School of Rebellion ; SetoSolace

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Seto walked around the castle. His hand was heavily bandaged, and his head felt like it was pounding. It was still the same day—his father told him to go "take a stroll" to get his mind off things. His eyes were still locked in the same mode; purple. They were no longer a soft shade of brown that shone in the light, they were bland to him, just another shade of lavender in his life.

His father called it a strange phenomenon, his purple eyes of his active out of the blue. It was the first time since "The Accident" his eyes went purple, this color. Now they weren't deactivating, and now he was no longer blind to things. He could see again, but having his sight back at this point in time was not the best idea.

Eye Abilities were strange, only the main family of Sorcerers had received them at birth. Seto's happened to be Analyzation, one that was among the rarest. He couldn't remember the last time he had used it, but he knew it was around the time Kyle had died—maybe it was at the School of Creation.

But ever since his bland eyes had reawakened, he began to question things that were not to be questioned.

What happened before "The Accident?"

What lies under the castle?

What is father hiding from me?

"Prince Harvey, are you alright?" A servant had grasped at his arm. Seto hissed, holding his left eye.

"I'm—" he managed to huff out, "—I'm fine. Let me be."

The servant had let go of his arm, but lingered close behind. Seto could sense his presence, the Sorcery within that servant was utterly weak. He could take him out right now, no witnesses. He was an old man after all, he was doing him a favor. The brunet turned around, but to see no one following him spooked him a bit. He hissed, turning back around and begun to head towards his main destination—the West Hall.

In the meanwhile, his left eye felt like it was thumping, almost like it was about to explode. His right eye was more stable, controllable perhaps. Something was happening to it, if only he had some sort of mirror maybe he would see if his eye was inflamed, reverting back to its original state, or possibly evolving. He took a sharp left turn and struggled to get down the dark hall without bumping into walls.

The West Hall was a place that he was forbidden to go to ever since he was a child. At the end of that hall, the last door, was the entrance to the basement. He had attempted to go there many times before, there were always secrets that his Aunt had spoken about that were located in the basement. Unfortunately, Seto never had the guts to do so, until now. His father was a formidable opponent, Seto could most likely take him down as well. If someone were to find him, he would just blame it on his vision.

After minutes of wandering aimlessly, he finally reached it. The door was old, bulky, and made of oak. He traced his finger against it, feeling the wood. It wasn't as smooth as the other doors, Seto could get a splinter right now if he continued touching it. He reached for the silver doorknob that was glistening in the dark. His hand stopped him from touching it; the doorknob was dusty and his finger prints could be easily seen if he had touched it. He blinked for a brief moment, contemplating.

How could he have known that? It was dark after all, he couldn't see the dust, but he knew it was there.

He shook his head, deciding to phase through the door. Leaning against it with the hopes that it wouldn't collapse under his body pressure, he managed to slip through it without making any noise, as well as not breaking the damned door. He squeaked, as he regained his balance; if he moved any further he would have fallen down the stairs.

Making sure not to touch anything, he began to slowly creep down the wooden steps. They creaked as he walked, loudly and annoyingly. If anyone was to be down here, they would have noticed Seto right away due to the eminent noise he had created. Finally reaching the last step, he turned to look at the basement. It was still dark, but he could sense things. He was afraid to look for a light switch, feeling as if though his finger prints would be left on it.