AN:
For those who do not already know, it has been established that Vale and Atlas share a time zone. This means that clocks in Atlas read the same time as clocks in Vale. Vacuo is roughly seven hours behind Vale, and Mistral is roughly three hours ahead Vale. I will be using Atlesian time.
Chapter 2
2311 hours, 3rd Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Atlesian Time
Commercial District, Vale
In this area of the Commercial District, it was not uncommon to see three, four, or even five consecutive weapon stores in a single street.
These were often small, family businesses that made and sold weapons for a living. In Vale, no licenses were needed to own deadly weapons, but all weapons and the people who bought them had to be registered in an official, legal document. There was no limit on the number of weapons an individual could possess, and concealed carry of bladed objects and firearms was entirely acceptable. Even in the fortress-kingdom of Vale, Grimm attacks were unpredictable and not unheard of.
However, elemental Dust — synthetic or natural — had to be stored in approved, highly-unreactive containers for the sake of safety. Dust stores had to undergo scheduled safety inspections by government agents. In the past decade, there had been several deadly explosions and fires caused by malfunctioning equipment, and the governing council did not want to risk another one.
Orphans were relatively common in the Vale and made up 5 percent of the population. The leading cause of their creation was, of course, Grimm attacks. Most took place in rural villages, some occurred near the boundaries of the kingdoms. Most orphans would arrive in the large cities, where, a few would be lucky enough to be granted admission into the many packed orphanages and combat schools distributed around the kingdoms if they could pass the admission tests.
Therefore, the sight of children and teenagers roaming the streets of rural areas, wearing the same clothes given to them by their rescuers, was not an uncommon one. In some areas, they were often responsible for orchestrating robberies and pickpockets on middle-class civilians.
Usually, there were several state-run education centers where these orphans could be taught to read and write for free, but these were mostly run by abusive headmasters who hired teachers who were of similar caliber in their enjoyment of sadism.
One orphan — though not technically one, yet — now slept on the cold, concrete floor in an alleyway.
The dreamer was draped in a black, tattered cloth that he had found lying on the top of a rubbish heap. Moonlight glinted off its fair skin, and the shadowy passage of clouds above was displayed on the organic canvas, forming an eerie, animated tapestry.
For a few, long hours had he studied these creatures of his kind. They were all clothed, some in more colorful and sophisticated outfits, and others in plain and common clothing. The latter could be found in greater, much greater abundance than the former.
A city slumbered around him. It was a city of light. A city of order — ordered structures that abided by the first principles of natural law which Man had discovered.
Instinctively, the boy knew that others of his kind could be found in this unnatural place. This he knew the moment he spied the sprawling concrete jungle on the horizon, back in the forest of red.
They communicated with voices. Human sounds. Spoken language. Sound was a medium for the transmission of information in the form of language. A human medium, it was.
The boy understood the concept of language. The lexicon had been stored in the form of embryonic memory, created with an artificial version of synaptic pruning via long-lost nanoscale devices. His creators had implanted an entire lexicon into the mind of a fetal demigod through the shaping of his neural architecture using arcane technologies. Every word, every meaningful utterance could — with sufficient repetition and predetermined neuroplasticity — create its reflection in a predefined conformational matrix of synaptic connections through the phenomenon known to the scientists of Old Earth as Synaptic Pruning. Thus, through an ingenious reversal of causality, artificial memories could theoretically be synthesized and implanted.
He knew seven thousand, six hundred, and forty-one languages, dialects, argots, and cants from across the Old Federation. This one was slightly different at the first hearing, but similarities emerged from the boy's subconscious cross-referencing of the myriad lexical vestiges this one bore. Slowly but surely, he understood the language they spoke without a clue as to how. It only felt right that he did. Their language was quite different from what he had envisioned during the trek, but it mattered not. But he needed more. More words.
And now, everything was working perfectly.
He knew that his understanding of the language was rudimentary at best, and he had much to learn. Out of pure instinct, he hungered for knowledge.
And tomorrow, he will find everything out.
Tomorrow.
0850 hours, 4th Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Atlesian Time
70th floor, Main Tower, Atlas Academy, Atlas.
Augustus White peered out of the window.
Five inches of aluminum oxynitride and polycarbonate stood between him and a four-hundred-meter drop. As added protection from kinetic energy penetrators and high explosive rounds, an additional four inches of ceramic composite armor molded into a titanium wall lay hidden in an enclosed space immediately above him, ready to drop and cordon off the window at the press of a button. Hidden beneath the massive shutter's titanium casing was a lattice of hexagonal boron carbide tiles epoxy-glued and compressed within a metal framework.
He now stood at the topmost floor of the colossal main tower of Atlas Academy, and the view from there never ceased to inspire awe within him. Atlas was a bastion of science and technology, and there was certainly no expense spared for the Academy. Just stepping through the two monolithic doors of the main entrance offered him a feeling of security unlike any other.
The first official meeting of the task force that James Ironwood had put together would begin in approximately ten minutes. The Specialist now waited at a lift lobby that fed directly into a corridor that led to Ironwood's office. It also happened to be an observational panel.
Augustus noted the frequent use of glass, silvery metal, and sharp, chiseled edges in the construction that homogenized the metropolis, conferring to it a sense of futurism. But he knew with a steely certainty that there was met the eye in this bastion of technology and military strength.
It was pride and arrogance dressed in architectural prowess, rationalistic utilitarianism, and above all others, beauty. It was human, all too human. More human it was than the humble and plain buildings in the city beneath them. Atlas housed the elite of a nation, the most ruthless, ambitious, and unscrupulous men and women who came to further their careers.
How long had he been away from Atlas? A year? Two? The hot, Valean climate had rendered him unprepared for the frigid climate that Solitas offered all year round. There was an occasional shiver, but for the most part, his Atlesian service dress uniform offered enough insulation to keep him warm.
The gray, dust-absorbent carpet flooring felt soft underneath his combat boots, and the cool air felt pleasant on his skin. A feeling of urgency arose within him as the minutes went by, and Augustus looked at his watch.
0856 hours, it read. The meeting would begin in four minutes. Six have elapsed since he stepped out of the lift, expecting a familiar face.
He was getting impatient. How long did she have to take? They had both agreed to meet at the lift lobby of the 70th floor at 0850 hours. The Atlas Institute of Technology was a mere five hundred meters from the academy's main tower, and, a journey on the direct monorail took a mere fifteen seconds. So why was it that she was taking so long?
Music blasted into his two ears, and the passage of the beat harmonized with the quickening pulse of his arteries. A salvo of fingertips pressed rammed against the glass screen of his scroll, and milliseconds later, a frantic string was composed and sent.
"Ding!"
The loud, awkward ring of a bell managed a feeble whisper as it overwhelmed the musical deafness of his ears. Augustus flinched at the aberration, turning as quick as lightning.
A heavy sigh escaped his mouth when he discovered its origin.
Five spindly alabastrine fingers clutched the custom-made scroll, holding it adjacent to the floor. It buzzed in their gentle grip.
There she stood, a slender silhouette against the soft glow of the overhead fluorescence. Her inky hair was unkempt and cascaded messily over the outcrop of white polyester. Her pale skin was not the rosy white canvas that was typical of the Atlesian elite, but rather, it was the color of lifeless marble. Her black glassy eyes projected a gaze more focused than a laser and more luminous than a quasar.
Her outfit was humble, perhaps shabby. Her clothes appeared to have not been washed in weeks, maybe months. The scarlet plaid shirt that she wore reeked of her scent, and one could see the faint, winding tributaries colored brown — vestiges of spilled coffee from days long gone — on her pants. The leather loafers seemed far too old and worn to be usable, and the lab coat that cloaked everything was old and yellowed.
"Hello."
The word was soft and raspy and stiff from dereliction, spoken through a pair of chapped lips. She stood three meters away, was perfectly still, and did not blink.
The expression she wore was indecipherable; it was far too nuanced to tell.
"You have a lot of balls, coming to meet the General in such an outfit," said the Specialist. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Four minutes and forty-seven seconds," she replied, her voice as cold as ice.
"You used your semblance again, didn't you," said Augustus. Alice's semblance rendered her aura undetectable. Of course, she could still be detected by physical means.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"That you had arrived."
"I enjoyed watching you tap your feet. Which of your favourite songs run at two-hundred-and-thirty beats per minute?"
"The same one that I listened to last Saturday when you had me over for dinner," said Augustus.
"Oh, that one. I can still hear it in my room if…I listen hard enough." She trailed off at the last word, never quite finishing the sentence, "I never quite understood music or any art form for that matter."
The Specialist smiled.
"It's good to see you again, Alice."
"Likewise. Should we get going?"
Two-and-a-half minutes remained.
Augustus began to walk, briskly, down the well-lit hallway. Alice paced at his side, never looking up from something she was reading on her scroll. The walls were unsurprisingly bland, noted Augustus. After all, General Ironwood was a utilitarian of simple tastes.
The entrance to the office was protected by a pair of blast doors that weighed ten-tons each. They were easily capable of withstanding the simultaneous assault of a thousand beowolves.
To enter the office, a state-of-the-art biometric recognition system transmitted a signal to several massive hydraulic actuators that were responsible for locking and unlocking the doors. The output was binary — either a negative, indicating mismatch of the inputted biometric data with an internal registry of acceptable values — or a positive, indicating a correct fit between the values of the input and a unit contained within the internal registry of acceptable data inputs, also known generically as datums. Since the doors were locked by default, a negative signal would not be transmitted at all, and only a positive signal would be sent to influence the actuators.
Augustus peered into the lens of the scanning device. A weak light the colour of blood shone from within. Seconds later, it was replaced by the colour green.
A short pause.
The whirr of a motor's throttle emanated faintly from within the blast doors. The hulking monoliths retreated from one another. The light was fractured, torn apart on the unyielding surface of steel that was smoother than polished ivory. Beyond the door was an office. It was erudite, even by the standards of the Atlesian elite, but as the meeting room in which decisions that bore the weight of the world were made, it seemed rather plain.
Several figures were in the room. Most were scientists and engineers who wore the usual AIT uniform, while General Ironwood sat behind his desk, apparently deep in thought. He was alerted to the presence of the Specialist and stood up immediately. A hush fell across the room and its occupants the moment they entered.
A tall, dignified woman in a specialist outfit stood at attention to the left him. Her skin was fair, and her snow-white hair was tied up in an immaculate bun, which sat on the left side of the back of her head, as well as bangs that were flowed down the right side of her face. On the left side of her waist, a duelling sabre was attached by a chain to her outfit. Her face was beautiful but bore the expression of unyielding steel. She looked no older than thirty.
Augustus realized who it was immediately.
She was Winter Schnee, a colleague of his renowned for her skill with the sword and more so for her surname. But of course, due to the nearly aristocratic status of the Schnee family, her career had been shadowed by allegations of nepotism from the moment she was admitted to the prestigious Atlas Academy.
Augustus stood at attention and saluted the general, who then returned the gesture with a salute and a smile.
Ironwood looked at Alice, who in turn stared at his shirt, unsure of what to do.
He had talked to her a few times in the past, but those correspondences were merely in the form of reports and orders. She never made eye contact, not with him, not with anyone other than perhaps Augustus. There was plenty of information about her on the Atlesian Government's registry of citizens in the form of a comprehensive fact file that he had read for the sake of understanding her strengths and weaknesses.
Every member of the council had a role to play, apart from filling in the gaps with knowledge and experience in their particular domains.
What she lacked immensely in charisma and amiability, she made up for in sheer analytical ability and a truly vast repository of interdisciplinary knowledge. Not a suitable leader by any stretch of the imagination, but a phenomenal problem solver.
She would be the 'big guns', so to speak.
"Alice Lockwood, Senior Researcher of Grimm Physiology at the AIT. I'm sure you have heard of your teammates, yes?" asked the general. He spoke in a gentle, stentorian voice, as deep as the ocean and as gentle as a breeze.
Alice glanced around the room.
None of the task force members had been informed of the identities of their teammates, but they seemed to get along well with each other. A few vestiges of recognition flashed across her mind's eye as she gazed upon the team of experts in its entirety. Faces she had seen as a young child in the newspapers. Award ceremonies on national television. Cross-referencing everything that she had seen in her brief childhood took a near-instant to compute in her subconscious.
However, the identities of the men and women in the room remained complete mysteries to her.
"No, General."
"I see. Well, you will have plenty of time to make their acquaintances in the days to come, but I will be introducing them. Firstly, the leader of this task force is Dr Johan Schwarz, the Senior Metallurgical Engineer at the AIT's Material Science Research Center. Winner of the Golden Scepter."
Metallurgy. A subdiscipline of material science that investigates the physical and chemical behaviour of metallic elements and their alloys. Alice had heard of this field of study a long time ago.
The general gestured at a man who sat in the front row of the chairs assembled before her. The bespoke double-breasted suit and woollen trousers that he wore were certainly status symbols. Expensive, from the land of Mistral. A sibilant brand Alice couldn't pronounce was embroidered upon their silk-soft fabric. He made his way to her in lengthy, confident strides, the sound of hard rubber soles clashing with the ground echoing across the room. His lips contorted into a smile and his bright lapis eyes stared deeply into hers.
"We are honored to have you on the task force," announced the Johan, who extended a hand to shake hers. Alice's hands were as cold as ice; she did not smile or speak, rather, she chose to acknowledge him with a nod.
Johan was clean-shaven and wore an expensive brand of deodorant that lingered faintly in the air around him. He appeared to be no older than fifty, perhaps forty-five. A merry twinkle held in his eyes, and he beamed a disarming smile.
Alice had heard of this man before, but she had never seen his face. Over the past years, he had been the recipient of several prestigious grants and awards from the Atlesian Government. A living legend within his field of study.
Upon entering the room, she had also noticed him conversing animatedly with the other researchers in the room. He was charismatic, quite intelligent, and outgoing. It had now become obvious why the general had chosen him as the director of this task force.
"Miss Alice, Johan will introduce you to the other members of your team after this meeting," said the general. His face had returned to the stoic canvas it once had been, and Alice took a seat in the front row of exquisitely designed chairs.
Ironwood exchanged glances with the Specialist, who had, without a sound, marched up to his right where he stood at attention.
"I'm sure that most of you have already noticed the presence of First Specialist Augustus White. He, along with Special Operative Winter Schnee here, who you've already met, has been selected as the supervisors of this task force for the duration of its existence."
The atmosphere shifted, slightly.
They looked at him, all twenty of the experts who had gathered in the room. Augustus exchanged glances with Winter, who bore a solemn expression on her face. Her eyes darted to his, and the Schnee gave a slight nod of approval. He looked at the scientists and engineers.
Their smiles were faint, but polite, though Augustus already knew their first impressions of him. As a graduate of Atlas Academy, the very fact that he was a mere Specialist instead of a Special Operative affirmed the notion that he was undeserving of the place he had in this elite task force, let alone their respect. To the vast majority of the experts, he was undeserving of their compliance, let alone respect.
Alice sighed inwardly. A wave of pity rushed over her, but she did not have the means to express this. She exchanged glances with the Specialist, and a smile creased his cracked lips. Ironwood cleared his throat and waited for the silence to return.
"I'll be brief. From what you all have gathered, I believe that an extraterrestrial invasion has already occurred."
There was a pause.
"A preliminary investigation of the unidentified object has been conducted by scientists in Vale. The materials used in the object's construction have been determined to be synthetic and alien in origin…Alien in the sense that it was not created by people on Remnant. Extremely sophisticated life-support technology was found on the object, as well as an extremely compact radio transmitter that does not seem to be functional. What is truly concerning is the fact that an extraterrestrial organism exited the object before the Valean detachment arrived at the scene. We also know that this organism is most likely human in appearance, but the similarities end there. Alice Lockwood has confirmed the extremely sophisticated and unique physiology of the organism through a series of simulations. The purpose of this task force is to formulate responses to any future developments related to the incident using the technical knowledge of the experts."
The general paused. A sigh escaped him. The speech was long but necessary. Some of the researchers began to fidget midway through. Others began to read things on their scrolls.
"As of today, you will suspend all research, regardless of their importance. You will all receive your salaries as usual. More information will be provided on your itinerary sheets. We will meet here again at 0900 hours tomorrow morning, and you all must be prepared to conduct research on the unidentified object. That is all. Dismissed."
Silence lingered in the air as the researchers got up to leave. The awkward shuffling of coats and pants and the hasty scraping of fabric across edges smooth and rough. The blast doors withdrew from one another, allowing the passage of the researchers out of the office.
"Augustus. A word, please."
The Specialist stopped, dead in his tracks. He turned around stiffly, and the general seemed to have caught wind of this.
"It's nothing serious, Specialist Augustus. I would just like to have your opinion on a few things"
The Schnee remained by Ironwood's side. Augustus marched up to the Specialist, carrying himself with a relaxed, but alert, gait.
"Yes, General?"
"James," corrected the general. "Is what my friends call me. We'll be working closely from now on, so you'll have to call me that."
"Of course, James. What seems to be the matter?"
"I don't know where to begin. Tensions are rising across the kingdoms due to this. Every kingdom wants a piece of the technology found on board that thing. The Valean Council mostly believes that they should be given ownership of the object because it landed in Valean territory."
The general paused as if beckoning for the Specialist to state his opinion.
"If I may, General…I mean, James. Atlas is far more technologically advanced than any of the other kingdoms. Its scientists and engineers are the finest in the Remnant. Therefore, we have a higher chance of understanding the technology from the object as compared to the other kingdoms. Atlas could, if possible, replicate the technology and gift it to the kingdoms, much like the CCT."
The general smiled. He exchanged glances with Winter, who nodded in approval. A few seconds elapsed before he spoke.
"Interesting. Our preliminary investigations on the object's technology and the traces of life discovered upon it have vastly increased our knowledge base in a far shorter time than the researchers from the kingdoms, particularly knowledge of the life-support systems found in the object's hull. This technology could be modified and replicated for medical uses. Is that what you were hinting at?"
A short pause as Augustus gathered his thoughts.
"That's how it's meant to be…in theory, at least."
Ironwood's smile grew wider.
"Ever since the crash, reporters have lined the outer walls of Atlas Academy. I am sure you have seen them. They demand more information. Naturally, we will not disclose everything. How do you decide between releasing or withholding the information?"
Augustus thought for a while.
"Well, we now know that the organism has extensive human features, right? That means that it could easily blend into a crowd. Releasing such information has a high chance of causing panic in the populace, which, of course, attracts Grimm. Information that should not be released causes panic," he said, all while attempting to maintain a calm façade.
"A textbook answer, Specialist, though not necessarily incorrect. You have…impressed me with your competence. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, General."
Standing at attention, they saluted each other, and Augustus marched out of the office.
By then, he could hear the hot blood pulsing in his temples.
0748 hours, 4th Axial Rotation of Joo'Lie, Valean Time
Western Sector, Commercial District, Vale
The shark approaches the shoal.
The king is clothed in the livery of beggars.
Barely two days since his emergence from the false womb, he is about the size of a young Valean child.
He watches the creatures he now knows as Man. He knows now, with startling clarity, their language. He understood their language with an instinctual conviction.
But he needed more. More words. An unquenchable thirst for knowledge had plagued him from the time he awoke ten minutes ago. The urge outstrips his prioritization of food and water.
He looks around him.
The concrete jungle that stretches out and out away from him is composed fundamentally of metal, concrete, ceramics, and glass, materials that they have shaped into cuboid structures that offer protection from the elements. Interspersed throughout the insides of these curious little structures were all those little niceties that the creatures have constructed through a convoluted sequence of comfort-driven witticisms.
They are not 'natural', as opposed to the wilderness beyond the great city gates.
For ten minutes he has wandered the town, a monochrome figure in a kaleidoscope sea.
He recalled the time he awoke when the sun was already up.
To his left, as he discovered, was a set of old, stained clothes. A stained white shirt and a pair of slim-fitting black trousers, tailored for the dimensions of a ten-year-old. It was a little large, but the boy was not fussy. The tattered black cloth that had once been his blanket was now worn as an oversized cape that billowed behind him like smoke in the wind. A pair of old sandals now protected his feet from the harsh flooring used throughout the city.
To the good Samaritan who gave him these clothes, free of charge, he muttered a faint statement of gratitude.
The boy now looked upon the shops around him with great interest. Through their windows, he could see the multitude of bladed weapons, guns, and ammunition. The former reminded him of the time he injured himself on the sharp edges of the gestation pod.
He could tell that these things functioned by the same principle, but of course, they were far more complex and deadly than a jagged piece of adamantium.
He could see that there were many men and women in the shops. But what use did these weapons have in a safe environment such as this? If these weapons were not used to spill the blood of men, then who, or rather, what, were they trying to kill?
Such was the question that greeted the boy as he walked through the automated glass doors that guarded the entrance of the nearest weapon store.
This particular shop was one of the largest and most popular in the town. It was a multi-story shopping complex, similar in design to the massive Atlesian gadget stores.
It even contained a forge, where the best smiths that the corporation could hire worked to produce customized weapons.
As the boy entered the store, he was immediately doused in a blast of cool air. Surprised, he looked up and spotted a series of slit-shaped openings that fed out from the roof. To him, it was probably a clever device that propelled cool air in the direction of the entrance through means yet known to the boy.
The boy was greeted by the sight of several aisles that led through a labyrinth of shelves, each containing thousands of mechanical and electronic components.
The interior of the massive building was well-lit. Fluorescent tubes derived from the latest mercury-vapour technologies lined the ceiling with beautiful symmetry and precision. Unlike the rough, unsteady concrete and tar used with industrial blandness outside on the roads, the shop's flooring was a homogenous lattice of grey ceramic tiles.
Across the room, hung across the walls, were a multitude of swords, spears, shields, bows, guns, and other weapons that were beyond complicated to be classified in a single category of weaponry.
Their secrets were laid bare, even from a distance, by the boy's intuitive understanding of physics and logic. With even the slightest of glimpses, he understood the axioms that their functions were predicated on. He continued to stare at the weapons from the side of the store, unaware that some shoppers were glaring at him from all directions.
"Do you need any help?"
The voice of a female, gentle and warm, jolted him from his stupor. Seconds ago, he was frozen, as unmoving as a statue. Now he was very much lucid, having awoken from the brief period of intense concentration.
He turned to its source, and details emerged in nanoseconds.
It was a female human, an adolescent. She was relatively short, though slightly taller than him. Fast heartbeat, fair skin, silver eyes, and a head of long black hair with slivers of red interspersed throughout. Unlike the people around them, she seemed to be composed of the same colours. A black corset dress with long sleeves, a maroon cape, black leggings, and black boots. Something large and red and metallic was strapped to her waist behind.
He could hear the faintest tremble beneath the façade of concern. Uncertainty dressed in courage. The uncertainty that lurked in the depths of her subconscious was painfully obvious.
But he did not speak until seconds later. His tongue lacked practice — it struggled to form the ideas into words until finally, there was nothing but clarity.
"Yes. I am interested…in the location of the library. Can…you help…me?"
Still, the words were staggered, spoken with an unrefined drawl that, given the boy's apparent age, would indicate the obvious affliction of mental retardation.
The girl frowned at the strange child. Something was off about him. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and the way he looked.
His gaze was distant and mysterious, and yet it emanated a focus that was more coherent and concentrated than a laser. His physical features were highly unusual for a child in the sense that they were extremely refined and developed. He did not look Valean at all, which added to the confusion. His pupils were utterly black, darker than raw obsidian.
There was something about the boy that compelled her to offer him help. It was nothing that she would have done for any other boy on the street.
"Well, this isn't the library…it's the weapons store. The library's five blocks down that way," said the girl, pointing out of a large glass window to their left.
The boy found it odd that she took such a long time to formulate the response. But it came as no surprise; the same could be said of every conversation he had observed.
"Where are your parents?" she asked, a look of concern overtaking the doubt on her pale face.
"Pa-rents?"
"You mean…you don't have any parents?"
"I don't think so."
"Oh, sorry! I'm so sorry,' apologized the girl as a shade of scarlet filled her cheeks. The boy was puzzled by her display of emotion.
"What…are you sorry…for?"
"You're an orphan, aren't you?"
The boy simply stared out of the window. He did not know what to say. He knew the definition of the word, but it had never occurred that it applied to himself.
"I…do not understand."
"I see. Well, I'm sorry if I said anything wrong. Do you need me to bring you to the library?"
He averted his gaze towards her. He needed to get to the library. There was something odd about the circumstances of his birth. Asking the girl a few questions might aid him in his search for answers, but he did not want to give away too much information.
More extensive research could then be conducted in the library, which was the reason why he asked her for help in the first place.
"It would be good."
The girl smiled. He found it appropriate to return the gesture, and so he did.
"Come, this way."
She led him out of the exit, into the street where the smooth ceramic tiling transitioned sharply into brutal concrete pavement.
The girl stared at her young acquaintance, astonished as he walked with not the gait of a child, but an adult. There was something truly peculiar about the child.
His eyes darted around rapidly within their sockets, and he seemed to be deep in thought all of the time with an indecipherable scowl painted over his face. The boy's features exuded a charm that she could not quite understand.
And then, she made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes.
She felt the urge to do something that a mere stranger was undeserving of.
She felt the urge to kneel.
The titanic pressure bore down on her legs and knees, and she felt giddy as she stood in his presence. Against all odds, she managed to pull through.
He did not speak to her, only following her lead.
A long, stunned silence existed between the two as Ruby guided him through the streets, walking at a brisk, though relaxed pace.
"What…is your name?" asked the boy inquisitively after a few minutes of walking. At the first inklings of his voice, Ruby heaved a sigh of relief at the shattering of the stiff silence, but she panicked as the boy completed his sentence.
"What?"
The question had appeared out of nowhere. The boy did not look at her as they continued down the street.
"Your name," he reiterated, a little louder this time.
"Oh, um, I'm Ruby Rose."
"You are…Ruby Rose? What is your number?"
"I don't understand what you mean by number. Do you mean my scroll number? My name is Ruby Rose. I am Ruby Rose."
This new sliver of information greatly increased the likelihood of one of several hypotheses that the boy had ruminated over during the past two days.
A long pause.
"Scroll number?"
Another extremely odd question. How did he not know what a scroll number was?
"Um, do you know what a scroll is?"
"No," admitted the boy, "Not the one that you are likely referring to."
Ruby stopped dead in her tracks.
To be honest, she had never met an orphan before. She knew that there were plenty of them in the rural areas, but she never thought he did not know what a scroll was. Well, it would not hurt to let him know what a scroll was.
"No," reiterated the boy, who now stared at her quizzically. "Why have we stopped?"
"Well, this is a scroll. It can be used to send messages to others and call others." Ruby took out the device from her pocket, giving the boy a view of its screen and abilities.
The boy nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I understand."
He knew with honesty that he did not. But, given her apparent confusion, it would be better if he had not pursued the question further.
Ah, so that was a scroll. He had known of the existence of a certain metallic handheld device right from the beginning. He did not know with reductive precision how they functioned and as such his understanding of the mechanism of the scroll, or rather, the conglomeration of mechanisms that allowed a scroll to function the way it did, was incomplete.
And of course, he did not know that they were called 'scrolls'. A scroll was a piece of parchment, not a handheld gadget.
A homonym, or a word with a double meaning, it seemed.
Ruby smiled and pocketed the device. The gap of silence between them was soon filled by the noisy outcrop of city sounds.
Ruby had known by then that this was no ordinary child. He spoke faster than anyone she had encountered, replying at the instant she completed her sentence. He did so while his eyes flickered to and fro, their gazes resting on several locations in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, he appeared to be processing multiple trains of thought in tandem.
"So, what's your name?" asked the girl timidly. She looked at him, but the boy did not look back.
He searched long and hard for an answer, and in the end, there was only a single one that seemed appropriate. For him, at least.
"Eight," he said. "I am number eight."
There was a stunned silence between the two.
"Okayyyy…but that's not a name. That's a number," said Ruby, uncertainty dripping off her voice.
"It is mine."
"How do you know that?"
He ignored Ruby, much to her chagrin. They continued to walk in silence. The boy heard the beating of her heart quicken and felt regret at answering that last question truthfully, as it seemed to have enlightened her with an ugly truth.
"Why have you asked me these questions? Why are you ignoring me?" protested the girl.
"I am just curious," said the boy mildly. The grey concrete façade of the public library came into view as they turned around another bend. It was a large building, five stories tall at least. Through dusty , yellow-tinted windows, the boy could see rows and rows of weathered old tomes that rested upon shelves of bare stainless steel. "And I cannot answer that question."
"You do this often?" asked Ruby, "I mean, why do you want to go to the library? Most people in Vale hate reading."
"I want to learn. I have from the moment I learned to speak," said the boy, a distant and solemn gaze set in his eyes.
"And who taught you to speak?" asked Ruby, a hint of disbelief engraved in the bedrock of her voice.
The boy did not answer. His tattered black cape flapped in the wind. The knell of his departure came in the form of human speech.
As they swerved round the bend, Ruby could swear that she saw a faint pinprick of light in the boy's obsidian eyes as the library came into sight.
"I will go to the library here onwards. Thank you, Ruby Rose."
"Well…good luck!" she chirped, waving him off. The boy returned the gesture and set off towards the distant library.
Newfound strength rushed to Ruby's legs as the silhouette of old clothes drew further, dragging its burden away. A puff of hot air escaped her as she sighed, shaking her head.
What…was that?
A voice from a nearby billboard caught her attention. A holographic screen broadcasting a live feed from the Vale News Network had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It was that time of the day again.
Ever since the unidentified object crashed into the Forever Fall forest, news channels across the Sanus, Anima, Solitas, and Menagerie have been abuzz with information about the discoveries a team of scientists from the four kingdoms have made. While little information has been made public, it was confirmed during a press conference that unauthorized travel between the kingdoms would be prohibited in the near future and that highly sophisticated technology resembling a life support machine was found on the unidentified object.
"Now on Vale News Network, this is Lisa Lavender bringing to you the latest news on the crashed unidentified object."
A small crowd had gathered around the holographic projection. The atmosphere that permeated the impromptu gathering was high-strung and tense, and Ruby could see that they were all carrying weapons. It was almost as if everyone was preparing for war. Almost everyone in the kingdoms knew that there was an alien loose in Valean territory.
"Now, on to the specifics. A team of Atlesian scientists and engineers, membership classified, have gathered extensive information on the unidentified object. Alien DNA was found on the unidentified object. Now, as many viewers already know, an alien organism exited the object before it was intercepted by the Atlesians. It was discovered during the preliminary investigations that the organism bears some resemblance to humans in form and structure, due to extensive genetic similarities."
A few gasps erupted from the crowd. Ruby could sense the tension rising in the air.
"While the creature bears a few similarities with humans on a superficial level, there are a multitude of anatomical and biological differences that separate the two. Several teams of huntsmen have been deployed by the Atlesian military to the Forever Forest in search of the creature, as it is suspected that it is still at large within the massive forest. Based on the limited information that the Atlesian government has released, several experts have arrived at the conclusion that the creature is possibly a representative of an intelligent extraterrestrial race. This conclusion is supported by the fact that highly sophisticated machinery was found…"
Ruby could listen no longer.
Extensive genetic similarities.
Several similarities with humans on a superficial level.
Resemblance to humans in form and structure.
"On a side note, the task force has uncovered several mysterious inscriptions on the exterior of the unidentified object. The language inscribed on the object's metallic exterior bears an…unsettling similarity with our language. Several Atlesian experts have warranted the guess that these represent some kind of number."
The words rippled on and on in the oceans of her mind. A sea of synapses and electrochemical impulses cascades over another, converging towards a common goal in the primal language of cognition. The last straw fell at the mention of a numerical, and a terrible realization dawns on the girl Ruby.
Wait.
The boy is not human.
She turns in the direction of the library.
A/N:
Hello.
I will admit, this was a boring, albeit necessary chapter.
The following (1-3/4/5) chapters will explore the world's reaction to the incident. After that, we will move on to the action
And yes, her reaction will also be seen.
No, 'Curze' will not be joining Beacon Academy, or any huntsman academy for that matter.
This is not one of those fanfictions.
I don't have a fixed update schedule. This is merely a pet project of mine, as an amateur writer.
The story will probably be updated biweekly, weekly if I have spare time.
That is all. See you in the next chapter. Alliances will be made. Trust will be shattered. Patience will wear thin.