Chapter 69: The Day Off

The sun rose over Zenith Academy. It washed the floating island in a bath of pale gold light that reflected off the white marble towers.

Vane treated the sunrise like a threat assessment.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror in Villa 3. He buttoned his shirt with steady fingers. His right arm was wrapped in a compression sleeve hidden beneath the white fabric. It throbbed with a dull rhythmic ache that synced perfectly with his heartbeat.

He checked his pockets.

He didn’t pack a grappling hook or smoke bombs. That was for movies. He simply slid a single balanced dagger into the sheath concealed at the small of his back. It was a habit from the slums. In Oakhaven walking out the door unarmed was a good way to come home naked or not at all.

He checked his spatial ring. It contained his spear and a few basic healing potions.

“Good enough,” Vane muttered.

He walked out of the Villa. He ignored the stunning view of the clouds drifting miles below. He ignored the perfectly manicured gardens where magical butterflies pollinated flowers made of crystal.

He kept his head on a swivel.

He didn’t expect a ninja ambush. He expected petty revenge. He had humiliated the Warlord and outlasted the King. There were plenty of ambitious Rank 3 students who might think Vane was weak and ripe for a challenge duel in a hallway.

Vane walked up the spiral hill. He passed the dormitories. He saw students pointing at him. They whispered behind their hands. They didn’t look at him with the disdain they used to show the “Rank 1 Provisional.” They looked at him with something new.

Caution.

He kept walking until he reached the Main Academic Building. It was a cathedral of learning with vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows that depicted the history of magic.

He walked to Lecture Hall 4B. Advanced Mana Theory.

He was ready. He had read the textbook three times. He had questions prepared about the efficiency of non-elemental mana conversion. He was ready to prove that he wasn’t just a thug with a stolen spear.

He grabbed the handle of the massive oak door. He braced himself for a prank. A bucket of water. A glyph trap. Maybe a sudden gust of wind.

He pulled.

The door was locked.

Vane frowned. He pulled again. It didn’t budge.

He looked around. The hallway was empty. There was no professor. There were no students. There was just a small paper notice pinned to the wood with a glowing tack.

NOTICE: POST-EXAM FACULTY REVIEW DAY.

ALL CLASSES SUSPENDED.

ENJOY THE RECESS.

Vane stood there. His hand was still gripping the door handle.

He had spent an hour mentally preparing for a verbal sparring match with Professor Vyla. He had prepared for an ambush. He had prepared for war.

And school was closed.

“You know you’re trying to intimidate an inanimate object, right?”

Vane spun around. His hand drifted toward his back before he stopped himself.

Isole was sitting on a stone bench in the alcove across the hall. He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t even sensed her.

The girl was a ghost. She wore a casual white dress that looked expensive but simple. Her hair was a curtain of dark green silk that fell to her waist reminding Vane of the deep forests surrounding the elven territories.

She looked up from a book titled The Ethics of Soul Binding. Her mismatched eyes, one vibrant emerald green and the other deep crimson, studied him with mild amusement.

“The sign says classes are closed,” Vane said. He relaxed his posture.

“I know,” Isole said. She turned a page. “I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes. I wanted to see if you’d try to pick the lock.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because watching you is interesting,” Isole said. She closed the book. “You walked down the hall like you were clearing a dungeon. You checked three corners and avoided the center of the rug like it was trapped.”

“Old habits,” Vane admitted. He let go of the door handle.

“Paranoia keeps you alive I guess,” Isole observed. “But relax. The cats are sleeping today. Ashe is in the infirmary getting her ribs set. Isaac is meeting with the Headmistress. The school is quiet.”

She stood up. She was short and barely reached Vane’s chest. But her presence was heavy. The air around her felt cold and static. It was the pressure of the Life and Death duality she constantly managed.

Most students avoided Isole. Her mana felt wrong to them. It made people nauseous just to stand near her.

Vane didn’t feel it. His Usurper authority made him numb to the pressure. To him she was just a quiet girl who liked heavy books.

“So,” Isole said as she tilted her head. “What does the infamous Rank 3 do on a day off?”

Vane looked at the empty hallway. He hadn’t planned for free time.

“I was going to study,” Vane said.

Isole let out a small soft laugh. It sounded like wind chiming in a graveyard.

“You are tragic,” she decided. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“The Skyward Plaza,” Isole said. She started walking down the hall. “I need sugar. And you need to stop vibrating before you snap a tendon.”

Vane hesitated. He looked at the locked door. Then he looked at the High Elf walking away into the shadows of the hallway.

He checked the hallway one last time. Then he followed her.

The Skyward Plaza was the commercial heart of Zenith Academy.

It was a sprawling open-air district located on the western edge of the island. It was designed to separate the students from their parents’ money with ruthless efficiency.

There were cafes that floated on anti-gravity discs. There were boutiques selling enchanted armor that cost more than Vane’s entire hometown.

Vane stared. It was loud. It was bright. It was full of students laughing and wasting time.

“Relax,” Isole said. She wove through the crowd like smoke. People instinctively moved out of her way. They didn’t know why. They just felt a subconscious urge to not touch the girl with the heavy air.

They stopped at a cafe called The Alchemist’s Brew. The menu floated in the air written in glowing green script.

They ordered and took a table on the edge of the terrace. It overlooked the cloud layer. The view was breathtaking. You could see the curve of the planet and the distant peaks of the Iron Mountains.

Vane took a sip of his black coffee. It was bitter and hot. It grounded him.

Isole was dissecting a Void Mocha with a spoon.

“You really don’t fit in here,” Vane said looking at the expensive shops and then back at her. “High Elf. Powerful aura. The name Sylvaris. You should be sitting in a VIP lounge somewhere with the other royals not drinking coffee with a slum rat.”

Isole paused. She looked into her cup. Her expression darkened slightly.

“My family… they have high standards,” she said softly. “Do you know what the Sylvaris line is famous for Vane?”

Vane shook his head. “I didn’t pay much attention to noble genealogy in the gutters.”

“Saintesses,” Isole said. The word carried a heavy weight. “For three hundred years the Sylvaris family has produced the High Saintesses for the Church of the Eternal Light. They are the cornerstone of the Empire. They are symbols of absolute purity.”

She touched a lock of her dark green hair.

“To be a Saintess you need a mana affinity that is 100% Holy. You need to be a vessel of pure light. My mother was one.”

She looked up at Vane. Her crimson eye seemed to glow.

“And then I was born.”

Vane understood immediately.

“You have Dark mana too,” Vane said.

“Samsara,” Isole corrected. “My Authority is a loop of Life and Death. Holy and Dark. To the Church I am a genetic error. A blasphemy. They believe that mixing the two is an insult to the Goddess.”

She stirred her drink slowly.

“They call me a monster in a silk dress Vane. My family is too powerful for the Church to execute me so they hide me. They sent me here to the Academy to get me out of the capital. I am useful because I am strong but I am not welcome.”

Vane looked at her. He saw the way she sat, perfectly poised but isolated. He saw the way the other students gave their table a wide berth not out of respect but out of instinctive discomfort.

She wasn’t just an outcast. She was a stain on a pristine legacy.

“That’s why you sit with me,” Vane realized. “I’m the only one who doesn’t care about the Church.”

“You are the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m about to explode,” Isole said. “And you are hungry. My family… the Saintesses… they are so full. They are stuffed with light and righteousness. They just sit in their cathedrals and rot in their perfection.”

She looked at Vane with a small genuine smile.

“But you are burning. You are fighting for every inch. I like it. It’s warm.”

Vane looked at his hands.

“Just don’t stand too close,” Vane warned quietly. “You might get burned.”

“I am already burning,” Isole replied. “At least with you the fire is on the outside.”

She pushed her half-finished mocha away. Her mood seemed to shift. She stood up smoothing out her dress.

“Enough depressing talk. I’m bored.”

She pointed across the plaza toward a massive building filled with flashing lights and strange mechanical noises.

“What is that?” Vane asked.

“An arcade,” Isole said. “I heard some first years talking about it. Apparently you pay money to simulate combat.”

Vane stared at her.

“We just finished a death match exam yesterday. Why would you want to simulate combat?”

“Because in there nobody dies,” Isole said. She started walking toward the lights. “And I want to see if the ’King of Rats’ is actually good at anything besides cheating.”

Vane sighed. He downed the rest of his bitter coffee and stood up.

“I don’t cheat,” Vane muttered as he followed her. “I optimize.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

They walked toward the flashing neon sign of the arcade leaving the heavy conversation behind with the empty cups.

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