Genesis Day (2)

"—Absolutely. And it's a rather disconcerting, befuddling, bamboozling question you've asked there," Mr. Grey responded to the question of a student, whom Giuseppe now hates vehemently.

Mr. Grey was pacing in front of the holographic screen like a man possessed. His arms flailing around with grandiose gestures.

"To get to the nucleus of the matter, we must inquire: what is the crux—the crucifix—th-the croutons of this postmodern, pre-colonial, post-Renaissance, post-cataclysmic piece of literature?"

Giuseppe stared blankly at the man, his eyelids twitching with the desperate tremor of someone fighting for his life.

'He's my most formidable opponent yet,' he thought, suppressing a groan. His eyes were bloodshot. Red veins could be seen in his sclera.

'I don't think I can last much longer!'

Unaware of the suffering of his students, the bespectacled monster continued onward, voice growing even more impassioned.

"Which, naturally, brings us to the foundation-the substratum, if you will—of the gerrymandering, the circular reasoning, the gesticulation, prostate examination, Californication, and inquisitional conflagration that was, of course, popularised by the late Castellan of Castle Cercules Red—"

At this point, Giuseppe's vision blurred at the edges. His body remained upright through sheer spite alone. Across the aisle, Marcus caught his dazed expression and struggled—truly struggled—not to laugh.

'Is this punishment for something I did? I've been a good person in life. This is absurd.'

"...thus bringing us to the greater metatextual conundrum of self-referential, neo-Gothic epistemological frameworks that shaped the entire post-Terran literary response!"

Giuseppe slumped deeper into his chair, raising his hand weakly.

"I'm going to die here, aren't I?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm going to die before even beginning my Script."

Finally, Mr. Grey turned back to his students, his lecture concluded.

What he found were rows of half-dead faces—slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, barely clinging to consciousness.

He sighed, loosening his tie with one hand and pulling off his glasses with the other, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to massage away the collective despair hanging in the room.

"Alright," he said at last, his voice quieter, more grounded—different enough to snap a few students to attention.

"I know how you're feeling right now," Mr. Grey continued, voice steady, almost sympathetic.

"You're tired of this ordinary work. You're restless. You're excited. You're just counting down the minutes until you can leave this place behind and dive into your Scripts."

For the first time all day, the room was completely still—everyone listening.

Mr. Grey's voice softened.

"I don't care if you remember my lectures or anything I said today." He gave a small, wry smile.

"Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you forgot all of it the second you walk out that door."

He straightened, a weary pride in his eyes.

"I just want you to live. I want all of you to come back."

The words, simple as they were, hit harder than any lecture ever could.

Mr. Grey gave one last tired smile, full of something between hope and sorrow.

Then, a single finger tapped the desk in front of him.

Tap

The sound echoed, and a click followed. Several students flinched, exchanging uneasy glances. The doors at the back of the classroom closed, then sealed shut with a metallic hiss.

Mr. Grey did not raise his voice. 

"None of you are leaving until you show me something worth remembering."

He began to walk slowly along the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, scanning each row.

"If you fail... You'll be expelled. Permanently. And you will never enter your Foundational Scripts."

**

"Class dismissed."

***

Location — Glory Academy, Main Hall.

63:45

The Main Hall of Glory Academy was massive. Wide, polished marble stretched from wall to wall, reflecting the soft morning light pouring through tall glass windows. Smooth jade pillars lined the chambers' sides, holding up a ceiling so high it seemed to vanish into mist.

Holographic banners hung overhead, each depicting the story of one of the Ten Great Heavens. At the front of the hall, a giant holographic crest of Glory Academy floated in the air, rotating slowly.

The hall smelled of faint fresh stone and cold air.

Giuseppe eyed the golden dragon murals that decorated the floor and walls. He trailed his gaze ahead to see the same designs on the ceiling and pillars.

"It's always dragons. All the time. Seriously...some people are obsessed."

He sat at a table in the front row, tapping his foot impatiently.

"True. But we don't get to be here a lot, so I don't mind. I quite like it." Daniel said, settling at the table some seats away from Giuseppe. Besides Arthur.

"Personally, not a fan. This place smells like old... things... I don't know. It just smells old, you know." Arthur said.

"Fair enough."

"True."

Marcus and Giuseppe agreed. While Tandav tapped the table rhythmically, humming the music in his ears.

Giuseppe turned and glanced back at the crowd gathering behind them—around eighty first-years, still filing into the hall. Some whispered to each other, others sat stiff and silent, heads snapping toward every new noise.

He saw a familiar silhouette approaching.

Evelynne wore a white blouse, neatly buttoned up to her throat and adorned with a slim black ribbon tie. Over it, she layered a high-waisted black corset, cinching her waist and dramatically emphasising her figure.

Her black heels clicked softly against the floor with each step. A pair of golden earrings glinted beneath her dark, coiled locks.

Giuseppe gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement as she slipped into place, seated beside him.

A low chime rang out throughout the hall, cutting the restless murmurs. Instantly, the students straightened, conversations dying mid-sentence.

From a set of grand doors at the far end of the hall, a procession of figures began to emerge. Each one wore the black and gold regalia of the institute—these are the Professors of Glory Academy.

Leading them was a woman with medium-length white hair with black highlights. Wearing a black dress and high heels.

Vice-Principal Orelia.

She strode to the centre of the stage beneath the great crest and raised her hand.

"Welcome," her voice rang throughout.

"First Years of Glory Academy."

A heavy silence fell over the students settled in the Main Hall.

Vice-Principal Orelia let that silence linger; her heels clicked softly as she ascended to the central podium, but in the silence, each step reverberated across the hall.

Her sharp gaze swept across the room, weighing each student without a word.

"Time for the dramatic speech," Giuseppe leaned sideways, voice low as he whispered to Marcus, who held back a laugh.

Orelia spoke again as she clasped the podium. "You stand at the beginning of your journey."

"In your hands, you will soon hold the Aetherlink Key—what most of you know simply as the Mythlink."

A visible jolt of anticipation passed through the crowd of students at the mention of the word.

"You have been taught the theory. You have heard the rumours, the myths, the stories. But know this—that beyond is not a game. It is much, much more than that. It is a realm where your choices will ripple across far more than just your own lives."

She paused, letting the words hang heavy.

"As students of Glory Academy. You are expected to rise above the ordinary. Failure in the pursuit of greatness will not be punished—but contentment in mediocrity will."

Giuseppe smirked under the shadow of his bucket hat.

"Told you."

Orelia turned slightly, and from the side of the stage, attendants wheeled out a multitude of glass cases. Inside, resting on black velvet cushions, were dozens of Aetherlink Cores—each one a small device, no larger than a pellet, and looking like a small onyx key.

"Names will be called in rank order. Step forward without delay when summoned."

"Now is the time to leave if you are not ready. Because, from the moment you touch it, there is no turning back."

Orelia gazed across the gathered students. Not a single one flinched, not a single foot moved to the door.

A slow, satisfied smile curled across her lips.

"Very well. Then, let the Ceremony commence."

Beep. Beep.

A small holographic screen materialised above the stage, displaying the first name.

[#1 – Giuseppe V. Castellano]

Without hesitation, Giuseppe stepped forward.

He ascended the short set of stairs to the stage. Vice-Principal Orelia watched his approach with a neutral expression.

Giuseppe came to a stop in front of the glass case.

Mavena—dressed in a black-and-gold ceremonial robe—stepped forward and unlatched the case with a flick of her hand. The Aetherlink Cores inside responded immediately, a low, musical hum vibrating in the air.

Without pausing, Giuseppe reached in and plucked one from the velvet bed.

The moment his fingers closed around the black key, it flared with a deep, resonant glow. A soft, tangible thrum of energy pulsed between him and the device as it recognised him as its one and only wielder.

The Mythlink floated from his hand, almost reverently, before slotting itself into the black Connector cuffed to his wrist. The two pieces fused together with a soft click, like the two had been finally unified after a long period of separation.

Giuseppe looked down at his wrist silently. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop the face-splitting grin that grew on his face.

Without taking his eyes off his wrist, he descended the stairs, returning to his place.

Beep. Beep.

The holographic screen shifted.

[#2 — Marcus K. Vathen]

"Guess it's my turn," Marcus muttered, flashing a quick glance at Arthur, Tandav, and Daniel before stepping forward.

He made his way to the stage with a silent stride. Reaching the glass case, he paused. Mavena, standing at attention beside it, gave him a brief, unreadable nod and opened it once again.

Marcus scanned the Mythlinks with a serious glance, then plucked one from the velvet with two fingers.

The moment he touched it, the black key vibrated faintly, resonating with a subtle pulse of energy. Without hesitation, it floated up and snapped into his Connector with a clean, mechanical click.

Marcus smiled faintly, turned, and made his way back to the front row.

Beep. Beep.

The holographic screen flickered as the next name appeared.

[#3 — Arthur W. Rain]

By now, Giuseppe had stopped paying attention.

The names continued to roll by, but his gaze remained locked on his Connector, feeling the faint, rhythmic pulse of the black key as it synchronised with him.

Beep. Beep.

[#4 – Tandav D. Soman]

Beep. Beep.

[#5 – Evelynne S. Pahket]

Beep. Beep.

[#6 – Rachel D. Frankenstern]

Beep. Beep.

[#7 – Maya B. Merin]

Beep. Beep.

[#8 – Daniel T. Gonzales]

The hall continued to buzz with barely-contained excitement, the ceremony unfolding in a steady, almost dreamlike rhythm.

***

___________________________________________

Author Note

;)