Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T he rising sun was announced by the song of the nightbird, and it didn't take long for them to pack up camp and get ready to leave.

When Valentino led them through the Great Pass—the Three Point Country as people called it nowadays, where Novar, Darmayar and Nethyr met—their group fell silent.

It was on this very spot the war had been decisive, where House Novar had suffered their greatest losses. In the desolate, tricky nature of the east, with its hills, valleys and hidden lakes, they'd been isolated from the aiding armies of Akotan and Staljord. It was here where they'd rung the bell, where Darmayar hadn't shown up.

That day, thousands of Novarian soldiers had fallen.

That day, she had fallen.

"Keep formation, one after the other," Valentino Prianos barked from over his shoulder, and the white plumes on his bronze helmet slightly waved in the air as if saluting the sleepy forest.

As if the woods replied to their quiet appearance, sounds roused. Deer looked up from between rustling leaves only to flee back into the shadows, colourful birds heading further east flew by, filling the air with their chirping songs toward the country of the mystical forest on the horizon.

Toward Darmayar.

Their horses and carriages bumped on sand trails that meandered over tree roots where soft moss dotted around, dimming the impact of each jostle as they went. They were old, judging by their thick trunks, their endless sizes and uncountable branches, and the shelter they offered to insects and rodents.

They made their way through the Great Pass, following the narrow road where it widened into fields of grass they could ride freely on. Behind them, the dry, flat land of Novar. On their right, the land behind the mystical forest. And right ahead of them, the destination of their travels and the future for their next school year. Nethyr.

They hadn't even crossed the first passage when his father, who rode in the front, waved his hand in the air. "Guards, take position!" It was as if he'd momentarily forgotten that the war had ended, momentarily haunted by his own recollections.

Simple black suits and blood-red capes froze in the morning sun, limps straightened and spears stretched in front of shields that were no longer on their backs, but in their hands, ready to defend their lives. They had executed the order in less than five seconds, their training kicking in effortlessly, regardless of the lack of necessity.

Astor passed the small, unmoving party nonchalantly, his shining jet-black hair matching the black suit that was laced at the back as it hugged his lithe frame with all its developed muscles. He sat back on his horse, only loosely holding the reins, blood-red cloak flapping with every step he took towards his father. His gaze flitted over the Novarians and halted only to stare into the light that was Fabiano. Then he raised a hand.

"Put your weapons down," he said, voice rich with that usual hint of arrogance.

Spears were withdrawn, shields were tucked behind backs and conversations were reluctantly picked up as the group got back to their normal activity.

" Filius ." His father blinked when he watched Astor approach, as if he too had been in a trance, only to be awoken just now and surprised to see his son by his side.

"Father." Astor joined him ahead of their travelling party, jutted his chin toward the trail ahead of them. "Shall we continue? That way we'll get there in time for the games." He murmured the words for only the two of them to hear. Nobody had to know how his father had been lead by fear and memories, instead of common sense.

They did, finishing what was left of their journey with the unhurried pace of a travelling party who came home from a day at the market.

Astor forced himself to listen to the sounds, the peaceful tones of the surrounding nature with its spectacular view. Both mountains were high and steep as they reached for the sky, and he couldn't help but feel small on the path in the heart of where the rocky, cascading slopes met.

This is where they had been trapped. The memory made his heart stutter.

The sound of the bells of Ravenna, the city that used to mark the end of Novar and their current destination, had rung in desperation.

This is where they'd been waiting.

This is where…

A firm squeeze on his shoulder brought him out of his revelry with a jolt. "Welcome to Nethyr, son," said his father. Astor blinked and caught that same reflection in his father's gaze. It was that similar blue pool of remembrance of all that was lost. Of all that would never return.

Of her.

Ahead of them, their vision filled with sand—a flat, endless vision that smoothed into the shape of a town with its subtle and unmistakable slopes of city walls, of houses that were built behind stone.

Nethyr.

And just like that, the forest disappeared from view, just like the mountains had never existed to begin with, as if there was no Great Pass, no memory of slaughter and death, no memory of heartbreak.

Around them there was nothing of such sort anymore, instead there was sand and dust that blew up with every step of the horses, for as far as their eyes could see. And the walls of Nethyr, the diplomatic state—that was meant to be protected, to be kept, to represent the restoration of three united countries.

And one barbaric nation.

And one traitor.

Astor felt the straining muscles from his horse against the insides of his thighs, his need to run and shake off the earlier sensation of entrapment and embrace the space, the void surrounding them. To shake off the past and ride toward freedom.

"Nearly, my girl, nearly." He caressed the Kallisto's head as she turned her muzzle and rubbed against Astor's palm in affection as they waited for his father to give the order.

Fabiano caught up with him, his mare softly whinnying as she too, wanted to gallop. His younger brother's eyes were on the land in front of them, on the soldiers who stood fiercely on top of the walls, their bodies entirely wrapped in iron, helmets on their heads, a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. From this far they looked like miniature characters from the war boards his father used during the war and where they had practised positions of the casus belli that had led to their final victory.

They were the only ones who arrived at the city's Southern Gate.

Lifting the gold and blood-red banner as they approached the fort on galloping horses, their scouts took the lead and approached ahead, validating their arrival and protecting the noble family they were transporting. Astor wanted to go too, a sudden rush of nerves and excitement coiling in his stomach like an unfolding snake in a basket. But his father held up his arm, giving the sign to pause as he waited for the scouts to return from the walls—as if he expected the barbarians to return any minute the way they had done back then, in faintly brown uniforms and equally brown masks that had covered their faces and made them look every single bit the brutes they were. But his father hadn't allowed them yet, and so they waited.They stared at the sandy clouds the horses left in their race for Nethyr.

Astor remembered how they'd made their way here last year from the Eastern Gate for their first school year at the newly founded Academiae Scientia, a college for the nobles of the five allied countries. A promise to keep the peace and divide the most honourable positions, such as managing trade and commerce, managing slaves, politics, healthcare, education and warfare. It was a promise to mankind to do better, and only graduates from the Academy would be taken into consideration for such positions.

Despite the 13 months difference between Astor and Fabiano, they were in the same school year. Perhaps it was a token of the relentless faith their father had in his brother's intellect. More likely he meant to keep Fabiano close to Astor for protection.

The people spoke of the excellent reputation of the Academy, and world-wide it was renowned as being one of the best educational institutes. But novitiates knew what it was really like to be in the lion's den—to face competition not only with your own people, for the selection procedure was tough, but mostly, with yourself. It was a challenge to keep your sanity in there. Between those walls, novitiates were cruel.

Carefully separated and segmented in school uniforms that matched the house they represented, each nation had claimed their own wing for sleeping. However, classes were shared together—though novitiates would usually be cluttered together by colour—just like the canteen and sports facilities. And that wasn't all, for the secret invitations that would be sent back and forth when personnel thought their novitiates asleep, gave access to a far more dangerous communal area.

"Look! Ravenna has opened its gates!" Someone called out, the words followed by the upcoming drum rolls that played their familiar, Novarian melody indicating their welcome inside the city.

Valentino threw his arm forward as if making an arrow and aiming straight for the castle. "To the castle!" He shouted, and everyone moved forward in a flurry of galloping horses. Finally. They'd arrived in Ravenna, once territory of House Novar, transformed into Nethyr. Right in time.

Fabiano came up next to Astor. Their eyes met, his twinkling with mischief. "What was he thinking? That our own people wouldn't let us in?"

That's exactly what he was thinking, Astor wanted to retort, because part of his father's mind was still there, stuck in the war, when she died. But then again, so was his brother's mind. Still, he was weak to Fabiano's crooked smile, to the hint of his brother's younger self and whom he had loved so dearly.

"Last one bathes in the pont!" Fabiano called out, the exact words they'd used to torment each other with as teenagers. Clacking his tongue to spurt on his horse, his younger brother flashed him a dazzling smile before taking off in a rush.

"You—" Astor let out, staring at Fabiano's retreating back. Then he laughed and called out to his Callisto, who let out a whinny of excitement before taking off with new speed when Astor pressed his heels against her belly. And they rode, inhaling hot air that radiated freedom and elation and a hunkering to be back, to be united with their fellow Novarians whom they'd last seen before the summer break. He couldn't wait to be back in their wing for late nights and early mornings, for game nights and illegal fights. For evenings filled with thoughts on how to crush those barbarians who had dared to trespass their land and force them into a peace treaty they never wanted in the first place.

And that wasn't all. They were about meet those Darmarayans, those traitors, who had stayed away after that disastrous night, five years ago.

From the inside, Academiae Scientia looked exactly like he remembered it when he left nearly before the summer break. With its never-ending walls, its pointed arch that allowed for a vaulted ceiling and thinner walls that contained numerous stained glass windows, the academy was impressive. Rumours had it that once upon a time, this great hall was used to house the Blossom Queen. They said that her throne was made of glass in which vines had grown for prosperity. That the sunlight would come through those coloured, arched windows, and threw the perfect light upon the Queen, making her beautiful like a Goddess.

It was a beautiful tale. But people talked and there was no proof to back up that theory. Then, words were the easiest melody to transform into lies of hope, or deceit for that matter.

Today, the hall was decorated to welcome all novitiates and their families to celebrate the festivities that marked the new school year together.

They were gold and blood-red, proud and secluded, silver and black, loud and untamed. Blue and yellow and filled with excitement. House Akotan was situated east of Novar, and they had fought side by side to defend their people from the southern enemy forces. Akotans banner holders held their colourful flag high in the air, making it seem as if the drawn boat was floating on the rippling piece of cloth. Their long, braided hair was up in a twist of a bun that showed their wealth and status, and exposed the painted foreheads of their novitiates. Curled signs were delineated onto their flesh in a creation of unknown marks and signs that looked pretty, but strange. They kept to themselves as they conversed in their strange language, that sounded like a tumble of rrr's and vvv's and shhh's to Novarians. Though they'd enjoyed mocking them for their native tongue last year, it had been annoying to find that Akotans could smoothly switch to Novarian, which was one of the three official language taught at the academy.

"No sign of the others yet," Fabiano mumbled as they walked in side by side, with their father in the middle, toward the college clerk and the selection of flags that represented all nations of the treaty.

"Astor and Fabiano Prianos." Their arrival was announced with a light bow and a wave of the Novarian flag. While he curled his lips into a polite smile, his gaze whirled around the majestic room that was filled with the finest of uniforms, haircuts and soldiers.

"There," said their father, and he discreetly pointed his index finger to the corner across the room, where a brown flag with a thick, yellow cross drawn inside, flapped mockingly in the air. Gaeta.

The invaders.

They had talked about them over the summer, about the barbarians which everyone refused to call by name. Over the past five years they had sent their delegation of novitiates to the Academy, forcing the other nations to share space with those who had needed less than four months to leave a trail of misery and death as they'd made their wake up north, until they were stopped.

"The level of audacity never ceases to amaze me," grumbled Fabiano. They joined the others in their assigned corner. Over here, they had a perfect view of the hall that was lit up with rows of torches and chandeliers that made the adorned walls flicker. It made his brother's white garment stand out even more. Like the others, Fabiano too would have to change into his school uniform once the games would come to an end, and strangely enough that reassured Astor. Fabio could no longer be a possible beacon of torment, which was Astor's greatest fear.

"The bastards have come with ten novitiates this year." Fabiano's lip curled up in a rare display of animosity. He huffed out a snort. "You see how they're all wearing their finest cloth?" They turned to face each other. "And all that just for the show," Fabiano wiggled his eyebrows. "Right, big brother?"

" Si ." Astor nodded. Suddenly he couldn't wait for the games to start. For them to end, for their family to say their goodbyes, for the tears to be shed and for the gates to hell to close. To finally close.

With them inside.

He was ready for another round with these smug assholes. He was ready for this beautiful, toxic place to transform into an environment of ambush and tricks, where violence and bloodshed and bullying reigned.

In the name of peace.

And yet he had a funny feeling in his stomach.

They hadn't needed many months here at the academy to understand the unwritten, unspoken rules. When the lights are on, stay together, stay safe. When the lights are off, run for cover.

It was true. This place had only needed a few years to be transformed into a prison for the nobles. During the day, they studied, played sports and games, went for walks. At night, the halls were void of its usual sound and filled with shadows and whispers instead. That's when the positions of their carefully crafted board games in the play rooms would be fought out in real life.

That's where it really mattered.

Fabiano stood, tall and proud as if the ancient power truly ran through his veins, his white suit and cape aflutter around his shoulders, the sides held together by the brooch that matched the red and golden glow of House Novar. His blonde hair was a tumble the way it cascaded down his back where he kept it in two, loose space buns. The style was a deft effort to separate his style from House Staljord, who were fair-skinned and carried their platinum hair in long braids over their back, or pinned in their necks. They wore silver uniforms that were heavily decorated with black jewels, the two colours of their flag. Silver and black.

"There you are!" A tall boy with long, auburn hair that flopped below his ears, and large, grey eyes, clasped Astor on his shoulder, pulling Astor in for a hug. He crooked a smile. "We were afraid that you wouldn't make it in time. It's good to see you, man."

"Oreon." Astor returned the hug. It had been too long since he'd seen one of his best friends. "We got held up. We travelled through the forest and ended up at the Eastern Gate."

Oreon frowned as he pulled back. "Eastern Gate? You guys travelled through the Three Point Country? Why?"

Astor shrugged, his attention already on Scilla, Oreon's older sister. "Can't exactly question the Leopard of the Novarian army now, can I?" It was a warning and Oreo snorted in amusement, the most appropriate reaction. The subject was ignored, the pointless meeting that had turned out to be a stand-up not mentioned and Astor moved to take Scilla's hand and plant a kiss on it.

"Can't wait for the games to begin," she smiled, eyes dancing with mischief.

"I bet you can't." Astor released her hand and touched his temple with his fingertips, a gesture Scilla copied. "You beat all those poor Akotanian wenches last year."

"And I fully intend doing it over this year." She gave him a mocked bow and a grin, before turning to Fabius. "I heard that Damaryan will be present this year?"

"That's what I heard too." His brother flicked his intensive gaze around. "But they're not here yet."

That funny feeling in Astor's stomach swooped.

Scilla looked around, shrugging. "Well, I guess it's still early."

That wasn't entirely true. The clock in Ravenna had swung eleven times already, and that meant that in only one hour, the games would begin, announcing the start of the new school year. If they kept the pace this slow, they'd barely have time to get ready.

"Look, more Novarians are making their way inside," said Oreon.

It was true. In the Great Hall, more noble families made their appearance, their names being called out by the clerk, followed by a wave of the correct flag. After a polite bow, the family was guided toward the right corner, careful not to let their eyes roam and look at the others.

So much for the Alliance.

"Cosmo hasn't arrived yet?" Astor asked. Around them, people applauded for yet another arrival. Judging by the black and silver attributes, they were of House Staljord. "You know what he's like," Oreon grumbled. "Late, per usual. He'll be here, he'd better be. He volunteered for the throwing contest, and I'm not going to do that in his place." Astor chuckled and started counting the Novarian families, but lost track when Scilla turned over her shoulder. "Fourteen novitiates," she said, smiling knowingly. "Nearly complete."

Time moved swiftly when families started to intermingle, introducing themselves and their children to other Novarian nobles. They were families who owned large plots of cultivated lands, held trading firms or manufactured clothes.

Cosmo finally made his appearance by climbing onto Astor's back, much to his parent's disapproval, and the two boys hugged each other and grinned, clasping Oreon by his shoulder to grab him into their bear hug. The ice was broken, or perhaps it was the inevitable rising of the tension that would escalate in the games that were about to start, less than an hour from now.

The academy might be a toxic place, but it was also an environment for them to be with friends. Most Novarian elite had been privately tutored over the past years, where they had been groomed into intelligent, polite noble youth. They were the country's future, the next doctors, lawyers, teachers and politicians. They were the country's next Leopard, the general to its superior fighting machine.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Alliance, we would like to start by giving you all a warm welcome to the fourth year of the existence of Academiae Scientia," called the voice of the clerk, the announcement dimming the fleeting whispers. It was time. The clerk lifted the blood-red and gold flag in the air. "Present is House Novar!"

They cheered, their voices booming against the walls, flying for the high ceiling only to tumble back and around them in tinned echo. The clerk put their flag into the flag holder, a narrow, metallic pole that stood in front of the largest diamond-shaped window and held up the next one.

"House Akotan!" More cheers and patting on shoulders from the group that stood closest to them, in past and present…

"House Staljord!" The clerk called out. He'd barely finished the words when the northern people held up their black necklaces and let out a shout at the ceiling. Astor's father let out a disapproving grunt that was met with equal clacks of tongues from their fellow countrymen. Those savages. The way they'd wrecked Novar's glorious nature as they'd marched straight through it on their way south to aid their helpless troops.

The clerk put the Staljordan flag next to the Akotan one. It was a simple, black banner with a silver circle at the center surrounded by a four-pointed star that formed a clear contrast to Akotan's bright blue and yellow one, the boat it carried in the middle still lost in the waves.

"House Gaeta!" The clerk called and the barbarians howled their barbarian greeting for the unwilling world to hear. Novarians had seen the brown flag with that obnoxious thick and yellow cross drawn inside too many times on the battlefield. Even today, with the war over and done with, the treaty signed and Nethyr to protect them all from history repeating itself, the Novarian's glower was fierce, their hatred fresh, as they stared at the brown-clad Gaetans. They weren't welcome here and this school year would be a duplication of last years'—their hoaxes mostly targeted toward their southern neighbours.

"House of Darmayar!" The clerk called out.

What followed was silence, as they all stared at the pine-coloured flag that portrayed a solar disk with rays ending in small human hands. Their corner was empty, the Great Hall apprehensive. With every dragging second, discomfort rose.

Astor's stomach coiled treacherously, a feeling he hadn't had for five years since he had been with his father close to the Great Pass, where the final battle had taken place. Those hours had felt like a lifetime as their weakened army had held the attacker, famine and the vast number of wounded soldiers heavily demotivating the once invincible Novarian soldiers. He had barely been eighteen.

Turning his gaze to his brother, whose blue stare tried to burn a hole in the massive doors, Astor willed his mind to stay with him, here and in the present. He didn't miss how his father had his hand already on his sword, surely feeling the aggravating discomfort as they waited. He wasn't the only one. Around them, more families hadn't needed long to grab hold of their arms.

Then, a thundering sound as the doors of the Great Hall opened, the wooden panels being pushed aside with painfully slow execution. Around him, someone cursed something, the words immediately extinguished by a clacking tongue. Further behind him, standing against the wall, awaiting for his service to be requested, Melas gasped.

And then they all stared at the commotion at the door. In walked a formation of metal and pine green uniforms. Their steps matched perfectly, making their march effortless. As they approached, Astor couldn't help but notice that the wooden bows they carried were beautifully designed. On their shoulders, which were protected by metal pads, they carried arrow holders, a basket of some sort that stored numerous pointy arms.

But somehow that wasn't even the most wondrous about their appearance. Perhaps it was the peculiar piece of art to the uniform they carried, a weird combination of green and metal that curled into one and other, covering them from their neck down to their feet.

"Have you seen their hair?" Cosmo whispered.

Astor nodded, frowning. Their hair was a tumble of golden curls that flickered in the candle light. It made their skin even paler and their eyes stand out.

They stared right ahead, into the void, as they passed the waiting nations and kept a perfect pattern of two rows in their approach toward the waiting clerk, who stood staring at them with large, surprised eyes, his mouth agape. They stopped with a communal lift off their knees, the metallic sound followed by a silence that dragged through time.

"Welcome," the clerk finally managed, voice void of his earlier boom, the flag still held in hand.

Someone barked an order, and in reply they thumbed their spears onto the ground and shifted slightly, offering way to four people as they came forward and to the head of their small formation. Three boys and a girl, Astor saw, as he too squinted his eyes in an attempt to see clearer. His stomach fluttered. They bowed to the clerk, much like everyone else had done, but somehow it looked so different, so much more graceful, their movements in line with the curve in their uniforms.

The bow seemed to go on forever, but at last they lifted their chins and stared right ahead. Astor's heart pounded when he gazed their way. Black lines were drawn around their eyes, and it gave them a regal look, these students who were chosen to be their country's novitiates.

And then one of them stared right at him, the tallest boy of their group. Green and black collided with his own blue irises, and it suddenly made his heart stutter. The moment passed long before his heart stopped thumping violently.

"We are honoured to be here," the boy spoke Novarian, voice surprisingly loud, despite the throaty edge he had to it. As if he spoke through a megaphone. Then he bowed his head again, and the movement did something to Astor's sanity.

"Oh, so are we," Fabiano whispered, and he threw Astor a knowing grin. "How long do you think, brother? How long before you've got him crawling on a leash?"