Chapter V - A Life of Labor
For about the third time that morning, Yselt stared past the backs of her Scadarah classmates, looking out to the bright blue midday sky outside her classroom window, and groaned.
She had never been an inattentive student in her past. Today, however, she just couldn't bring herself to focus on the words of her withered old professor, the Royal Academy's Scadarah curriculum failing to register with her as her gaze remained turned outward. It wasn't the attitude she had intended to bring to her first day of classes, but with how tired and sore her entire upper body was from brushing the tough, muscled bodies of the military horses in the stables for her morning assignment, there was very little she could have done to keep her mind on academics.
Even then, the events of the previous day were all that she could think about. After Wymare found the power to help them escape from the other Clerebold and that twisted realm behind the invisible door, things had been a total whirlwind and it was still taking time for her to process it all. Not helping matters was the fact that Wymare had fainted almost as soon as they had returned to safety, forcing her to carry him through the halls of the castle until she found her way to the Church of Bahamut's medicinal wing. Aiding him and dodging questions about what happened was a tiring affair, and she slept straight through Wymare's return to their room that night, waking up to the sight of him crashed on the bed opposite hers in the morning.
Yselt's brow furrowed. She was still yet to speak with him in the time since their escape, and her thoughts were all abuzz with questions and worries. Her emotions were in an even stranger tangle - every time she closed her eyes, the bright yellow eyes of her brother's deranged lookalike illuminated his psychopathic grin. His fist - raised and clenched to throw a punch - was frozen in time in the image of her memory, never landing, but she felt its sting nevertheless.
What was the significance of his appearance there? Why did those horrid monsters heed his commands? She couldn't come up with an answer that felt satisfactory, and so she continued to relive that painful moment over and over, her mental state declining ever further.
A ruler slammed down on the desk in front of her, making her jump and look away from the window to see her very annoyed professor staring at her from the side. It was then that she realized she hadn't been breathing for some time, and the sharp inhale of her surprise turned into a deep breath as she was brought back to reality.
"Something interesting out the window, miss Imbertus?"
Yselt's face flushed with shame at the teacher's sardonic use of her last name, along with the feeling of every eye in the class turning to her as she was singled out for her inattentiveness. "N-No, ma'am... Sorry," she mumbled.
"As you ought to be," the professor nodded before turning around and walking back up the gap in the rows of desks to the front of the room. "There's little use for fanciful daydreaming in this class or any class. It won't help you learn what you need to be learning to succeed in this complicated world of ours."
Biting sarcasm collected in Yselt's throat as she thought of the obvious reply to her professor's empty preaching: There is no such thing as 'success' for Scadarah. Even the curriculum she was enrolled in was proof of that. She remembered hearing about the sorry state of the Royal Academy's Scadarah education program in the past, its rudimentary subjects and low quality of education compared to the elite classes offered to bright students of higher castes being points of rumor for the unoccupied youth of Rìo Ghaile. She allowed the words to die unspoken, however, knowing she would only earn herself a stern reprimanding for talking back.
"Now, let's make sure you haven't had your head in the clouds forever, miss Imbertus," her instructor continued, picking up a piece of chalk and turning to the slate board hanging from the wall. "In ascending order of importance, list the castes of Brilanian society for the class."
"Scadarah, Agelasta, Dämian, Trebellia, Sepurcius, Caeso," Yselt answered with little hesitation. It was just about the easiest question she could have been asked; anyone with a sense of social awareness knew the castes by heart.
"Very good," replied the professor. She scrawled the names of the castes in chalk on the slate, continuing, "I needn't take the time to explain to you all the importance of one's caste: after all, it is at the center of every social dynamic in Brilanian life. What you may not have known, however, is the origin of the system. Many presume that they were instituted at the founding of the kingdom alongside the Church of Bahamut. However, historical records show that they were implemented much later on as a means of defining certain levels of importance for individuals based on their occupations."
Yselt's focus on the lecture waned again as her professor went on, detailing the history of Brilan's caste system. It wasn't a subject she had ever felt much interest toward - after all, what relevance did the beginnings of the labels that dominated her life have to her life in the present? Perhaps it could explain how she had gotten to where she was, but it had nothing to say about where she was to take her life from the bottom of the proverbial ladder.
Hardly helping matters in that regard was the condescension of what she was being taught. The professor was back at the board, writing about the functions of each caste as she gave her lecture, and she had yet to talk about anything that was new to Yselt. She didn't know her new teacher well enough yet to determine if she was fully co-signing on what she was being made to teach, but it was clear to her that the rampant stories about the lack of standards in the Scadarah education program were true: the whole program was just an excuse to teach Scadarah laborers next to nothing while keeping up appearances for the Academy and the royal family.
The poor conditions of the people assigned to such menial, worthless education had never crossed Yselt's mind with much frequency before she and Clerebold had fallen from favor with the caste system. Now the disparities between Brilanians were staring her in the face, and so of course she could not help but dwell on them as her first day at the Academy dragged on. She was glad to have something else to focus on than the previous evening's turbulence, though she was no less glad to leave the dreariness of the old classroom behind when it was time for the post-classes evening meal.
Relieved to be done with her lectures for the day, Yselt made her way up to the main floor of the Academy, leaving the decrepit old lower floor that exclusively houses Scadarah education behind her in search of the food her stomach cried out for. She made her way to the dining hall through the bustling crowds of sharply dressed upper-caste Academy students, shying past the many groups and couples populating the halls now that courses had let out.
Eventually, the hallways led out to the large, open space of the cafeteria, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the glass skylights that were constructed throughout the ceiling and falling across the dozens of organized wooden tables where others partook in their trays of food. Following the long line of students and faculty that was facing into the serving area, Yselt took time to scour the many tables off to her right, searching for places where she could sit and eat. She dared not entertain the prospect of joining a table already occupied by standard Academy students, and such tables seemed to be the rule rather than the exception, leaving her craning her neck to try and peer over peoples' heads for Scadarah-dominated tables or, if she were lucky, an entirely vacant one. No such arrangement could be seen from her place in line, and so she steeled herself as the foodservice Agelasta scooped her an arrangement of cooked meat and a vegetable medley that, as far as being appetizing went, appeared serviceable at best.
With her tray of food in hand, Yselt stepped out of the service area and once more looked out over the sea of tables and people. Her feet began to feel as though they were tied to cinderblocks, weighed down by the fear of deciding where to go in order to be humiliated the least. She was halfway through considering ditching her meal and going hungry when she caught a welcome glimpse of familiarity at a table in her periphery: the back of a head topped with messy rust-red hair. She took a few hopeful steps forward and saw the ragged Scadarah sackcloth over his shoulder, confirming her guess and sating the paranoia she had felt moments prior.
At the table Yselt was now making a beeline toward, Wymare sat leaned over a tray of his own, fork in hand and elbows on the tabletop as he bit into a chunk of meat speared through by his metal utensil. He was halfway through chewing up the serving when Yselt appeared beside him, a smile fused from nerves and relief on her face that she turned in his direction. Wymare nodded and hummed to communicate a greeting with food still in his mouth, gesturing to the seat across from him with his free hand.
"T-Thank you," Yselt replied, rounding the corner and sliding onto the designated stool.
Wymare nodded again and finished his morsel before speaking. "How were your classes?"
"W-Well... I'd sooner forget them than recount them, to be truthful," Yselt answered, deflating in tone and posture to emphasize her point. "I was tending to Dämian horses for my morning labor, and focusing on lectures was far from what I felt ready to do after all that."
"Mmm. I can imagine," Wymare agreed. "They must get themselves and their stables quite messy after a day of exercise."
"Well, it's not just that. They want us to be the ones who help them stretch and brush their manes and fur. And their muscles are so dense and tight! I may as well have been working the hand brush through the wall."
Wymare pursed his lips and bobbed his head in solidarity. "That does sound cumbersome. And here I thought recovering from the smell of emptying the garderobes was harsh."
A short exhale of amusement escaped through Yselt's nose at the offhand joke. "Oh," she returned, "I'm sure that was a different sort of suffering altogether."
The two shared in a laugh as they exchanged banter, the feeling of which put Yselt at ease. After such a long, debilitating day, even a simple pleasure like shared company felt like a highlight of her new routine. Something was still lingering in the back of her mind, though, and she chose to address the elephant in the room between the two of them after putting away a spoonful of her vegetable medley.
"So... um... i-if it's alright with you, I... want to talk about what happened yesterday."
Wymare nodded, finishing the mouthful of food he had been working on before responding. "Right, of course. I'd wanted to discuss it before now, but you were out like a light by the time I got back to the room. Oh, right, before I forget again: thank you. For helping me after we got back from... that place, I mean."
"Oh! Well... Y-You're very welcome," Yselt stammered in reply. "I-I couldn't in good conscience leave you lying there, e-especially after you helped me as you d-did..."
"Well, I appreciate it regardless." His soft smile then shifted into a neutral expression as he sat up. "Now then, I think we both have questions we want answered about last night's events. But you did ask first, so you go ahead first."
"A-Alright." Yselt tilted her gaze downward as she raised a hand to her lips, assuming a thinking posture for the better part of a minute as she organized her thoughts. What should she ask first? So many details about what they had both lived through were fighting amongst themselves in her mind, each vying to be the first laid out for discussion. What was the power Wymare had suddenly unveiled? Why were the strange creatures roaming the castle hostile to them? What could the explanation be for what they had seen beyond the door? And how was Clerebold involved, given his doppelganger's performance?
After much deliberation, Yselt decided to begin with a broad, explorative query. "S-So... How much do you understand about what happened?"
"Only partial bits of evidence. Nothing that can lead to any concrete conclusions with what we have now." Wymare leaned back and folded his arms as he continued to answer her question. "This is what I do understand: that power I awakened to... it's called a Persona. Gawain happened to be what mine was, but I think it can vary from person to person, along with what that power is capable of."
"D-Do you mean to say that you believe other people can harness such strength as well?"
"In theory." Wymare bit the inside of his lip at this. He recalled what Igor, Phoebe, and Archibald had told him after he had whited out, and he didn't want to lie to Yselt by pretending to know less than he did. But things were already complicated enough without trying to explain the Velvet Room to her on top of it all, especially when he didn't fully understand it either.
"The way I see it, a Persona is one's inner self made manifest: it's a suppressed reflection normally kept hidden within someone's consciousness. Even though I awakened to mine, I doubt every person walking the streets of Rìo Ghaile would be able to face theirs and harness it as a Persona."
"Hmm... I suppose you're likely correct on that. But then, what would someone's 'inner self' be if not a Persona? And how come you only called yours forth after entering that bizarre world?"
"To your first question, that can be explained by looking at that other Clerebold and the state of our quarters in that world. If one had to describe the conditions there under his tenure, how do you think they would do so?"
Yselt resumed a thinking pose at this line of deductive reasoning. "Well... I-I think they would say it's rather oppressive. There are so few freedoms there, after all, a-and the conditions are quite harsh under... him. That along with the drab look of the place makes it so lifeless - the bars on the doors just reinforce it all."
"Right. It wouldn't be a stretch to say it's rather prison-like to someone living there."
Wymare didn't have to finish his thought before Yselt's eyes widened and she gasped as she made the connection. "I-It's just like the other side of that door! The quarters were a proper cell block, and br- mmh. S-sorry, Clerebold was dressed like the warden of it all."
"That's precisely what I was thinking. And there were also the cases of those withered creatures in the cells that followed his orders. I believe they're all connected somehow, and the fact that it's all behind that door is what ties them all together. The fact that the plaque even said 'Prison Camp' convinces me of that even more. I just don't know how or why that's the case."
"I-I see... I think I followed all of that. S-Sorry, it's just a lot to take in all at once."
"No need to apologize. It's all tough for me to follow right now as well." Wymare leaned over the table once more to take a sip of water from his cafeteria cup, refreshing himself and giving his voice a break.
"Well... I suppose that's as far as my initial question goes for now. S-So then, is there anything you want to ask of me in return?"
"Hmm." Wymare's eyes closed as he thought for a brief moment. "There is something that would help me to fill in the gaps between our real-world history and what that Clerebold impostor was ranting about. What happened to your family that caused you and Clerebold to fall from Dämian to Scadarah?"
Yselt froze. It wasn't as though she hadn't expected to be asked about this, considering that she had alluded to it before the other Clerebold made a grand display of it. The directness of the question was what caught her unprepared, and she had to force herself to swallow down a nervous lump in her throat before she sat straight up to answer with her hands in her lap. Despite her attempts to physically keep herself composed, her downcast lavender eyes conveyed a hesitation to speak.
"...I already said before that we were born into the Dämian caste. My father was a frontline fighter - not of particular renown, but capable enough to be sent out on campaigns now and again. My mother was a combat medic, applying her medicinal knowledge with what little restorative magic they taught medics through studies at the Mage's Guild. She stayed in the capital tending to the wounded more than she went out on campaigns, so she was at home more between the two of them.
"With both of them in the Brilanian Army, it comes as no surprise that we enjoyed a modestly extravagant life. Looking back, I didn't realize just how good I had it compared to now, but I never wanted for anything nonessential and had plenty of friends through school and my parents befriending other parents in the Army. I had opportunities, I was loved, and I was happy above all else. Clerebold was as well; or at least, that's how he seemed to be at home. And then..."
A momentary pause. Yselt had been keeping it together quite well, but now she was beginning to quiver in her seat, and her hands in her lap balled up into fists, grabbing handfuls of her sackcloth dress as she pushed herself to continue.
"...When t-the other Clerebold mentioned justice... I think he meant when our parents were briefed on a controversial strategy proposal by high-ranking military officials. This was around the time Stézar's emperor s-seemed to be opening up to peace negotiations a few years ago, and some strategists proposed taking innocent Stézans as prisoners of war in an upcoming campaign against unaffiliated marauders near the border. They were hiding out in a border town where customs checks were done on people coming and going between Brilan and Stézar, and the proposal was to arrest the innocents under the guise of them being undercover marauder operatives. T-They wanted to bolster the king's hand by leveraging those captured in the raid."
Wymare nodded as Yselt continued, keeping note of her demeanor as she fought her emotions back over the course of her story. He remembered the period of time she'd referenced, where the emperor of Stézar had signaled a willingness to come to the table for de-escalation talks with the king of Brilan. Anyone in either nation knew of the lengthy, standoffish history the two nations had with one another, and it was a victory at the time for those who advocated for diplomacy as a means to end their conflict. Never had he considered the idea, however, that those more attuned to the grittier side of the conflict would have ever schemed such a tactic. Was that why the talks had so infamously fallen through, resulting in the split between the nations worsening further?
"L-Like I said, it was... controversial," Yselt continued, unaware of Wymare's conjecture. "Some in the briefing even rose up in direct opposition to the plan, our mother and father among them. They c-called it inhumane and absurd - an assessment I agree with. B-But... But then..."
The first tear to take the leap from Yselt's eyes fell as she struggled to get the next words out, sliding down her cheek and dropping into her food. "T-Then... one of the s-strategists behind the plan... He spread false information s-saying that everyone who opposed it w-was a deserter... H-He accused them all of the dereliction of their duty, and t-they had to go into hiding to a-avoid being tried...!"
Yselt was a hair's breadth away from breaking down now. More tears followed the initial one as they plummeted into her dinner, dropping past her trembling lips as they were shaken free by the choked sobs that shook her upper body. Her long black hair managed to shield her from the embarrassment of having her emotional state visible for others in the cafeteria to see, but Wymare could see it plain as day, and a knot formed in his stomach as a part of him began to regret asking such a sensitive question out in public.
"Yselt... I'm sorry," Wymare spoke, his voice barely above a whisper as Yselt's sorrow spread to him as well. "It was wrong of me to ask you to revisit all of that here. Come on, let's-"
"No!" Yselt cried, interrupting Wymare before he could suggest leaving. The outburst took him by surprise, and although it did draw a few glances from others at the surrounding tables, they were in large part looks of confusion rather than annoyance, and in a moment's time, the atmosphere returned to what it had been moments prior.
"I... I'm okay. It still h-hurts to talk about it like this, but... I n-need to be strong now."
Despite her general expression seeming a considerable distance from okay, her assurance seemed to be enough for the moment as Wymare sat back down, watching her intently. Silence followed for a few seconds until Wymare, having been searching for something he could do as a gesture of support while Yselt regathered her composure, slid his half-full water cup over to her. She had forgotten to get a drink of her own after being served her food, and a refreshment to help cool her off after the heat of her emotions sounded nice.
"T-Thank you," Yselt said, lifting the cup to her mouth and taking a long, indulgent sip. With the water giving her senses a break from being overloaded by her feelings, she took in a few deep breaths, savoring the feeling of the air filling every corner of her lungs, and sighed. Now she felt ready to continue.
"...The last time I saw them was the morning of the strategy meeting before they left. We had to learn what had occurred through family friends, but none of them were exactly tripping over their own laurels to take us in. They were afraid of being seen as sympathizers of the deserters - everyone was, truthfully. Clerebold was only seventeen years old when this happened, so he couldn't take over the household for the both of us.
"And that was that. We went from our home in a nicer neighborhood of Rìo Ghaile to the damp alleys behind bake shops and restaurants. After a year of those conditions, Clerebold left to join the Scadarah labor unit, but not before he promised me... that he would come back for me, and that he would make right all of the wrongs that had been done unto us."
"...And did he come back?"
"Quite the opposite: I was made to come back to him. I was on my own for the better part of two years before, one day, a guard came scouring the back alleys where I was staying with some other homeless Scadarah. He asked for me, and when I approached, he told me I had been inducted into the Scadarah labor unit, effective immediately."
At this curious detail, Wymare tilted his head to the side, appearing intrigued. "Hold a moment... That's what you told me when we met yesterday, wasn't it?"
"Yes. I would come to find out that in those two years we'd been apart, Clerebold had worked his way up to the position of the Scadarah labor unit supervisor. That role offered him the authority to involuntarily recruit Scadarah from around the capital when he so desired, and he used that authority to seek me out in particular."
"But... why do that and then ignore you, as you said?"
Yselt exhaled softly and closed her eyes. "I couldn't tell you. But judging from how that doppelganger acted... If I'm to take that as an indicator of how he truly feels, then it more than likely has to do with the castes, which I'd already thought to be the case. To him, a Scadarah of any other name is still just a Scadarah."
"Even if they're his own flesh and blood...?" Perturbed by this logical insight into Clerebold's thought process, Wymare rested his forehead on his hand, looking off the side as he wrestled with the info he'd just learned. "I already thought tearing families apart to be bad, but pitting them against each other in a climb to the top? I just... I can't wrap my head around it. How is that just in any sense? How can family do that to each other?"
"W-Well... it's unfortunate, but I don't think the castes as they are were built with justice in mind," Yselt answered, solemn in her delivery. "It's as you said before: biting the hand that feeds is a fool's errand, but if the bite is strong enough and leaves an impression, your rank in the eyes of others can only stand to gain from it. And soon, you might find yourself being fed more than those who wouldn't dare to bite."
Wymare frowned at this. It disturbed him how neatly this information fit with his previous views on the caste system: those willing to put others beneath them had everything to gain, and often too little to lose. And if that temptation for such ruthless people was sufficient to turn a sibling against their own as Clerebold seemed to have done with Yselt, what further depravity could others with less to cut away as they rose in the world sink to?
"Would ye stand against the world... eh?"
Yselt blinked, perplexed at Wymare's reply to her observations several seconds after she had made them. "Um... excuse me?"
"Oh. Did I say that out loud? Apologies," Wymare said hurriedly, not realizing he had vocalized his thoughts aloud. "I was just thinking about what my Persona said to me. And how I know what I must do from here."
"Oh? What's that?"
"...I'm going back in," Wymare answered, sitting up and making eye contact with Yselt to convey how serious he was. "Into the world beyond the door. I always thought I never had the power to do anything about my situation - about everyone's situation - but now that I have Gawain at my side, I can't pretend as though I'm content to live this way anymore. I have to do something to help - or at the very least, try. And with this power, I'm ready to do that."
Yselt's wide-eyed stare left Wymare unsure of what she felt in response to his plan. That was assuaged when she finally spoke up, asking, "B-But... what would you do?"
"I'll start by investigating that world further. I already laid out how I think everything we saw there is connected in some way - how it all lines up with the circumstances in our world. The more I know about that connection and why that world exists, the better informed I'll be when I decide my next move."
"B-But you...!" Yselt stammered, trailing off as she found herself lost for words. She could see in his eyes that he was deadset on his chosen course of action, and although she had seen the power his Persona wielded firsthand, the visions of the other Clerebold poised to strike and the swarming creatures of darkness were still painfully clear in her mind's eye. He didn't seem concerned by the present danger, but she unquestionably was.
"Sorry, but I won't be talked out of this," Wymare said with a shake of his head, misinterpreting her short protest. "This is something that I need to-"
"That isn't what I meant! What about the danger there!? We came toe to toe with death more than twice over a brief, minor excursion! What if we only scratched the surface of what's lurking in there, and you have to fight a horrible monster and... And..."
"Then I'll fight. I can't be certain that I'll win in the end, but even if I die I'll pass on in peace knowing it was for something I believed in."
Despite his unwavering expression in the face of Yselt's objections, Wymare couldn't deny the inkling of fear he was feeling in some dark, untamed corner of his heart. His talk was primarily to prove his dedication to his decision, and yet as he raised the idea of his own death potentially waiting for him on the path he was now setting himself on, a not insignificant part of him urged against rushing headlong toward that prospect. Invasive thoughts followed in short order, filling his mind with dreadful imagery of his cold, dead body bleeding out on the floor of the prison camp beyond the door, hounded by monsters and lauded over by the other Clerebold's sinister laughter. Death in such circumstances would be quick, merciless, and lonely - over in a second with evil on all sides, drinking in his brief agony until all sense departed him.
The thought of such a demise made his skin break out in goosebumps. The words of his Persona and the Velvet Room attendants were still resonant within him, and yet his instinctive aversion to death put his devotion to his word on the edge.
"Then... I-I shall go too!"
The sound of Yselt's voice shook Wymare back to his senses, breaking the mental spiral of paranoia he had been sliding into. The sudden ferocity in her eyes further shocked him, seeing as she had been seemingly opposed not too long before. "Wait, w-what? You want to come along?"
"Indeed. I... I need answers as well. My brother is involved in all of this somehow. And even if he doesn't care for me anymore... I still do. I must know what's going on. So... I recognize that I'm far from useful compared to you and Gawain... b-but please, will you take me with you?"
Silence. Yselt stared with nervous anticipation at Wymare, whose arms were again folded over his chest and his head was turned down as he thought. If he turned her down, which she worried further and further would be the case with every second that passed, there was no chance she could fend for herself against the shadowy monsters. She would never be able to find the answers she now found herself hungering for, and the true reasons behind her brother's sudden, harsh changes would go unknown until it was too late for her to reach him.
"...Very well. We'll go tomorrow night after classes and assignments are done."
Yselt's eyes lit up like the sunrise at Wymare's eventual agreement. "D-Do you mean it!? Thank you! I promise I won't slow you down!"
"Well, I won't exactly be hightailing it into the depths of that place myself, either," Wymare remarked, at last returning to what was left of his food, which had long since gone cold over the course of their conversation. Despite this, he continued to eat without hesitation, knowing that the labor unit was only afforded so many opportunities for such nourishment.
"Oh, and... one more question, if you wouldn't mind?" Yselt asked, this time looking more curious than seriously inquisitive.
"Mm. Sure," Wymare answered after swallowing his current mouthful of chewed-up meat and vegetables.
"When you were awakening to your Persona... A-Actually, this is all sounding a bit silly now that I'm about to say it, but did it hurt very much? It gave me a start to see how little time it took for you to recover from it all."
An arched eyebrow was all the response she got at first, accompanied by a bemused smile. "It hurt about as much as you'd expect a bone-deep wound in the leg to. Were you thinking that my fit of convulsions on the floor was brought on by a sudden surge of happiness?"
The laugh that Yselt let out in response to Wymare's sarcasm was a welcome sound that calmed both of their spirits after such a tense conversation. It seemed to Wymare from Yselt's overall demeanor that no longer regarded him with nervousness or fear, a change in the dynamic between the two of them that he was happy to see. Despite the short amount of time that the two had known each other, it felt as though they were already becoming solid companions, united by the intrigue of the bizarre other world they had discovered together.
Even still, worry lingered in the back of Yselt's mind as they returned their trays and left for their quarters. She was sure that keeping the two of them safe from harm had become Wymare's top priority in exploring the world behind the door with the gold plaque, and with his limited experience using his Persona in combat, she was unsure how much, if anything, she could do to help without risking his safety and hers. But as they continued to chat on their way out of the Academy, a bubbly smile never could seem to leave her expression, and Yselt resolved to leave those worries to the side until such a peril presented itself.
For today, she would just enjoy the company of her newfound friend.