2025-11-12 03:35:22
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Draft
Emotional exhaustion from his meeting with the Wilkinsons had Hyperion drifting straight into bed the moment he returned to his dorm. He didn’t bother to change or even pull the curtains; he simply let gravity take him. Sleep claiming him almost instantly.He woke two hours later to the bell ringing in unbroken intervals. Hyperion blinked slowly, disoriented, turning his head toward his roommate. Malachi stood at the table, fastening the last button on his uniform jacket.“Can I ask…?” Hyperion muttered, still half-asleep.“There’s an assembly concerning the upcoming Ludus Gentium,” Malachi replied, knotting his tie. “The principal will be there. You might want to hurry, it starts in forty minutes.”That roused him. Hyperion sat up, shook the heaviness out of his limbs, and dressed quickly. His brain was sluggish and dry, still rattled from the conversation with the Wilkinsons.He headed toward a hall he’d never visited since his enrollment. A vast, circular hall made of whitesone. Th
The table
It was morning at Zenith Academy and it carried a quiet gloom, but with a heavier gloom than usual. Hyperion walked through the corridor with a calm stride, though the events of the previous night still pressed at the back of his mind. The memory-wipe spell around Daigan, the holes riddled in his brain, and the array of possibilities, each detail clung stubbornly, refusing to loosen its grip. He was halfway toward the central assembly hall when someone called out to him. “Mr. Hyperion.” Hyperion turned. It was a stern, stiff-backed woman, with black hair and strands of green and grey in it, wearing a navy green jumpsuit and a cape of waist length. “The principal would like a word,” she said. “Immediately.” Hyperion nodded once, offering no visible reaction, though a faint tremor of expectation rose in him. Being summoned by the principal was rare in the school as he was seldom associated with students directly. The walk to the principal’s office took only a few minutes, as
Forgotten by morning
What could possibly be serious enough to make Malachi come seeking him? Hyperion wondered as he followed the boy through the hallway. The academy always felt colder at evenings, the lamps flickering as though nervous. Malachi walked with his usual quietness, back straight, steps measured, eyes forward. But there was tension in his shoulders, something brittle and tightly wound.They reached their dorm room. Malachi slipped inside first and Hyperion locked the door. He watched him for a moment before speaking.“Well then,” Hyperion said lightly, “what, pray tell, is the problem?”“I found a corpse,” Malachi replied bluntly.The words dropped like lead. Hyperion blinked once. Twice. He had expected trouble, but this…“A corpse,” Hyperion repeated slowly. “Where?”“In one of the classes,” Malachi said. “I saw it when I was passing by. I inferred it may be connected to your… reason for being here. So I assumed it was best to alert you first.”Hyperion’s expression tightened, perplexed, fo
Ida Vs Gallagher
“Hah,” Gallagher roared. “You really think I’d stoop to holding the hands of green ears, and a woman at that?”“You’re not holding my hand,” Ida replied coolly. “It’s just a friendly spar. No need to be a misogynistic ass about it.”“You bi...”“Language! Both of you,” Mr. Thomeaux barked. “And you, Gallagher, it’s tradition. Anyone who applies has the right to pick who he or she spars against. So pick a weapon and get to the floor.”“See you on the dance floor,” Ida jeered as she walked past him.After a set of routine stretches, the two of them stood face to face. The cold wind brushed against Ida’s skin, carrying with it the briefest moment of quiet. Mr. Thomeaux shattered it.“Basic use of magical augmentation. No use of spells or magic power. Winner is the first person to force surrender or land a clean shot. And, begin!”***Ida had to admit. Gallagher was good with his sword. His opening slash came from above, sharp and forceful. She blocked by wrapping her arms in the chain, t
Practice and provocation
When the match ended, Victor Moses blew his whistle one final time.“Okay, that’s it for today’s P.E. lesson. Great game, everyone. Now wash up and get to your next class. Seriously, great game out there. You have a lot of promise,” he said, directing the last line toward Hyperion as he approached.Hyperion acknowledged the praise with a simple nod before heading toward the locker room.A loud thud cracked through the corridor behind him. One of Gallagher’s teammates collapsed to the tiled floor, clutching his jaw after receiving a punch.“Your sheepishly slow movements cost us the game, Tyrese,” Gallagher snarled, his voice low and venomous. “Because of you, I’ll never hear the end of this.”“Stop it, you babe,” Hamilton said sharply from across the room. “Perhaps we played different matches, because I don’t remember it being only Tyrese’s fault that you lost.”Gallagher scoffed. “You’re right.”He turned and walked straight toward Hyperion.“It’s more yours,” he hissed. “In all my y
Ascent of ten balls
After leaving Aurora’s office, Hyperion made his way to the venue of the next lesson. The field stretched wide before him, carpeted in low, neatly trimmed orange grass. Scattered across its expanse stood tall, pole-like platforms of varying heights and widths, each one sleek and black, their arrangement like a forest of metal trees. Around the edges of the field, the borders were marked by artificial grass dyed a deep, obsidian shade. The students gathered at the sidelines, murmuring among themselves, when a tall man in a tracksuit approached from the field. He stood nearly two meters in height, with a sharp buzz cut, a trimmed goatee, and the solid frame of someone who lived and breathed physical training. “Well, students,” he began in a voice that carried across the grounds, “I’m your P.E. teacher, Mr. Victor Moses. In standard fifth-year fashion, you shall be welcomed to physical education class with a round of Decibola Ascensio.” A collective murmur spread through the group —
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