Radiance - The Alight Archives Book #1

29. Visions

Allan had never felt particularly enthusiastic about the close proximity of Symphony Stadium to the academy grounds; the blaring music and the electrifying echoes of cheers pierced through the ambiance of the empty classroom, making the long nights of grading mountains of papers all the more grating. Even in this moment, as the ink flowed out from the tip of his fountain pen, leaving sloppily blurred stains on the pristine document before him, he winced at each jarring note that rattled his senses.

He knew there was little point in voicing his complaints now—no one would hear his grievances over the din. Instead, he could choose to silence his frustrations, pushing them aside like the papers strewn across his desk. He resolved to focus on his work, attempting to tune out the incessant chatter of the loud announcer who belched nonsensically into his voiceifier. The man, with his booming, over-the-top explanations of players' actions, seemed to believe the audience lacked the ability to observe the game with their own eyes. 

Cursing under his breath, Allan slammed his pen onto the paper, the sharp sound startling Lyra. She had, until that moment, been napping on a stone ledge that jutted out from the carved architecture above him. With a swift motion, she swung her head towards him, her one bright blue eye glaring at him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, mirroring his own frown in the reflective depth of her iris.

"All right, I'm sorry," Allan acknowledged, lifting his hand in a placating gesture. He hoped this would diffuse any potential argument before it sparked. His hopes were futile as Lyra dove from her perch, soaring gracefully over the empty seats tucked neatly under nearby desks. She landed assertively in front of him, her talons clicking against the wooden surface as she hopped closer, her iridescent feathers ruffling in irritation. 

Allan let out a resigned sigh as Lyra bounced forward, her head bobbing eagerly, her body enveloped in plumage as dark as the night sky. "Look, I'm really sorry," he repeated, but it was clear that her mood wasn't lifting. "It's been a hectic day for me. And considering how busy our schedules always get as the year progresses, maybe I should cherish this calm before the storm, huh?"

Reaching out tentatively towards her, Allan half-anticipated a painful peck on his finger, but to his delight, she permitted him to stroke her head. He ran his hand gently down her neck; he could entirely cradle her small body within his grasp. "Look at us, Lyra. Who would have thought we'd end up here, doing something like this, together?"

Lyra regarded him with a blank stare, her head cocked slightly to one side, a silent inquiry conveyed through her intelligent eyes that needed no words.

"I bet that old man is laughing at us from the Eternal Gardens," he mused, a nostalgic smile creeping onto his lips. "Assuming, of course, he ever made it there. He certainly had his fair share of fun in life, didn't he?" Yes, "fun" was an understated word for the exuberance his father embodied. "He always dreamed of experiencing Glyph Academy with his own two eyes. I can imagine he'd get a kick out of this place. But the students? Well, they might not quite live up to his lofty standards."

Lyra shook her feathers vigorously, scattering tiny droplets of dust and fluff, her tail wagging as she settled atop the paper he had yet to finish grading. Recognizing that she had found her cozy spot, Allan refrained from disturbing her. With another deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair, letting his arms fall over the sides, attempting to find a moment of peace. Just a small moment.

Another explosion erupted in the distance, earning Allan a scowl that twisted his features into a grimace. He directed his gaze towards the spot on the wall where a window once framed the outside world. Further past the stone walls and aged towers, the Symphony Stadium loomed, packed to the brim with a raucous throng of sulmos. Their deafening cheers and boisterous chants invaded the night, a cacophony of noise that suggested they had nothing better to occupy their time this late.