Nestled high up within a bed of clouds was an island, its underbelly glowing with the vibrance of numerous arcane runes and inscriptions. Most visible during the peak of daylight, a mountain peak jutting from the sky–the largest natural formation of draumadite on the Waylurne Continent. It was upon this majestic hovering rock that Luveris Academy laid its foundation. 

In the city grounded just below, this marvelous sight would fill the people with a deep sense of admiration and awe. At the same time, there was a different group of people there that held an equal amount of wonder at but a mere piece of bronze, small enough to fit within the palm of one’s hand. 

Around the city’s slums, scrounging for scraps, dirt-born children look up at the floating academy with a momentary glance and squint, as anyone would at the sun, before bringing their gazes back to their feet planted on the ground. For them, it was better to work hard to fill their stomachs rather than to keep aspiring to fly without wings—needless longing would only burn them out.

Roa Fariche once felt the same, as he himself tasted nothing but dirt growing up. Only, what changed for the young boy was that he had the fortune of coming across an odd looking coin... 

“Ha! This looks expensive! Lucky day! Lucky day! Thanks, old man!” 

Upon discovering that the odd looking coin was supposedly a token for enrollment, he took his time and deliberated, “Should I sell this? Or should I try my hand at the academy? Hm… Magic huh?”

With a twang, he flipped the coin into the air and landed on a decision. A simple act of a coin toss. This was what had set the course for the life of the unwitting kid from the slums.

***

A hundred miles of air in between, below the floating Luveris Academy was Lyria, the capital city of the Kingdom of Luveris. The days following the secondary assessment, Roa descended from the sky and took to the paved streets, planting his feet back on solid ground.

There was a downtime to the academy’s enrollment process. The applicants had to spend some time within the capital before returning to the academy. To make the most of this short break, Roa decided to use the chance to roam around and get used to his juvenile physique.

Around this time, other applicants also littered the surroundings. It was easy to separate them from the normal folk, as they were required to wear a white shirt and gray tie at all times. Only when they were full-fledged students were they given colored ties..

Stall owners and shopkeepers were eager to open up their businesses to the gray ties as this break in the enrollment period was an opportune moment to earn some Mir—the currency commonly used throughout the Waylurne Continent.

At a certain rustic restaurant, the boisterous conversations of numerous youths made for a lively evening atmosphere. Most knew nothing of their companions, where each other had come from, nor of their backgrounds. The only thing most of them had in common was a white shirt and gray tie.

A gathering place like this was ideal for these youths to make friends and acquaintances before entering the academy, and a suitable place for young noblemen to flaunt their parents’ wealth.

At one table, a shifty young man who sat beside the only gray tie adorned with a lavish coat, boastfully spoke aloud, “My fellow students, listen to me! Eat your fill! No need to be shy! Know that my young master Novis Philitte will foot the bill!” 

Pleasant cheers passed about. The bulk of those who entered the academy with legitimate means weren’t short on cash, but a gesture of goodwill was always welcomed. A show of generosity like this easily earned good favor for when they finally went inside the academy.

That said, there would still be those very few that found it hard to survive the high living costs of the capital. Along with attending the academy, they would have to find means of paying for their daily living expenses. 

Young nobles who throw mir around so casually like this, instead of gaining favor with the ones born with dirt in their mouths, drew their ire. It was always these sorts of young nobles that one such plebeian enjoyed ripping off.

That plebeian–no, a certain young man shouted, “Heh! Many thanks, distinguished young noble!” 

The students around the table were startled as a large stack of wooden plates landed on their table—each plate appearing to have been licked clean, enough to be mistaken as newly washed.

“Huh? The audacity! Who left this stack of plates here!?” The students were just about to finish eating, but while the shifty young man spoke of his master paying, the plates had suddenly appeared out of thin air. They were aware that something was amiss.

“Don’t mind it everyone. I’ve seen a few cheeky rats taking advantage of a situation. There will always be people like that.” The young noble, Novis Philitte, patted the shoulders of his livid companions, while he himself held back his frown.

He paid the issue no more attention and headed for the counter to settle the bill, but furrowed his brow in annoyance as he was suddenly asked to pay for quite an exorbitant amount.

“What’s this? We only had a small dinner, why am I paying for a banquet?” he asked the owner manning the counter.

“—Whole-fry Jacks, Oven-roasted Sheal, Braised Ssalmot, Osks’ Brain Stew…” the owner cited a long list of dishes before stating a disheartening price, “—all amounting to 14,110 mir.”

‘Aren’t these all exotic dishes? Who in the right mind would order those if someone else was paying!?’ Novis cursed silently in his head. The assortment listed were food he himself would only get to eat during special occasions. Although he wasn’t lacking financially, he found it incredibly irksome to have been taken advantage of. 

He continued, “Are you sure that was our order? Neither me nor my companions have ordered these!”

“A-apologies! Let us check again, sir.”  

For the more specialized dishes, each plate had a different mark underneath to indicate the order. The owner signaled for a waiter to check the dishes at their table. When the waiter returned, the orders were recited but none of them were changed.

“Those plates weren’t even ours! Does this establishment not account for such a simple con!?” No longer calm, the young noble protested in a loud voice, which drew the attention of everyone in the room.

“Sir!” The owner’s expression changed with the young noble’s outburst, ”The gentleman who added to your bill said that you’d pay for it, and indeed, your companion announced that you would. You didn’t even complain when I saw he added his plates and sat amongst your company and continued to eat.”

“H-He what!? Is he still here!? Outrageous!” The young noble snapped his head towards their table and spotted a single deserted chair on the corner. ‘Who dares!? Who dares take this noble for a fool!?

The young noble, Novis Philitte, clenched his fists in anger. The person was gone!

“S-Sir. Your bill?” The owner of the restaurant rubbed his hands nervously, the bill was no small amount. If the noble were to insist, she would have to pay it out of her own pocket.

“Bah! If I said I would pay for it, then I will!” Novis replied, unable to hide his irritation.

He clicked his tongue and reached for his pocket, deciding that his displeasure was best saved for the culprit. However, when he grabbed for his mir pouch, his subsiding anger erupted once more.

Novis took out his hand from his pocket, covered in a gooey substance, and trembling with rage. The owner immediately recognized what was dripping down from his palm.

“Osks’ Brain Stew…” she muttered, wondering how eccentric the young noble was to ruin his lavish coat by pocketing their dish.

Meanwhile, a ways away from the vicinity of the restaurant, a small, adorned bag that had exactly the same features as the noble’s mir pouch clinked heavily as it was tossed into the air and fell back into Roa Fariche’s hand. —A full belly; enough expenses to last two months if used sparingly; Roa was humming a tune to his good mood.

“Since he offered—he might as well pay for the rest of the month’s meals as well.” It was rather embarrassing having to fall back into old habits but indeed, this was the simplest way for him to get some food and exercise. 

With regards to socializing and attending such gatherings, although Roa planned to enter the academy, he found no need to play with these children. His sights were aimed at a much higher goal, beyond the regular students’ social circles. And besides, he knew that a year from now, there would be no point to such things.

Future plans began to take form in his head. His path needed enormous funding, and he had to think of ways to earn mir. 

Comparatively, if he kept on going with petty thievery, he would at least have to rip off all of the noble’s kids within the Kingdom of Luveris even to have the barest amount. Not only would that be time consuming, it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Roa immediately dismissed that plan.

At an alley he passed while mulling over his financial troubles, Roa came across a familiar face. He scratched his head, wryly smiling at the latter’s predicament.

This first brick for his plans was right here waiting to be picked up?

Long, pointed ears peeking through vermillion hair; a dull luster in her hooded, emerald eyes, and the loud growl of a famished beast coming from her stomach—Ariene Diadora, the Seed of Fire; future 1st, seat of Sirius. 

Her status? Starving.

Although enrolled at the academy under the recommendation of Forest Riviera, the woodlands’ princess received no support. Ariene was basically exiled, but placed under discreet surveillance. How she earned enough mir to live was up to her.

Why this was, Roa had no idea, Ariene had never gotten around to telling him. She knew how to hunt game within the woodlands, but nothing of the concepts of currency and economy. At least, back when she was under house arrest, the academy felt it mandatory to take care of her so she didn’t have to worry about food.

The result of Roa’s tampering? Ariene was slumped down lifeless in an alley, with her cushy cheek as her pillow, and the night sky as her blanket.

‘Hah! What an incredible coincidence! To run into each other in this large city!’ Roa was delighted. In his memories, it was around this time that she was under sanctions and house arrest while he had just gone under a knife, heavily sedated.

“Oh Ariene! I missed you! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Roa smiled and widened his arms in a way such as a shifty merchant would.

“Who–urgh. Shoo! I don’t know you, go away!” Ariene saw Roa and replied weakly, unwilling to part with the patch of pavement she had painstakingly warmed with her body.

“How could you say that?” Roa endearingly asked. ”Were you here all along? Have you had anything to eat?” The usually ill-tempered lady only replied with a deadpan stare and a weak groan.

Roa pursed his lips and scratched his head before unceremoniously picking Ariene up off the ground. With both arms, he carried her like a princess—you would have assumed, but no, Ariene was hoisted like a sack of potatoes on top of Roa’s right shoulder.

“Hey!? B-beast! What are you planning!? Let me down! I’m gonna kill you!”

“Hoho—A growling stomach is a silent scream for food,” Roa chuckled. “What? Don’t you want to eat? I’ll treat you somewhere.” 

Initially, Ariene struggled like a cat not wanting to be held, but relaxed slightly at the mention of food; she quieted down, but still kept a modicum of vigilance.

A firm grip on Ariene’s waist, Roa led the way down a few stairs, past dark alleys, past darker alleys, where the city’s brick pavements had become akin to a balding man’s head–with patches missing here and there–while the tone of the surroundings gradually turned gloomy as they neared the slums. 

At one random alley, Roa coincidentally picked up another collapsed person wearing a gray tie.

Two puzzled faces met on his back as Roa hoisted them both in less than comfortable positions. The first potato sack shook her head at the latter as even she was perplexed at what was happening. Roa eventually placated them both with the sweet temptation of food.

Moments later, they made it to Bellona District, otherwise known as Lyria’s pauper town.

Roa kicked open the doors to a dilapidated establishment—a worn, medium-sized tavern that in its heyday surely garnered a fairly decent number of customers. The wooden sign outside depicting an outline of an eye rocked vigorously from the force of Roa’s kick. Gold Eye Tavern, it read.

A musty scent filled their noses as they entered, cleanliness didn’t seem like it would pass the city’s standards. It was heaven and earth compared to the restaurant Roa had eaten in awhile back. Of the scant number of people inside, none gave his entrance much of a reaction, except for the taverner standing behind the bar counter. 

“Ha! Roa Fariche, my boy! Since when were you in the kidnapping business?'' The man guffawed and pinched Roa’s chest. 

The man’s appearance told a far more intriguing story than what his façade let on. A burly figure; white hair, eye-patch, and one golden eye. He held himself in an intimidating posture, and crossed his arms to accentuate scars running all the way up his rolled sleeves. 

“Shut it, Morrow!” Roa grinned, and dropped his baggage onto the wooden stools in front of the counter. “ I picked up a pair of strays. Have you anything to eat back there?” 

“Of course, I do! Long as you got the coin!” the taverner Morrow replied.

Five bronze coins fell on top of the counter. “Fifty mir! Two meals!” Roa requested.

Morrow clicked his tongue, his jolly tone changing to contempt, “You tryin’ to be funny, kid?”

A damaged coin fell atop the first five. “Fifty-five!” Roa raised.

“What are you, a dog? Can’t even get scraps with fifty mir!”

Roa’s hands trembled as they held onto a sweat-stained burlap pouch—his personal coin bag. He bit his lip and furrowed his brow, looking to be in great pain as if parting from his dearly beloved. 

“Haa! 350 mir! And throw in something to wash the bitterness of my mouth!”

“Gotcha, kid! Three orders—everything’ll be 600 mir!” 

“Three? Bull! Two! Three’s too much! I already ate!”

Morrow guffawed, “What? Two meals for the pair of ladies, and a drink for you and me! Today’s haul seems pretty heavy, don’t it?” On his palm suddenly appeared six silver coins, plucked from an adorned pouch that magically appeared on his opposite hand. 

The carefree action elicited an immediate loud hiss from Roa, “Son of a—! Old man, give that back! Don’t take my stuff without permission!” 

“Your stuff? Heh! Ain’t got no interest stealing loot from a kid! Unless you want to give me it?”

Roa’s eyes almost bulged from its sockets. Morrow’s hands were quick. He didn’t even notice becoming the victim of his own trade. What an embarrassing thing for the one who was once called a ghostly thief. 

Roa casted a doubtful stare at the taverner. It seemed that Morrow was hiding more than just scars up his sleeves. Thankfully, he didn’t seem keen on keeping the pouch, and the burly man let out a snort before tossing it back to Roa.

Roa hissed again, “This was an unexpected find. There’s no way I’m giving this to you!” He grabbed the pouch and slid it between his clothes, letting out a light cough before regaining his composure.

—End of Chapter 4