All the Lines of Stars,

~°°~

They stayed gone the next day. And the next days following. Eris Heindell disappeared without a trace. Rycella was patient and waited, expecting a massive search, for the GPS tracker to be handed out to her but instead, the Principal laid a bag of glass potions with gleaming gold liquid in her hands.

"You aren't gonna look for them?" Rycella looked at her incredulously. The Principal waved her off, assured that it was a waste of time and that eventually, the little Eris was bound to come back as if she knew them better than Rycella did.

The red head's grip on the glass tightened. The Principal typed something in her fifteen computers—only gods know how on earth she's keeping an eye on all of them—paying no mind to the grimacing teen behind her. Rycella sagged and gritted her teeth as she followed orders. The cover for now was that Eris had some incurable boils, stuck in the Healing Lodge until people would forget them completely.

But, she did took the GPS tracker in the upper shelf in the drawer near that damned unfixed bed just in case. Rycella rolled her eyes—of course, the Principal lied about moving it somewhere else. She fixed the bed as a future apology of some sort. Good thing the Principal never changes. Small blessings.

~°°~

Despite having the ability to teleport anywhere quickly, Boreas Poitraz was still always left behind.

Krowan didn't lie to him even though he kind of wished he did. He told it all plain and simple in the corner of the school's bathroom, gave a bottle of the forgetting, washed his hands, let water drip all over the sink and watched Boreas make his choice. Boreas pocketed the potion. He'd think of it once this hangover was over and once his head finally stopped ringing.

Drinking with that smart ass at empty classrooms had been considered as an acceptable past time, although Boreas did almost got a heart attack after witnessing the remains of their angry-drunk stupor. Don't get him wrong, alcohol still tasted terrible and quite frankly, a thoroughly unpleasant sensation to his throat. But, after that it was smooth sailing. It felt good. Like floating. Like the exhilaration of life. Krowan was right—nothing wrong with some harmless fun.

No time for hesitation.

"Same place later after the exam?" he asked the boy with a buzz cut as casually as he could as he washed his hands.

Krowan grinned at him, shrugging. He was leaning to the tiled walls of the bathroom, arms crossed with shades resting on his nose bridge for some reason. "If you want. But, I had a better place in mind. Although, we should lay off with the alcohol a little bit, considering you're still hang over."

Boreas rolled his eyes at the teasing tilt. He turned off the faucet and wiped his hands with his handkerchief. "My bad for not having some reality bending shtick that can somehow negate hangovers." He paused then regarded Krowan more seriously as he asked, hand in his chin, "You know, you never actually explained how exactly your Peculiar work. Do you mind if—"

"I'm not a lab experiment, Boreas," Krowan said tartly, all trace of humor gone. His own eyebrows briefly raised up as if shocked on his own reaction. His jaw squared and he sighed. "Wait, no sorry—"

"Hey, hey. No." Boreas grabbed his arm lightly. "It's fine. It was my bad. I forgot that your Peculiar was something you don't really like talking about. I'm sorry."

"No. It doesn't matter." Krowan furrowed his eyebrows, "Who said—"

The door clicked and opened and a kid (the new ones) darted in, face twisted into some sort of panic. He stared at Boreas then to Krowan, and darted his eyes to and fro before squeaking out an apology as he went out and shut the door.

Krowan let his question hang unfinished in the air. The boy with symmetrical moles under his eyes lamely dropped his hand after a few seconds of silence. "No one," he finally said. "I sort of guessed because of the things you say, and you did hint that your Peculiar wasn't exactly a joyride."

Krowan sighed, looking oddly relieved as he pushed the sunglasses up. "It's fine. We should get out—you should go to your class, there's an exam remember? Plus, the poor dude you scared to death is still waiting outside." He gestured towards the door, mockingly pitiful. "Do you not feel guilty in hogging the bathroom and—"

"Felt like he was scared of you, but sure, whatever you say, Krowan." Boreas' blue eyes probably had gotten muscles from all the rolling. Before he could even jog his legs towards the door, it burst open, banging against the wall. The kid looked very red, spluttering apologies as he rushed to the sink and opened the water, opening his mouth to lap it.

Fire spurted out of his mouth. Boreas gaped but rushed to the kid immediately, his hands searching for a cooling glyph in his pockets. Stack of papers dropped gracefully to the floor, most of them caught in water. He shrieked.

Krowan, meanwhile, perked up at the feel of it. He cried, outraged. "Did Helen start giving out the goodies without me?"

He found one. Boreas carefully pressed it to the kid's back, patting him encouragingly as smoke and fire fizzed out of his mouth and nose. He paid a mournful glance to wet glyphs in the floor, then glared at one of the true culprits.

"You guys are pranking the new kids. Really?" Boreas said, disapproving.

"You don't understand," said Krowan, sagely as he pushed up his shades again. "This is a sacred tradition. A legacy. One day, a fledgling or two will look back to this day and be inspired, just like I was." His sunglasses and buzzed head glinted due to the said inspiration. "They will follow our footsteps and will guide the future to us. I must go now." Krowan sprinted out of the bathroom in haste.

Boreas gazed at the now empty air, stunned but also mildly amused. Although that switched up quick when dozen more kids sprinted to the bathroom. As a showcase of gratitude, the kid from earlier pointed at Boreas and eagerly entailed how the 'pale, stick dude was so helpful.' Boreas plastered a smile that was more so a grimace as the kids clamored to him. He stuck his hands to his pockets, searching for more glyphs. Flames erupted behind and it caught on his sleeve.

He's so gonna kill Krowan.

Strapping glyphs to each and every one of the kids was obviously a lost cause so, he grabbed a handful of them, ordered the rest to go to the Healing Lodge, prayed that they knew where the Healing Lodge was and teleported away.

And speaking of his Peculiar, his teleportation range had seemingly increased. It seemed that the range would permanently increase for like a centimeter or two every time you teleport (although he should've realized far more earlier that the parenthesized question mark after the written '20 meters' was quite odd. For now, if Boreas would open his Peculiar and read the rules, he would have '23 meters(?)' written on it).

The nurse looked displeased at their sudden arrival but she nodded all the same and jerked her head to the few empty space. Her neatly tied bun had burnt hair sticking out. The Healing Lodge was filled to the brim with fire spouting kids. Some even began to enjoy it and Boreas saw a small girl with a blanket tied over her shoulder, flapping her arms and roaring as she zoomed past them, doing an impeccable dragon impersonation.

Boreas' lips quirked into a smile and a sound almost like a chuckle escaped but it stilled, soured as a shadow cascaded over his face. Tight-lipped, he left as quickly as he could. He couldn't be here right now. Especially, not now. Not now when his mind was perfectly remembering the exact hue and shine of the glass cylinders as they carried the ripped organs to gods knows where—not when his body was remembering the feel of clothes of the Unpassed.

It's surreal how the mind worked; how it conjured and stitched the most abstract memory and poured it all like it was nothing. It was against him, that's for sure. Like checkers.

He clambered to his class, late, sweat sticking to the side of his face despite the fact that the walk just felt like a minute or two. Class had already started. Boreas saw Professor Jhlor's figure writing something on the board with a book out. Eyes bored on his skull and he avoided it, sprinting to the nearest seat possible. It was at this point that he realized he had forgotten to get his things in the locker. Boreas then, spent a minute sheepishly begging for a pen and a paper.

Professor Jhlor shut their book as they faced the class. Immediately, the room silenced. They cleared their throat as they smoothed out a standing strand of gray hair. "The only thing I want to see in your desk is one paper and a pen. No water bottles. No notebooks. And certainly, no." They scowled at a student near in front whose mouth twitched open. " Drop that concrete block. All items to the side."

There's a shuffle of feet and rustle of paper as students hurriedly cast their things to the side. Oh. Boreas thought he had a good read on most people here. That Professor Noirin coped through alcoholism. The Principal was a weird, obsessed voyeur (according to Krowan) with a tendency to just talk and talk to others, herself and to nothing. This guy probably got a rush on this power trip. Or maybe they coped through role-playing. No one who knew everything would be this serious for a mere exam.

Boreas stared at the Professor's scar. It didn't look as threatening as he had thought anymore.

Professor Jhlor began to circle the room like a hawk, gloved hands on their back as they began to speak. "All eyes in your paper only. If I were to catch you cheating or copying or turning your head to your seatmate..." Their eyes gleamed threateningly. "Now. The exam will be of course following our lesson from Basic Glyphs and to the Vlyrenian alphabets only. I did not include the latest lessons—especially the advanced Vlyrenian lessons—because gods know I need more than one person to pass the test."

Boreas was a hundred percent sure that Thalia Kruger was preening smugly right now.

He passed the test sheets to the students in the first rows and they quickly took one and passed the rest behind them. He briefly opened his watch locket. "You will have thirty minutes. Understand?"

Boreas twirled the borrowed pen on his hand, feeling more calmer now as he gazed at the test sheet in his desk. Glyphs and the Vlyrenian language were one of the most complicated things ever made in the world. His mind whirled and this time, for sure, he knew it would not tattle against him. It would focus on deciphering the words, it would steer his eyes and move his hands to write in perfect lines, in backwards and in shapes.

Now without pressure to do well nor a reason to aim for the highest possible grade, Boreas found himself relaxing and even enjoying glyph writing. The deciphering process was still quite hell incarnate. The most annoying thing was how close the shapes were and how small they were.

Now, to make a paragraph, you must draw a vertical line and on its right, there should be a series of horizontal lines. The vertical line represented the paragraph while the horizontal lines were the sentence and that's where one must draw the shapes, letters. You couldn't continue a sentence in another line below. If it couldn't fit horizontally in the paper anymore, get ready for the line to land to Mars. But, never ever continue it to the line below. Now, that sounded quite simple enough until you ask, well how do you write a question mark? Or punctuation, periods and such?

That's were something called the toning system would be introduced. There were atleast fifteen different punctuation in the Vlyrenian alphabet (and not all of them were known yet) and all of these could be mixed together in precise and certain ways to make a more direct tone. Then, these symbols would be written in the top of the vertical line, indicating the overall tone or command of the whole paragraph. Remembering all of the different order of each mixed symbols were necessary. Making a mere mistake like mixing up the order of the symbols could change the entire meaning of the paragraph.

And that's just the toning for the paragraph. You must also tone the sentences on it as well.

In retrospect, toning wasn't necessary, however not doing so would lead to more words needed and while that wouldn't sound too daunting of a deal at first glance, it was very much a big deal for glyph making.

To activate a glyph, there should be contact with soul energy, usually through the touch of a finger. Soul energies needed to process and read the words before they worked. This meant that longer words led to longer activation. Hence why most glyphs were often simple—light this, fire that, record this and so on. It couldn't be something too complex because not only would it take too long to make, it would also take too long for it to work. Only way you could make them detailed but short was by perfect use of toning symbols and their respective combinations.

Glyphs were essentially high work but low reward and thus, it's regarded as the lowest and the most basic form of magic while also still being one of the hardest.

In the end of the day, Boreas got a thirty eight out of fifty, Kruger got perfect, Rycella's.... Not here, Krowan skipped class along with the green-haired girl and the rest failed.

And really, Boreas thought as he stared determinedly when the passing grade was revealed to be thirty seven, it was not even close.

~°°~

The hinges had rust all over it. Her hands bore red lines, taking the brunt of repeated prying. She tried again, pouring all her energy and she hissed as it twisted open and drew blood. The inside glass had cracks all over it. Rycella huffed, now more annoyed, but this should have been something she should have expected from that obsessed, shut-in prick who couldn't even button her shirt correctly.

She clicked her tongue as she pressed on a small button on the side of the circular tracker, thinking of the two hundred different actions she might do if it didn't open. It beeped twice and lit lines under the broken pieces of glass and Rycella sighed in relief.

The tracker didn't tell names nor identities but instead would constitute a round light blob as a student, but that's okay. She didn't really need that to find Eris.

The new students were in the First Sector Grand Hall for their Appraisal and the Graduates should be busy in some examination today. So, there should be atleast only one light straying from the rest. As expected, a lonely blinking light began pulling her eyes. Rycella never liked traversing the Mirror Room but here she was, legs dragged by a string of inevitability.

Well, it felt like that sometimes. Rycella thought of how they first met in very normal amounts. And to her, it's the personification of fate itself.

Not that Eris remembered. Rycella even doubted they knew the real reason of their conflict. It's for the better, she supposed and no amount of perceived invisible strings could change that. It's sounded quite absurd that someone like her would believe on such childish things like strings of fate. But to be fair, she believed on the gods and goddesses as well. It's different though, even if she wouldn't admit. Rycella believed in gods because she had seen one. She believes in fate when her hand went through the Wall and met a small silhouette with warm, black eyes, a sketchbook in their hands as they sit contentedly on the grass.

The light led her further down, where things were more older, more alive.

What on earth was Eris thinking, going down in here? What were they thinking on disappearing in the first place? Rycella bit her lip.

Mirror frames torn, bricks brittle almost like sand, the walls slashed and Rycella frowned. This part of the room may have been ravaged by time but she didn't remember it being this bad. Although, to be fair, it's been a very long time since she ventured down here again, perhaps her memory had failed her. That was what she had assumed that was until she heard a wrangling growl and screech of claws against cement.

In a quick blink, the right side of her head had been gutted away. Her ripped glasses flung to the ground and her lips thinned to a grimace as she began to sprint. That was her fourth set this week. A swallowing shadow followed, ready to strike again.

A blur of bristled gray fur sped by in the corner of her eyes. The beast had grown remarkably compared to last time. The claws were larger than her head now and she estimated that the overall height would atleast reach to seven feet. How on earth did she got out from the mirror? Rycella was quick to correct herself. It, she reprimanded firmly. It.

That's what she repeated to herself when she turned around and faced a muzzled snout and a pair of slit eyes. Rycella knew from firsthand experience that it should be relatively painless, albeit a bit dizzying and sometimes accompanied with a small headache. Clotting blood was a child's play for her as well, thanks to her experiences in the Healing Lodge.

It, it, it.

That's what she repeated like a broken recorder when she clotted the blood in its brain and watched the life dwindle away from slit eyes, until it slouched to the ground as if asleep.

She glanced down at the tracker, groaning when she saw the light still so far away. Fingers dug to the edges of her nails.

~°°~

"Krowan, wait up! Where are we going?"

Krowan said nothing, but he stopped and waited for the panting, stumbling boy behind him.

"Answer me," he huffed. "And why on the Mirror Room? Of all the places.." Boreas frowned as he caressed the sides of his arms as if cold. "You know I don't like this place, Krowan."

"It'll be fun, I promise."

Unease filled his throat like a stuck gum. "I just don't really fancy being in here. Will you just accept that, please?"

Krowan regarded him for a second, almost sulkily before he nodded. "Fine, you don't have to stay. But you should try going atleast," he said earnestly. "If you don't wanna stay then we'll ditch."

Boreas pursed his lips but soon relented. "Okay. But when I say so, you'll let me go."

"You got it, boss." The other boy made a mock-salute as he dragged Boreas by the elbow. The two boys rushed to the haze of old grandeur stained by time and reflections. "Now, hurry the fuck up. Although, how much have y'all travelled the Mirrors anyways? It's gonna suck if I just nagged you about a cool place and then, turns out you have already been in there."

"Well," started Boreas. "We didn't really delve too deep. And I managed to convince them to not go to the really old looking ones." He sounded a little green. "We aren't going there. Right?"

Krowan grimaced at the mere thought. He had seen Rycella drag some inhumane bodies sometimes from there. "Of course not. I'm not that suicidal." He quickly said as he felt Boreas' face muscles twist, "I'm kidding obviously. It's a joke," He skidded into a halt at a corner.

"We're here." Krowan said excitedly before he jumped into a mirror made of wooden frame, dragging Boreas with him.

Boreas shut his eyes as he felt himself stumble into the air and the space curled. He had thought he'd get used to it—that it will get better, especially with his Peculiar but it never does. It always felt like falling. He landed with his feet shaky on the ground, his hands deathly white as he gripped on an arm. He shoved the thick strands of black hair covering his eyes to the side.

He blinked once the world has settled and his face was now his. "I know this place."

"Oh."

Krowan's disappointment was nigh tangible and could be clasped in the air. He fiddled with one of his ring as his face settled to show a kicked puppy look that Boreas never thought he would ever see. Briefly, he thought of taking a page out of Krowan's book and say it's a joke but Krowan was neither stupid or as forgiving.

This room was still exactly as he remembered. Fucking dusty.

The wheels of the wheelchair creaked when Boreas bumped into it. The same guitar still laying on one of its arms. The bed lay untouched, fixed, as if it was just midday and the owner will clamber back to it once the night would come. "What exactly did you want to show me? There's nothing much in here. The guitar?"

Realization dawned on Krowan's scarred face. "So, you guys haven't come up there," he said giddily, face beaming. "Come, come."

He dragged him to the other bedroom, the one with the dead flowers, crumpling the papers on the floor as they stepped on to it. Krowan steadily made his way to the closet in the corner.

"Careful, there's a skeleton there," Boreas warned.

Krowan shook him off. "I know. Plus, I'm not going in."

The closet was pushed aside seemingly by the air, revealing a small, hidden door behind it. Boreas gaped at the boy beside him. "You can use your Peculiar inside the Mirror Room?"

"You can't?" Krowan arched his eyebrows as he crouched and twisted the handle. The door screeched as it swung open. Without even waiting for a response, he went in.

Boreas sighed as he mumbled,"You know what? Why'd I even ask?"

He quickly followed suit, ducking his head as he entered. He wasn't exactly sure what he expected but it was definitely not an exceedingly spacious but empty room, save for a few burnt up candles at rusty sconces plastered at the walls. Morosely dark, almost pitch-black if it weren't for the ball of light that appeared from Krowan's ring-filled hands. The black paint covering all over the bricked walls had begun to crack, peeling softly at the slightest touch. It faded considerably and if it weren't for the severe lack of lighting, the whole room would look gray.

Krowan huddled to the midst of the room, sitting on the bare ground, his legs crossed. His earrings glinted as he patted to the empty space beside him.

Boreas complied albeit not without a sigh and an arched eyebrow. He huffed as he sat. "Can I be allowed to know what exactly are we gonna do in this room?"

Krowan ignored him. Instead, he cupped his the side of his face with his hand and asked, "What's the time right now, Boreas?"

"Well..." Boreas exhaled loudly but still replied. "I'm not sure but it should be past nine or something. Why?"

The taller boy uncrossed his legs and laid down the floor, his scarred hands behind his head. He grinned. "It should appear now."

The ball of light that floated in the air began to fizzle out until total darkness swallowed everything in a blink. A rather peaceful silence filled the seconds that seemed to stretch forth for eternity. Boreas only heard the breaths of him and Krowan. Oddly calming.

A small dot of light wafted in the air. Curious, Boreas reached out for it, letting it rest on his pale palms. It glowed even more brightly as more began to rise from the ground.

"Boreas," said a gentle yet coarse voice. "Look up."

Scattered ribbons of color spread all over the curved roof, looking like a beautifully spilled painting that knew no bounds adorned by small, sprinkled specks of dotted lights. It took Boreas a second to realize. He had known it merely from the words of a paper after all. The masterpiece of the universe and its freckles of fire and gas framed by the vastness of space. Blue eyes were wide with awe.

He ignored the quiet voice that knew and muttered how much Eris would have loved this room. Boreas felt light. Probably because he's literally slowly floating up to the air. He yelped, "Help. Krowan?"

Krowan's maniacal laugh echoed. He hovered as well, almost dancing in the air. "Don't worry so much, Poitraz! Look." He flapped his arms and legs, wiggling like some frog. Then, he did a shark impression. "I'm swimming in the air."

"Please." The black-haired boy's tone was laced with panic.

Krowan's laughter ebbed away and a scarred hand grabbed the pale, slender ones. The breadth of his palm was icy cold, especially with the bands of metal surrounding his fingers. "You aren't gonna fall, Boreas," he murmured, matter-of-factly. His white eyes reflected the color of the universe. The gleam of his earrings mimicked the stars. "And you aren't gonna float so far high up that I won't reach you." He teased as he let go and Boreas sailed to the air aimlessly, "Relax."

True to his words, today, this time, Boreas did not fall. He flew. And today, this time, he will chase stars.

~°°~

"Told you you'd like it," Krowan smugly said after a while. Both boys laid in the air with Boreas doing invisible snow (well, technically air) angels while the other boy laid with his head on his hands, one of his leg resting on his raised knee.

Boreas hummed noncommittally, not really enjoying the feeling of being wrong. But there's a soft smile in his face as he stared at the roof. The room was showing the different planets in the solar system. Earlier it had shown the Andromeda Galaxy and the comets which Boreas decided to race for some reason.

"Whoever made this room must really like space," Boreas chuckled, quietly marveling the beauty of Saturn's rings. From such a view, no one would have guessed they would be made of ice, rocks and dust. "Everything is so detailed, it's actually insane. Earlier, did you see the way the stars spiraled?"

"I had," Krowan said in a strangely fond yet odd tone.

"I can sleep here, staring up. It's so beautiful."

Krowan nodded. "I know."

Once he realized, it was a second bit too late. Boreas thought of revoking his supposed smart guy status. "Fudge. I'm sorry. That was one of the dumbest moments in my life."

His ears picked out a full-blown laughter instead. It's erratic in tempo and loudness of sound, blurted out without restraint. It's a sound that cemented itself on a corner of Boreas' mind as Krowan's thorough and unbridled laughter. Mainly because of how weird it is. It's like horse bray mixed with random snorts for me, but since Boreas Poitraz never knew the neighing of horses, I'll take full credit of that metaphor.

Krowan was still in the fits of laughter as Boreas remembered something. He frowned. "Wait, didn't people vote you for secretary too?" His eyebrows comically rose. "That's a bit..."

"Oh, don't worry, I found it pretty funny actually," Krowan snickered. "And technically, I can make words out of thin air."

The pale boy rolled over the air to turn and stare at him. "It really doesn't bother you?"

"I mean, I guess it's a bit of a bummer that I can't see my gorgeous self anymore," he shrugged but his voice was a pitch too high.

Boreas snorted, baffled about how easy it was to see through. him "Oh, Krowan. Making it a joke wouldn't stop it from being a serious issue for you."

"I am not," Krowan said hotly. "I didn't bring you here for a pity party. I brought you here because you like it here."

Bright blue eyes looked at him incredulously. "Offering words of comfort isn't a pity party. What's the point of all of this if you can't even talk to me about this? I can be glued to your side but if you can't even be honest you're still going to die lonely. So—what were your words again?" He tipped his head rather smugly. "Relax."

"I'm not lonely," Krowan replied, sulkily. He felt Boreas' eyes roll at that.

"Okay then."

He felt and heard a shuffle and Boreas floated further away. An illogical panic settled in. "I'm not lonely now," he blurted snappishly. "There, you happy?"

Boreas answered with a laugh. "I give you one honest point. I'll tally them and sum them all before we die."

"Are you literally gonna grade me before we got slurped on by some demon? Fucking lunatic."

Jupiter came to view in the roof, sporting it's Great Red Spot that had already shrunk ages ago. Not that the boys knew, of course. "Jupiter's showing now, Krowan. It's ginormous and has a red spot." Boreas rattled on, flailing all over the air. "You know, they say that the Great Red Spot is so big it could fit three Earths. Oh, by the way, it's this pastel white kind of color and there's this rather faded brown meticulous stripes all over it. Those are Cloud Bands. White is kind of the opposite of black and dark. Brown is kind of a lighter version of black but reddish. And red is kind of—"

"Jupiter is a planet mostly made of gas. It has rings but its hard to see. It's the largest planet but in the end, it's still a failed star," Krowan intercepted. "By the way, I'm not born blind. I know colors, Boreas."

The tips of Boreas' ears went pink and he paddled away from Krowan. He huffed, arms crossed as he turned away. "You should have said that earlier. Didn't expect you to know space stuff."

The scarred boy shook his head, his grin laced with playful mischief., "It's quite sweet how dedicated you are on describing colors." He clutched his chest with all the dramatic flair. "Touched my heart. Plus, I did need a memory refresher."

"Want me to describe all the planets for you?"

He nodded. "Your ramblings are kind of enjoyable."

Boreas mentally added two points in honesty as he warned, "You better be ready to have your ears off."

So, Boreas described the strayed pathway of Pluto and how it couldn't stay as a planet, how Milky Way and Andromeda would collide and combine, eradicating all life forms; the beauty of the comet earlier and how, weirdly enough, even though they burned as they fell they're actually made of icy bodies of gases and dust. Space was weird like that. Krowan listened quietly for once, and he had thought the scarred boy had fallen asleep at some point.

That was until he finally spoke, interrupting Boreas' theories about the beginning of the universe and something about cosmic rays. Nerd. "How'd you learn so much about nerd stuff?"

"Eris likes them." He chuckled. "You know, they always said that—" The smile in his face melted and his bright demeanor slouched, seemed to have caught himself a bit too late. "Anyways," Boreas said quietly, fiddling with his hands. "How did you know so much about space?"

"Got a friend once that liked ranting about it. It stuck." He shrugged sluggish, his shoulders losing its usual relaxed stance. His face was guarded and Boreas knew better than to address it. And he didn't have to, thankfully, for Krowan changed the subject matter quickly. "My face. My face now, will you describe it to me?"

"Sure." Boreas rolled over to face him, studiously staring at him. He leg kicked in the air to boost himself closer to Krowan. "I guess one can say you got a... commanding jaw."

Krowan shot him an unimpressed look.

"Hold on, hold on. Let me think, okay? Just look at me." Amusement flitted to his face but before he even opened his mouth to make another joke that he knew that the other boy would psychoanalyze for a whole week, Boreas had already interjected. "Don't even say anything. Let me just look." He reworded as he caressed his chin, gazing thoroughly. "You have a sharp but kind of hooked nose."

"Oh yeah, got into a fight."

"Your lips are chapped. You should drink more water. Your eyes kinda angular and paired with thick-ish arched eyebrows. Quite cool. You don't even have an ounce of a pimple. The frick? And your buzz cut is rather uneven."

"I'll kill Helen." Krowan groaned out, running a hand all over his head.

Boreas laughed. "It's not that bad."

"How about you?" Krowan said, suddenly. "What do you look like now?"

Boreas blinked. "Well," he dragged the word. He thought of the most interesting part of his face. "I have moles."

"Symmetrical moles?"

"I—Yes." Boreas' eyebrows arched.

"Where?"

"Under my eyes." Boreas pointed at both upper sides of his cheeks. Krowan lightly booped them, making the other boy stagger and swing overhead, his disheveled raven-black hair flapping against his eyes. Due to the motions, the potion managed to get free from the grasp of his pockets, dangling in the air, right on Krowan's face.

"Don't do that," he panted. "You shocked me."

But Krowan's attention was on the floating vial. "You haven't drank it?"

It was odd to see him this upset about such thing. Boreas licked his lips. "I think I don't want to run away anymore. I want to remember that person I forgot."

"Why?" Krowan's voice was tinged in hurt that Boreas didn't understand.

"I don't know," Boreas confessed. "It's you, I think."

"What?" Krowan's voice was pitched high.

"I don't feel like myself. You make me feel like myself. Like before everything else." There's an unchewed gum in his throat, one that he was unable to completely swallow ever since he was seven. "I've always asked Eris about death and age. Cried when I thought I saw gray in my hair. Squeamish when the Ownership and Graduation was announced to be held earlier. Thought I was scared of age and death. When I went over the fence, I wasn't afraid at all. That's when I realized. I was afraid of being late again, be the only one left to weep."

Krowan slowly but surely, placed a comforting hand in his shoulders.

Boreas blinked and looked up, eyes glassy. "It hurts so much to grieve. So I drank the potion. But I was wrong. This person is important. I don't know them anymore but I feel it. I want to grieve. It'll hurt but I'll take it because it's the only thing left of them. I still have the chocolate in my pockets everyday." He huffed out a small, stilted laugh that garnered no response. "Krowan?" he called out.

Something had flipped. There's distance then, filled of chagrined tension instead of the comforting space between.

"Do what you want," the other boy said finally through gritted teeth, hand shrinking away.

Boreas pursed his lips, meekly looking at him. "What's wrong? Why—was it something I said?"

Krowan heaved a breath that seemed to weigh him down. There's an air of bitterness around him that reminded Boreas of the time they sat on a shield of water and talked about gods and the stretches of the universe. He looked as tired as the rain pouring all over, lonely like a fallen part of the cliff that would crumple once it reached the ground. "No. Just watch the stars, Boreas."

~°°~

An hour later, she learned that there was no Eris Heindell waiting behind the light. Instead, she ended up in a desolate room where a small, button-like thing, blinked out a light as it laid on the floor, covered in dried, bluish blood. Her eyes burned hot and they hurt.

Rycella wanted to sleep. She thought of sleeping on the ground, watching the blinking light fade into nothingness but she didn't. Just as she didn't have the luxury to die, she didn't have the luxury to rest either. Instead, she sighed as she dug nails to her flesh and ignored the growing heaviness of her boots.

The side of her ivory face was sticky with sweat and dried blood, muscles underneath her skin strained. It was night when she managed to haul the ginormous corpse out of the Mirror Room. The upper body clattered to the tiles as it fell out off the glass. Rycella winced. Some tiles definitely broke and there's blood trails left behind. The caged muzzle had blood oozing from its nostrils as well. The collateral damage was the least of her problems however. The feet and the claws had the tendency to get stuck at the most inconvenient time and place which frustrated her to the point that she pondered for a minute or so if she should just clot every blood in her brain and rot in the hallway until morning.

She didn't. Mainly, because she heard footsteps shuffling close. It's a student—she could tell through the silhouette—which was more damning. Rycella froze, mind mentally panicking as she thought of any way to hide a seven feet tall body in four seconds. That line of thought lead her to nothing and instead, her mouth fell open and she blurted out a series of stutters, "I-It's a costume. I like costume. I do costume."

Krowan Huine stood in the dim, carrying something, someone in his back. His jaw dropped. "Again? I don't even wanna know."

"Me neither," she shot back, referring to the sleeping dude on Krowan's back. To her immense, disappointment the boy did not seem to mind the insinuation, not even giving her a flicker of embarrassment. With a closer look and a bit of squinting, she noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed. She asked, baffled. "Have you been crying?"

"Well so were you. Don't think I couldn't feel those liquids slowly drying after falling down your eyes. Unless you chopped your tongue and scrubbed it over your eyelids and cheeks."

She shook her head, hastily wiping her eyes. She hadn't even noticed. She thought it was blood. "Whatever."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I'm sleeping, dude."

Rycella hesitated. "Wait. I need your help." Krowan tilted his head quizzically albeit a little annoyed and she pleaded. "Please."

He sighed. "Fine. This better be quick."

Rycella gestured to the stiff corpse behind her. The body was in the process of rigor mortis. It's colder than before, or maybe it's just her hands that were stingily numb. Krowan made a nod and the corpse began to float.

"To where?"

"To where I can bury it."

Rycella clasped her hands, trailing behind Krowan. Her green eyes briefly trailed the scarred lines in his back before turning back to the ground.The air was more chilly, clearer than the crushing atmosphere underground.

"What is it?" His tone was almost indifferent. A question that forced no answer.

Nevertheless, the redhead licked her lips. "It's from the Mirrors."

Krowan paused for a second. "She's like you?"

"It," she answered instead.

Krowan turned to face her. For a second, Rycella was sure he could see. He pressed his chapped lips into a thin line and nodded softly. "Your nails are bleeding."

Rycella looked down to her hands, caked in blood, the torn nail and flesh mending themselves.

"It's not mine," she lied, hands in pockets.

The air felt more silent after that. They were close now, halfway through the First Sector. Candles lit the arched hallways for them and Rycella could see Boreas' shadowed face as shuffled his head to the side, his eyes shut peacefully, his breathing calm. A drool escaped his lips. Krowan hummed contentedly.

Rycella plunged her eyes back to the ground. She was nothing more but an intruder. A cruel stain.

And after hours of futile pursuits, losing her fourth set of glasses, dragging a body ten times her size until her hand were bright red, knobbly knuckles showing and numb, it was this; watching this peace that felt truly unbearable. A bile built and built in her throat then rushed to her just like everything does.

She halted, careful not to look at Krowan in the face. "I changed my mind. It's already late. You guys should go and sleep."

"Are you sure?" Krowan's body language was unreadable. She could almost will it to turn to something more horrendous, more angry—more deserving. More of that fury he spat out when Rycella let Lethe touch the Walls and watched her disintegrate silently.

"Yes." She said resolute, "This is something I should do alone."

"Okay."

Her voice was brittle. "Thank you."

With a quick, tired nod, the corpse fell limply to the ground. Then, he was gone. Rycella dragged blemished, bloodied body until it stood in front of a locked gate and until it's fur was mixed with grass and dirt. A strand of dark curly fur wisped across her head. What good shall be done in doing this, a side of her whispered. A snide voice that had too much likening to the Principal's silky ones simpered.

She ignored it and focused instead on filling her nails with dirt and grime, digging out a hollow grave that she hoped would suffice. The body laid on the hole clumsily, lanky arms and legs crossed uncomfortably to fit. She was about to cover it with the land but her eyes caught the glint of the muzzle in the mouth. The muzzle was an observably small hunk of steel that sewed the teeth together, crushing and twisting the mouth, painted with rust, drool and dried blood.

She pried it off, forming burning lines and marks in her hand. Now closer to the head, she had noticed the eyes were no longer slitted, more round, more glassy and more familiar.

Rycella sighed and began to pour dirt until the corpse was no longer visible in the eye, soon to be eaten to pieces and become one with the ground. She pondered of something to say; something heartwarming, something good—something she thought people would say on a funeral.

Instead, she recited the seven rites and passages of the sun. It was one of the last traditions that were passed down to her. Supposedly, the hymns should in daylight with a bonfire, words and smoke reaching the skies; the smoke was the bridge while the sun was the light that would guide the souls home. The sun was no god, she knew that now. But the sun was the bringer of light, life and magic and if it collapsed, reborn as a white dwarf it would plunge the worlds and life around it into the abyss.

What was it that they say? A god doesn't have to immortal, kind or divine. It just has to be inhumane.

Flowers bloomed on the soft, errant dirt. Rycella stretched her arms and walked away. That marked the end of her duty. Or so she thought, until she noticed forgotten blood trails.

She ended up knocking on a door on the sleeping quarters of the Professors. It took a minute or two before the door slowly opened revealing Professor Noirin in his nightcap, his growing hair strands tousled underneath. His glasses were notably gone and his thick eyebrow were burrowed in a frown.

"What?" he asked scathingly.

"There's blood trails over the place," she said, bluntly. "Considering your Peculiar, I had—" She never got to finish. Noirin slammed the door to her face. Rycella mumbled into nothing, "Technically, this is your job but okay."

She ended up dragging a weeping mop, aggressively sloshing its tears to the tiles. She climbed to the Light Tower once she finished, ignoring that impulsive voice that's telling her to jump at the top and make a spin and that she would be fine regardless. It's not exactly incorrect but still.

She grouchily barged in, the door slamming against the walls. It was almost routine to hear the screech of the kettle and to be swallowed by the bluish hue from squared screens. "Can I crash here?"

"Told you. You wouldn't found them. Feeling lonely?" Her voice was smug yet also oddly hoarse considering the ungodly amount of tea she had been consuming. A black cat mewled in the background, softly hissing as Rycella groaned at the words.

"I told you I don't want to be monitored in my dorm. I thought you agreed but why on earth are the eyeball fucks there now?" She grumbled, ignoring the cat as she made way and crashed to the shabby futon in the floor. "You wouldn't sleep today, anyways. I'll be taking the bed."

The Principal sighed, still hunched over the computers. "You do what you want." She grabbed the kettle without looking, bones cracking and she yelped, as the ceramic dropped. It shattered to the ground. She muttered an inaudible as she reached down to the floor and began picking the pieces with her hands.

"Your hand okay?" Rycella asked cautiously, attuned to cracked bones more than necessary. "You should have the nurse check it up."

"It's fine," the Principal uncharacteristically snapped, flexing her hands .

That's when Rycella noticed it; the streaks of yellowy veins running along on the skin of her hands. It was not a proud gold like her Mother's, more pale, more sickly. It was after all, a mere imitation. "Since when had your blood turned yellow?"

Principal placed the broken shards to the filled trashcan underneath her table then gingerly rubbed her hands together, placating caresses on their knuckles. "Haven't noticed exactly. Probably an hour or so while I was busy. I expect it'll be a month or so before it turns completely black. That leaves me with a year or two. But considering I'll be terminated after this graduation, probably a few weeks then."

She sounded rather cheerful, as if discussing her favorite tea for every specific weather and their respective 'fitting' kettle or whatnot, which was a little bit unnerving. Then her lip curved to form a pout which was even more unnerving. "Will you not reconsider my request?"

"No. It's impossible to make it in a week. Heck, it's impossible to make it. Do you want to explode the whole place and die even more earlier? And for the record, I'm not a fucking mechanic," Rycella growled under the blanket. "Come near me or try to read my mind and I will kill you."

"Oh, well," the Principal said as she turned her attention back to her work, chair creaking. King meowed and laid on her feet. "Atleast, I tried. Goodnight, Rycella."

She got ignored. A palpable silence formed for a little while and Rycella almost dozed off, blinking more slowly at the bluish faint lights splintered at the ceiling. That was until, the Principal had to open her mouth again because of course she would.

"I'll bury him when I'm done."

Rycella shot her eyes open but didn't completely emerge from the blanket. The edges of her eyelids twitched. "Are you asking for permission or demanding? Because if it's the former then you suck at it."

"Neither. I'm gauging whether you must be constrained once I have made it." The Principal still had her back turned to her. It would look wonderful if there was a knife on it.

"His body isn't some tool," she spat out.

"But he is though," Principal calmly reiterated. "We all are. Tell me,"—and the chair creaked as she turned to face the laying girl in the corner. Her face was perfectly illuminated the computer screen. Rycella flinched and averted her gaze— "why else were we made?"

"I will not be helping." Rycella turned around, grabbing a handful of the blanket with her. "Goodnight."

~°°~