Chapter 49.3: In a Merciful World, We Were Sixteen

  ”Class is starting soon…”

  Mo Wang grumbled under her breath. Dante sighed inwardly as her grip around his left bicep tightened despite his reminder that Dr. Farid could enter at any moment. She buried her face deeper into his sleeve. A warm, wet spot began spreading across the fabric. He glanced down to confirm his suspicion—yes, she was drooling. Of course she was.

  Dante hardly minded. His sleeve would dry eventually.

  To the left of Mo Wang, came a small snicker and the creaking of the chair – all precursors to Felix plotting something.

  Felix rocked his chair back. His arm snaked behind Mo Wang, and his slender fingers found one of the two gold button fasteners that kept their red capes attached to the shoulders of their black, high-collared uniforms. The capes themselves were made of heavy crimson fabric with gold embroidery tracing the edges. They fastened at both shoulders with ornate buttons bearing a circumpunct, a symbol the Venerated Elders had foisted upon them to differentiate them from the rest.

  It was laughable, to say the least, but over the months, they took it in stride—having a short cape was rather fashionable. Felix always had his hanging off one shoulder despite countless warnings from his superiors, with one exception: Dr. Farid.

  Dr. Farid had long since given up on nagging him to wear it properly. Felix was as terrible a student as he was brilliant a sorcerer.

  Felix undid the fastener with a soft pop and slid Mo Wang’s cape off her right shoulder. Dante narrowed his eyes. He wanted to swat away Felix’s hand, but he would jerk her awake. Felix let out another chuckle as his fingers worked at the second button. Dante's tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, a sharp click of reprimand forming, but his ears picked up the distant echo of footsteps approaching rapidly.

  Before Dante could nudge Mo Wang awake, the sliding door opened with a rattle.

  “Felix Lee, are you up to no good again?”

  Dr. Farid stood in the doorway, holding a box of teaching materials. His expression bore the weight of a thousand resigned sighs.

  Felix startled. The sudden movement sent his precariously balanced chair tipping backwards. It hit the floor with a thunderous crack. Mo Wang's body lurched sideways, yanked down by Felix's death grip on her cape. Not even her grip on Dante’s arm could save her. She let out a sharp shriek as she tumbled into him, and the moment her knees hit the ground, she was on him—fists pounding his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could reach.

  Dr. Farid pinched the bridge of his nose. “Class hasn't even started yet.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, now, settle down.”

  Mo Wang glowered at Felix and snatched her cape back from him, inspecting the damaged button fastenings. “Screw you,” she muttered quietly under her breath.

  Felix was unrepentant, as usual.

  “I can fix it for you,” Dante offered.

  "Any mending will have to wait until after class," Dr. Farid said, clasping his hands behind his back. "As I've mentioned before, one of today's lessons is of great importance. So, if you haven't been listening for most of my lectures…"

  He paused to look pointedly at Felix, who sat up with exaggerated attentiveness.

  "...today's the day to start. And do not swap yourself out with an avatar."

  "Avatar?" Felix crinkled his brows and pressed his chin to the heel of his palm, feigning deep thought. "What avatar?"

  "Of all techniques to perfect, it had to be that one…" Dr. Farid sighed once more. "Dante, could you help ensure that Felix stays in his seat until the end of this lesson?"

  "Okay." Dante shot Felix a knowing look as he summoned the tip of Scarlet's whip and rubbed it between his fingers. A smooth black tendril wiggled about before its tip sharpened into a thorn.

  Don't be mean, Dante commanded silently. The whip grew floppy in protest before transforming back into a full ring around his finger.

  From the box Dr. Farid had set down, he lifted its lid with a soft creak. He produced a clay goblet from within—judging by the uneven grooves on its unpolished surface, it appeared as though a potter had made it haphazardly and then abandoned it. As he set the goblet down on his desk, his hand stilled. He reached back into the box.

  “Ah, Dante.” Dr. Farid pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Your essay on Array Theory and Runic Mechanics. Come collect it.”

  Dante nudged his glasses up his nose, pushed back from his seat and made his way to the front.

  Dr. Farid handed him the essay, but his grip lingered for a moment, keeping Dante at the desk. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering so only Dante could hear.

  “Today's lesson,” Dr. Farid said quietly, his eyes serious, “concerns everyone in this room. But it especially concerns you.” He released the papers. “The answers I promised you, the explanation for what happened in Cardiff… You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

  Dante’s fingers tightened around the edge of the essay. In that moment, he was transported back to his room in Cardiff, where he was staring up at the night sky through what used to be his ceiling. The walls had been blown apart. He remembered planets orbiting slowly around him in the darkness. He did not know how long he had lain there drifting in and out of consciousness, time stretching and collapsing in ways that made no sense.

  According to the books he had picked up from the Athenaeum, he had performed a Reality Shift. Dr. Farid had been reticent when Dante approached him for an explanation, deflecting his questions with careful non-answers. “When the time comes,” he had promised.

  “Yes,” Dante said quietly, pulling himself back to the present.

  Dante returned to his seat, his mind racing. Behind him, he could feel his friends’ curiosity sharpening, but he kept his eyes forward as Dr. Farid turned to address them.

  “Today’s lesson will be centred around this goblet,” Dr. Farid started.

  “Oh, it’s probably from his cup collection,” Felix muttered.

  “It is from my cup collection,” Dr. Farid said, his feathers unruffled from Felix’s offhand remark. “But it ties in very nicely with what I want to teach today.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Dr. Farid tilted the goblet such that the top was facing away from him. A column as thick as an average thumb was positioned right above the stem of the goblet. “This,” he strode towards them with the goblet held out towards them to make sure that they took a good look at it, “is a Pythagorean cup, or a Cup of Tantalus.”

  “Tantalus? Whaddoesdatmean?” Felix pouted.

  “It’s a Greek myth,” Mo Wang answered. “A King of Lydia was forced to stand in a deep pool of water under the branches of a fruit tree. Every time he hungered, the branches of the fruit tree withdrew from his jaws. Every time he thirsted, the water would recede from his lips. It would only rise back up to his chin when he gave up.”

  “Wonderfully put!” praised Dr. Farid, much to Mo Wang’s glee.

  She knows so much, Dante admired, making a mental note to spend more time in the Anatheum outside lessons and physical training.

  Dr. Farid set the cup before them and fetched a jug of water. He rested the spout against the lip of the goblet and gently tipped it, stopping when it was half full. “This is a representation of a typical Golden Core. You use some, and then it gets regenerated. Now, your abilities are based on your Wills, and this begets the question: What do you do if you are placed in a situation where you feel that your Will must be the only one that must prevail?”

  “But how is that different from what we do to phantoms?” Felix asked. “We flush out the Cursed Essence with our Essence.”

  “What if a phantom is too strong?” prompted Dr. Farid. “Or you find yourself in a battle that you cannot win?”

  “I would win in the first place,” said Felix.

  “I would retreat,” Mo Wang said. “But I would wipe away the enemies’ memories just in case.”

  “Retreat,” echoed Dante.

  “Wipe away their memories… Interesting response.” Dr. Farid latched onto Mo Wang’s point firmly. “Don’t you want to push it further?”

  Mo Wang mulled over it. “Pushing manifestations too much could be risky…”

  “Why so?” Dr. Farid gently grasped Mo Wang's wrist and placed it on the handle of the jug. He wrapped his hand around hers and guided her hand so that she was tipping water into the cup. “Remember that we do not make the most rational decisions in the heat of the moment.”

  “Greed!” Dr. Farid forced Mo Wang's hand forward, sending a drizzle of water into the goblet.

  “Temptation!” Dante could see Mo Wang holding her breath as Dr. Farid made her tip more water, the level rising steadily until it was just shy of the apex of the column. "In the heat of battle, do you not push yourself to greater heights? To the pinnacle?" Dr. Farid asked.

  “The pinnacle?” Dante leaned forward, breathless.

  “That's right.” The jug returned to its original position on the table with a sharp clack. Dr. Farid released Mo Wang's wrist. "When you first started, you were moulding your manifestations with the world you live in at the back of your mind—adapting to it, working within its rules. But when you shape a world of your choice, big or small, and impose it onto reality…”

  “You shift realities,” Mo Wang completed his sentence, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "Remember the Law of Inverse Proportion. The greater a desire, the less Essence you need for manifestation. Chase it hard enough and this goblet, like your core, will fill up." Dr. Farid produced a plastic dropper and dipped it into the jug. He crumpled the bulb and drew out some water, giving it a squeeze gentle enough for one drop to escape.

  Dante followed the drop of water that fell from the tip of the dropper. Its initial impact was registered as a muted ripple, but water quickly started gushing out of the bottom of the goblet. Dr. Farid waited until the goblet was nearly dry to lift it and plug the hidden hole with his thumb. “All it takes is one key desire for the floodgates to open. We call it the Crux,” he said.

  “According to historical records, most who managed to perform a Reality Shift feel a sense of omnipotence, but what came before the Shift can be described as pure hot-bloodedness.” Dr. Farid set the goblet down carefully. “Some registered dead-calm, others…”

  “Die before they can even see the world form around them,” Mo Wang spoke up quietly. “That is the price to pay. Moreover, when multiple Shifts collide, only the strongest remains. Everything that’s not a Shift will collapse.”

  “One sorcerer, one reality,” Dr. Farid stated, his eyes sweeping across the classroom before settling on Dante. “A Crux is immutable. Once you lose it, you can never perform a Shift ever again.”

  “Doc, have you never performed a Shift before?” Felix asked.

  “No. I have not found my Crux,” admitted Dr. Farid as he strode back to his desk. “But I still have to pass down whatever I know about Shifts. Even if I must spend the next three days teaching nonstop, the three of you must depart this room with the knowledge of its existence and an understanding of your greed. You were all inducted as students at a point of inflexion for modern-day sorcerers.” His gentle gaze swept across them as he addressed them individually. “The birth of a Flame Purist, the scioness of the Mengs and the emergence of an Aberrant who wields a Regalia which had been in slumber for centuries.”

  Dr. Farid paused. “An Aberrant who entered this world by first creating one of his own,” he added.

  “Oioioi…”

  The tips of Dante’s ears burned as Felix practically flew next to him. Dante wrapped his fingers around the thin braid that hung at the side of his head protectively, catching Felix’s hand mid-reach. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Felix demanded, his nostrils flaring in indignation.

  “I don’t remember what happened,” Dante lied, pushing Felix’s face away.

  As for the backstory behind his Crux and awakening, Dante swore that he would take it to his grave.

  “Oh, that’s too bad…” The ends of Mo Wang’s lips turned down. “If you can’t find it—“

  ”Bah!” Felix huffed. “He’s bluffing! Bullshhhhit!”

  “Mind your language,” Dr. Farid rebuked sharply. “It’s Dante’s right to decide whether he wants to share his story. But the rest of you need to understand—one day, circumstances will force your hand. History or destiny or sheer desperation will push you to the brink, and you’ll shift reality without meaning to. Being treated well by this world is a desire, not a birthright.”

  “History?” Felix asked, turning up his nose.

  Here it comes, Dante braced himself.

  Flame Purists were historically known to be peacekeepers.

  Not once did they allow themselves to become instruments of war. It should have been their salvation. Instead, it became the reason their legacy turned to ash.

  And Felix never hid his contempt for his forebears. He made it a point to be everything they were not.

  Dr. Farid cleared his throat. “I’m hoping that the Flame Purists of old won’t burden—”

  “Nah!” Felix hoisted a foot onto the table and slammed it down with a resounding thud. He jammed his thumb toward his chest, declaring, “Only through me will there be worship!”

  To everyone’s surprise, Dr. Farid smiled.

  Everyone, even Felix, fell silent.

  “Should there be a day when you find yourself needing to rend this world, do it without the burden of this world on your shoulders. Do it without hesitation, and do it for yourself.” Dr. Farid paused, his expression softening into something almost melancholic. “Many have done it with worldly burdens weighing them down and left with nothing but regrets. In life, you have your allies, but in death—in the world you shape—you only have yourself. So shape it on your terms. Leave this world with one less regret.”

  Dr. Farid’s large shoulders sagged, leaden with a bevy of emotions. “Find something worth destroying yourself over. Make sure it's yours alone.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

  Felix broke the stillness first. He looped his arm around Dante's neck, pulling him close. Dante let out a grunt of surprise, heat flooding his face as Felix leaned in, their faces inches apart. He could swear that Felix's breath condensed on the lenses of his glasses. His fingers immediately found his own braid, worrying the thin plait between his thumb and forefinger—back and forth, back and forth—the familiar motion doing little to calm his racing heart.

  “Don’t worry too much!" Felix beamed. "Dante has a Shift, and we always stick together, don’t we?" His breath was warm against Dante's cheek. “You'll be there when I lay down mine, won't you? Oh, and Meng Meng too! But she’s so forgettable!”

  Mo Wang gnashed her teeth at Felix’s jibe, but Dante wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in the ground. His fingers tightened around his braid. “Felix…” he mumbled. “How will I know when you’ll…”

  Felix merely shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll make it simple, I guess.”

  Dante said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

  But he wished Felix could hear his racing heart.

  A/N: Dante wore glasses when he was younger. His eyes were 'fixed' under certain circumstances.