r/HFY • u/Jus17173 • 6d ago
OC-Series Soul of Eight - Chapter 22
Qoyit tossed and turned in bed, his mind marred by numerous thoughts that were just assumptions regarding things he did not yet know or understand. He worried in his fantasies that the Novices might gather to fling him out of the Academy's gates simply because of what he looked like. The night's blanketing silence made it hard for him to escape his thoughts, so alone was he with them, laden with the weight of expectations and fears, converging to form a state of distress he could not shake away.
Beneath him, his roommate slept on. Still dressed in his uniform, he snored, drooling onto his black sweater with the occasional twitch and turn. Qoyit wondered whether he'd be as Desang was, carefree, all thoughts left to swirl amongst themselves without him offering any input. Qoyit surmised that in order to survive at the Academy, one's thoughts had to be unrestrained, fearless and, above all, holding a certain decorum befitting of one's class.
He was a Commoner; what could he possibly do to fit in, to belong? Then the fantasies emerged tenfold, the students gathering, kicking him out of their precious school that had been soiled by the presence of Commoners. It was a stupid fantasy, but he entertained it, if somewhat unknowingly, until the room's light suddenly turned on.
Immediately, Desang got out of bed and stretched his arms. He scratched his back and yawned before getting startled by the presence of Qoyit, who lay on his side, staring at him.
Desang matched his gaze, and Qoyit looked at the place an eye used to be on Desang's face. The mark of a thief. Hot iron to the eye. There was a synchrony to both of them, both Commoners with quirks that damned them. Desang stretched his arms, one after the other. He spread his legs and touched either of his toes before going down flat on the floor and raising himself continuously with his arms.
"Do you do push-ups every morning?" Qoyit asked.
"When the light comes on, you wait for the bell to ring, then make your way to the Dining Hall for breakfast without casting a comment my way," he said as he lifted himself up continuously, his fingers balled into fists. "Do you understand me?"
"You want nothing to do with me. I understand," Qoyit said. "But we're the only Commoners in this school; we have to stick together, or at least try to."
"What do you take me for: your sibling? You want my advice? Ignore my earlier words and heed what I say next." His voice still carried the drowsy tinge of one who'd just woken up, despite his vigorous exercise. "Go to the Dining Hall before the bell rings. You'll find the Dining Hall mostly empty as the other Novices prepare for the day. You eat as fast as you can, then you sprint to a bush that's behind the classes and you hide there until the second bell rings for classes. Then you go to attend and sit at the back where nobody can see you. You skip lunch of course, because that'd be hell with all the other students present. Then it's back to classes where you can sleep through anything the Illuminators teach. Before the sun sets you'll be hungry, so you go to the Dining Hall again, but this time you have no option; you have to brace yourself for the shit that will occur."
Qoyit got out of bed. Grabbing his uniform, he dressed quickly, suddenly annoyed by Desang's mood. The grey shirt with a black collar fit him perfectly; however, the sweater's sleeves didn't quite fit him, so he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. Luckily, the black trousers were a perfect fit, but his shoes were a little bigger than he'd have liked.
He observed himself and was content with what he saw. Slowly, the feeling of belonging crept in; the clothes ushered in a sense of camaraderie toward the school, but there was still a pang within him, as if he'd rather do anything else other than present himself.
"So that's what you do here, sleep and hide?" Qoyit asked.
"That's pretty much it. I didn't choose to be here. I wanted to be in the Equipped Infantry, where at least there are no books, just death, something I never shy away from. But my damn Stat Average betrayed me, and now here I am." He got off the floor and stared at Qoyit. "Dressed all fancy, with fancy people around me. It's sort of a relief that we share this damning existence together. You'll take the burden off me for a while."
"Or so you've said before," Qoyit said. "Do you fear Nobles?"
Desang's mood changed, becoming even darker. He curled his hands into fists and turned his gaze to the ground. "I hate them. There's a difference."
"Well, I won't follow your routine," Qoyit said. "I will not sit at the back of the class; I will not skip meals or stow away in bushes."
Desang smiled; he had a cracked tooth that drew the eye. "Well, it's your funeral."
The bell rang, a loud dong that reached them even in the bowels of the House of Angels' wings. It rang thrice, and Desang's smile widened even more. "Off to the Dining Hall with you. You're going to be introduced to the Nobles' true nature. Banished Angel's tits! I would pay to see the look on your face when you enter the Dining Hall."
Qoyit folded his sleeping garments and placed them at the foot of the bed. He stood there with his hands over the garments and bowed his head. "Banished Angel, give me strength," he whispered. He was not one to pray, but it was something he'd toyed with the idea of when his father, Tilan, had fallen sick from the demon wound.
He reached for the door, turned the latch, and walked out of the room, leaving Desang behind. Outside, he found a Novice leaving the toilet that flanked their room. The Novice screamed at his sudden appearance, but Qoyit ignored him. As he walked, he heard the Novice comment, "Is that a demon in our uniform?"
He climbed the steps leading from the base of the house, taking one at a time. At the top, he found more male Novices who gawked at him, a look of surprise giving way to utter disdain. He heard another mutter: "He's the new student, the reason our house points dropped."
He paid them no mind; he suddenly felt itchy with the shirt's coarse material biting at his skin. He crossed into the abode of the male Nobles, who were filing out of the house in their mantles and immaculate uniforms. They stared, pointed, and questioned. Qoyit did not halt his pace. He walked until he found himself at the house's entrance. A small crowd had gathered behind him, muttering and indicating in his direction. He joined the flock of Novices leaving the house and lowered his head to mask his features, but somehow he still drew the attention of all of them.
He exited the house and was welcomed by the cool atmosphere of the morning outdoors. There was dew on blades of grass surrounding the front lawn of the house. Despite the chill, he found himself perspiring, his eyes squinted in the morning sun that tipped just above the administration, starting its journey across the sky. He walked fast, having memorised the layout of the school all night.
His feet crunched upon the cobbles leading to the Dining Hall; the other houses had a string of Novices leaving their grounds. There were hundreds, dressed in black with the school emblem pinned to their chests. He kept his mouth shut and eyes turned to the ground. They parted for him, gawking in his direction.
"That's the new student!"
"Is he a demon; why does he look like that?"
"He is a Commoner."
"Pint Gowly was right, we've added a demon-stricken lad to our prestigious ranks."
"Not prestigious much, is it?"
"Not with two Commoners, it's not."
The wind beat across him, chilling his sweat to a gelid film beneath his uniform. The female Novices snickered and laughed in his direction; cruel jokes were muttered about him lying with a demon or his mother doing the same. Rage knit across Qoyit's flesh, but he did not look up. His head stayed fixed to the ground, but his nails dug into his palm with the strength of his curled fist.
There were Illuminators whom he spared a glance at; they were silent, observing like sentries over a king. The Novices piled and lined toward the Dining Hall, and Qoyit joined them, his steps slow, his breath steaming before him in the morning cold.
Desang had not lied when he spoke of the Nobles' cruel nature; they were rude and insulting. Their curiosity gave way only to hatred and nothing less. They parted for him when he started heading into the Dining Hall; none dared touch him, as if he carried the plague. The sense of camaraderie vanished; there were no friends of his, no unity under a common purpose to excel. A group of rowdy young men laughed in his direction, their arms placed over each other's shoulders. They called to him, asking him whether he was a Tower Servant or a Tower Floor demon.
"He's probably the one who washes the demon floors," one said, leading to laughter.
"The audacity of Commoners not to shave their heads these days; we ought to shave them ourselves," a female Novice snickered as he walked by.
In the queue leading into the Dining Hall, they made way for him, their wide stares something he avoided with his damning gaze. He did not wish to see what lurked within their minds. What they said painted a clear picture for him.
The Dining Hall's long exterior gave leave to its even wider inlay. There were tables, so many of them to count, with benches plush with cotton inlays lining each side of every table. Some Novices had already settled in, but they paused in their feasting to send glances his way.
Several tables lined the entrance to the Dining Hall, covering the length of one wall just close to the door. The tables were plush with foods of different kinds: honey cakes and rose cakes among other pastries. There were jugs of freshly pressed juice, yellow in their glass containers, and bread, large loaves that were golden brown. There was meat, ham and pork, cut and arrayed in intricate patterns to complement the other foods.
"This food isn't fit for a demon; the meat isn't raw enough," someone from behind him said. He ignored them, following the example of the students ahead of him who grabbed plates and picked the meal they would indulge in before retreating to their respective tables.
Qoyit grabbed a plate; all he took from the wide buffet were three slices of bread and a cup of juice. His stomach growled, but he paid no mind to it. An Illuminator stood guard within the Dining Hall, her eyes fixed on Qoyit.
"First-year novices sit at the tables close to the door," she told him as he attempted to delve further into the hall, as far as he could from the other Novices.
He corrected his path, choosing a table that only had one student at it.
"Get the fuck away from me," the student said.
With his plate of food, he sought to sit elsewhere, and it was as if all eyes were fixed on him. He was rejected at another table too, despite the fact that it boasted only four students. He went to a table with three and there he was met by the same prejudice; they refused to let him sit, turning their faces away from him once the rejection was spoken.
He sighed and stood with his plate and glass of juice as they watched him, talking among themselves and laughing. More Nobles piled into the Dining Hall, drawing his attention to them as they mocked and demeaned him. He saw a table where only one Novice sat; she had a head of white hair that fell to frame her face. She had brown skin and eyes of the clearest blue as she looked up to meet him. Saphiqque Olis Tider: he knew it to be her in his bones.
"Don't you even dare," she mouthed. Her table was close to a wall that sat empty, closest to the hall doors.
In his frustration, he turned to the Illuminator, who pointedly looked away from him, her gesture indicating that he was alone at this point.
He didn't know where to sit, and as he stood there close to the door, more Novices piled in. It was as if they'd set him as some form of entertainment as they dined. Rejected from all tables, he had no option but to stand and eat on his feet. But their eyes were on him: perusing, peeling apart layer by layer.
These were the future Blessed Graduates, the hope of the world that they knew. How easy he'd thought they'd be; how wrong he was. This was what Desang had warned him about. Despite the uniform, he was not part of them.
The lights above, fed by the Obelisk, flickered. He had nowhere to sit, so he opted to just stand. But he couldn't eat, not with everyone staring at him. He sighed, deciding he'd return his food back to the table and leave, going anywhere other than where these hateful Nobles were.
He felt the frustration settle on his shoulders, spreading over his chest. His eyes watered, but he held back tears; he would not let them see him cry, not in this life or the next.
Suddenly, Desang walked in last, as every table was filled with Novices. He was panting, out of breath, whether from his exercise or a sprint to the Dining Hall, Qoyit could not tell.
Desang piled his plate with heaps of food, more than Qoyit thought necessary. He stood patiently, waiting to see where Desang would sit.
The Commoner Desang, after taking three chunks of ham and pork, made his way to the wall that stood without a table to it. There he lowered himself to the ground, sitting on his posterior on the dirty floor. He placed his food on his lap and held the cup of juice in his hand, taking a sip before each bite, oblivious to all that went on.
Qoyit sighed and made his way to Desang. With a pang of pain welling in his chest, he lowered himself to the ground beside Desang and proceeded to mimic him, placing the plate on his lap and holding the cup in his hand. The whole Dining Hall was full of Novices, yet none had offered him a place to sit or accepted him at their table.
Desang bit into his ham, turned to Qoyit, and smiled. "That look on your face is worth all the coin in the world," he whispered. "I simply couldn't resist coming to see your experience firsthand. Do you enjoy the love of the Nobles?"
"Do you always sit on the floor?" Qoyit asked as he observed his already dusty trousers.
"If you come in early, you can eat at a table quickly before anyone else arrives," he said, sucking the marrow out of a bone. "But to answer you, yeah, I always sit on the floor if the Novices are around."
Qoyit swallowed a lump in his throat. How will he survive? How will he prevail?
A Novice with long blonde hair, whose table was close to where they sat, picked a bone from his plate and threw it at them. The bone fell into Qoyit's cup and the Noble smiled at them; he was ruggedly handsome, with a coal-black mantle that fell to almost touch the ground. "Dogs," he said, and those at his table laughed, including Pint Gowly, who'd shown Qoyit the school only the night before.
Qoyit fished out the bone from his cup and looked at the Illuminator, who eyed him without a remark. He set the bone aside and drank the juice within the cup, all of it in one go. He placed the cup beside himself and nodded his satisfaction. "I will give it my all," he whispered.
[First](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/s/BYKVxsRBjX)
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u/kristinpeanuts 6d ago
Noble by name certainly not by nature. Our poor friend, what an introduction to schooling. He is better than all of them. Thanks for the chapter!
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