil under Cassian’s half-raised arm. “Apologies, Foil. There is much that I intend to harvest from our tenure here and I won’t jeopardize it again. I hope we have a very fruitful two years.”

Frayle nodded from his corner. “Two years,” he muttered. “I can bear two years.”

A Keyseeker Squad could, by its own rules, dissolve as soon as it completes its probationary mission. But a squad that does so forfeits all of its authority, independence, and has to return any resources it claimed from the Academy and the Arkanite army during its short tenure. Evidently, Aleksandra, Frayle, and Perrin did not intend to remit anything they hoard and instead flee into the unknown by themselves for whatever goal they have in mind. Foil didn’t particularly care about the loss of the squad, but he desperately needed the backing of the government or military to succeed in finding the remaining Keys. He couldn’t let the team dissolve.

But he bit his tongue. The tighter he tried to hold onto these people the more they would tear themselves away on principle. Foil would have to bide his time and either engender himself to their causes or find effective coercion that lasted after graduation. He was not optimistic about the former, and the latter would be as unstable as the weakest link. Before he could scheme further, Cynthia jumped up onto the bench, hands on her hips.

“You guys are such pessimists!” she scolded. “We’re a team now! If you plan on breaking apart the second we’re free, we’ll never bond together before that!”

That’s the point, Foil thought. He didn’t interrupt her, though. Aleksandra rolled her eyes at Cynthia’s raw enthusiasm, but Frayle’s expression had softened and Perrin looked receptive. Even Cassian was listening.

“I think you’re all just hungry. I’m starving. Let’s get through the banquet, buckle down, win every test and challenge they throw at us, and save the world! That’s why we’re here! That’s why I’m here, and whatever plans you have afterward will only work if the world doesn’t get ripped apart!”

Her case was compelling. Foil for his part had no interest in the broader conflict that ravaged Serulea. He planned to save the world only incidentally (and if there were a way to return home without doing so, he would in a heartbeat). He suspected the others thought the same. But what Foil learned long ago and the rest of them discovered in that room was that Cynthia was impossible to argue with once she got going. She continued to cajole the room for a while longer before leaping off the bench with a flourish.

“I know what we should do while we wait!” she exclaimed. “I know him from tutoring,” as she pointed a thumb at Perrin, “him from, well, everything,” as she pointed her other thumb at Foil, “but I’ve barely even seen the rest of you around here, and we live here. What’s the deal?”

No one spoke. Cassian straightened and strode back to his bench, but sat against the arm away from Foil. Then he sighed.

He began falteringly: “I…did not live here for most of my life like you. I am from the Kingdom of the Storms, but I, too, am a Rift Orphan. Except that rather than myself or my people, my entire kingdom ripped through time and space to crash into Serulea. The buildings, the land underneath them, and somehow even the skies above joined my people here.”

Cynthia stared bug-eyed at Cassian. Perrin was agape, and even Aleksandra could not maintain her neutral smugness. The Kingdom of the Storms was as Cassian had described it: over a decade ago, a massive Rift was opened above northeastern edges of Serulea and the entire kingdom fell like a meteor. The impact obliterated the few coastal villages that called the coast home, but the Storm people survived and rebuilt in the crater. The catastrophe never resolved itself; the kingdom to this day had not recovered fully, nor have they chosen a side in the Serulean War. Her people had lost their king on the day that Rift tore open, and were being managed by a temporary steward. That Cassian was from that kingdom was alone a newsworthy political statement.

He continued. “Please do not ask me any further questions about this. I am explaining myself to you all only so far as it is needed to fulfill our fraternal duty. Yes, I was there. Yes, I remember much of it. Yes, I pray every day that our king will return one day.”

With the last sentence Cassian grew somber, and the others respected his wishes. Foil was reminded of his own experiences with a Rift. He and Cynthia barely survived, but he could also only barely remember Cassian likely say his kinsman ruined and mangled, his entire world burned before his eyes. Foil grew quiet. Cynthia, however, had never been satisfied with awkward silences, and did her best to move on.

“Wow. Okay… good. Well, no, not good. Good that you talked to us. Thank you, Cassian.” She gave a small nod. “Maybe we do something more fun? Let’s show off our Blessings!”

By this time a few hours had passed, and the sun had crested its zenith. The spiraling windows gave the illusion of movement as the sunlight moved downwards and to the left. It made Foil feel like they were traveling upwards through an infinitely tall tower.

Perhaps conquering the Spire will feel like this, he thought. Or perhaps this is what happens after you die, and you ascend to Elysium with your fellow saints.

Foil looked at his “fellow saints.” His gaze lingered on their faces, trying to read their thoughts.

If I had replaced one of them instead of Lance, our destinies would be saved. But, he reflected, I’m not exactly a good replacement. In a way, we deserve each other. Foil smiled despite himself. Cynthia noticed and thought he was laughing at her.

“Okay, Foil. You’re first.”

“Wha- me? Everyone knows what I am.”

“Wrong! They know your Aspect and, if they paid attention, your Manifest. But they don’t know your Blessings.”

Foil made a face. “What are you talking about? That’s what Blessings are.”

Cynthia mimicked Foil’s face and stuck her tongue out. “Wrong again. Everyone has an Aspect, some people have a Manifest, but it’s the ability to handle and tap into both that makes you Blessed.”

Frayle interjected, irritated: “It’s obviously assumed that if someone can Manifest, they can use both. It’s exceedingly rare for someone to be able to Manifest and yet be unable to tap into their Aspect. It’s so uncommon, in fact, that when they find babies that can Manifest, they call them Blessed even if they can’t control their Essence.”

Cynthia scoffed. “They also say that everyone has an Aspect.”

“That’s because it’s true. Even you just said-”

“And yet here I am! Aspect-less!”

Cynthia stood with her arms wide in a dramatic pose. She was clearly anticipating a reaction. The response to Cassian’s story had been somber, but Cynthia was met with incredulity. The room was filled with people talking over each other.

“You don’t have an Aspect?” “That can’t be possible” “How are you alive?”

“It’s true,” Foil said. He was happy to claim authority on the subject. “The Academy had her checked out by the Seers and everything.”

Frayle stood up, robes swishing. “Not all of them,” he argued.

He walked across the room to Cynthia, where she crossed her arms. She smiled smugly.

“Will you let me touch your soul?” Frayle asked.

Cynthia shrugged. “I thought I just told you I don’t have one. But you’re free to try”

Frayle lifted his right hand to place three fingers (his thumb, index, and middle finger spaced as a triangle) on her forehead, but she leaned backwards.

“But,” she said, “you have to show us your Blessings.”

Frayle’s jaw tightened. “Fine.”

He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, smooth pebble. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as Foil felt Frayle’s Essence touch and diffuse into it, it began vibrating.

“I Manifest movement. Or, if you want to be technical, velocity,” he explained. He flicked the pebble upwards with his thumb, and it launched into the air with more speed than an arrow. “I can imbue objects without Essence with the ‘desire’ to move, so I can control where it goes when I let go of it.”

He closed his eyes, and after a long moment watching the pebble slow its ascent before falling, opened his palm behind his head. The pebble fell perfectly in the center of his grasp, and he returned to his robe before opening his eyes.

“My Aspect, if you haven’t guessed, is that of a Seer. I See the future, though my clairvoyance is…difficult.” He seemed frustrated as he explained, so whether with the group or with himself Foil couldn’t tell. “I See ‘choices.’ That basically means I can feel points in time when someone is making a difficult decision.” Frayle gave a pointed look to Foil. Cold fear gripped Foil’s heart. He knew. That’s why he was being so hostile.

“The easy decisions people make without thinking are almost invisible to me, and I can’t actually see the consequences of those choices,” Frayle continued. “If we come to a fork in the road, and we need to decide left or right, I can’t tell what will happen. But, if I look down the left path and see that in our future we will be deciding how to bury our captain and down the right path I see that we’re only deciding what to have for lunch, we have our answer.”

Perrin nodded during Frayle’s explanation, enthralled. Aleksandra’s eyes were closed and she seemed nearly asleep. Cassian was somewhere in between, paying attention but noticeably unengaged. Cynthia, of course, was ecstatic at her success.

“Perfect! I’m glad we have you to look out for us. Perrin, your turn.”

The small boy looked up from his fiddling and blushed.

“Oh, I’m not really all that interesting.”

Cynthia pushed. “Are you kidding? No one but you could’ve stolen all that metal!”

Perrin’s face turned a bright shade of red. Damn, Foil thought, he really is a thief.

“Okay, that’s not fair. They just left it on the table. Anyone could’ve taken it! And I needed it to make my weapons!”

Foil’s ears perked up. Could this boy make weapons out of raw materials? That could be very useful. Cynthia laughed sharply, turning back to the group.

“He’s being humble,” she explained. “He stole over 300 pounds of iron wire from one of the Academy workshops. That’s why I stopped being able to tutor him.”

Perrin has turned nearly the same color as his hair from embarrassment. Foil was sympathetic.

“What happened to letting me See your soul, Cynthia?” Frayle interrupted. “I do not intend to have exposed myself to you all for nothing.”

“What can you make, Perrin?” Cassian grumbled, ignoring Frayle’s whining. “Swords? Bullets?”

Perrin lit up at the question. “I can make a lot of things. Though, honestly, not with my Aspect. I’m a Builder, and I ‘build’ by manipulating iron. But I can only transform its size and shape, and only refined iron. Watch.”

In his hands, the little figurine’s sword twisted and extended into liquid, then a long, thin tendril, before settling into a shape that strongly resembled a key.

“It’s really helpful, don’t get me wrong, but most of what I can do comes from up here.” Perrin tapped his forehead. “I was born in a very different world from this one, with technology beyond your wildest dreams. I was taken by the Rift when I was very young, so I don’t remember much of it. But I think a lot of my instincts come from my blood and my family.”

Cassian considered the young boy. His potential, and his lethality, perhaps. “And your Manifest?”

“Oh, right. I Manifest magnetism. Well, sort of, I Manifest two different poles of magnetism. So I can infuse anything, even objects that aren’t metallic, and even objects that already have Essence.” He grinned at Foil. “Come here, Captain, I’ll demonstrate.”

Something in Perrin’s grin was mischievous, but Foil was willing to play along despite his misgivings. He stood in front of the boy, who had gotten up from the floor, and he held his hand out. Perrin grabbed his right hand, and Foil felt the boy’s Essence touch the glove.

“There, now, try to touch my right hand.” Perrin moved back and placed the back of his hand against the wall.

Foil lifted his hand, which felt no different, and moved to place his palm against Perrin’s outstretched hand. It was normal, until, suddenly, it wasn’t. There was a physical resistance that got stronger as he got closer to Perrin’s hand, until he realized he couldn’t move any closer. He took his hand away, surprised.

“Now, my other hand.” He simply held out his hand this time.

Foil raised his hand but against his will he found his body drawn forward until his hand smacked into Perrin’s, where he found that he could not remove it. The two boys tugged against each other for a short time, then Perrin released his Essence and the stickiness disappeared.

“If you want to be really simple about it, I can make objects repel or attract. Really cool, right?”

Perrin had lost all shyness in such a short time, and looked up at Foil with such intense desire for praise that Foil could not help but indulge him.

“Yes, I think that could be very useful. Very cool. Could you…get us out of here?”

Perrin beamed. He stooped down to grab his figurine. The sword that had reminded Foil of a key seemed even more similar.

“Way ahead of you, Captain!”

Perrin turned to the door, tested its knob to confirm it remained locked, then stuck his key inside. After some wiggling, Foil sensed him using Essence to reshape the key inside the lock. A second later, a click. Perrin turned the knob and looked back with another grin.

The door opened from the other side and Perrin almost tumbled through. From all fours he looked up in shock at the female aide from earlier in the day.

“Banquet time.” she stated. She did not indicate that she knew the group had intended to break out of the room, but they were shamed nonetheless.

“Finally!” Aleksandra swung her legs off the bench and strode past Foil and Cynthia to exit first.

Foil followed, trailed by Cynthia and Frayle. Cassian stopped to help Perrin up, and the two left together. As they walked down metallic hallways, Foil felt… better than he had before. Aleksandra hated him, Frayle could expose him at any time, and Cassian was openly following orders only out of a sense of duty, but Cynthia was his closest ally and Perrin seemed to adore anyone who could appreciate his abilities. It was bad, a crisis, even. But he could do it. Foil smiled. Maybe this group wouldn’t be so bad to work with, after all.