The morning sun streamed through the windows of the History classroom, illuminating rows of desks and sleepy students. Outside, the Academy grounds buzzed with life as usual. A couple of second-years could be seen arguing over something near the training grounds, while others hurried toward class with books tucked beneath their arms. I rested my cheek against my hand and stared outside.
History.
Out of all my classes in the Academy, this had to be the most dangerous class. Not because of the content, but because if I listened for more than fifteen minutes, I would genuinely fall asleep.
Professor Yoren stood at the front of the room, writing several words across the board in his neat handwriting: Terrorists. Marks. Criminal Organizations.
Toho glanced over at me, whispering in my ear:
"Five Coins says you're asleep before the lesson ends."
I snorted, my eyes already growing heavy. However, my pride won't let me back down from this challenge. I whispered back.
"Make it ten," I extended my hand, offering a gentleman's handshake.
"Deal."
Before Toho could shake it, a piece of chalk struck the side of his head. Professor Yoren's loud voice echoed across the classroom, causing everyone to jump in their seats.
"Mr. Toho!"
Professor Yoren adjusted his glasses, taking deep breaths to quiet himself down.
"If you're going to gamble, at least wait until after my lecture."
The classroom snickered before Professor Yoren shot them all looks. They quieted down quickly, shifting in their seats. Toho rubbed his head, apologizing to the professor.
"Sorry, Professor. Won't happen again."
Satisfied, Yoren returned to the board, starting the lecture. I prepared myself mentally.
This is gonna be a long one. Please, Father, give me the strength not to fall asleep.
"Today, we will be discussing major criminal organizations throughout modern history."
Most students groaned immediately; however, Professor Yoren ignored them and continued.
"As future Sorcerers, it's inevitable that you will encounter criminals. Some will be Marks, Sorcerers who use their powers solely to cause harm. Others will simply be ordinary thieves or murderers. However, throughout history, there have been organizations that have posed threats not only to cities, but to civilization itself."
He wrote the first name on the board: The Scarlet Children. Several students copied notes. I didn't bother. According to my experience, copying notes only encouraged the professor to continue speaking.
"The Scarlet Children emerged approximately one hundred and thirty years ago. Their motives were simple. Wealth and influence. They controlled dozens of underground markets before being dismantled by the World Council and that era's Top Ten."
The term "Top Ten" refers to the ten strongest Sorcerers of that time period. As Sorcerers age and retire, or die in battle, their positions are replaced. The Top Ten Sorcerers are directly under the command of the Supreme Council, the highest members of the World Council. The one name everybody recognized from this era's Top Ten is Seraphis Valor, ranked 1st. The strongest of this time, and possibly of all time. You would be considered a fool for not knowing any of this.
Another name was written on the board by the professor: The Black Tide.
"They operated along the eastern coast. Pirates, smugglers, and traffickers. Unlike ordinary criminals, they possessed several Sorcerers among their ranks."
Toho had already begun doodling in his notebook. He stopped halfway, and his hand shot up, as if he came up with a question of the utmost importance. Without being called on, he began asking.
"Professor? What's with all the colors in their fancy names?"
Professor Yoren sighed, "The media loves titles. They think people would gobble it up, and they're right."
Toho put his hand back down, returning to his notes to doodle. He showed me his notebook and made me decipher his drawings. All I could make out was three men, all of them look a bit similar to me, standing in a circle. I sighed, whispering to him, even more quietly this time.
"You should take art as an elective next year. I'm serious."
Toho shot me a death stare. I don't think he appreciated my criticism of his drawing skills. I turned my attention back to the front of the classroom. Professor Yoren's expression became slightly more serious.
"The next organization is different," He slowly turned toward the class, "Most historians agree that they cannot be classified as ordinary terrorists."
On the board, he wrote the last terrorist organization: The Syndicate.
"The Syndicate appeared nearly twenty years ago and ran amok for nearly five years before disappearing. Unlike most organizations, they rarely caused destruction for the sake of destruction. They did not issue demands. They did not seek wealth. They did not attempt to rule cities or take over anything." He paused, "And that's exactly why they are completely different from other organizations we've seen in the past. To this day, their motives remain unknown."
They appeared twenty years ago and ran their rampage for around five years. Considering I'm fifteen, that means these guys disappeared just before I was born.
My thoughts were interrupted by Professor Yoren's voice: "Their members acted with incredible precision. Several major incidents have been linked to them, but much of their activity remains classified by the World Council."
He wrote another name beneath it: Titan
"The only individual publicly identified as the leader. Nobody knows whether this was his real name. Merely a title or alias. Nevertheless, historians believe he led the organization."
One of my peers raised her arm, speaking up: "So what happened to them?" she asked.
Professor Yoren folded his arms, giving a prompt reply.
"Nobody knows. No member of the Syndicate was ever captured. Not one," Professor Yoren said, a tone of disappointment in his voice. He continued, "There was one confirmed member who was apprehended by the World Council. However, before any information could be obtained, he committed suicide."
A few students shifted uncomfortably. One purposefully gulped loudly, exaggerating a nervous reaction. A couple of students gave a light chuckle, including me. It doesn't take a lot to get me laughing. Professor Yoren sighed before looking toward the board.
"Officially, the Syndicate no longer exists," Then he adjusted his glasses. "Unofficially... many believe its surviving members are still alive. Some even fear they are preparing their next move." He paused, then gave a curt smile. "But students! That's all just speculation. In reality, no one knows for sure. Except them."
***
Quinn
Boone and I were sitting on a bench, wondering exactly how we were supposed to buy lunch. The sun was blazing, and we were sweating down our temples. That alone was enough to irritate us, but pairing that with the loud streets of this small town was enough to drive us to the brink of insanity.
The morning crowd flowed through Marge's marketplace. Consumers were chewing out merchants, and unsupervised children ran across the road. Not that it mattered. You wouldn't be able to find an automobile in streets like this. Even a horse carriage was rare; most of the time it was people passing through town.
Somewhere nearby, a street musician somehow managed to play the same song incorrectly for the fifth time. Boone sat beside me with his arms folded, staring at the ground as if it had personally offended him. I leaned back against the bench and let out a sigh.
"So..." I finally spoke. "Any brilliant ideas?"
Boone replied with a vexed tone without bothering to look at me.
"We need money."
"Yeah, I figured that much out... you're brilliant." My sarcasm riled him even more, giving me personal satisfaction. He calmed himself down through deep breaths before continuing.
"We need supplies."
"Makes sense."
"And we need transportation."
I jerked my head to look at him, an expression of confusion on my face. I was under the impression we had a different plan for transportation.
"I was thinking we'd just walk."
At my reply, he too jerked his head to face me, reciprocating my confused expression. He took in a deep breath as if he was about to exhale into a sigh. He cut his breath short, talking through it.
"Are you an idiot? It'll take weeks, at least."
"I have strong legs. Plus, I've been working on my stamina."
"You-you are an idiot."
He pinched the bridge of his nose before letting out a long breath. I'd seen that look plenty of times back in our days. Usually, it meant he was trying very hard not to strangle me.
The worst part was that he wasn't wrong. We hadn't thought any of this through. We'd left the cabin with a destination and almost nothing else. No money. No horse. No carriage. Boone wasn't even fully convinced of my idea. All we had was just enough food to get us here and enough confidence to convince ourselves everything would work out.
A wagon rolled past us, piled high with wooden crates. The driver climbed down and immediately began struggling to unload them himself. Boone noticed it at the same time I did.
He looked at the wagon, then at me. By the time he faced me, I was preparing to move. He rushed to pin my arms down to my legs.
"Stop-stop! I know that look."
"Wha-let go," I gritted through my teeth. "This is a gift from TheFather. It's a job."
Just as Boone blinked, I took my chance. By the time his eyes opened, I had gotten out of his grasp. Before Boone could stop me again, I rushed toward the merchant. The man was broad-shouldered with a thick beard and arms that looked capable of carrying the entire wagon by themselves. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he wrestled another crate toward the edge.
"Need some help?" I asked, trying my best to appear confident and non-suspicious.
He looked us over for a moment before scoffing. I felt personally offended by that reaction, but I didn't dwell on it too much. He put the crate he was holding before fixing his posture, setting his focus on us.
"You a cash-worker?" He paused before asking another question, "Is that one also with you?"
"I guess you could call us that," I replied vaguely. I slightly turned my head to glance at Boone, who was now slowly walking to us. "And yeah, he's with me."
The bulky man looked us over once more, as if it was a risky gamble to choose us. Boone finally came to my side, standing shoulder to shoulder. At this point, it was too late for him to refuse.
"Two Coins if you unload everything."
Boone tried his best to hide his disappointed face. I too was let down. Two coins isn't a whole lot. It wouldn't get us anywhere. Considering a train was the best way to get from Marge to Celestiala, the distance alone would probably require at least an Iris. That doesn't account for the cost of supplies.
Despite all the cons, this was an easy task for the two of us. Plus, two Coins are more than we currently have. We weren't in the best situation to be picky. I set aside my pride and ego for a moment and accepted his offer.
"Deal."
***
The work wasn't difficult. Heavy, yes, but not difficult. Boone carried nearly every crate himself while I handled the lighter ones. Every now and then I'd pretend one was heavier than it actually was just to make Boone roll his eyes.
"You know," I grunted dramatically while lifting a small box, "this one might actually kill me."
Boone walked past carrying three crates stacked on top of one another.
"I can only hope."
An hour later, we'd nearly finished. The amount of boxes here looked like it would have been enough to build a small castle. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for the final object sitting near the wagon. It wasn't the normal crate, but a small canister made from some sort of soft, non-durable metal. The canister itself was slippery. The bottom felt ungraspable, like it had been leaking. The merchant suddenly shouted something, but I only caught the last word.
"...careful!"
By the time I heard it, my focus on the canister staggered. My sweaty palms could basically be described as a waterfall. Combining that with the fact that the canister was already slippery, it went downhill fast. Everything that happened after felt like it was in slow motion, yet it all went so fast. The crate slipped from my hands and crashed onto the ground. I shouted while the event unfolded.
"Nooo!"
The canister came loose, tearing in half. A large puddle splattered across the footpath, seeping through small cracks. Most of it was absorbed into the path, but the stench reeked. The merchant's face turned pale.
"Noooo! What are you doing!"
I looked down at the puddle, which was now making its way into the dirt. I almost instinctively stepped on it, but refrained from the urge. The first thought I could form was simple.
"...That doesn't look expensive at all."
Boone slowly closed his eyes.
"What was in the crate?" he asked quietly. He looked like he didn't want to ask. He was hoping that answer wasn't something expensive.
"Oil," the merchant answered. His voice quivered, yet you could easily sense the anger amidst it.
The three of us stared at it in silence. I stood directly in front of the puddle; it slowly began crawling towards my feet. It absorbed into the soles of my sandals. The merchant and Boone both stood beside each other, across me, a couple of feet away from the puddle. A row of shops right beside us, but the shop directly beside us just happened to be a blacksmith.
A nearby blacksmith struck his anvil. Sparks flew in every direction. Boone, the merchant, and I all stood still, contemplating what to do about the spill. The merchant was probably thinking about what to do about us. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse.
A single spark drifted through the air, quickly entering my vision. My eyes widened. By the time I could process what it was, it landed.
Boone looked at me. I looked at Boone. The merchant rapidly glanced at both of us. It was a small chance that it would ignite the oil. Very slim chance. I wanted to breathe. Let out all the air I was holding in. However, just before I could, more sparks flew into the oil, igniting a flame. The puddle ignited.
Boone looked at me with big eyes. His words weren't like a suggestion, but more like a command.
"Run!"