Skirmish 6

Patrick Bryant went for his room in the dormitories. The guards assigned there were surprised to see him, and some others, out of class.

“Skaria.” He only said one word before continuing inside.

The guards, of course, did not understand what he meant and began asking the others why. Only when the other cadets of Class 13 explained the situation did the guards calm down. They, too, knew who Malachi was as they were under Eleazar himself. Although, the sudden understanding gained by the guards became a strange sight for the other cadets; why were they accepting it immediately?

Nevertheless, they had the thought leave their minds. It was their first break since meeting Malachi, after all, and they would not want their minds to be fatigued looking for answers that may never be revealed to them.

As soon as Patrick passed through his room’s doorway and closed the door, he sat on a chair by his desk and closed his eyes. His room, typical for a cadet but reminiscent of a middle-aged man’s atmosphere and tidiness, was dimly lit by pyrocite lamps. There was a bookshelf and other homely furniture, and all of these were provided by the academy. At the very least, it was different from the shared rooms for the other cadets that came from common backgrounds, and it gave its tenant some privacy.

Yes, the dormitories had private rooms and shared rooms, and they were segregated by their class. Cadets and cadettes with noble backgrounds had private rooms, especially for royalty like Alexa who had specialized accommodations, and those with common backgrounds, like Tyler Simmons, shared rooms with others.

On his desk was a grayscale photo of his younger self with a group of other young men and women. He and the others were all well-dressed, akin to what one might expect from nobility, and surrounded an elderly woman who sat on a chair. Each one was smiling at the camera.

In the photo, he had well-groomed and very short hair compared to his present chin-length hair that was also evenly parted to both sides. His past self also brimmed with youthful vigor and brilliance, but now the bags of his eyes were heavy and his face had unshaven stubble.

Patrick heaved a long sigh then opened his eyes. He reached for the photo on his desk, brought it closer, and stared at it for a long while.

“What do I do now?” he said heavily, “My enemy… our enemy is right before my eyes, yet I am filled with doubt. Is he truly one born from those who ruined us, who destroyed our lives?”

Speaking to the photo, as though waiting for an answer, silence enveloped the room.

“The Eskurs in the class, before he came, I was able to tolerate,” he continued, “but him… he had the gall to join hands with his clan’s enemy. Join hands, and even empower… the… victor…?”

Patrick realized something strange. He looked up from the photo momentarily, and leaned back.

“Why would a Skaria help the Kingdom of Perlas?” he wondered, “Even the weapons he brought with him were far too spectacular compared to the weapons they’ve used years ago.”

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not come to a conclusion. He thought about the previous king’s, Eleazar’s, post-war declaration regarding the treatment of Eskurs, but that should not give enough reason for Malachi to serve the kingdom all too wholeheartedly.

Although, he did notice one thing since he first met Malachi.

“Why was the Headmaster so eager to incorporate all of his ideas in the first place?” another question popped into his head. “This should be the first time they’ve met or, rather, the first time would be receiving their class assignments from him.”

The more he sought for an answer, newer questions further appeared. Patrick raised his two-meter tall self from his seat and went to his window. Through the window, he gazed at the vast expanse of the arid region where the academy was located as he stroked his beard.

“I wonder if the others noticed this incongruity.”

Samantha Cuevas, one of the few cadettes in Class 13 who was a senior, went to the library. Within, she looked around and found no one in sight—not even Clara.

“Is it really empty?” she whispered, “Eep?!”

As a precaution, she scanned the interior of the library and the corridor behind her. When she heard a noise, she fearfully looked back and only saw a patrolling guard drop his saber at one end of the corridor. Fortunately, the guard continued his patrol away from where Samantha was once he picked the saber up.

She continued inside the library after a breath of relief.

With just the sound of her steps accompanying her, she went to a bookshelf and pulled out a thick—incomparably thick—book from one of the lower shelves. This book did not have a title, but its spine was frayed in numerous areas. Opening it revealed pages of pure text.

She flipped page after page, without stopping, until she came upon the first blank page. She went to a nearby table, hidden among the shelves, and sat down while keeping the book opened with one hand. Afterwards, she pulled out a pen and began writing on the book.

Without making another sound, she wrote and wrote on the book, page after page. A clock on the wall had already struck twice before she finally lifted the pen from the page. She had been writing continuously for two hours, and only after that she replaced her pen and closed the book.

“That was good.” She commented. Samantha leaned back against the chair and stretched her arms, and looked at the clock for the time. “It’s too early for lunch; I’ll just rest for the time being.”

Leaving her seat, Samantha returned to the bookshelf and replaced the book where it was taken from. Looking around her surroundings, she was still alone and was satisfied with her privacy. Taking one last look around the library, she eventually left and went for the dormitories.

As she left, however, a shadow dropped down from the ceiling. It was a male soldier, one of many who worked beneath Clara and, ultimately, Eleazar.

“What did she write this time?” he wondered.

The soldier took the very same book Samantha wrote in and flipped past the many pages. However, unlike Samantha, he stopped where she started writing and began reading what was written.

“Oh, quite imaginative,” he commented, “I see, I see.”

The soldier passed the time reading the contents of the book.