Unregistered Fateweaver [1]

A classroom slowly filled with students wearing red and black uniforms. The girls wore skirts paired with long-sleeved blouses, while the boys sported pants and long-sleeved shirts. Each student had a binder resting in front of them, yet to be opened. Some were seated, engaged in conversation, others stood idly, and a few had already succumbed to sleep.

At the front of the room stood a chalkboard, but an odd, almost tangible aura seemed to emanate from it, felt by those who ventured too close. The room stirred as an adult woman entered, her long brown hair flowing behind her, hazel eyes sharp and focused. She wasn't dressed like a typical teacher. Instead, she wore tactical gear—heavy-duty pants lined with pockets, a fitted vest with long sleeves stretching from her shoulders, and a compression shirt underneath, all in jet black.

She strode to the front of the room, stepping behind a podium that faced the students. At her arrival, the class fell silent, most sitting down quickly—some slouched in their seats, others barely awake, while a few sat upright, eager for what was to come.

Their faces reflected confusion. This wasn't their regular teacher. She was a registered Fateweaver—an active one, no less. Typically, those in a teaching position had long retired from service.

With a sharp motion, the Fateweaver slammed her palms onto the podium, commanding the room's attention. "Alright, listen up," she began. "Today is not a normal day. Today, you're going to gain some real experience."

Excitement flickered in the students' eyes. After months of monotonous study and only occasional practical training, this was the break they had been craving.

"Yesterday, a new Fateweaver appeared," she said, pausing for effect. "Around your age. I'm sure you saw it on the news. They escaped from the hostpital, injuring a doctor and a couple of bodyguards."

Whispers rippled through the room—some students looked intrigued, others smug, as if daring the new Fateweaver to try something with them.

"One of your classmates, Lucinia, came face-to-face with this individual and was forced back by the sheer force of their abilities."

At this, the chalkboard flickered to life, projecting a holographic—but blurred—image of Lucinia being struck by Malphas.

The class gasped in unison, turning to Lucinia, who sat rigid in her chair, her expression as emotionless as ever.

"We still don't know what their resonance is," the Fateweaver continued, "but we've sent scouts sensitive to essence to investigate. Right now, it's speculated that their resonance enhances their physical capabilities."

Lucinia raised her hand, prompting the Fateweaver to groan slightly before acknowledging her. "Yes?"

"When I encountered the Fateweaver," Lucinia said in her usual monotone, "I couldn't sense any essence from them. Even though I'm not particularly sensitive to it, shouldn't we, as essence wielders, be able to sense it—even in its faintest forms?"

The Fateweaver threw her head back in frustration before addressing the class. "God, I hate kids," she muttered under her breath. Then, louder: "Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But the report is that he's dangerous, and we need to capture him."

"Him?!" Lucinia's voice wavered slightly, confusion breaking through her usual stoic demeanor.

The Fateweaver raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know he was a boy?"

"I—" Lucinia stammered. "he is so... frail. He looked so soft. How was I supposed to know?"

"You're not wrong, but the objective remains: capture him, and minimize casualties."

With that, the class was dismissed, students filing out of the room. But one girl remained, staring down at her unopened binder. She was strikingly beautiful, yet frail-looking, with long blonde hair and bright orange eyes. Her hand turned over in her lap, fingers trembling slightly as her thoughts spiraled inward. 'Am I going to be useful?' she wondered, but her anxious reflection was interrupted by the presence of a hand extended toward her.

She flinched, looking up to find a boy with the same brown hair and matching orange eyes as hers. "You're spacing out again, Harmony," he said gently.

"B-brother, what's wrong?" she asked, standing. One of his sleeves was rolled up, revealing a metallic substance that wrapped from his shoulder down to his wrist like armor.

Harmony glanced at it briefly before grabbing her binder and getting ready to leave. As they walked out of the classroom together, her head drooped slightly, sadness clouding her expression. Her brother, noticing her mood, turned to her with a frown.

"Harmony," he called softly, "you're worrying again, aren't you?"

She looked to the side, avoiding his eyes, but didn't answer. He sighed, reaching out to place a hand on her head. "Don't worry about me," he said with a small smile. "I'll be fine. I always manage, don't I?"

"It's not that…" Harmony muttered under her breath.

Surprised, the boy looked at her more closely. "Then what is it?"

She hesitated before speaking again. "Do you… do you think I'll be useful for this mission? I don't have any combat abilities…"

Her brother's expression softened. "Hey, it's alright. You're going to be the most important person there. Don't beat yourself up over it, okay?"

"Okay…" Harmony responded, but despite his reassuring words, she felt an unsatisfied ache inside. She followed him down the hall, still carrying that weight of doubt.

They descended the wooden staircase, its brown panels creaking underfoot. The hallways were traditional, lined with portraits and plaques honoring past graduates. As they reached the turn of the stairwell, Harmony stopped, her eyes drawn to a painting on the wall.

The portrait depicted a beautiful woman with long brown hair and orange eyes, a name engraved in gold beneath it: "Elizabeth Donstho, the Healer of Wonders." The dates beneath her name read "12348-12379." It had been seven years since her death. Harmony's eyes lingered on the woman's face.

"Harmony," her brother called from the bottom of the stairs. "Stop staring at Mom. Let's go."

She blinked and turned away from the portrait, sadness deepening in her chest as she caught up to him. The wooden floor transitioned to smooth pavement as they entered another corridor, lined with tall pillars that framed the outside world through large windows.

As they walked, they heard voices—a mix of talking and sobbing—coming from the side hall. Harmony and her brother, William, turned to see three girls standing over another girl who sat on the floor, crying.

"Hey, isn't that Lillian from the science department?" William asked, nodding toward the girl on the ground.

Harmony's eyes widened. "Yes, it is. Can you help her, William?"

William sighed but walked over to the scene.

The girl standing above Lillian had bright blonde hair, curled at the ends, her face caked in heavy makeup. She was flanked by two others—one with dark green hair, the other with brown.

"Come on, ladies," the blonde sneered. "Show her what happens when she messes with my man."

Through muffled sobs, Lillian choked out, "I-I only helped him with the project…"

"Bullshit!" the blonde spat, her face flushing angrily, her makeup unable to hide it. "You wanted to get close to him to spite me, didn't you?!"

"N-no! I would never!" Lillian cried.

"Liar!" the blonde snarled, grabbing Lillian by the hair, preparing to slam her head into the ground. But before she could, a hand stopped her mid-motion.

William stood there, his face stern, eyes cold. "Enough, Julia. You've made your point."

Julia's expression shifted as she eyed him, then she scoffed, brushing his hand away. "What's with you outcasts always sticking up for each other? Cursed mutt."

After her words, a small flame flickered in William's clenched fist.

Unfazed, Julia leaned in, sneering. "No matter how strong your resonance is, you're still nothing without your family's old reputation." With a mocking smile, she turned to her lackeys. "Come on, girls. Let's stop wasting time with these outcasts."

The trio sauntered off, leaving Lillian sobbing on the floor. William unclenched his fist, blood dripping from where his nails had dug into his palm.

He knelt down, offering Lillian a hand, but she stood up without acknowledging him, picking up her broken glasses. William noticed a bloodstain on her uniform, but before he could say anything, Lillian walked away without so much as a thank you.

William sighed as he looked back at his sister, Harmony, who stood quietly, visibly hurt by Julia's words. He knew the power struggle they faced, no matter how strong their resonance might be.