Cursed Odyssey

Morning arrived without ceremony. Dust motes caught the light bleeding through the curtain's edge. Joseph's eyes opened.

Rayah slept beside him—flat on her back, mouth closed, blanket tucked with geometric precision. Perfect posture, even unconscious.

The past few nights she'd been curled tight, shivering through fever dreams. But now, she was sound, but still restless. Not from sickness, but something else.

He spared her half a glance before sliding from the bed. The door eased shut behind him with careful pressure. No creak.

He walked across the corridor, taking off his slippers before a door.

Cold tile met his bare feet in the washroom. Colder water met his face. He scrubbed methodically, then stepped under the shower's spray and let his mind work.

There was much for him to finish.

First: negotiate kitchen access with the inn's staff. He wanted to start cooking his own meals. To control what went into his body, both for nutrition, and possible poisoning.

Second: investigate those red-marked locations on Hogar's map. The gambling den, especially. If patterns existed in which rocks hit the jackpot, that advantage was exploitable.

Third: city integration. He needed to buid connections, a reputation. He could solve others problems, perhaps provoke others into causing problems for him to fix, and make himself out to be the hero. Perhaps he could use Temporal echo as some sort of blackmail.

Fourth: check the middle wall reception for Nina Heartwell's entry record. There were slim odds, but not zero, especially if she had also changed her name like he did.

Fifth: perfect his Sepherian. He wanted to be perfect. Another few days minimum would suffice.

The language served a double purpose. His Umbral Wraith spirit fed on conclusions—finished tasks, completed objectives. From what he discovered, anything counted as long as his mental framework aligned with the spirit.

Such as when he completed the fight with the bandits, when he completed his first day in the city. Finishing a storybook would appease it slightly, even something so mundane as finishing breakfast, or finishing his current shower and cataloging his thoughts would too.

Each generated a faint resonance. Harder tasks seemed to resonate stronger, though whether that was tied to emotion, the level of effort, or something else remained a mystery to him.

Suddenly...

The door to the bathroom creaked open.

Rustling.

It came out of nowhere.

Huh? Someone else up early. Not unusual—

"Hey! You're Zephyr, right?"

"HUH!?"

A head appeared over the shower barrier. Blonde. Smiling. Young features framed by the gap above.

Joseph immediately covered his private parts.

A— A child diddler? I guess I should have expected this! Exotic children from another island that seemed weak and alone without parents or supervision! Was Rayah safe in the room? I had a slight feeling we would be a target for—

"Don't worry." The stranger chuckled, eyes opening to reveal blank whites. "I'm blind, you see?" He opened his eyes, and all he saw was a blank canvas where pupils should h.ave been. "Finish up and get dressed. I have news for you and Mistress Rayah."

Joseph's heart hammered. He forced his breathing steady.

"Your heartbeat just spiked from seventy-two to about... hundred and fifteen?" The man tilted his head, smile widening. "Then you controlled it. Impressive. Most people panic longer." He tapped his ear. "Sound paints pictures, Mr. Zephyr. You're five-foot on the dot, lean build, standing three feet from me with your weight on your left leg. Defensive posture."

Royal Guard, or someone powerful. Had to be. Normal blind men didn't read a room like that. I overreacted slightly to simulate how a normal child would react to such a situation, but it seemed like he didn't catch on.

"I'll be waiting in a separate room. Two doors down the hall, left side. The one with the squeaky hinge you avoided earlier."

The head disappeared.

Joseph stood frozen under the spray, recalculating everything.

I knew something like this would happen...

___

Rayah sat awake on the bed when Joseph entered—dressed, shaky, eyes tracking. The blonde man occupied the room's only chair, guard uniform now visible in proper light. His fingers drummed against the armrest in a pattern that seemed random until Joseph realized he was counting their breathing rates.

He could have easily hidden the fact that he's counting, but he didn't , Joseph mentally noted as they watched him settle on the mattress edge.

"My name is Hans, lieutenant of the Royal Guard." The man's smile never wavered. "Apologies for the surprise earlier, Mr. Zephyr. I thought it would be funny, you see."

Intentional. Joseph swallowed a laugh.

"Member of Parliament Hogar has changed plans. You'll be attending Rotheart Arcane Academy starting..." Hans checked his watch with practiced efficiency, fingers reading raised markings. "And yes, you'll be going today. Three hours from now. Well, two hours and thirty-five minutes, to be exact. And no—you can't ask why or reject. It's for your safety."

The announcement hit like winter water.

Their city exploration had lasted shorter than a wet fart.

Shock didn't come from confusion about the reason. That was obvious enough—they'd discovered something new about the entity that wiped the forest and killed the Leviathan. Something that suggested it came from that prison and would be hunting them down.

Arcane Academy. Joseph had considered it as one possible path forward for his progression, alongside various guilds, churches, and institutions.

Arcane Academy was prestigious and known for its knowledge-hoarding. Entry required recommendations from trusted scholars and powerful arcanists, as well as tests and proven aptitude.

Once enrolled though, freedom became... negotiable. Monitored schedules, protocols, and guidelines just as any school would. The churches and Hunters Guild offered far more freedom than campus life.

But it seemed like the choice had been made for him.

"So!" Hans beamed. "Any questions?"

Too many questions, actually, but I'm sure I'd come off as annoying.

"What do we need to know?" Joseph kept his tone level, asking something very general. "How should we prepare?"

"Oh, right!" Hans scratched his head. "We'd planned to offer you two an option of enrollment after a week. The first week is hectic with events, orientation, and much chaos. So, if you wanted to enroll, we thought we'd quietly slip you in once things settled. Anyways, the most important thing you should know is that today is actually the second day of the semester. It'll start with a club fair, so either join a club or make your own. Joining or making one is strongly encouraged."

"Encouraged how?" Rayah asked.

"Clubs get access to restricted Academy sections—specialized libraries, training grounds, artifact vaults, depending on their prestige. Regular students can't enter those areas unless they were high ranking. Successful clubs also receive funding, priority for internships, and influence in Academy decisions." Hans leaned forward. "The top five clubs basically run student life. They get private workshops, licensed hunting permits, even access to sealed historical records. Making your own club means independence, but you'll be competing with organizations that have had years to establish themselves."

Joseph's mind raced. Resources. Access. Independence. Those restricted sections probably contained information they'd need. Joining an existing club meant surveillance, obligations, and someone else's agenda. Creating their own meant control.

I'm guessing they really wanted to incentivize teamwork and building connections. Joseph thought. "What counts as a successful club?" He then asked.

"Membership numbers, achievements, contributions to Academy research or prestige. You know, the usual stuff! The Academy values results." Hans's smile took on an edge. "Fair warning—clubs that don't meet minimum membership requirements by the day's end get dissolved. Need at least six active members!"

Six people. In two hours, they'd need something compelling enough to convince twelve strangers to join a brand-new club over established powerhouses.

"I assume you've filed the enrollment paperwork on our behalf?"

"Yes! You've done your research!" Hans lit up. "Excellent!"

He's just happy he has to explain less.

"What name did you enter for me?" Rayah leaned forward, intently.

"Hmmm?" Hans tilted his head toward her, eerily precise despite the blank eyes.

"Are you deaf or blind?!" She tisked.

"Only blind."

Rayah took a breath. "Did you enter my name as Ella, or as Rayah Vandymion?"

"Ah." Hans nodded slowly. "We respected your wish to remain anonymous. Entered you as Ella, no last name."

"Good." Ease softened the hard line of her shoulders.

"Today is the last day to create a club, by the way." Hans dropped it casually, like it wasn't critical information with a ticking clock attached. "Registration closes at the fair's opening."

"So—will you join or make one?"

"Make one," Rayah said without hesitation.

"Of course," Joseph agreed.

Creating their own club meant establishing a power base inside the Academy. It meant access to resources without oversight, a legitimate reason to recruit useful people, and cover for investigating whatever threat had Hogar paranoid enough to lock them behind Academy wards.

"Well..." Hans's smile turned sympathetic. "The club fair starts soon. You'll need something to display. Sell something, entice people, that sort of thing. Other clubs had a week to prepare. Some started way before that. You have..." Another watch check. "Three hours? Maybe two if you want setup time."

"That should be plenty." Joseph smiled.

"Oh! And here I worried for nothing!" Hans laughed, genuine and warm. "Meet me at the north main checkpoint of the inner gates in two hours. Bring your club name too. I beg you not to make it something stupid or regrettable—it'll be known beyond just the academy. No one joins clubs with embarrassing names. I remember what my friend named ours when I was still enrolled..." He shook his head. "Didn't last long."

"Right." Joseph stood. "We'll see you in two hours, Lieutenant Hans."

"Looking forward to it." Hans rose smoothly, navigating around furniture with unconscious precision. At the door, he paused. "Oh—Miss Ella? Your breathing is still shallow on the left side. The fever damaged something in your lung. See the Academy healers when you arrive. They're expensive but thorough."

The door clicked shut before either could respond.

Silence flooded the space.

Joseph and Rayah stared at each other.

"Fucking bums! I had a feeling I wasn't 100%! I'm not paying for squat They already told me they fixed it for me yesterday!"

"It'll all work out," Joseph lay back slightly. "So, what do you have planned?"

"I'll make ice sculptures, I'm not sure what else I can do..." She gritted her teeth. "But they'll be good! I'll just have to hold myself back slightly from making anything too unique to the Vandymions... How about you?"

"You'll see..." He chuckled.

"Okay, I'll see... But you can still tell?"

"I'll call it, a video recording..."

"A... what?"