"This seat is for actual water kingdom descendants... not your kind."
"Who do you think you are? We were sitting here first...!"
The noble student flinched visibly with annoyance as the southern child turned around to him, placing the wooden tray invasively on his already claimed spot - before drawing his dagger to point its tip directly in front of the southerner's nose. Widening his eyes at the way he was treated, he stood up - not to make space but to throw a punch. The attempt was cut short as a knight came rushing in to press them face down onto the floor, forcefully crossing the students' arms behind their backs like they were criminals.
The academy was visibly dissected into two classes; students with royal blood were given a silver medal they stuck onto the blue blazer of the academy's uniform. Regular students like Midas didn't have such medals - perhaps he could use these to advance to the higher floors of the academy. Silence fell into the dining hall as the students of both classes quietly watched as the knight wrapped a piece of rope around the wrists of the student that acted out. Those who surrounded him at the table quietly got up as the noble child sat down casually, his nose reddened from the punch.
"You asked for my name... I'm Foulard."
"Midas. But you probably already got told my name by whoever sent you..."
"You know quite a lot; trust me when I tell you I'm not with them anymore..."
"We will see..."
The food they were served even differed; two separate lines were formed on each side of the giant hall, each of them leading to two kitchens that served the respective class. Between them was an opened double door that led outside onto the court. Midas looked onto his plate, a mixture of cooked roots, greens, and meat served in a brew - slices of bread beside it. Foulard was served grilled fish; silently, Midas watched as he tried to pull the fine bones out of the filet, having an awkward grin on his face once he noticed the youth's gaze.
"Do you think I could pass by the guards on the fourth floor if I had one of these medals...?"
"You don't even have a uniform yet... even though yours looks quite similar, it's definitely roughed up - you have to keep it clean at all times; that's the first thing people look at when they see you."
Saving him a tired sigh, Midas looked at him quietly - Foulard paid close attention to details; his blazer had no wrinkle whatsoever in its fabric, almost perfectly flat. His pocket held onto a neatly folded handkerchief, its color matching his scarf - having made sure its ends hung equally long from his neck. Even the medal he wore was seemingly perfectly pinned on the same flap of the pocket next to it - from what Midas knew about him, his perfectionism began to make sense. Nearly every bone of the fish was now sitting for away on the corner of his wooden board, the filet now a pile of sludge.
"What...? I don't want to die choking on a fishbone."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare..."
Like he used to, most of the people from the south sat in the far corners of the room - his meal finished already, Midas leaned his back against the wall to face away from Foulard. Looking through the room, he quickly noticed that their table was nearly completely empty - with them sitting on the end of it, as the six other seats were not used. Clicks of southerners formed around nearly each corner of the room, while most of the higher class sat in the center - most likely allowing the guards to have a better look over them.
"What would happen if you lost that medal...?"
"Your parents have to sign a paper for you to request another... It's really costly, so I'm sure my parents would never do that for me."
"But even if... I'm pretty sure you will be dragged away anyway simply by your skin color alone."
Startled slightly, Midas looked down onto the back of his left hand, sunburn most likely having caused his body to become darker - after he lost against Gilt, he was forced to walk through the desert until he reached the eastern coast, which took him multiple days. Without the goods that the royalty gave him at the eastern fort, he would've most likely died of thirst on his way back. With stern brows, he continued to glance through the room; nobles and now even southerners were fleetingly giving him stares, most likely because of who sat directly in front of him.
"How has there not been any fights here yet..."
It's the Troi'Facon; every day there are more knights that roam around - compared to the past Trestempo, this place feels more like a military outpost than an academy. However, if you can... don't go outside at night; that's when most of the fights happen."
Scraping the rest of his fillet off, Foulard carefully cleaned his mouth with his handkerchief, folding it neatly before slowly stuffing it back into his pocket. Eventually joining Midas again to walk out of the backdoor of the large room, walking the same path he already dragged him into before their meal, they eventually stood in front of the open grounds of the academy, a group of female students seemingly practicing an act under the supervision of a teacher.
Fleetingly watching, Midas turned to walk back to his dorm - using his free time between his lectures to dry any remaining moisture that suck into his belongings and walls. Eventually feeling that Foulard wasn't beside him anymore - he turned, seeing him openly stare at the group with gaping lips. Slowly approaching him again with a tired groan, he also turned to the female students, their fluid movements perfectly syncronized between them.
"That's a ceremonial dance that is performed during the day that the third of cold starts... priests come together to pray when the first snow begins to fall, with their chants and the dance - they hope for a good life during the freeze, since fluid water becomes more sparse and therefore food as well... and a southerner is able to perform it so fluently..."
Mumbling to himself, Foulard lost himself at the sight of a girl with dark, voluminously braided hair that flowed down her back. The practice eventually ended, standing on one leg as the finishing pose - Midas was able to tell that her breathing was heavy as she was forced to breathe through the openings of her metal mask. Seeing the others quietly looking at her after they dropped their pose, Midas eventually nudged Foulard's shoulder.
"We should get going."
"Yeah... yeah, we should."
Night struck fast; Midas's room was lit by a hanging lantern - his bed still most when he lay on top of it, the same with the wooden floor. His bare back was wet, the air thick from the moisture, and the temperature of the room began to drop even lower with every passing moment, making it nearly impossible to sleep. Most of his floor was covered with spare papers; he and Foulard had tried their best to make his dorm usable as soon as they could. However, the water had soaked too deep into everything already.
The letter that was given to him by Jikith still lay on his table - before he knew it, he wore his uniform again; heading out, he held the paper under the blue glow of a lantern in the walkway - he somehow had to go to the second ring of the town, an entrance relatively close to the academy. From the darkness surrounding him, a face suddenly emerged, quietly looking onto the sketch with him, jumping back as his fingers clutched the fabric that sat over his heart - Midas found himself pointing his sickle at Patriq.
With an expressionless look, he stared at him as he sighed in relief, looking at Midas like he was the one behaving unusually. Dropping his weapon, he eventually began to walk, letting Patriq quietly follow him as he was able to hear his steps behind him through the darkness. The academy grounds were quiet - blue light illuminating their path as they took it towards the gate. Seeing it already closed, Midas used the sunshard slotted inside the rune to make a pillar of stone rise from the tiled ground beneath his soles to make him leap over the gate.
Watching Midas, Partiq began to squad silently - a gust of wind moving him upwards once his staff hit the ground, his soles silently landing on the floor again as the air beneith them seemed to cushion his fall. They both wandered over the arching stone bridge that ran across one of the waterways, able to hear the waterfall from the second ring of the city in the dimly lit dark. Occasionally halting at a lantern to follow the path sketched on the paper, the two of them ended up in front of ancient-looking stairs - their edges rounded from the traffic that came through.
The arch in the broad wall hung high above their heads - even when Midas looked up, seeing the curve of it in the night was barely even possible. Trying to catch his breath, he looked back on the long stairway; Gilts' description of climbing up to the very top of the city was now much more believable to him. From where they stood, a rounded building of solid brick emerged over the roof shingles of the houses in front of them - the direction they would have to take to reach it was the same as sketched on the paper.
Watching from afar as he leaned against one of the lanterns, Midas was able to see the shut doors of the prison - a valley filled with water spun around the round building, shutting anyone from reaching it. Midas could try to use his sunshard to get over the wall instead of having to use the wooden bridge that led right to the doors, as the entrance was guarded by two knights; however, there was a high enough chance that he could be seen by guards through the many windows or the flat roof of the building.
Seeing Patriq wander around the metal gate that was built in front of the water-filled valley casually, Midas closed his lids - focusing his mana into his eyes. He could see blurry shapes all throughout the building's five floors; some moved at a slow pace into one direction - most likely patrolling guards. However, most of the mana he picked up through his lids was possibly belonging to prisoners, as the shapes differed in size. After a moment of scanning each layer - trying to look through the conjunction of mana he was capable of seeing - Midas eventually furrowed his brows at a much easier shape to make out - even from the distance, he was able to make out a human shape instead of a blurred silhouette.
Opening his eyes at Patriq blankly staring at him again with a dim question in his eyes, Midas was sure that he found the man Jikith told him to be looking for. Closing his lids again, he was able to make out that the pirate was held on the third floor of the building - his ears beginning to pick up the creaking of distant wooden wheels that seemed to originate from behind them. Sensing his chance, Midas silently signaled Patriq to crouch between two of the many houses - hastily making their way into the carriage from behind as they silently clawed themselves on the back of it.
Feeling the wooden frame their fingers held onto vibrate under the pebble, the carriage drove on - Midas's eyes lay solely on the driver that sat on his seat, oblivious of the fact the two of them were hanging from the back of their ride. The carriage slowly came to a halt - both of them ducked immediately when the driver turned his back to examine the boxes that were stacked inside of it. Letting go, Midas and Patriq silently crouched to the side of the carriage - the youth peeked over the edge as he was able to see the doors slowly open between the feet of the two Fahin dragging the carriage.
"Your order - new sets of armor and swords... both sent by the Troi'Facon."
The driver and the two guards slowly approached the back of the ride - if Midas wanted to get through, he had to do it now. Just as he thought of running, he felt Patriq grip onto the back of his collar - his staff clunking into the ground suddenly made both of them leap through the gate, propelled by a strong wind. Hearing the distant confusion of the knights behind them, Midas wasted no time to slowly crouch through the curving hallway, eventually finding a set of uneven stone stairs that lead them upwards.
The second floor was filled with snoring and the smell of damp hay - similar to the many underground prisons of the northern fort. The tight corridor that curved between prisons on each side eventually led through a walkway, allowing patrols to wander from one side of the circular building to the other, and bridges that spanned through the empty center, making the building look more like a tower or reused colosseum. Holding their breath as they watched a knight slowly going up the stairs they had to take to the third floor, Midas eventually followed, close on the heels of the knight - the two of them crouched behind him.
The armor they wore seemed much sturdier - everything that wasn't covered by thick metal plating was shielded by leather and chainmail, even if Midas used a null-ability to charge up his strike with the sickle, it would at least take two or three hits directly against their neck or throat to take the knight out. Silently climbing the stairs with the unsuspecting patrol, the youth closed his lids for a short moment as the pirate they searched for was three cells away to their right.
After what felt like ages, the youth finally reached the cell of the man they searched for - his eyes widened as the forehead of the pirate was tightly pressed against the iron bars that held him there, sharply grinning at Midas's stunned expression. Narrowing his eyes in amusement, he looked at them silently while the youth tried to find a solution to open the lock quietly. Feeling the sharp grin of the pirate directly at him, Midas eventually pressed his palm against the rusted keyhole.
His attempt of using his sunshard was cut short as he could feel a foreign substance shoot from under his skin - his wrist flicking his hand to the right without Midas' control. Utterly confused, he glanced at the pirate again as the lock sprang free; however, even he seemed to have dropped his playful expression at what happened. Quickly pulling his palm away from the keyhole at the foreign sensation, Midas's eyes widened as he saw a golden end of a key slowly sink under his skin again.
"Now you owe me a favor, brat."
Gripping his wrist, Midas clenched his teeth - forced to focus on freeing the pirate as he heard Gilts' distorted laughter hull through his head. Slowly getting up, he furrowed his brows to focus again - startled, as the pirate showed open the metal door swiftly.
"Did Jikith send you...? Or what did he call himself in front of you... Avernil?"
"Jikith sent me. I'm told to free you from here so you can join them again."
"Ah, so that rat finally returned to the mainland.…"