The one thing Gala Shadeheart can’t deal with is silence.

After years of being told and re-told the same few concepts and picking them up on the first try, you eventually learn how to filter out the regurgitated drivel. You’d think this to be a good thing - actively listening takes effort, as simple a task as it may be, and reducing the amount of effort you have to expend saves you energy that’d usually be wasted. The only thing that remains, for better or worse, is the silence… Pure silence… In a room with one speaker and a herd of observers, that one voice is the only thing between you and oblivion, an abyss of nothingness, if slightly exaggerated. Introducing your own voice is a solution, but in cases where that’s not an option, you simply have to face the silence; at times the hush it leaves is more unbearable than any lecture could ever be, especially for her.

“Good. Your answer, whilst from frustration, is correct, Mr Freeman.”
“You’re covering things you already know and have known for months.”

That’s why she lets the voices back in. She’d rather be bored by a discussion than bored by a void. Neither was favourable - this was what one may call a ‘lose-lose’.

“I’d like to see if you can use what you know to fill the gaps of that which we don’t.”

She hates losing more than anything in this world, but when there’s no choice but to do so, she’ll treat the lesser loss with all the sanctity of a win. Any way to turn that defeat into a victory, she supposes, though she doesn’t suppose at all; it’s all subconscious as the professor continues to fill the room with the soft tones of his voice.

In many ways, he’s like a blade of a bygone era- a relic, stored, gazed upon, imparting the youth with information on the past, but if he were to be wielded with intent to kill, kill he would. He’d, of course, be less effective than in his past, but even then, his eyes, a silky green, shaded by his blonde hair, seemed just as sharp as his wit. They’re not as good as hers, of course. No-one's are, but his are close.

The semicircle of students look at him with varying interest, but no-one disturbs, so the burden falls upon him to continue the discussion.

“Today’s discussion will be on the topic of whether Nature Energy is a catalyst or a reactant.”
“Would any of you like to tell me the meanings of either of those words?”

A pair of hands rise on the same side of the room whilst the rest of the class are more hesitant to provide an answer. Professor Auctoriotas waits for a second, getting a good look at whose memories were working and who’d already forgotten his explanation. Eventually a clawed finger would move across the arch and land on-

“Gala. Explain.”

She hadn’t had her hand up. She hadn’t even pretended she was going to put her hand up because she half remembered the definitions. One hand was cupping her chin, her elbow pressing firmly into the armrest, the other rested gently on her thigh as she looked dully at her professor. She didn’t hate the professor; in fact, he was one of the adults she had quite a bit of respect for, but wow, she hated when he did that; he knew she knew, he knew she didn’t want to answer, he made her do it anyway. She knew it was to test her as the ‘Number One’ but she literally didn’t care; it was an annoyance that she was forced to adhere to as she began to reply.

“The difference is consumption.”
“Reactants get consumed to do something. Catalysts get used but not consumed.”

“Good. Now, select someone to answer the next quest-”

“Elio.”

A sharp sigh rings out from two seats to her right, which she responds to with a slight chuckle. The professor moves his gaze from Gala to Elio, and she feels the stress of having the spotlight on her alleviated - she didn’t feel sorry for Elio; she was sure he’d be fine. It feels, for a brief moment, as if judgement was being passed on the young boy as Professor Auctoriotas questions him.

“Elio, why do you believe this discussion has validity on both sides of the argument?”

The whole semicircle seems to fold in as everyone’s gaze is directed towards the defendant, who himself is stuck with a look of contemplation on his face. The gears are actually turning, which isn’t too much of a surprise; Elio’s knowledge of Nature Energy is an extension of his knowledge of combat, which is actually quite impressive for someone whose intelligence leaves a bit to be desired. Eventually he begins to respond, his voice firm and resolute in his answer.

“Well, there’s things that Nature Energy does that feels like it eats it up…”
“... But there’s also things it can do that feels like it just flows through you.”

“Give me an example of each category.”

“Don’t I get to pass on the question?”

“You do, after you give me an example of each.”

Elio’s eyebrow furrows at the perceived unfairness, but a response is provided after a second of thought.

“Natural Enhancement is like a catalyst. Draconic Archetypes are like a reactant.”

“Good. Now, sel-”

“Urien.”

The classroom seems to be in lighter spirits as a few people break out into light laughter, including the next on the chopping block, one Urien Castelli. His laugh is slightly overshadowed by those around him but it’s easy to feel from tone alone just how… cold, it is. His smile, his glacial blue eyes that crease alongside it, his laugh, the general demeanour that emanates off the surface of his creamy skin. They’re as bright as the sun's rays and yet slightly cold, as if experienced through a reflection on a snowy surface. He’s not one to shy away from a challenge, even if slightly unprepared, taking a moment to sweep silvery blue strands out of his face. The professor's eyes lock onto his own, presenting the next question.

“How does Natural Enhancement work, Mr Castelli.”

“As far as we know… You channel Nature Energy into your soul… And from your soul it enhances your body.”

“Good answer, especially using ‘as far as we know’ rather than implying the answer is certain.”
“Why do you think this means Nature Energy is a catalyst?”

“Because… It doesn’t actually get used up to make you physically stronger?”
“Or, at least, it’s not really clear whether it’s used up or just passes through your soul.”

“And what do you think?”

A pause. His smile falters for a moment as he’s seemingly caught off guard, then his hand moves over his mouth. Whether it’s to conceal his expression or simply as an act of showing that he’s thinking it over, he can faintly be heard humming and hawing as time seems to freeze around him. The professor is the only one who’s able to move in this pocket, and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to ask for an answer from someone else. He does, however, after a few seconds move on without a proper conclusion, and Urien lets out a misty sigh after all that effort spent thinking is wasted.

“The question is incredibly tricky, so your lack of answer is to be expected.”
“If Nature Energy is used up, then it is no different from the air we breathe.”
“Which begs the question of what creates Nature Energy for us to use, and at what rate.”
“On the other hand, if Nature energy is simply a catalyst then it is more akin to…”

A moment of silence as even the professor struggles to find the right word, before-

“A pool?”

Heads turn towards the first to answer as Kara sits with her hand raised slightly, though she responds without being called on first as if it’s simply a formality. The professor raises a brow before he invites her to explain herself; she accepts his invitation, releasing a slightly shaky breath as she begins.

“If Nature Energy simply cycles through us when enhancing, then using it can be likened to swimming.”
“It aids us in moving the way our body desires as long as our technique is apt.”
“It slightly explains the way it only enhances you based on your strength.”
“The same way you can't train the water to make you swim faster, you can’t train Nature Energy to make you stronger.”

The professor moves, fluidly placing himself behind the desk that the semicircle of students are centered around; he grabs a pencil and begins to write with the fever of a man who’d just been given a golden ticket. As much as the explanation was slightly unrefined, Kara seemed to have struck something akin to gold - the class looks between each other, and mutters begin to supersede the professor's feverish scribbling.

By this point, Gala had been looking outside through the nearby window - the mien on her face was something like apathy with a hint of distaste. If her father could see her right now, he’d have grabbed her cheeks and stretched her lips into a smile; he’d tell her that ‘sharing the excitement of another doubles the excitement and that’s always a good thing!’ She just couldn’t help herself - seeing someone excited for something she couldn’t care less about just made her cringe, or at the very least was off-putting. She understood it was a failing of her character; she wasn’t blind to the fact that this was somewhat selfish; even then, concealing her character created distance between her current self and her true self. Ascension required truth, and if her truth was unkind, the world would simply have to accept that.

Her teeth clench subconsciously as the sun’s glare becomes almost unbearable.

What did her old man know about sowing anything but misery, anyway?

“Thank you for your contribution, Ms Pyrebough. It is truly appreciated.”

Silence returns; Kara bows her head slightly, not in humility but as if she doesn’t know any other appropriate response. Her dismissiveness roots more from embarrassment compared to Gala’s… narcissism, for lack of a better word, though it’s not one she’d often shy away from. The professor returns to the front of the class, clearing his throat to reset his palpable excitement before the conversation would resume.

“Now then… Ms Delacroix.”

“Guh!-” The girl blurts, as if suddenly punched in the stomach. The boy beside her, who looks almost identical save for their genders, chortles slightly.

“Guh!-” The boy blurts because he’d suddenly been punched in the stomach.

“Explain how Draconic Archetypes work against the idea of Nature Energy as a catalyst.”

Grumbling can be heard as Sophia places the tips of her fingers against her temple. She takes a few seconds before an attempt to answer the question even begins, time filled with the sound of effort as her brain tries to serve up an answer. Making one fitting of the quality of conversation up until this point is proving to be quite a difficult task when her speaking skills, or lack thereof, were compared to the calm and composed Kara. Eventually an exhale cuts cleanly through the fog of her brain and an answer comes forth.

“Well, it’s a lot harder to say that nothing’s actually happening with what archetypes are capable of.”
“When Nature Energy's just making us stronger it’s invisible but when it’s summoning thunder and stuff then it’s actually… err… words beginning with T…”

“Tangible?”

Kara cuts through once again, the tenderness of her voice clashing with the end of Sophia’s slightly ruggish explanation; it still fills the gap aptly in a sort of conversational kintsugi that the professor nods in response to.

“Good answer, both of you. From these examples we can see where the disagreement lies.”
“These different applications seem to juxtapose each other in how they treat Nature Energy.”
“Now, as those that wish to understand it in a deeper manner, we must decipher this paradox.”

“That seems like a task that’ll take more than a morning to complete.”

The voice from the other end of the semicircle, blunt as it may be, speaks for most of those present. The one it had come from leans back in his chair, rocking on its hind legs in a perpetual state of falling forwards and falling back with no regard for his own safety. Looking downwards at the professor through his ginger bangs, his auburn eyes seem not to shine even as the light splinters across his face. His eyes roll forwards as his chair eventually rests on all four legs and his gaze meets the professor - they lack the malice or arrogance that was expected; his brutality, the firmness of his declaration, is born from reason instead of a lack thereof, forcing the professor to meet him halfway.

“Mr Wolfsbane, are you in a rush to begin meditation?”

“As much as this conversation is cool and all, we don’t have all the time in the world like you do.”
“I’d like to save conversations about theory for when we have archetypes of our own.”

Had the class been any younger, it’d have been filled to the brim with ‘oooh’s as if Viktor had personally attacked the professor, but they were all very much on the same page. They’re surprised that it was he who’d taken the initiative, and the most surprised is Gala, who was seconds away from saying what he had with a bit less… modesty. A part of her is glad, though another wonders what audacity allowed Number Eleven to speak with any authority at all. Maybe it’s desperation created by their exams' vicinity, though it's equally as likely to be a complete disregard for his ranking within their cohort. A sigh of what seems to be nostalgia fills the air as the professor begins to gather his papers into a neat pile.

“Don’t allow preparation to consume your life, all of you.”
“Be sure to take time to do something simulating, for your minds and souls.”
“It will help, if even slightly, and you’ll need all the help you can get for the coming battle.”

His words fall upon slightly deaf ears as the sanctity of conversation is broken by the screeching of chairs dragged across the wooden floor. The semicircle’s formation is broken, creating space for meditation to begin as he takes a seat behind his desk to observe them.

 

---

 

The one thing Gala Shadeheart can’t deal with is silence.

Heat begins to pervade the room; morning turns into afternoon. The only noise that lingers slightly is soothed breathing as Gala’s meditation continues; inhale with control, feel Nature Energy rippling through your body, washing over your very soul, then exhale to continue the cycle. It is silent, yet she has no issue. Kara might have been more right than she realised, describing their energy as a pool, though it’s more akin to an ocean; the sounds of energy flowing fill in the silence, like the flittering of the waves, and her musing begins to feel like resting on the water's surface, gazing up at the soft blue of the sky above.

As much as her arrogance would have her believe that she’s always in top shape, she recognises that now, more than ever, she’s operating at a level she’s nary been able to reach - not just her physicality, but her synergy also. Nature Energy may simply be a conduit, a pathway between her and the strength she very desires, but it’s been so much easier to move as of late…

…The water ripples slightly…

An annoyed sigh causes her concentration to flicker. It doesn’t take long for her to return to stillness.

…She does wonder, though, why it hasn’t happened yet.

Every corner of her essence, her soul, is touched by that ethereal catalyst, the very fuel that makes them more. Her understanding of Nature Energy has inherently been incredible for a long time, as if she can see the very currents sweeping through the world itself, and she’s been living by her own creed for years despite the gaze of others and yet… Nothing…

…The water ripples again…

Gifted as she may have been, it is not her friend; it makes her powerful, yes, but it does the same for others and doesn’t offer her any greater understanding or special insight because she’s ‘gifted’. Just like now, as she lingers in nothingness with her golden eyes closed, she is in the dark, no closer to understanding why she hasn’t ascended.

Like still waters, she was stationary. If she could just see whether her steps were leading her in any specific direction, even steps backwards away from her goal, they’d show her how she needed to change… But it was darkness on all sides, and no amount of swimming seemed to change that.

It was frustrating. It was so fucking frustrating. She didn’t care for her role as a trigger. She didn’t care that the hopes of her classmates hung on her back. She didn’t care that her own family, that stupid old bitch and her lapdog son, saw her as a chance for redemption. Years she’d worked, years she’d lived for herself, and yet none of it was rewarded with what she wanted. She gained the same strength that literally anyone could obtain and was gatekept from the heavens where true power lay…

…By the time she notices, still waters have become turbulent seas…

This is no condition to do any sort of meditation.

The silence is dispersed by her rising to her feet and shuffling towards the door, leaving the other ten inhabitants in the room as the seas settle within. Black strands of hair are shifted out of her face as she reorganises her hair, hoping it doesn't look too funky as she walks towards the courtyard.

Time to get some fresh air.

As the doors part and the day's light flashes its true intensity, Gala can’t help but squint while looking around the grassy terrain for a good spot… It didn’t take a lot of looking, but it seems to her that the only worthwhile spot is currently inhabited. She strides towards a lone bench cloaked in luminant shadows, straight towards a pair of eyes that had been trained on her since the moment she stepped into the yard. Even if they’d been the ones to see her first, she wouldn’t let them get the jump on her verbally.

"What's your ugly ass doing out here?"

The one who responded would be none other than their Number Eleven, Viktor Wolfsbane, whose face stays as cold as a statue even as humour hints at his voice.

"Pleased to see you too, Number One."
“Can a man not get some fresh air?”

He doesn’t even allow his words to settle before he stands, preparing to depart… At least, he attempts to, before feeling the firm touch of a hand against the center of his chest, sending him back into the bench with a slight thump. His eyes shut and he takes a deep breath in preparation for whatever she’d be putting him through today, or in the current moment, at the very least. The smirk on her face is about what he’d expected. Expecting it didn’t help much, if at all.

“Wouldn’tcha like to keep me company a while?”

“I’d rather not. You’re a massive asshole.”
“But it seems my choice has been made for me regardless.”

And with that, Gala takes a seat on the other side of the bench, which should have kept a decent amount of space between them if not for her body facing him, resting her foot on the bench space between the pair. It became a lot easier to appreciate the courtyard's beauty when not being berated by the sun; a quaint, almost perfectly symmetrical field of grass catching the sun's rays on its verdant surface. It’s almost too perfect, the blades barely shifting beneath the early afternoon current that whistled and whined, filling the silence with its song. For a moment, peace seems to drift over them, though it’s short-lived, as Gala raises her foot, pressing it into Viktor’s arm.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why’re you out here and not in there?”

He rolls his eyes, which she decides to ignore out of good grace, but eventually responds with honesty.

"Meditation's not for me. I can hardly concentrate on something, let alone on nothing…"

…And then a brief pause, before-

"...Also, someone passed gas in there and the smell was killing me."

“Ha! I knew I wasn't the only one who smelt that!”

Gala guffaws, her foot pushing more and more against her classmate's arm as if she wished to shove him through the wooden armrest and onto the floor. It takes active effort for him not to be squished between a slightly above average force and a slightly below average object. Steeling himself physically, he turns the question on her.

“So what about you? Why did you come out here?”

“Got a little frustrated while meditating. No point sitting in there with a hot head.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Pissing you off until I’m entertained enough sounds like a much better option.”

The foot that had been pushing into Viktor’s arm moves up until it finds itself a new resting place… propped against the side of his face. Even now he has a deadpan expression. Gala knew his nonchalance was no gimmick, and even then she enjoyed pushing the limits of how much he’d take before he left - not that he’d care, but he’d just get bored. Viktor's face squishes as if pressed against glass for a few seconds before his hand grabs onto her ankle.

“Taking your frustration out on me isn't going to solve the underlying issue.”
“Whatever you’re going through is going to have to be defeated head on.”

A sharp flick of the foot removes it from the boy's grasp without any resistance as Gala’s gaze becomes colder by magnitudes. What could he understand about facing problems head on after spending months avoiding any sort of confrontations or conflict to sit comfortably in last place? He doesn’t remain there due to lack of capability; he remains there due to lack of care, letting this nonchalant gimmick hold him back yet staying in the race like he has any intention of seriously competing. Thinking about it pissed Gala off more than she already was as she plants both feet on the ground and faces forwards; the last thing she’d be doing was sharing any of her problems with someone who didn’t know the first thing about being in her position. Even if she was turning away from her problems, it wasn’t him who’d be the one to fix them, so he could drop dead for all she cares.

Viktor senses the vibe shift with ease. He doesn’t care too much. If she wants to be mad, she can be mad. All he asks is that she keeps those toes away from his face. Luckily she isn’t a true dragon yet - if she was, the claws on her toes would likely have taken out his eye much earlier. Definitely one of the worst ways to lose one. His gaze traces the outline of a distant cloud as he allows his thoughts to become disjointed nonsense once again, words that, even if they could be read, wouldn’t be worth the time spent doing so.

‘What an asshole.’ They both think, not in the exact same words, but with the same underlying meaning. Even then, they share the same space without much problem, allowing the wind's whispers and the leaves' commotion to dominate the air between them once more. The shadows they rest under shift slightly, extending towards the grass as the sun arches over its midpoint, heading back down towards the skyline.

This beats meditation, at the very least.

They think they hate each other more than they actually do.

Eventually, with no word of warning, Viktor pushes himself to his feet, stretching towards the heavens with a low groan of effort. It really did seem like he would reach the sky, as his statuesque body, almost two meters tall, cast a dull shadow over the grassy borderline just ahead of them. He’d begin moving without declaring his intentions, and he frankly didn’t feel the need to; he had no obligation to tell her anything, and even if he did, she’d pick up the fact he was returning inside by context clues alone. She was no idiot, and treating her like one was putting extra effort for no reward, so he simply began sauntering back towards the building’s entrance.

Incredulous as she may be, Gala follows as predicted, only a few seconds behind the giant. She doesn’t take the time to stretch with as many theatrics as Viktor; she trudges her way through the firmness of her muscles as she follows the shadow of the colossus back into the building.

Unlike minutes ago, where silence reigned over the building uncontested, upon re-entering, voices can be faintly heard through the building's wooden walls. She’s certain she wasn’t outside for too long, but the classroom being filled with constant conversation made it an uncertainty in her mind. Maybe she’d fallen asleep beneath the summer warmth without noticing… Unlikely, though she had little aversion to the idea of a nap under right about now. Professor Auctoriotas turns to the door as Gala returns inside without a knock, let alone any fanfare; there’s an undertone of disappointment in his gaze that she doesn’t care enough for, and that she’d prefer he directs elsewhere.

“How nice of you to join us, Ms Shadeheart. I was worried you’d departed already.”
“Please see me once everyone else has departed for the day.”

She doesn’t grace him with an answer, instead choosing to walk further into the classroom, reconvening with Elio and Urien by the far side wall. This doesn’t mean she’d made the choice not to follow her teacher's demands; in fact, she was already mentally preparing to be chewed out, lectured at, or a combination of the two. The depth of her annoyance and her impending approach prompted the pair to open their conversation up to her.

“Are you alright? You’ve been storming out of meditation a lot more recently.”

Elio takes the initiative to address her sincerely. Gala responds as most expected her to.

“If you can notice me walking out, you’re not meditating hard enough.”

“Hard not to notice you being all loud when the rooms are all quiet.”

“Sorry, let me be more straightforward: keep your eyes to your fuckin’ self.”

The pair chuckle, though it’s flagrantly obvious to their third member that one of them was in much better spirits than the other. Urien’s eyes stay attached to Gala’s face with a serene chill that alerts the girl to his attention, though she does nothing more than look back for a second… And then another… And a final time as she understands she’d have to answer his questions to truly be free of this sheer cold.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I was just wondering if you’re okay, that's all.”

“I’m fine. Ugh, why does everyone want to act like my mom today?”
“I appreciate the concern but any issues I may or may not have I’ll solve myself.”

Both boys shrug, knowing that Gala’s will is more like a wall than a person; once erected, you’ll need some powerful tools to even make her budge, none of which they had on hand. Instead, they change topics, talking about nothing of importance to kill time before their class’ eventual dismissal: discussing the festival that was in a week, Elio bringing up his discussion with their All-Mother, Urien attempting to revive the debate they’d been having with the professor earlier, which was swiftly shut down by the pair's apathy.

Eventually, the room empties one by one - the twins are the first to leave, followed by Morrigan, then Johnathan comes over to drag Urien away, and bit by bit silence returns.

… The last to leave is Elio, who stands by the door, an expectant warmth in his gaze as he looks back towards his best friend. His partner's vivid description of nature energy as a sort of pool was truly felt in spades earlier as Gala caused turbulent waves by the mere shifting of her emotions. She was obviously bluffing; her front was strong, but what could be felt was always superior evidence to that which could be seen… Yet he’d ignore the facetious facade. Trust is a trait he’d learnt much earlier, and now was no time to begin becoming stingy with his investment in others. He’d simply raise a brow towards her as he announced his departure…

“Should I wait up for you?”

…And in response, she rolls her eyes with a scoffing chuckle, the same as always.

“Don’t bother. I’ll find you if I want you.”

Steps move in the opposite direction. The door shuts.

The only inhabitants of the room remaining are Number One, Number Eleven, and their stern Professor who seems uninterested in comforting the pair after their departure. Gala raises a brow in his direction. Viktor, who’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, mirrors her confusion. It seems they were both under the assumption they’d be receiving words of encouragement, a pep talk about how they should stay strong, dig deep, work hard even to the very end… But it seems they were misinformed. This fact is enough to make Gala all the more interested in what happens next.

The professor strides towards the center of the room, taking a single glance at the pair of them. In his gaze, a hungry flame that seems to burn with all the youth of a bright-eyed child and all the hunger of a voracious beast…

They’re shocked to be able to recognise a flame so primal in a man so civil...

It’s dangerous to look at, let alone to have out in the open, so untamed…

“How would you two like to help me conduct some research?”

… The tempting flame of dreams that leads men into destruction.