Monday, 22nd of January
Clear Skies

Tom awakened to plush cushions and the monotonous drone of the speaker. The regional coach which thundered towards his destination seemed somewhat anticlimactic, allowing for the realisation of his academic prowess yet simultaneously possessing no prowess of its own. It was drab, sordid, and unappealing. Then again, everything in the country was; one of the many reasons he left. He sat languidly, and returned the earbuds tucked within the neckline of his shirt to his ears. They helped drown out the lifeless voice of the PA, but only slightly. He became distracted by the melodious tune of his earbuds, the harrowing chorus of "Hotel California" warranting exclamation as he sang alongside the recording, albeit poorly. There were few passengers to be disturbed by his cacophony, and those who did were already wearing similar noise-repellent devices, so he thought it acceptable. A suitcase sat beneath his seat, carrying all his remaining worldly possessions in an eighty by forty eight centimetre carry-on; it was rather disquieting to know that was all he was left with. On the flip-side however, it saved effort with the travel. He leaned back into his seat, slowly overtaken by fatigue, beckoned into the unconscious world.

He awoke once more. This time, however, he was not on the train. He sat in a classroom, with windows draped in velvet. Four stylish mahogany school desks faced forward towards a blackboard, before which a hunched elderly man sat at a teacher's desk. The desks seemed reminiscent of an older time, a more spartan construction amalgamated with regal, plush, and more accommodating cushioning. The desk and chair were attached together by wooden struts, perhaps to ensure that students could not lean back, or perhaps for some other purpose entirely. A young woman, older than himself but not by much, stepped into the room. She stood alongside the elderly man. The elderly man had slender fingers and an unwavering grin that appeared somewhat off-putting, but some aura that the man exuded made it impossible for him to be entirely distrusted by the boy.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," the man said. "I sense that a promising fate awaits you and your comrades, it will be most pleasing to watch you all flourish together. I see the others have yet to arrive. I am sure they shall in time, but for now you are the first to see the inside of these walls. I suppose introductions are in order then?"

Tom stared around at the rest of the room, departing from his chair. The carpet was immaculate, made of the same velvet substance that constructed the window covers, and seemingly devoid of even the slightest inkling of dirt.

"I am Igor, it pleases me to make your acquaintance. I am the schoolmaster here in the Velvet Room. You likely possess many questions. I shall endeavour to answer them in due course," he said.

"Velvet Room?" Tom asked.

"Indeed," Igor replied. "It is a place between conscious and unconscious, where mind and material coalesce. It is a place of refuge for those who have formed a contract, one which I shall present to you now. Call it a 'test', if you will."

Igor glanced over to the young woman by his side. "This is my assistant, Valerie," he said.

"Pleasure to meet you," she added, speaking in a formal and snooty tone that seemed somewhat insincere. She strutted forth toward Tom. "This test is only a formality, I assure you, but I will require you to return to your desk."

Tom sat back down in the ornate mahogany desk.

"Thank you for remaining cooperative," Valerie said. She placed an examination booklet on the centre of the table, facing toward Tom, along with a remarkably sleek ballpoint pen. "Please write your name on the front of the examination booklet. This shall serve as evidence of your commitment to advancement."

He lifted the Biro with his left hand, carefully writing in cursive block letters the name 'Tom Drover' across the dotted line upon the front of the paper.

"You see, education is a journey, a pursuit in and of itself," Igor said. "This is the first step toward enlightenment, but by no means the last. Even the greatest of feats must be accomplished with a minuscule step forward; such a step is what you have just made. Over time, you will gain the experience and understanding to fill out the remainder of the booklet, yet for now the only knowledge you possess on its contents is the ability to sign your own name. It is surely disheartening, but this was never a test to be completed in a single sitting, but an extended journey which shall grant wisdom to you."

Valerie lifted the test booklet from the desk. "An arduous pursuit awaits you, querent of enlightenment," Igor added. "However, it is one of both great significance and prospect, and equally great peril should failure find its way to fruition. Do you accept the consequences of such?"

Tom deliberated for a second, before replying. "Yes, I do," he said. He placed no weight behind these words, as he believed the Velvet Room and all within to be a mere conjuration created by his sleeping mind, despite his heightened awareness and apparent consciousness. However, Igor seemed pleased at the remark. "Excellent. I shall await your return," he replied. "Now, awaken anew, Fool of Cups." The room began to fade, and as it did so, Tom began to lose lucidity. He transitioned.

He awoke, and once more emerged into the musty coach. The music of his earphones still blasted in his ears. He removed the earbuds for a second, and peered out the window. The world beyond was vast, a city stretching across the horizon with beauteous beaches and towers reaching to the clouds. "Passengers, we are now arriving at Sydney Central," a voice called through the PA. Finally. The boy stood from his chair, pushing the dream of the velvet room to the back of his mind as he grabbed the suitcase from beneath his seat. He headed toward the train doors, bag in tow, and waited for the train to stop.

It was seven in the morning when he arrived at Sydney. Getting up at four was quite the effort, but it was nothing in comparison with the tenacity required to get to this point. He relished it; the excitement of boarding in a new city, away from the humdrum of country life and the carelessness prevailing in the limitless plains of the country. It was a place he did not belong. He departed the train, and stepped onto the platform of Central Station. He wandered onward, sauntering down the squalid concrete platform toward the turnstiles that beckoned a new existence yonder. His destination now was Abanoub College; it was not far now.

He stepped onto a bus, presenting his newly acquired travel card to a ticket-reading device near the front of the bus. "Does this pass by Abanoub College?" He asked the bus driver. He snickered a little.

"Yeah," the driver said. "Head on back."

The driver's words seemed laced with content, and though he did head to the back of the bus as he requested, he could not help but feel uneasy about the whole situation. He lugged the suitcase along the length of the bus, and placed it beneath his chair. He sighed a little to himself as the bus rolled onward, occasionally stopping to pick up more passengers. He would greet each one with a smile and a friendly face, marginally different treatment to that which he had received earlier. It was little wonder though. Abanoub was a prestigious private co-ed school, filled with some of the finest tutors around. Additionally, it was home to the rich and the intelligent, who were capable of either affording tuition, or earning their place amongst them through grit and determination. He did not blame the bus driver, in fairness. Had he not changed significantly over the past few years in order to pursue the place now offered to him, he would have likely detested himself as well. Only the elite entered, and he could not stand such castes and labels: it was the very thing that he sought to escape.

After a lengthy journey, the bus finally arrived at Abanoub: or at least, as close as it would get. The bus stopped around four hundred metres before the school and did a u-turn in the opposite direction, and after he realised this he bolted swiftly towards the buzzer. The driver stopped, but due to the lack of prior warning there was approximately an extra one-hundred metres added to his journey. He supposed it would not change here then, they'd all resent him much the same. He took his suitcase from the bus. The driver smirked at him from afar as the doors closed, and headed off upon his route once again. He accepted that though; he deserved to be hated.

He wandered through the gates to the school at around eight o'clock. He had no doubt that there would be a chaotic flurry of attention hurled his way when he arrived at class, so he decided to procrastinate and put that off for a few minutes until it was absolutely dire. Instead, he headed up to the Principal's office, leaving his suitcase by the door as he knocked upon it. "You may enter," the principal said from beyond the door. He turned the knob and forced open the door. Inside, an immaculate display lined the side of the room, and a man with brown hair and an erudite disposition leaned back in his chair. He was the sort of man on the cusp of old age, not quite reaching the point at which one began to lose the colour in their hair, but the years had certainly begun to create contours and crevices within the skin of his face. He wore an indifferent expression, which seemed to command authority, yet at the same time conveyed a level of mutual respectability which encouraged one to speak their mind honestly and openly. A name-plaque bearing the words "Mr. Percival: Principal" sat at the front of his desk, written in ornate gold and caked in particles of dust.

"Good morning Tom," the principal said in an earnest manner. "I take it that you made it here quite alright."

"Yes, it was fine," Tom replied. He did not elaborate much, and though he wanted to discuss his quarrel the driver, he thought it an inappropriate and unnecessary matter to raise.

"Splendid," the principal said. "In the past, we have had new students getting into all kinds of places upon arrival here. You know, locals giving them wrong directions and whatnot, yet I doubt you were troubled by that. After all, you are a smart boy, and I doubt you would find yourself undone by such a simple matter. At any rate, I would like to now formally welcome you to Abanoub College. I am sure you will find your place here, we have a reputation for producing upstanding individuals."

"What is the reputation of this place really like?" Tom asked inquisitively, out of curiosity.

"Well then, I take it that something did indeed occur on your way here," the principal said. "We have been getting into the news lately, copping a copious amount of flak for a minor debacle insinuated by one of our students. You needn't worry too much about that, but do remember that if you do anything bad, it reflects badly on both the school and on you personally. I doubt you would be that sort of student though. After all, you don't seem like the troublemaking sort. I think we'll get along just nicely."

The Principal rose from his chair, and ambled over to the window behind his desk. He peered out into the world beyond, staring down at the remainder of the campus.

"Come on over," the principal said.

Tom followed him over to the window. From this vantage point, he seemed to have a view of the entire world, and could see the ocean in the distance as well as the school facilities in the foreground. Near the beach was a pair of large marble and stone buildings which seemed residential in nature, far from the campus but not by much. They seemed to drift slightly in the wind despite remaining entirely motionless. Mr. Percival pointed to one of them.

"That's where you will be staying. After school, you will find that the beach there is quite nice. Don't spend too much time fooling around though, and do not even consider going into the building next to yours," the principal said.

"Why not?" Tom queried.

"Because it's the girl's dormitories," the principal replied.

"Oh," Tom said. He did not question further.

"Below, you will find the majority of classrooms," he said. "To your far left, you will find the science and mathematics buildings. Head toward them and turn right and you will find the english faculty..."

He trailed off.

"Actually, perhaps it would be better if you had something to ask your fellow pupils," he said, changing the topic. "After all, you will need to spend the next two years with them, so perhaps I shouldn't take away those scarce icebreakers which you have conveniently stashed away for future usage. I will let you know now that you will be bunking alongside a student by the name of Finn Teague. You might want to meet up with him earlier in the day, as I have no doubt the two of you will get along like peas in a pod. Or at the very least, you'll need to."

Though his last remarks seemed somewhat concerning, he did have some idea that friendship with this individual was a pressing matter not to be taken lightly. After all, he would be spending his next two years with them, so any misgivings between the pair would have plenty of space to air. However, the way with which he exacerbated the nature of the issue seemed perturbing to him, as if there was something amiss about the entire ordeal.

"Well, you should probably head off to your first class," the principal said. "You will be starting in your tutorial class at 8:15. Your class is in SC04, located on the ground floor of the science building, in the fourth room. I understand that you may be slightly behind our curriculum due to differences in educational material, but I doubt it will be an unassailable feat given your stunning track record. I will deal with the transferral of your luggage over to the dormitories."

Tom headed over to the door. As he was about to open it, the headmaster made a parting remark.

"Also, make sure to enjoy your time here," he said. "Time slips by, and when you reach the graduation platform it almost feels as if you were standing here yesterday. Do everything, don't follow in..."

Tom waited for him to continue. He didn't, instead simply standing and staring at him. After a while, Tom left for his first class.