Monarch Made Millenia: Breakpoint

Chapter 1 Rondo: Dance of a Thousand Embers

Feathered Ballads waltz on the breeze, through evergreen corridors, up flower-dressed hills, and out to the countryside. This was Miraso, a northern expenditure, rivaled by few breeds of swordsmen. Hidden away to the west of the country, buildings sat. In the center, a large hexagonal building stood, red and grey running up the pillars. What the main building looming over were the sister buildings. Within them lived the students, a whole future of swordsmen that eagerly waited for greatness.

A few turns and shifts were all it took before the boy made his way up from his sheets. The young lad stretched, evoking a long yawn as his body acclimated to his awakening. He turned back to his crimson covers and immediately felt his eyelids drooping slightly. The boy yawned once more and jumped around to reassure that rest had passed. Like many, his routine was brief and finished in minutes with a new change of clothes. He poked his head out of the door and slid down the wooden floors to the stairs. Shuffling down the staircases the boy jumped the rest of the way, seeing that it made his journey shorter, at least in his head. Alas, at the bottom floor, he met the fourier for another day. The boy frowned at the single-shaded room and moved on to the kitchen. What to eat, what to eat, the boy wondered. With a snap of his fingers, the decision was made. The boy opened a cabinet in the narrow space, taking a cast iron skillet to the stove. Besides the eye sat a white stone attached to it, red light coming from it. He ran a finger down the stone, igniting a lively flame under the eye. The boy made his way over to a chest-like box and opened it, releasing a chill to his face. looking deep into it, he saw a blue stone in the corner glowing bright. The chefs probably replaced the freezing stone since the previous one was nearly black, the boy concluded.

He grabbed a few eggs and sausage. After some time, breakfast was prepared, consumed, and cleaned. The boy made his way back to his room and changed into his uniform. Unlike many schools, Twiloq Academy distributed color variants and multiple outfits for students, encouraging some form of individuality amongst the youth. Since washing less was more, he selected the same uniform. A thin black jacket with silver stitching, a purple short sleeve, and pants that favored the comfort of his bed. As he read in his room a bit longer, studying ahead, the stirring of others reached his ears. And we begin, he finally thought, grabbing his satchel and heading out towards the main building.

For why the young lad made his mornings early was a mystique to all, in fact, no one had a clue he practiced such a ritual. It wasn't too unusual for early rises, upperclassmen, and teachers were the main practitioners of such. Unlike them, his desires were beyond the school, the country even.

The boy dug in his pocket, drawing an old image of a small family. A woman, a man, and a child, he looked at it for a hard second before sighing. His fingertips glowed a faint orange, burning the image. Looking before him, two large doors stood by pillars reaching several stories in the air. The academy seemed to be no more than a loose title for the building; beyond the caramel, marble floors hid arenas, armories, and rooms that, though not seeing them, the boy knew existed. Lining the halls were large rooms with windows as walls. A myriad he'd passed, each with different color symbols on the floors. Up the first set of stairs, these classrooms were similar to the ones before but without a defining symbol, only nameplates above the doors. As he moved on word, winding around the many rooms, He looked up. Banners streamed down from the ceiling with winged swords and the academy's name. The boy made his way down a long hall before turning again. He walked for what seemed like ages until he reached a classroom reading "Lady Everlar" above the wooden door in gold letters. The boy turned the knob and entered to black chairs and desks embroidered from top to bottom.

Dismissing the obnoxious effort put into each desk, the boy turned and looked at the glass pane. To his dismay, the glass seemed to be a painted stone wall on the other side. He pondered the thought for a second only to conclude that another veren seal was placed upon an item. The boy finally took his seat as the eight o'clock bell sang. After an easy thirty minutes, the herd of students flooded the halls. A group of girls laughed their way into the class, one of the girls with bright, red hair. The redhead, smirking, looked around the large room, then at the dark-haired boy. The girl crept to him as his face was tucked away in his arms. He could sense the stale presence around him so he replied.