The year Vion Klause forged the first rule of the boarding world. The second hall he struck was Narcissus' Hall, following his conquest of Hestia's.
In Narcissus' Hall, a student named Marsyas had gained renown for his musical virtuosity. Each day brought a different instrument to his fingertips, drawing admirers from across the hall like moths to flame.
One evening, as Marsyas was playing a sentimental and melancholic melody on the piano just outside his dorm, a figure approached. He stood 5'10", with reddish-brown hair that caught the dying sunlight and eyes of startling blue that seemed to pierce through Marsyas.
"Truly splendid!" The student's voice approached with measured steps, "I had actual goosebumps. Your name, if I may?"
Marsyas lowered his hands from the keys. "I'm Marsyas. Thank you—I appreciate it." He bowed his head slightly, a habit born of humility.
"No need for formality," the student smiled warmly, arms opening in welcome, eyes crinkling at the corners. "We're both students and hall-mates after all."
"Oh, okay," Marsyas replied, shoulders relaxing slightly.
The student tilted his head, studying Marsyas's downturned face. "You look troubled. Do you not take joy in your art?"
Marsyas ran his fingers lightly over the silent keys, tracing their edges. "The thing is, I'm good with musical instruments, but that's where it ends. Nothing more, nothing less." His voice carried the weight of perceived limitations.
"You feel... stuck," the student observed, the words hanging between them like a diagnosis.
Marsyas's silence was confirmation enough.
"Worry no more!" The student's energy shifted suddenly, his voice gaining a theatrical quality. "You might want to acquire a black top hat and suit soon, for a magnificent event approaches." He turned dramatically, gazing upward as if seeing beyond the ceiling.
"Event?" Marsyas looked up, curiosity breaking through his melancholy.
"Imagine," the student swept his arm in a slow arc, "the sounds of the exploding evening sky, displaying different shades of sparkling colors reflected on people's faces and in their wide eyes. It would be unparalleled, unsurpassable." His gesture encompassed the room as if already transforming it with his vision.
He turned back to Marsyas with the flourish of a conductor. "I'm Kenht Aeryon. I will create the greatest fireworks display this world has ever witnessed, and you, Marsyas, will accompany it with your splendid musical skills." He pointed directly at Marsyas, finger steady and certain.
Something electric passed through Marsyas then—his eyes widened as goosebumps raced across his skin and the fine hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. For the first time in months, he felt something beyond competence: anticipation.
"Both of us have work ahead, my friend," Aeryon continued, backing away but maintaining eye contact. "You must transcend your current abilities, while I have a powerful rocket launcher to construct. Until next time!" He waved casually as he departed.
Who is he, really? Marsyas wondered, absentmindedly rubbing his arms to dispel the lingering goosebumps.
That day, Aeryon had indeed kindled a flame in Marsyas's heart—one that would burn brighter and hotter than either could have anticipated.
Mucus and tears streamed down Marsyas's face as he knelt, memories cascading through his mind like flashes of light. The acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Through the billowing smoke and licking flames strode Raven, his silhouette distorted by heat waves. In his hand—Marsyas's breath caught—was Aeryon's severed head, features still frozen in defiance.
Raven halted beside the kneeling musician, his shadow falling across Marsyas's trembling form.
"Your reaction tells me you knew him," Raven observed, his voice unnervingly soft against the backdrop of destruction. "It's unfortunate he stood as my enemy. Sometimes," he sighed almost philosophically, "things don't unfold as planned." Without waiting for a response, he continued past, boots crunching on debris.
The remaining members of the Fireworks Display faction, seeing their leader fallen, surrendered their arms. The Shadowmere Groove warriors raised their voices in victory, the sound reverberating through the once-peaceful halls of Narcissus.
They swept through the vast complex—the largest of all halls, resembling a miniature metropolis with its varied dormitories of different heights and dimensions. Every corner was claimed for their new base, far grander than their previous residence in Apollo's Hall.
Some defeated faction members, seeing which way the wind blew, pledged themselves to the Shadowmere Groove. Others fled into the uncertain territories beyond, seeking new alliances or resigning themselves to the perilous life of wanderers in the boarding world.
Raven himself flew back to Apollo's Hall to escort Xavier to their newly conquered territory. Thus did the Shadowmere Groove ascend to become one of the major powers among the factions.
The following day brought even more bitter cold, as Aeron and his companions exhaled clouds of frost while chopping wood. Their preparations to depart from Gaia's Hall continued steadily; the journey to Athena's still lay ahead.
After working for some time, Aeron paused and moved to sit beside the bandage-wrapped form of Emrys, who remained unconscious and barely breathing.
"What's that weirdo doing?" Hector muttered, pausing mid-swing to observe Aeron's vigil.
Corsair approached the growing pile of firewood near where Aeron sat. He tossed his armful onto the stack with a clatter, then hesitated before walking over and lowering himself beside Aeron.
"Sor—" they began simultaneously, then stopped. "You go first," Aeron said, gaze fixed on the ground.
"Sorry about yesterday," Corsair said, his voice matching his solemn expression. "I let my emotions take control. No one should bear blame for this."
"I appreciate that," Aeron replied, his fist tightening. "But you spoke truth. I should have fulfilled my advisory role. Perhaps then we'd already be at Athena's gates."
"No," Corsair faced him directly, hands gesturing emphatically. "I exaggerated wildly—we both know reaching Athena's so quickly would be impossible."
"Not entirely impossible," Aeron countered. "Walking through the night would eliminate that impossibility."
"That's... true," Corsair conceded, his attention shifting to Emrys's still form.
"Any idea why he hasn't regained consciousness?" he asked after a moment.
Aeron adjusted his position before answering. "The face and head are the body's most complex structures to regenerate. The RHF can't rush this process due to the complexity. It methodically reconstructs each damaged component to its original state. Meanwhile, other bodily systems, even the heart, remain dormant until the brain is fully restored."
Aeron's extensive knowledge of the Regenerative Healing Factor stemmed from his dedicated study of Biology.
"The impact, how severe was it?" Corsair asked, brow furrowed with concern.
Aeron winced at the memory. "I can't quantify the exact damage, but the sound of metal striking his skull was... horrific. I recall seeing Bhung's arm vibrate from the force of impact."
"Stop!" Corsair covered his face with both hands. "I don't want that image in my mind!"
"You're fortunate," Aeron tapped the side of his head. "For me, it's permanently etched here."
They both looked at their unconscious companion, the unspoken question hanging between them: If the mere memory haunts us so, what nightmare awaits Emrys when he wakes?
…
The last morning in their stay in Gaia's Hall, in the silent darkness of 2:50am, Emrys regained consciousness, his brain had been physically healed.
He opened his eyes to a pitch black space. He sat up gently and looked around his environment. Everything was black, but the ground was like a dark water surface that sent waves of ripples from his subtle movements.
His sight wasn't as vivid as it should be and the information wasn't clear. It was more like….a dream.
Looking down at the dark water surface, he found his reflection blurry. Though the shape of his head was defined in the reflection, his face was far from clear.
His actions and the things he noticed around him felt real and usual at the same time, for some reason, he felt like he had been there countless times.
He gradually stood up straight while looking at the empty dark space he was in. He looked up, same thing, dark.
After slowly bringing his view downwards, he saw the shape of a huge figure with something like a rod in it's right hand. The image of this figure wasn't also vivid but felt familiar at the same time.