-1"The eternal mystery of the world is its comprehensibility."

-Albert Einstein

I walk in through the gate of the academy on the cobblestone path under the long row of palms. Palm trees that is. There is much hustle and/or bustle about the courtyard at the moment in preparation of the graduation. One would think that it would be done by now, but you know how things go wrong at the last moment. I however am without duties being one of the fifteen graduates. So I casually stroll in through the thick doors past the first year students who zip past me.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the great Vaughn?" a (unfortunately) familiar voice calls out to me. "Early for once, I see…"

I turn and face my self-nominated nemesis, Nomolos. His high-and-mighty attitude and stuck up demeanor shining clearly for the world to see. Seriously, I really despise this guy. His bony face faces my own complete with a disgusting smirk which matches his other equally disgusting features. An upturned nose holds up gold rimmed spectacles and his greasy black hair is even slicker than usual this day.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the gr…If it isn't Nomolos." I throw back at him.

"Heh. I'd like you to meet my traveling companion, Revlaar the Blade!" Nomolos unveils with much gusto. Standing close behind is a large Bangaa wearing a chain shirt and holstering a massive sword on his broad back. A mercenary obviously, but not one with out morals I can tell.

"It's just Revlaar, sssir…" he mumbles.

Nomolos just laughs that damnable laugh and scoots on ahead. I stop the scaly warrior and whisper to him, "How much are they paying you to put up with that asshole?".

"Quite a lot…but not really enough." He laments before catching up to his master.

I also head down the hall after a brief pause to put some distance between myself and Nomolos. My hand rests on my scimitar momentarily, even though I know it's there. Force of habit I guess. Had to run an existence check. After that, I reach the grand door of the meeting hall and walk through the parted gate.

The grand chamber is full of first years (a.k.a. freshies) running about this way and that, positioning rows of pews just so and lighting decretive candles. The pale marbled floor in the room is contrasted by brightly painted stone walls and a few support pillars decorated with blue lightning bolts which run down them every few minutes. In the middle of all this mess standing one of my favorite instructors, Quistis Trepe, who is busy directing the mass of students. I notice at once her favorite zip-up shirt which is usually zipped down both ways, is fully zipped much to my disdain. She would have my vote for cutest navel, if such a contest was held. But with the pomp of today she surely decided not to expose her midriff. The busy instructor stands there wearing her trademark glasses with her bright blonde hair tied up in an always original fashion.

"Hello Instructor Trepe." I greet her.

"NO! You're getting wax everywhere, you nit-wit! Oh…Hello, Mr. Stull. All ready for your graduation I take it?" she replies.

"Yup. But after today, you can stop the 'Mr. Stull' business. Hehe."

"And you will have to call me by my first name as well." she says with a smile and places her hand on my arm.

"Thank you for everything, Instructor. But you should probably get back to work before one of the freshies burns something." I say, returning the smile. She moves in for a tight hug, much to my surprise.

"I have something to give you later…Vaughn." she whispers into my left ear.

As she pulls away, I give her a nod and turn to walk on. I shake the stray perverse connotations of her last comment as I make my way for the door on the right of the wide stage. A spiky haired boy passes me muttering 'lucky bastard' under his breath. Well, it is true Trepe can be very flirtatious in class and indeed has a fan club devoted to putting her on a pedestal (a unisex club too, I might add). Still, I don't think I got any special treatment from her…I'm just a good student. Being close to her pupils has not only motivated them, but helped some come out of their shells. Most of the time I agree with her method…though I have to admit she has gone overboard a few times.

I open the beautifully carved door and enter the adjoining room. The modest sized room contains a few chairs and closets, as well as a small flight of stairs to the stage door. I look around and count my peers, ending up with eleven out of the fifteen. I take a lean on the wall near Mike. He's sitting in a chair running a lint brush over his bowler hat and humming here and there. From across the room a Moogle walks up to me and faces Mike and I. Her name is Kewpie and she represents one of the few of her race to take up Blue Magery. Moogles, in case you didn't know, are small pudgy white fairies with pink bat wings and red…ball thingies on a tentacle which extends from their heads.

"So are you guys prepared for your journeys, kupo?" she asks.

"Well, now I am!" Mike laughs, putting the now dustless hat back atop his shaven head, "How about you, Vaughn? Ready to enter the real world?"

"Hell yeah! I'm soooo excited right now!" I shout with a razed fist.

"…Would you please calm down…you braggart." a familiar monotone voice drifts across the room at me.

The voice belongs to one Sheila Sel. A creepy, pale, and scrawny girl who had transferred from the black mage academy last year to finish out what she calls "mixed magic potential". It's not unheard of, but frankly I worry about her going into the field. Not that I doubt her abilities, but it's just she is more bookish than quick on her feet. Her swordsmanship is less than admirable but who needs to swing a scimitar when you can blast firebolts? So she sits even now doing research, in this case fiddling with a small flaming sphere. The light flickers in her brown eyes and illuminates her face. She's wearing black lipstick and mascara, both as black as her short boyish hair, and as dark as her personality.

"Did Montal teach you that little trick? Hehehe…Have you two been having late night study sessions?" I laugh, as I look at the person in question.

"N-n-no! Wha…What are you saying, Vaughn?" he denies with a fiery blush spreading across his face.

A very fiery indeed, considering his lineage. Montal is what is known as a genasi. That is to say somewhere way, way back in his ancestry, there was a Efreeti patriarch. In short, he has the blood of a fire genie flowing in his veins, which always happens to manifests itself randomly somewhere down the line. Unfortunately for him, he was abandoned when he was born due to his appearance. Which…isn't really that wild. He just has light red skin, hair and eyes. I guess it must have been the eyes…poor kid. Anyway, while most fire genasi are flamboyant warriors or thieves, Montal is a shy and mild mannered youth who was raised by a band of Moogle gypsies that took in the abandoned babe. But it's quite obvious to everyone that he has a huge crush on Sheila. Well, Sheila doesn't know.

I swear, I'm the only somewhat normal one of the whole bunch.

"Good day, my students…" a gruff, old voice interrupts.

"Good day, Judge Booki." Sheila says as she dismisses the flame quickly.

"G-good day…" everyone else adds in at once. Considering the geezer just appeared out of thin air in the middle of the room, everyone is a little jilted save Miss Sel. He's always doing stuff like that.

"Well, I hope you are all are ready for your respective journeys. This really is it, my students." he says, sporting a rare smile beneath his beard.

END CHAPTER 3

So…I just fixed the errors now. Nothing too big, but thanks for the review! I threw in Quistis because I can!