My thighs and rear screamed as I stood from my chair and each following step sent a jolt of pain lancing through my body. If someone were to ask me two weeks ago if I was in shape, I would have said yes. By no means was I toiling in the mines or cleaning steam pipes like some less fortunate children my age, but I liked to go on walks and work with my hands.

  It was not enough for Professor Rider, who made being shoved down steam pipes preferable to his good intentioned torture. Each morning and afternoon the overly muscular Solarian man pushed our bodies to the limit, and not a fraction more. Not only that, he had the power to smell when someone wasn’t giving it their all. He would jump over to them quicker than a diseased rat spreading plague and somehow put so much sincerity into his encouragement I could feel it lighten my body and ignite my passion for self improvement.

  I hated him for it.

  Thankfully we were finally switching the afternoon workouts to actual classes by the other teachers.

  However, over the past two weeks I had been unable to do one thing that always seemed to elude me. Making friends. I could give any number of excuses why, shed any fault on my part or drown myself in self loathing, but I preferred the simplistic view of it.

  I did not mix with other kids well. Oil and water, fire and ice, cats and dogs. It was fine, I was here to be a Dreamer… nothing else should matter.

  Which is why I was currently standing alone in the back of the classroom as Professor Liraca told us to split up into pairs.

  Professor Liraca was the willowy Glassive professor. I learned that she was a member of the Glass Kingdom’s royal family, though rather distant to the core members. Overall she acted as a fair, even tempered woman. Something I appreciated after two weeks with the boisterous Professor Rider.

  Before my eyes the other kids split up like well sorted beans. I’d take whoever was the odd man out- wait, there were thirty one students in my class; I would be the odd man out.

  “I know it was you Duster,” a sadly familiar voice hissed at me.

  I jumped in surprise and turned to the large Solarian boy I had bumped into at the train station.

  “What do you mean Brickwell?” I asked with a frown.

  “I saw you slip it into your pocket this morning,” Brax Brickwell said, stepping into my space and speaking so close I could smell his lunch.

  My hand immediately went to my pocket where my great-grandfather’s pocket watch was. I had decided to take it with me today, as I had been working on a new design for a watch.

  Brax’s eyes narrowed at my hand.

  “I knew it. You think you’re-”

  “Is there a problem Mister Gao, Mister Brickwell?” Professor Liraca asked us.

  The statuesque professor loomed over both of us before we realized she was there. Her eyes were as mesmerising as they were intimidating, switching shade, hue and reflectivity over her irises as though they held gleaming sea glass.

  “No Professor,” Brax said politely.

  There was no longer a nasty look on his face, and he gave her a pleasant smile before walking away, leaving a rather confused Monty Gao behind.

  “He is an odd young man isn’t he?” Professor Liraca said.

  Odd was not the adjective I would use.

  “I guess he is, professor.”

  “Oh yes, but regardless of how fascinating he is, I do recommend staying away from him. Clearly Empyreans hold no standing in his eyes,” the professor said before turning fully to me. “Now, as you do not have a partner for this exercise, would you follow-”

  “No thank you,” A scratchy voice spoke over Professor Liraca’s softer speech. “This exercise is irrelevant to me.”

  From a corner in the room Cystella walked away from a red haired girl and toward me, for a moment I thought she was going to pair with me, but then I registered what she said and I pushed down the shameful hope.

  The scarred girl went right past me and out the door. Professor Liraca shook her head before continuing.

  “I am sure Miss Moda would prefer not to bow to unresponsive air, so feel free to partner with her.”

  I approached the red headed girl, who switched her gaze from the empty door to myself.

  “Do you have a partner yet?” she asked with a wry grin. “I wanted to be friends with her but it seems as though my intentions were not well received.”

  “No I do not,” I replied, with no idea what to say to the other half of her statement.

  “Great. Well not great I guess, I’ve noticed you don't really talk to anyone in class, but great because I still need someone to partner with, and you get to work with… me!” she said nose in the air and hand on her chest.

  Her prominently displayed ego let me ignore the fact that my lack of sociability had been noted by other students.

  “I’m Elina Moda from Ringtown by the by,” the girl said, giving me a brief curtsy.

  She was about an inch taller than me and seemed… mature? No, that wasn’t the correct word, afterall everyone here was only fourteen. I briefly scanned her. She wasn’t mature, it was that she was fashionable. Like a classic watch.

  Her deep red hair was long and wavy, with a large pink bow on the back complimenting the hair and making it stick out a bit less thanks to the vibrant colors of her clothing. Meanwhile the uniform seemed to have been altered better than what most mothers could do, her coat being shortened to stop just above the waistband of her skirt, which was a few inches higher than some other girls giving her the image of being long legged. Her nails were painted a similar shade of red as her hair, making the red and pink of her design not as top heavy.

  She had a logical sense of fashion and self-awareness that most other children our age lacked.

  I bowed slightly in response. A deeper bow or curtsy would indicate a difference in status between meetee’s. While a shallower one would show indifference only allowed to those with the money and status to not care about others.

  “Monty Gao, of Eichlin, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Obviously,” she said with an offhanded shrug and a self satisfied grin. “You know, I think you would look better with a softer hairstyle. Your current one is more in line with middle aged men, who need the harsh angles to detract from their rounded joules and stomachs.”

  I just stared at her, she had not said it in a demeaning way. At least I could not detect any impure intentions from her statement. After a brief stint in the silence Moda continued to explain her suggestion.

  “You're rather angular, sharp jaw and eyes, paired with your thin frame and well fitted uniform it makes you seem rather unapproachable, like a thorny bush. I was just thinking that maybe with a more rounded hairstyle, like a bowl cut, you would seem more inviting. Then you would be like a rose bush.”

  I did not want to be a rose bush.

  “Thank you for the insight. I will keep it in mind,” I lied.

  Moda’s eyes gleamed in approval and she nodded as though she were some sect sage on the Charred Continent.

  “Think of it as a tapestry of triangles and boxes, if you put a circle in the middle then it will draw all the attention.”

  “I… see, thank you.”

  I still would not be cutting my hair.

  “Would you like to start with Solarian greetings?” Moda asked, moving onto the practice we were supposed to be doing.

  “Yes.”

  Moda read the board. Being from the Sun State we knew the general idea behind our introductions. Informal meetings could be either an introduction of our name and hometown, or include small bows and curtsies such as what Moda did, if there was an expectation of a prolonged relationship.

  More formal introductions between peers included hand shakes between men, using the right to shake and the left to hold the other person's forearm, and the higher up on the arm that they held the higher their perceived station was compared to the other. Meanwhile women clasped hands more to hold rather than shake, and women of a lower station would use both hands to clasp women of a higher station's singular hand. Women of a similar station would both clasp either one or two hands, though if one believed their station higher they would try to have their palm be facing down.

  Mens and womens were a mix of the two. Men would hold the woman's hand, but how far up the hand you held determined your social standing. Men with lower social standing would use the length of their finger to place beneath a woman's fingertips, while if they were of equal standing he would hold down to the base of her fingers, and if he were higher he would clasp her palm.

  Formal greetings with an expectation of a more intimate relationship, such as meeting a fiance or in-laws would allow for the man to raise the woman's hand and kiss her knuckle, though there was a bit of controversy on if the man's lips should actually meet the woman's skin. Gloves could also play a part, though it did not look as though we were going over that.

  “I wonder why we're doing it like this rather than with someone acting as a mediator,” Moda said as I raised her hand with two of my fingers beneath hers.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Us Dreamers are a small community, however we also dip our toes into many ponds,” Professor Liraca said, moving around another practicing pair to stop next to us and scanning us with her inhuman eyes.

  “Then there is the individualism that comes with being a Dreamer. You must be able to act as an idol for yourself. A Dreamer that needs to be introduced may not be a Dreamer worth remembering. It is also easier to understand how to mediate between two others if you understand the difficulties of introducing yourself.”

  Then she was off again to another group.

  “By the Sun her eyes are beautiful,” Moda breathed. “Do you think the glimmering ever blinds her?”

  “I doubt it. Wouldn’t be much of a bloodline trait if it did that.”

  “But what if she was wearing glasses?”

  I opened my mouth, but paused.

  “Dreamer power?” I hedged.

  Moda rolled her eyes. “Let's get to practicing.”

  After that we moved into Empyrean greetings, which placed more importance on the angle and position of the hands in relation to one's own body, and we even needed to go to the ground and kowtow. Something that Moda complained about a number of times, saying what was the point of learning to kowtow for the deceased royal family of a fallen empire. Professor Liraca stressed that because of the size of the Charred Continent being even larger than the Radiant one, there were different ways to greet one another based on region, but we were learning the one primarily used by the Coal Empire when it was around and was now used for trade across the Sphere.

  One class ended, I exited the building and took the path to the library. It was the place I spent most of my free time when I was not tinkering with my watches in my room. Most of the material was locked to me at the moment, but the available books were still riveting.

  My hand went to my pocket where my grandfather's watch was and I took it out, running my nail over a scratch in the metal. It was then that two things happened; I remembered that Brickwell had said something about my watch earlier in class, and the boy in question barreled into me as if to relive our meeting at the train station.

  I slammed into the ground, then was forcefully spun onto my back.

  Brickwell’s knee dug into my sternum and he used a hand to grab onto my hair.

  “Where is it?!” He said.

  “W-what?” I stuttered, saliva and blood mixing in my mouth.

  My tongue traced my lips and found the rough coppery wound from where skin was squished between tooth and rock.

  “Russel, check his pockets,” Brickwell spat.

  A rat faced Solarian boy began groping around my body. He pulled my pockets out, slipped fingers between my journal and grasped at the inside of my joints.

  “I can’t find it, Brax” the boy said.

  “Maybe it fell, or it’s- there, in his hand- no that's not it,” Brax said, releasing my hair to pry my fingers open.

  “Stop what are you-” my words were cut off with an elbow to the face.

  I tried to stop him, but the watch was taken from me easily.

  As quickly as Brax took it, he dismissed it, throwing it away where it bounced loudly on the stone, the familiar sound of cracking glass nearly causing me to sob.

  Brax then took me by the collar and stared hatefully down at me.

  “Where is my locket?”

  “ Locke- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat back, anger and worry for my watch fueling me to get up in his face.

  He pushed me back down and punched me in the face before standing.

  “I know you took it, you’ve been glaring at me everyday since school started.”

  My reply was slurred and incomprehensible even to me, but how could I not show some dislike at a boy who spit in my face?

  “Don’t lie you filthy Duster,” Brax said before kicking me in the ribs.

  I groaned at the pain curling in on my side only for a kick from the rat boy Russel to land one on my back.

  “All you people do is steal and break,” Brax said following up with a second kick. “After all you have done to our country you think you deserve to be-”

  Another kick landed right on my shoulder blade.

  “Here! A Duster Dreamer?! No one wants you here. Get-” another kick. “out!”

  I do not know how many times they kicked me after that, but I knew that come tomorrow I would be painted black and blue.

  I curled in on myself, the stomping of feet like the drumming of rain on my body, and like an evening shower on the coastline it ended quickly. But when a dribble of warm liquid splashed on me, horrid disgust filled my belly, climbing up my esophagus. Then I felt Brax’s large body trip over me and slam to the ground.

  Through blurry vision I saw a girl standing some feet away, bouncing something up and down in her hand.

  If not for the fact that I spent the better half of the afternoon with her and her blazing red hair I wouldn’t have been able to identify her through the tears.

  “Screw off,” was all Elina Moda said.

  “You don’t-” Brax began.

  Moda didn’t waste more words, the next stone, for what else could it be, was lobbed with extreme accuracy at Brax. He raised his arms and the rock hit with a meaty thud.

  Rat boy picked up his own stone to throw, but Brax took his arm.

  “You’d rather defend a Duster you don’t know that one of yours?”

  “Yes, I would take a Duster over a pair of cowards any day,” Moda said, picking up another rock and juggling it with one hand.

  Brax stood shaikly, and thankfully his pants were not around his ankles, instead a large gash was at his temple leaking blood which he staunched with his palm.

  “Are you not worried about giving me brain damage? They could throw you out.”

  “I’d say some brain damage would do you some good, perhaps it would make you less of an arse. As for telling the professors? I’d lie,” she said with a shrug. “What are they going to believe one boy with the face of an onion and another that looked as though he crawled out of a sewer or a pretty little thing like me?”

  Neither of them had a response to that, which made Moda puff up her chest and walk forward.

  “So as I said earlier, screw off.”

  Brax looked down at me, tongue distending his lips to make it look as though he was about to spit on me, again. However, another glance at Elina caused him to grab Russel by the arm and stalk back toward the main building complex.

  Moda helped me to my feet, steadying me when my knees nearly buckled and took out a handkerchief, but I pulled out my own and methodically began to wipe the dirt, blood and tears off of myself with shaking hands.

  “Let’s get you back to the dorms, alright?” she asked, voice softer than it had been all day.

  “N-no,” I replied through a numb face. “I was going to the library.”

  “Oh, it does not seem like the best time Gao,” she replied hesitantly.

  But I was already turning away.

  “Well, let, let us go to the library then,” she muttered.

  Adrenaline still pumped through my veins. It numbed my extremities, causing the tingles of an ant colony to crawl down my back and arms, but at the same time every beat of my heart caused my arteries to fill to bursting in my head, giving me the feeling of worms burrowing through my skull.

  Before they jumped me I was going to the library so I would continue with my plans. I was fine.

  The glint of bronze on the ground drew my attention, and I leaned over to pick up my great grandfather’s watch. As I expected the glass was cracked, and the metal even more scratched than it was before. I stared at it for a moment of empty silence before putting it in my pocket.

  It was fine.

  —

  Elina Moda was not made to be in a library I quickly found out.

  First of all, she read to herself out loud like a child still learning their letters, and she was constantly tapping away with her finger. It was not as though she was unable to focus on her reading material; a book of poetry written by a Dreamer some dozen years ago. However, she was simply… noisy.

  Thankfully it was the weekend tomorrow, which meant most of the students had either gone out into the city or the like, so the library was barren except the librarian, Old Man Gu. The aged Empyrean man spent most of his time reading or looking after the books, and he had yet to speak to anyone as far as I could tell. It was only due to some second years saying goodbye to him that I even knew his name as he had no nameplate.

  Meanwhile I attempted to continue a memoir of a Dreamer from over two hundred years ago as he explored the Lower Layers. Only yesterday his tales of slaying exotic Nightmare’s and stumbling upon Script Lord ruins entranced me.

  Today all I could feel was the rhythmic thump of pain as my bruises formed.

  Still I stayed there, every few moments flinching in delayed embarrassment and shame as I remembered the beat down I endured. But what else could I do? I was in no state of mind for anything productive, and I wanted was to not be me for a little while.

  So I sat in not quite silence staring at the third page I’ve turned since opening the memoir.

  “Hey Gao,” Moda said, closing her book and stretching. “Can we go and eat now?”

  “You could have left whenever you wish,” I said, however looking outside I could see the green tint of light from the shifting Sun. The cafeteria would stop serving food soon.

  My stomach tightened at the thought, I was definitely hungry, but I did not think I could eat anything.

  “You’re welcome! After all, I went out of my way to stop those two boys from making you look like a seeping grape.”

  I paused halfway out of my chair.

  “I’m… sorry.”

  She waved it away.

  “It's fine, it's fine.”

  We had ourselves a rather awkward dinner, neither one of us starting any sort of conversation. I was wondering why she was still there. Was she trying to protect me? Or did she wish to be friends with me? And if so, why?

  Once we were done we went our separate ways. I myself was going to get my things for a shower, hoping that Brax was not in there waiting for me.

  But when I got into my room I saw he had already acted against me. Glass was splattered on the floor like blood, and sitting in the center of the room were two things. A rock, and a dead bird.

  My battered body faded from thought, everything was taken up by the bird. Quickly I glanced out the window, but no one was peeking in. Then I turned on the light and shut the curtains. Grabbing a towel I swept up the glass into a pile so I did not cut myself.

  I briefly gave the rock a look over, and someone had written “Choke on Ash Duster” with chalk on it. Rather unimaginative, but to the point. I threw it on the towel with the glass.

  The bird was large, a predator no doubt,and I believed it was a type of falcon based on the size and shape of its wing, but I had no idea what species it was. Its neck was twisted almost all the way around and one of its wings was obviously deformed. I could see matted blood making its feathers stick together like scales on a lizard.

  With a careful finger I traced the edge of one the feathers on its wing, like one would tease the blade of a sharp knife. Then with a spider's dexterity and a surgeon's probing I pushed, pulled and twisted the broken wing. Only ever going until I felt resistance. Quickly I found the broken bone. One a human it would be the radius or ulna. I imitated the posture of a bird wing with my own arm. Radius.

  I held the two sides of the broken bone with a thumb and forefinger each, pushing one up while the other went down. Then I pressed them together feeling the grate of splintered bone pass against one another before the tension released. After that I tried to make them fit together once again, but while they held when I was there to support the moment I let go the wing once again deformed brokenly.

  Lifting my hands away I saw the not fully dried blood on my fingers. I pressed them together and rubbed in circles, it felt like honey that quickly began to curdle and flake.

  The cry of a bird brought me back to reality, and I stared down at the corpse before me, thinking perhaps it was not yet done with life. But its eyes were still as unseeing as ever, the noise had come from outside.

  There I was, kneeling bodily over a dead bird like a scavenging vulture. I carefully stepped to the window, peeling open a curtain slightly. At the edge of the nearby woods was a bird nearly identical to the one on my floor.

  Its mate? Brother? Son? Mother? Regardless it stared at me with accusing eyes.

  “I wasn’t the one that killed it,” I whispered to the bird.

  There was no response from it, the bird only continued to stare at me.

  No, I didn’t kill it, but I was not letting it rest, even in death.

  Turning back to the bird I picked it up by a leg and with a shaky arm I pushed it out of the broken window, holding it out like an offering.

  The other bird just sat there, staring, so I let the bird go, a dull thud as it hit the ground below the only noise.