Three days passed.
When the remains of the explosion had subsided, there was only a crater where the factory they were under was located. Despite Raoul's best attempts at bending the enigmatic inner workings of the device to his will, a partial success was all that could be achieved. What would otherwise have been an explosion that—by Krocko's words—would've leveled Lupas Hendu entirely, was instead diverted to a mere four-hundred meter cascade of fire that serendipitously did not take the lives of any of the workers stationed at the adjacent construction sites. A dozen were unlucky enough to sustain a few fractures as a result of the force caused and its accompanying debris, but all were quickly taken to hospitals and treated with restorative magic.
"This news report has been brought to you by Evan Calder, live on the scene. As displayed, much of the devastation has yet to be traced to any suspects, and for the moment is regarded simply as an accident caused by a lack of supervision."
The television switched itself off with a flick from the remote in Raoul's hands. It was the only source of light in his room, and once that was out it promptly blanked the entire area in pitch black. A few seconds later, his phone blinked open. He leaned backward, resting his body on the soft mattress as he flicked through his text messages. For the most part, it was empty, with most of it being from professors or classmates he kept in contact with purely for academic work. Inched at the very top, however, was Krocko's usertag.
Krockodile: I took the liberty of asking around and frequenting databases to find your number. If you're still mad, that's okay, but don't block this number.
Krockodile: I made sure to pull a few favors and had the incident largely kept under wraps. The media's a hassle to control. It's out of my reach. For now, lay low and focus on getting to know your new potential better. Driving's not easy, nor is it accessible to just about anyone.
Krockodile: You told me you wanted to leave Cias Buril. Noble goal, I'll tell you. As of the moment, though, travel in and out of the city's restricted on account of the nearby roads being swarmed by some ragtag bunch of cultists.
Krockodile: When I first got into Pioneering, I had to find myself a party. Simply was too dangerous going at it alone. My suggestion: find yourself at least three others who'll want to join you. The company will be worth it, trust me.
Krockodile: When you've got that out of the way, come find me at my office. It's by Merrick District. I'll introduce you to an associate of mine that'll help you get started. Think of it as my way of making amends for dragging you along and putting you through that.
He brought a free hand to rub the sleep off his eyes.
There was no doubt. He still hated Krocko for the trickery he had pulled a few days ago. Granted, it led to his awakening of his Driving, but the method at which it was obtained still left a persistent bad taste in his mouth. It was like blood, ferric and far too salty. Still, a small part of his conflicted self felt some measure of gratitude.
That same hand was held out in front of him to the ceiling. He closed his eyes, drawing from within that same energy he had channeled back then. There was an unmistakable difference in his very self, but it did not manifest in any physical form. Maybe it was a matter of mindset, he thought. Perhaps having achieved that feat had pulled his head from the depths of "can he?" and brought it into the shallows of "when will he?".
Driving… He thought to himself. If I really can do this, then maybe I can…
A distinct three-phased beep sounded from outside his room. Like a soldier straightening up at the arrival of his sergeant, he sat upright and kicked off the bed. His movements mimicked the goings of a dog that had been thoroughly taught by its owner to adhere to their commands. Quickly, he rushed to flick the light switch open and paced to the front foyer with his school uniform still on.
He was just in time. The front door slipped open with a dragging creak. Her long, slender fingers came through first, and then the telltale sign of her apathetic eyes came second. Slowly she crossed the threshold, gaze coming to focus intently on Raoul, who stood there with his hands clasped behind his back.
She wasn't that much taller than her son. It was only by a few inches, and yet that made all the difference when it came to her silently imposing her authority on him. She flicked one side of her long, lustrous blonde hair behind her ear to clear her partially obscured vision while simultaneously disrobing of her long light brown woolen coat, setting it on the coat rack just off to the side of the door.
"Welcome home," Raoul broke the cold silence with a greeting. "You haven't been home these past few days."
"I know."
She didn't once lock eye contact with him as she responded. Her attention focused entirely on setting her flats on the acacia-carved shoe rack opposite where the coats were hung. "The school's been preparing for the graduation ceremony in a few weeks. Did you get your test results?"
"I did," he replied, reaching over to shut the imposingly-built door behind her with a click. "I got a 100 in most of my subjects."
Her movements stopped at the mention of "most". With an almost robotic addition to it, she shifted her head to embody him half; that was, with only one eye. Said eye held all the signs of dissatisfaction—heavy lids, unfocused, and flat—in it shoved amidst the par for the course that was her usual blankness.
"Most?"
The temperature dropped a noticeable amount at the single-word response. All of a sudden, it felt spine-tinglingly chilly. Goosebumps formed themselves on practically every single inch of his forearms, choking him with the trembling that came with it. His mother's hand was clenching from the effort at withholding her repressed disdain, and he could see vividly how she was struggling from the moment he uttered it.
"Y-yes…" His voice trailed off. "Professor Sporeth found a mistake in my essay on dissecting Primarys and deducted two points. I got a 98 as a result." He clenched the moment the last of the words left his mouth. He turned, involuntarily, expecting it.
Merlin sighed. "I already drilled into you the entirety of the four forms of magic. There's absolutely no way you made a mistake. I personally tested you."
She continued, each word feeling like she was personally thrusting a barbed sword through his chest. The initial impact was painful, but the barbs and spikes littering the entire length of the blade came back in the form of her voice echoing in his head more than twice.
"You can do better than that. Next year you'll have another opportunity to prove yourself. That's your job as my son." She stopped for a second, scanning his body, finally noticing the half-healed bruises and scars that he had received from the explosion a few days ago. Her steps clacked against the hardwood floor, and she held up his arm. Raoul made no effort to resist. "Where did you get those scars? Have you been getting mixed up with the wrong people again? I thought I told you not to talk to anyone else. I've already chosen your friends for you—they're all bright, upstanding students, people you could learn a thing or two from."
Her other hand moved to grip his chin, forcing him to face her upward. "I believe I've made myself clear. Do you understand, Raoul?"
Where he found comfort in noticing the subtle differences in peoples' looks, Raoul could not find the energy to face his mother. It hurt to even direct his gaze to hers, and with every second that she held him, her words continued to ripple in his head endlessly, reminding him of just how unfair the world was.
In the end, all he could respond with was a silent nod.
"Good. The last thing I want to see is you ending up as wasted potential, or worse, like your father. I'll be in the kitchen preparing dinner. It'll be ready in half an hour."
The sound of her steps gradually receding into the background were the least of his worries. Raoul had lost the strength in his legs and fallen to the floor. Dejection and despair were all that was left on his face, the determination present in him only a few days ago fading into nonexistence. Even with his Driving, he was nothing compared to the person who controlled his life.
His teeth cracked under the force of his gritting.