Chapter 12 - Sweet Fucking Dreams

Something I've never told anyone is that I've always had trouble falling asleep. No matter how tired I am, when my head finally hits my pillow, I find it utterly impossible to close my eyes and rest. This night is no different. I just lay down and stare at the ceiling as I wait for the gods to finally allow me to get some rest. It's not happening.

The night is silent. Most military activity in the camp ceases at night, so the usual racket of spells and men moving machinery around is not there. I only hear the faint snores of others soundly sleeping in their tents nearby. I envy them.

It's only me inside my tent. Me and my crippling loneliness. I roll around my tiny bed again and again, unable to fucking drift off. It's complete torture. What makes matters worse, is that when I do fall asleep, constant nightmares come to haunt me. Nightmares in which I experience some of my worst fears in vivid detail. Blood, gore, sickness...and of course death. I am constantly reminded of the future that probably awaits me if I continue in this line of work.

But the truth is that these nightmares aren't that bad. They're preferable, even.

Sometimes, I also get to relive old memories all over again on the rare occasion that I fall asleep. Not the few happy ones, nor the scary ones, but the most unsettling ones. I'd rather have horrible nightmares than this stupid recollection of regrets and vivid imagery of my worst sins that loop inside my head, endlessly. The past haunts me and I can't seem to fucking escape it.

I swear I've done everything to try to stop the nightmares and the flashbacks. I've bought rare and potent medicine to no avail, attempted to drug myself to sleep out of desperation and even sought the help of fucking priests of all things, but nothing helps. Even worse, most priests I talked to agreed on one thing: this torment is probably divine punishment.

Which probably serves me right. Out of all the memories that replay in my head when I try to sleep, one in particular appears the most frequently. The one that I regret the most and I can't stop thinking about. The first and worst crime I committed in my life.

It serves as a reminder. When you sin once, you sin twice. I've sinned plenty already and I'll keep doing it, which is probably why the gods won't stop fucking harassing me with these flashbacks to chip away at my sanity.

After rolling around in bed for what feels like an eternity, my eyelids finally close and I fall asleep. The memory plays again. The worst one.

It goes as follows:

Almost a decade ago, I was a student-cadet in the Jan Academy. I was younger and more energetic, just a little less cynical, and my hair was a brighter and more beautiful shade of red, compared to the muted deep crimson I have now due being subject to years of constant stress.

The sky was blue, the sun shined and the usually cold grasslands of northern Stracia blossomed. It would have been a rather peaceful scenery if it not were for the loud and powerful explosions in the vicinity. We were doing target practice.

"Ready, aim, fire!" Our instructor ordered.

A group of teenagers wearing robes while formed in a line pointed their staffs up and fired. I found myself among them, trying my best to keep up with the instructor's orders.

After checking the impact site of the spells we just cast using a monoscope, the instructor turned himself towards us with a serious expression.

"Good, you're improving the accuracy of your spells, but it's not enough. Your form leaves much to be desired..."

He approached some of my classmates and hit them somewhat lightly with his wand.

"Straighten your backs, separate your feet and hold your weapons correctly! At this point you should be doing it perfectly!" He reprimanded.

"S-sorry, Sir..." A boy lamented.

"If you wish to become artillery mages and have the honor of serving House Jan, then you MUST become the best. Nothing less will be tolerated. That goes for ALL of you."

"Yes, Sir!" We replied in unison.

"Now, fire again on my signal. This time, use the type 2 concussion spell. Go for the 3400 aether units sweet-spot."

Discreetly groaning, we reached into our belts to grab aether batteries and replenish our magic reserves. At this point, I was tired, sore, and beginning to feel the effects of magic fatigue, but I needed to push myself harder. The Jan Academy was extremely demanding and I knew very well that only some of us would be selected to continue the training. I had to perform well to ensure I would stay.

"Ready, aim, fire!" He commanded and we cast our spells. The target was hit dead center and the resulting explosions were powerful, but he was not impressed at all.

He turned towards us and examined us head to toe. We were panting and sweating from exhaustion.

"Alright. As you all know, only the top ten students will be allowed to stay in the Academy and continue their training after the final evaluation. However, your performance during exercises like this one will also be taken into account, so let's switch it up a little and do something fun."

The faces of my classmates turned pale in fear. Mine did too.

"We'll do an endurance trial to see who can push their magic capabilities the furthest; a sustained fire exercise. This will be evaluated, of course." 

The instructor ordered us to get into firing position. I glanced to one of my sides and saw the Jan House generals and other noble military personnel watching our every move while taking notes. Every little mistake, every fuckup, no matter how insignificant, they noted it all and substracted points from our individual scores. The stakes were high and I was about to get crushed by the pressure.

My classmates and I replenished our aether reserves using batteries once more. I noticed a sharp sting in my hands when I tried to absorb the aether from the batteries; I was nearing my absolute limit and my body didn't take kindly that I had overextended my push and hold forces so much. Still, I did my best to ignore the pain and hide it from the evaluators and continued replenishing until my hold force was at its full capacity. I felt like throwing up from exhaustion.

One of my classmates actually did, and was dragged to the infirmary after she passed out.

"Alright students. On my signal, fire at will. The one who manages to keep firing the longest will be awarded extra points. All clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" The uncertainty was thick in all of our voices.

"Great..." He continued.

My classmates gripped their weapons with dread. 

"Fire!

Our staffs roared in unison and the target a couple hundred meters from our position was blown to smithereens. The constant volley of high explosive artillery spells was so intense that it began to carve down a crater in the impact site, sending dirt and rocks flying in the air.

We continued firing. I felt my heart rate and blood pressure increase and the sharp sting on my hands returned as I tried to control my staff. The inside of my skull suddenly started to hurt like hell, like if someone had just hit me with a fucking warhammer. The magic fatigue would soon take me out as it had done with my classmates.

After a couple minutes of sustained fire, their fire rate decreased and some of them started collapsing from exhaustion and the damned magic fatigue. My classmates dropped like flies beside me, but I did my best to ignore my surroundings and keep firing.

I focused only on my staff and attempted to sidestep the pain and the fatigue. I breathed slowly, sweat dripping from my brow and my hands trembling more intensely each time I cast a spell. The staff was starting to overheat and the heat radiation burned my face, but I pressed on. I HAD to perform well, else I wouldn't score high enough and I would be kicked out from the Jan Academy. Death would be preferable.

When my hold force was about half-spent, my guts began squirming uncontrollably and my vision blurred like if I had just entered a thick haze. Symptoms of severe magic fatigue, I thought, but continued firing regardless.

I cast my spell again and again, the pain increasing each time. I was about to pass for real when the instructor ordered me to stop.

"Thorne, that's enough! Halt already!"

I collapsed on my knees and emptied the contents of my stomach on the ground. I shook uncontrollably, my entire nervous system had been fried from abusing my magic push force. My staff was glowing red from overheating and the handle had actually on fire. My face, mage hat and some hair strands were slightly scorched too.

"Get up, Thorne." The instructor barked at me.

I made an ungodly effort to stand up and face him, but my legs gave in and I collapsed on the ground again. That was when I had the pleasure of discovering that I was the last student to cast a spell. Every classmate of mine had passed out or stopped firing before me. I had won.

The instructor approached and stared down at me.

"Not bad, Thorne. But I'm not impressed, you could have done better."

"Ugh... I-I'm sorry, S-Sir..." I spoke between pants and pained groans.

I then passed out for real.

The Jan Academy, even with all its prestige and fame, its not exactly the most welcoming place. It is extremely competitive, cutthroat, even, which creates gross amounts of strife within the students. I experienced it first hand.

The day after the exercise, I found myself backed into a corner and surrounded by a gang of my fellow classmates. They were lead by a girl whose name I don't even want to remember and that I hated with every fiber in my body. She was a northern Stracian like me, and she was cruel. Kind of like I am now.

They proceeded to beat me up.

"Thorne, you fucking bitch! Who do you think you are, humiliating us in front of the instructor like that yesterday?! Do you seriously think you're better than us?! Do you think you're better than ME?!" She snarled as I wailed on the floor.

"It's not my fault you're all so FUCKING SHIT at sustained fire...Why don't you shove that staff of yours up your ass? You can't cast spells with it properly anyways…" I presented my middle finger in all its glory.

She kicked me in the face multiple times. I wailed and cried, unable to defend myself. I was outnumbered, helpless.

"You should learn some respect, stupid sow!" The other students laughed.

I felt a sudden urge to find a weapon, any weapon, and fucking smash them to bits, but I was powerless.

I spat at them. The northern Stracian girl grabbed me by my hair and pulled me close.

"Listen, very carefully, Thorne. If you ever dare to pull something like that off again, you're dead. DEAD! Do you understand?! You don't belong in the Jan Academy and don't deserve to become an Jan House artillery mage either! Try to outshine us, and we won't be so tolerating next time..."

The stupid gang and the bitch finally left me alone, laughing and giggling as they walked. There were other students around us, but they just observed with apathy and left. No one helped me or gave me a hand; I was completely alone.

That day, I arrived to practice late and the instructor substracted points from me because my uniform was dirty.

Even despite all that suffering and pain, I was determined to push through and graduate from the Academy to serve House Jan. A bright future awaited me, and I would make my family proud. I would succeed, by any means necessary.

Weeks passed. I continued doing my best and the bullying persisted because of it. It didn't matter, in the end, becoming a Jan House artillery mage would be worth it.

The final evaluation approached and everyone was on edge. Only ten of us would be allowed to stay after, meaning that about a third of the students in our section would be dismissed from the Academy and sent home. I was optimistic; I knew I had performed well so far, so there was little to worry about.

I was wrong.

Three days before the dreaded final evaluation, our score reports came in. I watched in absolute dread and existential horror as I realized that my score wasn't high enough. Turns out, performing well was not enough. The Jan House only tolerated excellence. I eavesdropped my classmates discussing their scores and discovered that at least twelve of them had higher scores than mine.

I pulled on my own hair as panic filled my entire being. Maybe they had higher scores because I had had some hiccups during the anti-armor spell drill, or because I had one or two mistakes in the written advanced magic theory test...Maybe the fucking sabotage of my other classmates had something to do with it.

But thankfully, not everything was lost yet. There was still hope. The difference between our scores was not that big, and if I did well enough on the final evaluation, I would surely be able to overtake my classmates' score and be allowed to stay. It all depended on that evaluation.

That night, I was walking down the hallway on my way to my designed bunk bed when I was ambushed. A bunch of students wearing improvised masks made from bedsheets jumped me. They were concealing their identities, but I knew very well who they were. They relentlessly beat and punched me, and then pinned me down to the ground.

They had restrained me and choked me so I couldn't scream or defend myself, and then, one of them pulled out a hammer. I cried out, tried to break free, prayed to the gods, but it was no use. The student smashed my right hand with the hammer, making my bones crunch excruciatingly and pretty much destroying my wrist. When they were done, they ripped my clothes to further humiliate me and ran off to the shadows of the hallways.

That night, when I finally arrived at my bed, I cried my heart out. It would be impossible to pass the final evaluation with a broken wrist; I wouldn't be able to hold my staff properly or control it's recoil. I was doomed. All hope lost. I would fail and be kicked out from the Jan Academy...I would disgrace my family.

As soon as the sun was up, I headed to the infirmary to get treatment. However, I had absolutely no money, so they refused to give me a full magic surgery. They only used superficial magic to alleviate the pain and patched the wrist up. It would take months for it to heal completely, and the final evaluation was the next day.

After that, I rushed to the Instructor's office. It was my last hope. Once there, I explained the situation and begged, on my knees and everything, for him to delay the final evaluation or to issue an order for me to get the magical surgery. He flat out refused. I was shown no sympathy, no mercy at all.

I begged and begged, explaining that I wasn't fair because my classmates had fucking sabotaged me, but all he said was that "It was my fault" and that "I should have defended myself".

I left the office still in tears. It was over. It was all over. This was my worst fear made reality. My life had been ruined.

I rushed to the sleeping grounds and locked myself in. I was drowned in sadness and sorrow and continued tearing up silently for hours.

But then something happened. My crippling feelings of sadness were replaced with something else.

Anger.

A lot of it.

"Injustice... Injustice... Injustice..." This word played on my mind over and over again, like a curse.

My future...my very hopes and dreams had been usurped for me. They had beat me, humiliated me, robbed me of my dreams, and I would make sure they would pay dearly for it. They would pay the highest price.

The following events, I've wanted to forget for many years, but I have been unable to.

My mind was clouded and all I saw was red. Somehow I came to the realization that I would be able to stay in the academy if those stupid fucking bastards were eliminated from the competition, so I devised a plan.

I remember that night very well. It was dark, cold, and I didn't sleep at all. Once everyone was fast asleep, I got up and sneaked my way into the weapons storage of the academy. They kept the staffs and other magic instruments used for training there. I needed something small and easy to conceal, but still deadly. I saw a wand and took it, hiding it under my clothes.

The air was still as I walked down the empty hallways of the academy. The shadows seemed to bend and get darker behind my step. There was a deafening silence. When I arrived at the door, time froze still.

I was calm, focused. I was going through with it. I opened the door and locked it behind me. That was the exact moment my life went down the drain.

Before me, a bunch of students slept in their bunk beds. I recognized many faces that had abused me many times in the past. They hadn't been alerted of my presence yet. I took out the wand and gripped it so hard my knuckles turned white.

I don't even want to describe what happened next. This exact moment has haunted me for years, and it will continue to do so until my miserable existence ends.

When my fit of rage was over, I found myself standing in the middle of the room, still gripping the wand. Everything was red, and there were many bloody corpses around me. The sight of the blood spray on the walls and my dead classmates has been burned into my brain, and I see it sometimes when I take a life, even in the present.

"Ahh!" I yell as I violently wake up from my slumber. Their screams still echo inside my head

I find myself inside the tent again. My hands are trembling and I'm drenched in a cold sweat as always. Another restless night, great.

I breathe slowly to calm myself. No matter how many times I have that stupid fucking flashback, It always leaves me in a complete sense of shock, dread and guilt. The past haunts me and it will be the end of me.

I slap myself to get out of it and rub my face. That's when I hear rustling noises and dangerously close, but faint footsteps just outside my tent.

Oh, I forgot. I'm gonna get assassinated by one of Phillip Engel's men. Great.

I reach for the little nightstand beside my bed and reluctantly grab the wand I had bought the day prior. The bloody imagery still lingers inside my head.