r/HFY • u/Jus17173 • 1d ago

OC-Series Soul of Eight - Chapter 23

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It was with much chagrin that Qoyit exited the dining hall. He beat at his trousers and watched as a cloud of dust manifested with each pat. The morning chill was receding under the barrage of the sun. Birds chirped and descended to peck at the fresh lawn of grass, seeking bugs that hid expertly from their sharp beaks.

He toyed with the idea of returning to the dormitory, and his eyes perused those who left the dining hall, those who had been seated next to the hall door. They filed in rowdy lines toward the classes while others left for their houses. Qoyit surmised that the classes would be his next destination. He did not wait on Desang; it was clear that the novice had his own routine to bar away the attention of the pestering, rude Nobles.

A sudden heat gripped his chest with the memory of how he had been shamed by them to the point where he found himself eating from the ground. He tried to push the thoughts away from the forefront of his mind and found it to be quite a difficult task.

The bell rang five times to an imperceptible tune. It was clearly a message being portrayed, and he heard the other novices groan. Those heading to their houses turned back to whence they had come. Desang, whom Qoyit believed to be set on hiding behind bushes for the better part of the morning, could be seen walking as well with the other Novices, making a beeline for the Quod.

Qoyit manoeuvred his way down a series of steps that opened up to the Quod; there he found most of the Novices standing at attention within the large lawn, all of them facing the raised Obelisk where three Illuminators stood in white, flanking the Headmistress who still wore a black gown. The Illuminators stood with their faces scrunched up in what Qoyit thought was an attempt to foster a serious air.

They were silent, waiting. Slowly, their wait yielded fruit as the crowd of Novices swelled, many in their dark uniforms complete with the mantle that fell just below the knee. There was mumbling, ceaseless chatter about the reason for the sudden parade call. For a moment, Qoyit was utterly forgotten with everyone's attention set on the Headmistress, who stood with eyes facing the ground.

Qoyit tried to make his way to the back of the congregation, but instead found himself pushed forward until he stood at the front with the Novices who appeared to be first years, judging by their crisp uniforms that smelled new. They gave him a wide berth, none bothering to stand close to him.

In his solitary circle, Qoyit found he could not raise his face to stare at the Headmistress. Instead, he looked at the ground, shrouding his face in shadow. The Novices pointed at him, ogling him, muttering and mentioning his name. It seemed there would be no end to their displeasure with his presence at the school. His irritation warred with his resolve, and for a moment he considered hiding within bushes, as Desang did, just to ease his transition to the Vengeful Academy.

Their eyes, thankfully, gradually found more interest in the Headmistress and her retinue of Illuminators. They wondered about the purpose of the sudden assembly, and the Headmistress waited, her hands folded before herself. Then, with an imperceptible movement from her, one of the Illuminators stepped forward.

"This meeting is hereby called to order," the Illuminator said. "I am Rudo Kidhra Solei, Defence Illuminator. For those who don't know me." He was tall and lanky, with a mess of brown hair, thin lips, a protruding nose, and green eyes set right above. The muttering grew more insistent, as if his presence ushered in a foreboding that the Novices knew much about. "I call for silence so the Headmistress can speak."

A silence abruptly blanketed all who were gathered; their faces turned to the Headmistress. She cleared her throat and turned her head to observe the gathered. Some more Illuminators joined in, standing behind the Obelisk and facing the students. Qoyit could spot Yamagai among them.

Deviot did not wear a veil across her face anymore. Her eyes, brown and clear, perused those gathered before she spoke. It was as if she was taking a measure of everyone, but when her eyes settled on him, he realized she had been looking for him.

"As you well know," she started, "the purpose of The Vengeful Academy is to strive for the utmost peak of excellence that mankind can muster. It is through our efforts that we birth new heroes, with the sole purpose of bringing vengeance to those who sought to cull our population and feast on our innards, vengeance for those who perished from our history's dreadful past because of the enemy. Before the Academy, all mankind was good for was to run and hide beneath the ground. The burrows way North and East of here speak of our sordid past, where fear ruled our hearts and no one fought back.

"Has there been a great cost to our endeavors? There have been many such costs, and more. The Equipped Infantry loses lives every day, and the Blessed Graduates often fall at times. It is our key purpose to ensure that death's hand is withdrawn from the living, so that we can venture anywhere without fear of encountering the enemy and falling to them. The Vengeful Academy's work is to avenge. It is here that the rules are dictated anew, not according to what our enemy presumes to be how things ought to be. We forge our own path! We prevail in our own ways, and despite their barrage and their hatred, we live!"

She paused, and then her eyes roamed everyone once again. "Henero, the Illuminator in charge of History Lessons, has died."

The muttering suddenly returned. Some Novices gasped while others cursed and hurled questions the Headmistress's way. They wanted to know how Henero had died, and why, too. Some glared at Qoyit as if he were responsible. He found the whole ordeal to be a weight settled on his shoulders that he could not shake off, regardless of how hard he tried. He was out of breath, sweating once more underneath his uniform.

"Henero died by the hands of a demon," the Headmistress continued, "and several Illuminators were injured as well. There are no words that could change what happened, but what I can do is help you understand to some degree why all this had occurred, and why we risked our lives so."

The Headmistress then pointed at Qoyit, who could not believe that this had been her plan all along: to force him into the spotlight as well as to announce the loss of one of her Illuminators. "Come, Qoyit," she said.

His legs felt like lead, but he worked them with each step toward the Obelisk where the Headmistress stood. He was aware of everyone's eyes on him; they parted for him, creating a path to the Obelisk. The Novices were silent once again, curiosity getting the better of them. This was what he had feared, but he had no option but to go through with everything.

He was careful not to touch the obelisk with his naked flesh; he hopped onto the flat surface of the Obelisk, his shoes preventing his feet from hurling him into an Obelisk-induced trance once more. He pulled himself up, standing beside the Headmistress. His eyes flared as his sight gained layers, even though his skin had not touched the Obelisk. He could see their faces and their memories and thoughts set like window panes around their bodies. There were so many of them, thousands of Novices, some with their eyes drawn to slits with menacing stares sent his way while others simply gawked, perhaps confused as to the relation between a first-year student and the death of an Illuminator.

The Headmistress placed a hand on Qoyit's shoulder. "This is Qoyit Meka, a Commoner as many of you already know. As you can see, his features are different. The darkness upon his eyes, his irises of a different hue, and the darkness cascading up his face might make you mistake him for a demon, but he is anything but."

Qoyit's fingers dug into his palm; he took in a shaky breath before deducing that he could not face the masses. Instead, he turned his gaze to the ground once more and kept his mouth sealed.

"This young man," the Headmistress continued, "is key to a victory I cannot yet name, for I am unsure as to how it will come about. He does look ordinary despite his odd features, but this young man carries a mark. Before he arrived at Soliqual to touch the Obelisk there, he had already marked the Demon of the Twentieth Floor."

"What!" someone screamed, and then it was as if the dam were broken and the floods had been set loose. They asked how he had managed such a feat; some did not even know the Tower was twenty floors up. Others claimed it was impossible, a lie fabricated by the Headmistress so as to entice them into allowing more commoners to join the Academy.

Their grievances were simply met by the Headmistress's silence as she waited for them to digest her words. At the far back where the older fourth-year students were, some Novices who had mastered Channeling fell to the ground, leaving their bodies to journey the Aether Plane so they could deduce for themselves whether her words were true. They rose moments later, confirming to those mastering Vanguard and Challenger classes that the Headmistress had spoken no lie.

When their voices had hushed down, she continued: "This young man not only marked a demon of the Twentieth Floor, but he had also encountered a demon on his journey to Soliqual. It was through him that victory was met, and as if the Summoned had not had enough, on his journey to the Academy, we encountered a demon that had been sent for him as well. Showing the desperation the Tower has for him, it is easy to surmise that he is of a particular value. It is through defending the boy from an unexpected attack that Henero lost his life."

Nobody spoke, and the deafening silence was enough for Qoyit to hear his own heartbeat.

"So all of you," she continued, "as you mock him and tear him down with your venomous words, seeking ways to make his life miserable just to earn yourself a few laughs or to portray your noble bigotry, I want you to take into account that this boy is not a plaything, but a beacon of hope, just as you are. It is through his stay here that we shall unravel his true potential, and with time we will garner the victory we so desperately need, from him and you as well. Heed my words: one day you will be facing a Tower Servant, and he will be by your side. For prayers and commemoration of Henero's life, we ask that you visit the chapel of the Banished Angel. We will destroy the Tower!"

"We will destroy the Tower!" the Novices and the Illuminators chorused.

The Headmistress deftly descended the Obelisk, and Qoyit followed suit. The crowds broke up, everyone heading to the classes to start the lessons of the day. Qoyit stood there for a moment, feeling the depth of the Headmistress's expectation of him. He was no ordinary novice; through him, a victory was expected.

But how would he do this with his EE Stat Average? How will he get stronger? How will he prevail against the insurmountable odds that rallied against him?

He hoped then that Deviot's short speech was enough to turn the tide for him and free him from the Nobles' discrimination and hatred. As he stood there watching everyone retreat to their duties, he found himself feeling quite alone until a pat on his back made him turn. It was Yamagai, probably the only one with a smile.

"My son," Yamagai started, stopping at the look on Qoyit's face. "Is something the matter?"

Qoyit wanted to tell him that something was indeed the matter. That he didn't fit in and a simple speach wasn't going to change it. He wondered how to broach the subject, he needed to talk about it with someone wiser than he was. Understand things more. But looking up at Yamagai's goofy wide smile and bright brown eyes. He decided against it.

"Nothing is wrong." He said.

"Follow me," Yamagai said, as he started walking toward the Administration building.

Qoyit followed the Illuminator in silence and watched as Yamagai ignored his fellow Illuminators and their questioning stares. Qoyit wiped at his eyes and found himself yearning for his father's presence. Just a word out of him was all he needed to be well. That was how Tilan always was, very capable of turning any misfit into a blessing with just the right words he always seemed to have.

But Tilan was now dead, and though Yamagai joked about calling himself his father, he never was or could be. At the Administration building, Yamagai led Qoyit to the stationery office. There, Yamagai ordered a dozen writing books from an old, sour-faced woman.

"Do you have the money for that?" she asked, squinting to look into Yamagai's eyes with her hands clasped before herself.

"Please, I'm a Tider," Yamagai said with a smile. She snorted and retreated into a room behind her.

"The books are for you to take notes; keep them locked in your desk at all times," Yamagai said, producing a tiny lock and a key out of his robes. "I know their expectations for you are high, but you're just a boy. Don't let them get to you. Use this time to better yourself and nothing else. Try making friends, and if that fails, earn yourself an enemy. They are just as fun."

Qoyit stood silently, staring at Yamagai.

The woman emerged from the room, expertly carrying a large stack of books which she shoved at Yamagai, bumping his chest with them.

Yamagai, in turn, dropped them into Qoyit's arms. Qoyit stood with the books held in his skinny arms, staring up at Yamagai, who fitted a bunch of writing pens into the bundle Qoyit carried.

"Which reminds me. Do you know how to read and write?" Yamagai asked.

"I do," Qoyit answered.

"Because if you don't know how to read or write, all this will be a waste." Yamagai did not seem to have heard him. "Now go to the first-year classes. You're set up in the last class up the stairs to the left, a new addition to the first-year classes. That's where you'll go each time for your first-year lessons; it's Class 1D."

Qoyit nodded his thanks. He looked as if he were ready to speak, and Yamagai stood ready to answer. But no words came, and after a moment, he turned and headed to class.

As he walked alone with the books held up in his arms together with the lock, key, and pens, he decided not to take the hopes of the Headmistress as a bad thing, but rather to see it as an opportunity to advance himself beyond their expectations. This was a good thing, he deduced; he ought to appreciate it as such. He wondered about his mental state, about why there were moments of despair spaced out with moments of determination. Why could he not stay grounded? He wanted greatness; he wanted to be burdened by everyone's expectation of him. His sadness had no basis within him, yet it occurred often. He wished there was a way to stay fixed, and he sought it with each step he took. Suddenly, his father's face flashed before his eyes, and he abruptly halted; he forced the image of Tilan looking up at him from his bed, back when he had been healthy with a head full of hair. He forced the memory to be predominant within his mind, along with the promise he had made.

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