EBB AND FLOW

Only within the purest darkness can currents of even purer lights surge. At the abysmal bottom, when clear sky turns crimson, trees, rivers and flowers lose their luster, and when voices of others turn to meaningless noise, can something like pure indifference and hatred be born. Grath had at last fell to that bottom. His eyes clear, vacant, devoid of emotion stared at the raised platform before him.

Around him people whispered in inaudible tones, some of scorn, some of praise, some of deterrence. He didn’t listen. Rather, he barely saw events unfolding. As though his mind capsized, it attempted to block the surge of visual information entering him. For, up there on that plain, wooden platform reeking of dried blood, currently pinned down to a tree’s stump, hands tied behind his back, fully naked, was his older brother.

Grath couldn’t look his way; he was certain that, if he were to truly witness the state his brother was in, he’d lose all the composure he fought so fiercely to keep. All he could do is blankly stare into the abyss and wait until it is all over. Only stare at those behind his brother; a row of well-dressed old and young, coldly and disinterestedly staring at the person on stage. That was the way of Academy – at least that’s the reason they gave out.

Much like Grath, his older brother didn’t look toward him either. After all, the poor lad knew he was keenly monitored; every single one of his actions was observed to their utmost meaning. Were he to look at Grath, there’s a high chance he’d implicate the only person who ever loved him into this mess.

Grath knew this – he knew this very well. Ever since the day he was born, his older brother was the one who gave him everything. The only reason Grath stood at the pinnacle of Academy’s geniuses, donned one to herald the Academy into a new age of prosperity, is because of his brother, who shed his own skin and blood, sacrificing everything just so Grath wouldn’t fall behind the sons and grandsons of Elders.

Even if Grath wanted to scream and shout, demand a proper investigation into the matter, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t throw away fourteen years that his brother sacrificed for him on a childish whim. His brother beat Headmaster’s son, and now he faces cold edge of the blade against the nape of his neck. Whatever underlying truths could be found in that story didn’t matter. All present here knew that the truth was much more complex, yet no one dared voice a thought. It was the Academy’s way, after all.

Grath was a genius, loved by Elders, envied by peers, and admired and desired by women. He had servants lining up to lick the soles of his shoes, he had fathers coming and bearing gifts to push their daughters with him. He had wandering Mages come at his doorstep, offering him worldly techniques in exchange for a mere recognition. Yet, even if someone like that stepped out at the very moment, he’d only invoke scorn of those present on the platform. Geniuses are plenty, but bonds fostered over generations are few. Grath understood that, which is why he remained still and seemingly indifferent.

Sun burst forth with warmth worthy of mid-summer days, causing discomfort among the audience. Yet, all the same, no one moved. Lips parted briefly in a whisper, and noises would be gone in a blink. It would soon tick 12, and blade would descend. Until then, all were forced to stand and anticipate. Grath swore, over and over, that this day won’t go unpunished. But, in the end, he was a child. No matter how many talents he unveiled, no matter how many peers he fought and defeated, no matter how many miracles he showed to the world, opposite of him stood a Divine Magus, a pinnacle existence akin to no other. What could he do? Who would be foolish enough to incur Divine Magus’ wrath? No one was the answer.

Soon the bell tolled, its gentle yet foreboding rhythm resonating throughout the hearts of those present. Up on the platform, a shirtless man wearing executioners mask and leather, black pants stepped forth. He drew out his long, bloodied sword and brandished it tightly. The fragile, battered, bruised and bloodied body of Grath’s older brother remained immovable, as though the cold edge of the blade being raised into the sky didn’t matter at all. He didn’t defy, nor did he beg. His lips remained shut as did his eyes. He welcomed the cold darkness, the wretched silence, and sharp edge to slash through his neck.

At last, Grath shifted his gaze. He forced himself. He had to see it. He had to steel his resolve. If, one day, however long it would take, he’d garner enough strength, he had to incur a reminder. And that reminder would be the scene that he’s about to witness. This was his brother’s last servitude to him; he already opened up a path for Grath and showed him the way, and this was the last goodbye between the two. His brother, who abandoned his family’s name only so he wouldn’t stand in Grath’s way, a man who fought all those who envied Grath only so his little brother could grow stronger in peace, was singing his final goodbye in silence.

Executioner’s blade was much thicker than those one would use in a battle. It was heavy, clearly seen from the way the man’s muscles bulged as he lifted it. Golden sheen emitted from the blade’s edge, reflecting the sun above, as it hung elevated. Executioner, and all others currently present, waited for a signal, and it came in the form of a meager hand’s wave. Nodding, the executioner shifted his eyes back onto the naked body lying before him and aimed for the exposed neck.

A sound reminiscent of slicing the wind echoed for a brief moment as the blade chopped down in a quick momentum. It sliced through the exposed neck as though it was butter, causing sprays of blood to erupt. For a brief moment, although decapitated, head hung onto the neck. Blood gushed out of the dead’s mouth as the head inched forward and rolled onto the ground. Following it was a small river of blood, creating a crimson puddle beneath. Gasps reverberated through those present, but no word was uttered. Seventeen year old youth was dead. However terrible the scene was, Grath knew his brother’s name would be forgotten by the next week.

Alongside the promise of revenge, he made another deep inside the reaches of his heart; he would never let anyone else he cared for end up like this. Even if it meant going against Divine Magus, or even a God. In truth, he simply didn’t want to feel this weak ever again, unable to change the current of time. Soon, people dissipated one by one, Grath among them. Later that day, his brother’s head was hung onto the Academy’s main gate as a reminder. Staring at it, Grath felt array of complex emotions; on his brother’s face, he saw neither fear nor resentment. Only peace and a faint smile.

Clenching his fist, he went back into his dorm and began meditating. Life is long, and time is plenty. There will come a day, he promised, when heads hung would be theirs.

* * *

Nearly five minutes had passed since Grath had begun laying down formation for activating Spacial Lock. Due to Dragon’s massive body, he had to circle it in great spades, leaving him little room for rest. He grew even more anxious as he looked up to see the situation; Stork and Ruela were currently being blown backwards by the Dragon’s shadows, Hylana was being chased after by a girl holding a Spear, and Sorth was being mercilessly beaten by a golden-haired man wielding several lightning Dragons.

Despite the urge to help them, he chose to trust them instead and focus on his task. None of the four were weaklings; even the weakest among them, Ruela, was already Emperor, while Stork and Hylana were Creators, just like he was. Still, what surprised him the most that Hylana was having a hard time; from the Mana fluctuations coming from her opponent, Grath figured she was at most Emperor. However, the purity of Mana inched toward even Divine Realm.

“… I have to finish this quickly…” he mumbled, quickening his pace.

Spacial Lock, at least the one of this size – large enough to lock something as massive as a Dragon – required nearly ten thousand points of origin that would interlock space between them. Not only that, but the Lock wouldn’t last that long. The further it was stretched, the weaker it would get. At best, Grath realized, he’d able to lock the Dragon up for a few minutes. However, seeing as even Stork and Ruela were having a hard time battling directly, he wondered whether that would even be enough.

Then there were battles occurring in the higher sky; that boy riding the Dragon, and another Divine Magus that accompanied him. He trusted High Fathers, but he couldn’t help but feel some doubt at the same time. What if they lose? There’s no doubt that another Dragon joining the fray would completely overturn the scale of the battle. Time never seemed to be faster, yet he felt as though he worked the slowest than ever before.

In the end, he lacked proper information. He never expected for both Hylana and Sorth to be tied up individually, much less for Stork and Ruela to struggle so much. Even if the boy and that Divine Magus woman were currently being tied up, who’s to say that no one else will show up? The worst scenario would be if this battle escalated into war between Divine Mages. Pieces like him and others from his group would just be disposable pawns at that point.

As he moved through ragged and roughed terrain, he’d occasionally glance upward. He witnessed everything from the corner of his eyes; he saw Dragon retreat, he saw Hylana face a spell that could end her life, and he saw Sorth almost killing his opponent. Yet, he still felt unease. Even if the overall state of the battle was currently in their favor, he couldn’t help but feel that unease. Was it worth, even, setting up Spacial Lock at this point? It was clear that Dragon had no intention of fleeing. He was certain that, if he joined Stork and Ruela, he could suppress the Dragon. But, was that the right action?

At last, when he witnessed Hylana being blown backward like a kite, her entire body bleeding profusely from the wounds, inching closer to death, he decided to abandon setting up the Spacial Lock. If things get any worse, there’d be no way to reverse the situation. He knew that there’s almost no chance of any other High Father showing up, or even sending competent reinforcements. He had to rely on himself and four others to get out of this. There was no other way.