Obelisk: Vision of the Host

I - The Courtyard Pagoda

The Eighty-Eighth annual Vision Scholar Awards were split into four categories: history, technology, language arts, and the sciences, but Evolice Nadima was unsure where her proof of the human soul fit in.

Evolice arrived at the Westkemper Conference Center at precisely sixth hour, just as the sun was painting the sky in peach and pink. The invitation she clutched in both hands read, "Exhibitors must arrive no later than 8th hour," but Evolice knew that the woman typing had actually meant, "for my sanity, and the sanity of everyone working here, please arrive well before the listed time." Evolice always knew these things.

Evolice ran a hand through her cocoa brown curls, gazing in awe around the inside of the Westkemper Conference Center; the grand hall truly lived up to its name. An exquisite chandelier hung from the dusk blue ceiling, four stories overhead. It was over ten feet wide and twice that in height. Speckled gemstones hung from its spindly silver arms, casting prismed lights across the polished marble walls. A second-story mezzanine, with a long bronze railing, wrapped from the stairs at the far end of the hall around the walls and over the entryway where Evolice now stood. A banner hung above the stairs of the great room reading:

The Convention for Visionary Youth

88th Annual Vision Scholar Awards

Evolice hadn't expected the center to be too busy this early, but she also hadn't guessed it would be so lifeless. Against one wall was a desk where a tall uniformed man was nodding sympathetically to an irate teen boy, but other than them, there wasn't a soul in the spacious hall.

Not seeing any indication of where to check-in, Evolice approached the desk where the teen boy was bickering with the friendly-looking employee. The man behind the counter was a decent size, both tall and round, with a fancy black name tag reading: J. Ivony, Junior Greeter. His deep black beard was thick but well-trimmed, with the occasional grey streak. He nodded patiently to the boy, whose frustration echoed across the mostly empty hall.

"Noko Innit pikka ma," said the boy, balling his fists at his side. He had dark skin and thin buzzed hair, with an intricate floral pattern shaved into one side. If Evolice had to guess, she'd say he was probably sixteen, just a year younger than herself. He had a black flower with a blue stem pinned to the lapel of his oversized blazer, and the muddy ends of his baggy pant legs looked as though they had been repeatedly trampled beneath his aged dress shoes.

"Son, I've said before, I have no idea what it is you're trying to tell me," responded Mr. Ivony, gripping his belt so hard his knuckles began to turn white. "If you'll just wait a moment. I've called for Ms. Lapour, she'll be right down to help."

"Noko Innit pikka ma," the boy repeated loudly, his voice cracking. Evolice quickly recognized the words as an Innit dialect.

"Jen mo ti a ta?" called Evolice.

The boy spun quickly to face her, a smile of relief settling across his lips. "Kopo bano!"

"Napo Evolice," she introduced herself.

"Napo Kyrillis," he responded.

"Oh no, not another," groaned Mr. Ivony, running a hand down his face. "What's this then, a prank? Did Jet put you up to this?"

"It's not a prank," said Evolice, "it's Innit. He says his name is Kyrllis, and I'd wager he's from somewhere in Innit'Ro"

The boy, Kyrillis, perked up at the mention of Innit'Ro.

"Well I'll be," said Mr. Ivony with an awkward smile. "Can you tell him I'm sorry? I've met folks from just about everywhere, but I ain't ever met no Innit before." The man looked quite embarrassed, as he began nervously tapping his desk with a pen. "Check-in... check-in," he said, suddenly shifting the conversation, "that's why you're here isn't it? I don't think the booths are quite set up yet. If you'll just wait a moment for Ms. Lapour, she's the event organizer, I'm sure she'll get you sorted."