Battle arts. Relics of the past from before the Age Of Conquest. Brought by war veterans from other continents after the Great Daemon war. These ancient forms of combat were once regarded as inferior by nobles until they became tools of rebellion and liberation, which gave plebeians and slaves the few rights they possess. Now these relics have been passed down from one generation to another in the commoner's household, in preparation that one day from them they shall usher in a new age. For power shall always be in their hands, and when the time is right, they shall exercise this power once more.
Words drawn from "Plebeian Codex" by First Tribune of the Commons.
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It was only on Saturday that I walked around as The Stranger, not Cassian.
The reduced number of students made it conducive for refining my ability, Revelation. All my senses were overwhelmed in ways that were slowly becoming bearable. The influx of information was getting easier to isolate, but impossible to use.
With most students flocking to the temples for worship, the common hall was almost empty. The ten odd students were scattered across the hall. Each drowning in books. Too focused to care about others.
However, I was focused on them. My world had scaled gray, an acute balance of black and white where all they had to hide was mine to pick out. But I couldn't.
I focused on the closest student. His body was covered with a deep, thick, and intense ashy fog. Underneath it, definitely something worth exploiting. The hard part was to unearth that which was buried within the ash, and that was the challenge for this particular Saturday.
I took my journal and moved towards the student. He didn't even acknowledge my presence, possibly assuming it was one of his friends. I opened a blank page at the back of the journal. I started tapping the table until he took notice and looked up.
His eyes balled out in confession before shrinking back into their sockets. The light within them died. The ashy fog had thinned out to sporadic dark spots that danced around him. My senses started tingling as our eyes locked.
My nose picked up the smoky scent that should have represented fear. As the silence thickened, so did the scent.
"Fear not," I took hold of my stylus," I have run out of ink. Thought I could borrow some."
The scent lessened.
He drags the ink slowly towards me, smiling awkwardly.
"Thank you."
I began scribbling in the journal in English rather than the Low Solarin dialect, which is used for writing. The student was still confused. I could feel his occasional glances.
This went on for a while. The common hall was slowly swelling with life. I waited until it was loud enough to mask our conversation. Not that there was anyone around us.
"So Titus, where are you from?" I asked.
Titus' body tensed, his grip on his stlyus tightening so much you could hear it creak. I waited.
"You know my name?" his voice was cracking.
"Sadly," I put the stylus in between the journal," I have a lot of time to spare."
He nods.
"You haven't answered."
"Ooh," He composes himself slightly," I'm from Greenhearth."
This time, my tongue was triggered. It was as if a flake of something sweet melted on my tongue. My mind registered it as a lie.
Interesting, I noted.
"I hear the vale is beautiful this time of the year."
"It is especially the side of the city I'm from," he averted his eyes as he spoke.
Another flake melted on my tongue, all while the scent stuck to my nostrils.
"You should give me a tour then."
He nodded once more.
I leaned in. He lay back in his seat in response.
"You don't like talking," I did not wait for an answer," Or am I making you uncomfortable? Is my presence a bother?"
He stumbled out a quick no, then followed up with," It's that I don't talk much."
Another lie, I thought.
"Ooh. Almost thought I was the issue," I clasped my hands together, startling him," I feel like I'm making a friend. Friends?"
I stretched my hand. He took his time to match me. His outstretched hand was trembling slightly as it met mine in a handshake.
"It's settled, we are now friends, Titus."
Right after that moment of magic, the hall went silent. The snatched noise was replaced by low murmurs and mumblings that drew my attention. I turned to see who or what it was.
A group of three, led by a young man in Regalia's black, paced towards us. One of the two boys was pointing at our table. I turned back to Titus. His face could not hide his relief.
The stench of fear was dwindling fast as the young man approached, and finally, he towered over us.
Titus jumped to his feet, almost in salutations," Primus!"
Titus vacated his seat for the Primus. He took the seat.
"You wouldn't mind if I joined,"
"I do,"
My sight flared slightly as I tried to change focus from Titus to the Primus, but the abrupt change rocked me harder than I had anticipated.
"Give me a moment," I demanded.
The influx of senses from trying to change was too much, so I decided to deactivate Revelation entirely.
I counted to four. Breathed in. Held my breath for another four seconds. Then exhaled through my mouth.
I could feel the senses fleet slowly, and as I looked up, color flooded my sight. Blinded.
"It's always a pleasure, Darsius," I said
"Likewise, Cassian," his velvety voice took me aback.
"No need for lies," I said as I matched his gaze," Why are you here?"
"As the primus, I was concerned for Titus. You are not particularly known for non-violent interactions," Darsius' tone firm.
"I am a changed man,"
"Who will believe that? Everyone knows you killed innocents at Nighthold."
His words triggered the crowd. Stirring the crowd towards him.
Genius. He is not a primus just in title.
"I will say this. At Nighthold, everyone I killed deserved it."
My mind pulled me back to Horotia's office. How difficult it was to execute Ignis, even when it did not seem like it. Still, he probably deserved it. Or maybe he did not. But it did not even matter.
Tired of this conversation, I stood planning to leave. Then an idea popped up.
"This meagre attempt at blowing what little reputation comes to an end now," I said to Darsius," I call for a duel."
There was a momentous and unison gasp of air from the students.
"The academy does not permit duels," Darsius replied. Taking the bait.
"Then I will settle for a sparring session. I hear you are quite good with a sword."
Darsius smiled. His mind was possibly reeling at the opportunity laid out before him. This was a perfect opportunity for me as well to use the Pavane of death away from the pressure of life and death.
"Okay. We should bet on it," Darsius suggested.
"Fair enough, if I win, you owe a favour."
My ultimatum forced the crowd into a low charter, now all buzzing with anticipation. I was eager to know what Darsius would demand.
"Hmm," brainstorming," If I win, you cede ownership of the blood needle to me."
I was not sure what that was—the gaps proving to be a liability.
"Okay," I conceded. Now all I had to do was win. The magnitude of the loss was more serious than I was willing to credit it.
"When is this 'duel'?" Darius mocked.
"Now."
He and the crowd were stunned.
"We are both free and here. There is no better time than now," I added.
"Fine with me."
Darsius seemed confident, possibly a little too overconfident. That was enough.