The room they'd been asked to sit in smelled of eucalyptus, for some reason. Or cough syrup. Nathan wasn't sure to what extent he disliked it. Somewhere in the headache-inducing mild inconvenience category, probably.
Why he had to be here on a weekend, he couldn't tell. Couldn't they have detention after school on a school day, like all other normal schools? He could've slept in today, but no, he had to be dragged out of bed for this— whatever he was supposed to do now.
Caleb on the desk right next to him, and hadn't spoken a single word to him yet, which was a good thing, and Nathan hoped it would remain that way. And of course, because he hoped for it, it'd probably smack him in the face anyway, because when did things ever go his way?
Nathan exhaled sharply. Now was not the time to be angsty. He should be worrying about what the detention was going to be, instead.
What counted as a punishment in a (presumably) medieval fantasy setting? Would he have to wash rice? Peel peas? Clean stables? Whatever it was, Nathan was not looking forward to it.
The door creaked open as Jeni walked in, a book in one hand and a cup of...something in the other. Probably tea. A boy followed him, carrying in a stack of paper.
"Place those on the table, Erik," Jeni said, his voice hoarse. Did he have a cold? He did look like it, his shoulders sagging and eyes weary. Nathan couldn't imagine having to come to school on the weekend as an adult. At least he'd landed himself here because of his own stupidity. Jeni was forced to come because he was a corporate slave. Poor guy.
"Should I bring the quills as well, sir?" Erik asked. Nathan didn't know if he was a student. He was way too young to be a teacher, but he wasn't wearing the school uniform, and Nathan didn't know why another student would be here, anyway.
Jeni sighed. "If that wouldn't be too much trouble, please. Thank you."
"Of course, sir," Erik said, smiling.
As Erik walked out, Jeni placed his cup on a table, giving Nathan and Caleb a look that Nathan was willing to classify as stern out of pity. "Detention," Jeni said, then stopped, seemingly having forgotten what he wanted to say mid-sentence.
A few seconds passed before Erik entered the room again, carrying a bundle of quills and two ink pots precariously held between his fingers. He stood at the door for a moment, and Nathan was almost sure he was contemplating whether to break the silence.
"Uhm. Professor Jeni? Where do I put these?" Erik asked at last.
Jeni blinked slowly, then turned to look at Erik. "Oh. Just. Put them somewhere. Anywhere. Yes. Anywhere. Yes, that's fine. Thank you."
Erik nodded, hands fiddling with his necklace. "May I leave now, sir? I need to assist Professor Benedict with decorating the hall..."
Jeni frowned. "You will not be going home?"
"Extra credit," Erik said, as if that could explain why any student would willingly come to school on a fucking weekend. Nathan decided he was going to hate this guy on principle.
Caleb clicked his tongue, lightly enough that it was probably unintentional, but loud enough that Nathan could still hear it. As could Erik, apparently, because he looked over at Caleb and rolled his eyes. From the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Caleb glare. Which, of course he did. That was all Mr. One Singular Expression ever did.
Once Erik left the classroom, Jeni turned towards them again. "Detention," he repeated slowly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "You two have...detention. For that— something you did. Do you know what? Probably. Yes. So. Detention."
This was painful to watch. "Sir, are you okay?"
Jeni nodded, then stopped, wincing. "Fine. I'm fine. Detention."
"...Right," Nathan said, after a while. "Detention. What are we supposed to do?"
Caleb scoffed. "I would have assumed you'd know, given that you end up here every fortnight."
Nathan really needed to figure out what the hell the original Damien got up to.
"Detention," Jeni repeated, looking at the book he was holding in awe. "You need to...detention. Copy...book...?"
Just as Nathan was contemplating whether or not to knock Jeni out to put him out of his misery, the door was flung open and Jena came strutting into the room, heels clicking on the wooden floor.
"I told you to stay at home!" they snapped, grabbing Jeni by the ear and twisting it into oblivion. Nathan winced at the sight.
"Ow," Jeni said sadly.
Jena grabbed him by the arm and Jeni gratefully let them support his entire body weight. It was uncanny how similar the two of them looked, in height, stature, everything.
"You two!" Jena said pointing at Nathan and Caleb. Nathan sat up straighter without meaning to. "Take some paper and start copying this!" Jena plucked the book out of Jeni's grip and placed it on the table gently. "Fifty copies! No less! Don't even leave the classroom until you're done! I will know!"
Nathan had no doubt that they actually would know. No bathroom breaks for him, then.
"My tea..." Jeni whined as Jena dragged him away. The door clicked shut as the two silhouettes disappeared out of sight.
Nathan heard their footsteps fade into the distance. He had to get up and get some paper, didn't he? He'd grown comfortable in his seat, too. What a hassle.
He stood up, chair creaking as it slid backwards. After a moment, Caleb followed.
The paper they'd been provided was thick, smooth, and perfectly spotless. The kind his mother used to buy for her art projects, whenever she had the time to indulge in them. Even better, perhaps. Nathan wished he could take one of these sheets to her.
She'd be delighted, for a brief moment, before sobering and asking him where he got it from. He'd tell her that he stole it, and she'd smack him on the back of his head and tell him to take it back. Then he'd laugh and tell her it was her birthday gift, one he'd been saving up for, and she'd get that look in her eye and apologize for hitting him, and he'd say that it was fine, it didn't hurt much, and besides, they were just play-fighting—
"He was supposed to supervise us," Caleb said, interrupting Nathan's train of thought. It took him a moment to realize that Caleb was talking about Jeni.
"Are you serious?" Nathan asked incredulously. "The guy was about to drop dead. I doubt he could've done any supervising in that state."
"Irresponsible." Caleb snatched a quill and an ink pot. Nathan decided to just...not respond.
Grabbing his own quill, he made his way back to his seat. The book they were supposed to be copying lay open on the desk between him and Caleb. Caleb had already begun copying it down.
It was a fairly thin book. Maybe thirty pages or so. Still, fifty copies was a bit much. How many pages would that make in total? Fifteen hundred?
As soon as Nathan opened the lid of the ink pot, he was hit with its smell, overpowering and chemical. And normally, he didn't mind the smell of ink. Normally, Nathan tended to like the smell of ink. But combined with the smell of eucalyptus already hovering in the air...oh gods, he could feel the headache starting to spike.
What was the book even about? Nathan hadn't had the chance to look at the title. It looked handwritten, and although the handwriting was very pretty, it was barely legible. The pains of calligraphy, he supposed. No one understood what you wrote at first glance, but at least it looked nice.
Caleb didn't seem to have that trouble, continuing to write, only bothering to look at the book every ten lines or so.
Nathan squinted, dipping his quill into the ink pot. He was still unsure why they had to use quills, of all things. Pens existed here. He had used them.
You shall thrive for Unity above all else, the first sentence spelled out when Nathan managed to figure out the words. That...was a weird sentence in itself, but for some reason the U in unity was capitalized and that just made it even weirder.
You shall not disrupt natural harmony for any cause, said the next. And then, You shall honour the holy, for they carry true wisdom.
Nathan was starting to think he was copying a list of instructions to get into some sort of cult. What were these, the Ten Commandments, unity edition?
And, hell— were those footnotes? Nathan stared at the little lines at the bottom, that said, Wise are the holy; those who embrace the One are bestowed with the Divine.
Crazy. This was crazy. What the hell was he doing? He had to make fifty copies of this? He'd rather peel peas. Please just let him peel peas.
Without warning, Caleb reached over and flipped the page. Nathan blinked.
"Hey, wait, I wasn't done yet."
Caleb made a sound so irritated Nathan briefly wondered if he was an opposum in a trench coat. "Then hurry up."
Nathan muttered a soft apology as he sped up his writing. He hoped no one was going to read these. Or, at least, that whoever was going to read this didn't mind his horrible handwriting.
Caleb continued to sit there like an inconvenienced hen, aggressively tapping his quill on the table, and on the whole adding to Nathan's headache.
Nathan flipped the page once he was done, and heard Caleb mutter a finally under his breath.
You shall forgive, but not forget the lesson. You shall not indulge in harmful chaos. You shall protect the vulnerable. You shall not defy Oneness.
And on and on and on it went, like a relentless salesperson who wouldn't give up.
You shall not place faith outside of the One Path. You shall not seek false wisdom. You shall not trust the unfaithful. You shall not. You shall. You shall. You shall. You shall not.
Caleb's handwriting was stupidly pretty. Nathan wasn't used to the quills. They dried too quickly, and he had to keep dipping them in the ink, and the paper kept growing damp, and there was so much scratching, and his head fucking hurt.
He missed Cantis, he realized. Nathan missed having that little voice in his head, because at least it distracted him from everything that was wrong and unclear and wrong—
His fingers were beginning to cramp, and he'd only somehow gotten through the first four pages; there were a thousand more to go. Then it seemed like his fingers had a mind of their own, one that was determined to not listen to him, and they kept twitching and shaking and they were too long, too thin, too soft.
The lines he made were too thick, or too thin, and they dried too quickly, but still managed to get smudged in the process and the fucking feather kept slipping from his hands andhe hated this. He hated this so much.
One grip too tight, and the quill broke.
Nathan stared at the broken quill before crushing it. It bent inside his fist, crumpling up into a feathered mess. When he opened his hand, the drying ink was smeared across his palm.
Nathan pocketed the crushed quill. It didn't make him feel any better.
He reached for another quill. The guy who'd brought them in had clearly accounted for how impractical they were, given how many extras were lying on the table.
The sound of flapping paper caught his attention. Nathan let out a sharp breath.
"Can you not flip the pages so quickly?"
Caleb looked up, unimpressed. "Can you not be so slow?"
"I can't," Nathan snapped, flipping the page back to the one he was on. "Maybe you should learn to practice patience."
Caleb scoffed. "I wouldn't need to learn patience if a certain someone wasn't so incompetent."
"And that's why you—" Nathan caught himself. "Nope. Not doing this today."
"Why not?" Caleb asked, eyes narrowing. "No longer enjoy antagonizing me?"
Nathan pointedly ignored him, dipping the quill in the ink for the ninth time that page. At this rate he was going to start carrying around a pen in his pocket permanently.
"Unfit for display," Caleb said.
"What?"
"Your handwriting. It's abhorrent."
Nathan felt his eyebrow twitch. "Alright, Deputy Head of Calligraphy Inspectors. Thank you for your esteemed opinion. I'll be sure to keep it in mind."
"It would do you good if you did intend to listen." Caleb flipped the page before Nathan was done, again. "But of course you won't. When the librarian makes you write every copy all over again, I will have made my point."
"For fuck's sake—" Nathan flipped the page back. "With all due disrespect, stop."
"Childish attempt at riling me up."
Nathan smiled. "How's your brother doing these days?"
Caleb froze, quill snapping in hand. "Do not."
"Oh no," Nathan said with as much pity he could gather. "Looks like the poor little quill couldn't handle your wrath. You'd better change it."
Caleb glared at him, as was the norm. Nathan was starting to get used to it.
"Look, I'm not trying to fight you," Nathan said, copying down the last line on the page, "You're not even in my Top Twenty concerns right now. So how about we both just shut the fuck up and do what we're supposed to, alright?"
Caleb wordlessly flipped the page. Nathan resisted the urge to deck him in the face. But since he was done with that page anyway, there was nothing he could really complain about.
Villain, a little voice in his head whispered, sounding suspiciously like Cantis, but not like her at all. Villain. What was it he'd said in that memory? The Roselyn sends its regards?
Not for the first time, Nathan wished he'd given in to peer pressure and just read the damn book, Roseless Thorns or whatever. He didn't know how far into the storyline he was, he didn't know what was going to happen and he'd somehow managed to piss off the telepathic praying mantis who was supposed to help him, and she hadn't shown up in weeks.
How far along was Caleb in his arc? Nathan didn't think he'd gone too far yet. As far as he could tell, Caleb, so far, was a snobby rich kid with dire anger management issues and control freak tendencies. Was he capable of murder? Probably not. Yet.
But one never knew. Nathan could very well be wrong.
Nathan still wasn't sure what exactly he was supposed to do. He understood the premise of the mission. STV, for lack of ability to actually say the words. But STV from what? Turning evil? Dying? Himself?
What happened if he failed? Cantis hadn't given him anything concrete to go off of, so he couldn't even decide if it was worth the trouble. Would it be something he could escape by dying? Or would the...Creator, whoever that was, find a way to torture him even after death?
Nathan was inclined to believe it was the latter. Probably with an additional punishment for the Guide. Otherwise there'd be no reason for Cantis to be so afraid.
You shall not deviate from the journey to embrace the Oneness of all existence. You shall speak with kindness for words are a pathway to the soul. You shall help deviants find their way back to the One Path.
"This is ridiculous," Caleb said, and murderer or not, Nathan wanted to throw him out of the window. "Why do you need to look up every single word? Do you not have the Commandments memorized?"
Nathan was going to cry. Commandments. These were actual Commandments of a religion. This was why he skipped Religious Studies. Could he drop that subject from his curriculum already?
You shall care for the Earth, the cradle of our Unity.
"You're saying that as if you've got them memorized, but I don't see you writing from memory," Nathan said.
"I have them memorized," Caleb snapped. "I...The order gets confusing at times. I look at the book to double-check, and nothing else."
"Of course." Nathan tried not to put too much pressure on his quill. "To double-check. How about next time, don't harp on me for not doing something you haven't been able to do, yourself. Hypocrite."
"Shut up," Caleb said, voice lowered.
Nathan put down his quill. "I did, you know. I did shut up. You're the one who won't stop picking on everything I do."
"You're dragging us down," Caleb said through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to make you more efficient."
Nathan let out a laugh. "You're trying to pick a fight. You're always trying to pick a fight. Why's that, Caleb? Incapable of holding a normal conversation?"
It was not worth it, really— the fight that would eventually break out. Why he was responding like this, Nathan didn't know. The eucalyptus must be getting to his head.
"It's you who is incapable." There was a little snap, and another quill was rendered useless. "Incapable of following rules. Incapable of efficiency. Incapable of being—"
"Incapable of letting you take control of the situation?" Nathan provided. "Your issues are showing again. But then again, you never manage to hide them properly anyway."
Caleb's fist struck the table, startling Nathan. The impact sent the ink pot tumbling over. Nathan hadn't bothered to screw the lid back on, and now the ink spilt over the page he'd been writing.
Nathan stared. The words that might've been there were obscured, covered by the steadily spreading ink blot seeping into the page.
"...Ha." Nathan's finger twitched, like it was complaining about the loss of its work. "I knew you didn't like my handwriting, but that's going a bit too far, don't you think?"
He stood up. His legs protested at the sudden movement, aching from sitting in one position for too long. Nathan looked down at Caleb, who was still seated, fixatedly staring at the tipped-over ink pot.
"Apologize."
"I..." Caleb looked dazed as he looked back at Nathan, and for a moment, Nathan thought he really might just apologize, and then Nathan could forgive him and just fucking go home and never leave his room again. But in a moment, Caleb's expression cleared and the frown returned. "No. I will not."
Nathan watched Caleb stand up, almost as if he were trying to take up more space. It would've worked, if Nathan didn't have to tilt his head down just to meet his eyes.
"I refuse to apologize for this." Caleb's voice was lowered. "You brought it upon yourself."
Nathan picked up the ink-ridden piece of paper and shoved it in Caleb's face.
Caleb didn't waste a moment in shoving it back, and before the sheet of paper blocked his vision, Nathan saw Caleb's face marred by the ink and felt stupidly, stupidly triumphant.
The paper fluttered down, settling on the floor delicately.
He didn't remember who swung first. Just the shoving-aside of tables and, another ink pot falling onto the floor, glass shattered, a pool of blank smeared everywhere. Something cracked— he wasn't sure if it was the chair or his knuckle.
Nathan had always regarded himself as peaceful. He'd never partaken in the brawls that would frequently break out in school. He'd never thrown a punch before. In fact, he'd never even provoked anyone.
So where did this desperation come from? He just wanted to hurt someone. Something. Himself. Pain was tangible, at least. You knew where it came from, how long it would stay, how to make it leave.
Gods, it hurt. Ink and blood were smeared on his knuckles, and something stung, and the floor was black, dirty, wooden, and the air still reeked of eucalyptus. But for some reason, his headache had begun reducing.
Heavy breaths and heavy fists and heavy words.
On the table, the book of Commandments lay open.
You shall not indulge in harmful chaos.