Argent awoke to the sensation of sunbeams streaking through glass and over his eyes, their warmth and brightness casting off the heavy blanket of sleep.  Having returned to his room well after darkness had set, it had slipped the alchemist’s mind entirely to draw the curtains, resulting now in the early wake-up call he hadn’t asked for.  Stiffly he groaned and stretched, his body still fatigued from the previous day’s exertions and late hour talks.  Groggily he rubbed his head where Naiara had flicked him, sitting up as pieces of their conversation replayed in his mind.  Absently kicking up onto his feet and going about his morning routine, Argent made his way into the restroom on auto pilot and was soon fully changed and ready for class despite his barely awake status.  Pulling the chair out from his study area he plopped down heavily and leaned with his elbows upon the desk for a long moment, rubbing his eyes with both hands before sighing heavily and reaching for his primary notebook.  Flipping to a page near the back, but not so immediately on the final pages that it could be easily stumbled upon, Argent looked over a small handwritten list of items.

-Practice Swordsmanship

-Evaluate new Aspects and Arts

-Ingredient resupply

-Window planters??

Taking a quill, he carefully added a new point to the simple lineup of goals and reminders.

-*Look after Seren; Research the Dragonblessed.

It was a double issue, supported now by multiple investments. Spurred forward by not only his own personal interactions with Seren and his desire to seek knowledge, but because it was something Naiara had asked of him.  If it was important enough to the wolven Class President for her to openly request his cooperation, then it was something Argent couldn’t turn a blind eye towards.  More and more he found himself placing a deep sense of trust in Naiara, both out of gratitude for the guidance and mentorship she had provided to their class and from respect for the values and standards she championed.  Though it was still true that her generally aloof nature and uncanny ability to conceal her intentions served to isolate her from their class in certain ways, Argent had come to the determination that Naiara was justified in the actions she took, even if the reasons weren’t immediately clear to him.  She had earned that much good faith.

“Not like she’s the only one, anyways…”

He mumbled to himself, thinking about how difficult it was to interact with several members of their peer group.  While Cassius and previously Seren had been the only two to come across as immediately abrasive and difficult, they were by no means the only members of X-13 who were less than socially available.  Argent wasn’t certain whether or not he had ever heard Izadura speak as much as a full sentence, Fenn was so perpetually bored and unimpressed with everything that he barely could be bothered to expend the effort to acknowledge others, and Hannah, though she had warmed up a bit thanks to her interactions with Remelia and Lief, was still shrouded behind her stoic nature and partial language barrier.  Shizuka was extremely quiet and introverted despite being a genuine sweetheart, and though Matthias seemed good-natured he was essentially walled off behind the pressure exerted by Cassius.  It was a perfect storm of awkward quirks and standoffish natures through and through.

Well.. Everyone has their own issues. That much is true wherever you look.

He reminded himself with a sigh, taking a moment to reflect on himself as well.  While he may have been slightly more socially adjusted than the others, Argent knew he didn’t quite fall under the ‘regular’ category either.  Frankly, when it came right down to it, at a facility like the DCA being abnormal was the actual normal.  It wasn’t your everyday farmers, craftsmen and general townsfolk who came here looking to risk life and limb as adventurers.  Applying to the academy at all basically required you to have a few screws loose.

Chuckling a little at that thought, Argent shut his notebook and tucked it neatly away.  Turning his gaze to the window he found it was still much earlier than the usual time Gauge and himself ventured out for breakfast, and so he sat in contemplation of how to fill the gap until the rogue came knocking on his door.  Suddenly standing up, he looked out over the athletic fields in search of the familiar figures of Naiara and Shizuka, quickly identifying the bouncing silhouette of their ears against the sunrise.

“Every day like clockwork...”

As usual a small pang of guilt and self-scolding crept over the alchemist, as he told himself for the dozenth time that he should be out there working to better himself as well.  Argent’s physicality was one of his most obviously lacking traits when compared to his classmates, and yet here he was doing nothing when the most obvious solution was right infront of his nose, requiring nothing but for him to make the effort.  Pausing for a long moment, Argent shook himself off before withdrawing his notebook once more and adding to his list.

-Commit to a physical training routine  

He scrawled quickly, underlining it twice.  With that decision made, he set aside his notes and reached for one of the many books spanning the shelving around his desk.  Drawing out a copy of the Kianthran Codex, a high level grimoire detailing the function of world energies within the ninth reality.  It was said to be the first work to ever outline the full reach of the Arcanasphere itself, identifying the separation of aspects and their spiritual and genetic implications.  It was a wall of text from cover to cover, its in-depth analysis of the constructed arts broken up only by the occasional diagram of signs and symbols from the old eldritch ways.  Thumbing his way through the pages, Argent brushed over the segments detailing his own aspects, stopping instead at the header for the aspect of Order.

“Order, to some, is a principle of Being more than an aspect related to arts.  The prime domain of Aliandar of the Seven, Order was sufficient in its own right to stand amongst the original Pantheon alongside concepts such as Creation and Time. It is perhaps ironic now that it falls among the ‘lesser aspects’, despite its pivotal role in maintaining the very fabrics of reality as we know them.  Without the laws of Order holding together the matter of these many realms, and without the inherent intelligence behind them, nothing could exist in a perceivable manner.  Thus it is that despite its theoretically lower standing, the aspect of Order itself is highly critical in the function of many arts belonging to separate aspects, though it is rarely given proper credit for its contribution.

Save for the ancient rites* which manipulate chaos itself in raw forms, dependant on virulent power for conception rather than a constructed method of invocation, all arts in one form or another bend the knee to the requirements imposed universally by Order.  Infact these very requirements run so deep that they are fundamentally incorporated into the ways which Gods and Mortals alike manifest their arts through signs, commands, etc.  Ultimately speaking, ‘That which must be, Will be.’  The intelligences which govern matter on a universal scale will only obey the will of those who are worthy, a worthiness determined by that individual’s own level of obedience to the laws which set the realities themselves in motion.  At what juncture or by what force these principles were initially established is beyond the scope of even the recognized Gods to comprehend, but they are Laws inherently woven into every aspect of existence.  Indeed it is the mastery of these Laws which, at its core, enabled Eon; The First, The Eternal Blackstone Dragon, God of Creation, to establish his domain.

Though the requirements of adherence to these Laws has substantially lessened in strictness over the many iterations of reality eroded by chaos, there are still countless examples of their lingering effects. Those seeking to command the swiftness of water or the tempered cool of ice will find their elements weakened if invoking their arts whilst in a rage, or when their mind is twisted with contempt or disorder.  Indecisiveness will weaken arts drawn from the earth, while a lack of conviction can outright nullify arts from the aspect of Psyche.  Spiritual arts may falter if their user is suffering internally, wracked by guilt or doubts. Physical arts are hampered by fear, and weakened by a lack of discipline.

These are the smallest examples of the principle in application, but also the most obvious due to the commonality of their occurrence.  Fortunately for most, the effects imposed upon the potency of an art are often mild in this context, sparing users the difficulty of maintaining a level of strict ‘worthiness’ to their aspects in all three pillars of self; Mind, Spirit, and Body.  

Regardless, when speaking of arts belonging to the aspect of Order itself; they extend beyond the conceptual and instead establish precedents upon which ‘ultimate’ authority may be protected and enforced. Upholding rules which cannot be disputed by anyone, nor any power, because they are in-line with the universal Laws which define reality itself.  So it is that from the most free spirited individualist, to the most corrupt tyrant, none may disregard the arts of one who is worthy of Order.  In this sense it is a power beyond power, for it is not merely backed by its ability to project power, force, or violence-- it is an inescapable doctrine.”

Argent sat back in his chair for a moment, rubbing his eyes.  The text was small and complex, written in an old Celestial script which had once been common in Tenebris.  It was, after all, the very Praetor of the City of Blades itself who had penned this document.  Axios Kianthran, the Black-Winged Angel of old who had been pulled into the Ninth Reality during the convergence of Chaos.  His way of speaking and musing was heavily present within the writing, giving it a unique flavour which distinguished it from other arcane manuals.  Added to this was the difference in understanding and perspective which stemmed from the fact that he had originated from another reality, having been a Battlemage of reputable power based in an entirely separate method of magic, before transferring through the rift and being forced to re-educate himself on the way world energies interacted in this new sphere.

It was this mixed mastery of Old Arcana and modern Aspect Arts which truly set the Kianthan Codex upon its own pedestal within the magical community, and not always in a positive light.  It was one of the most highly contested grimoires ever written, condemned outright by some, but often supported by those with lifespans long enough to remember the times before Lilith. Looking over the paragraphs again Argent’s eyes stopped at the footnote attached to the word ‘Rites’.  It was a concept which he knew the basic principles of, but a sense of general curiosity urged him to turn to the rear index regardless.  Finding that the reference itself was practically a chapter all its own.

“Rite(s);  Related to the traditions of Religion, the word originated as a reference to ceremonial practices and covenants used to invoke the will of Gods.  As realities shifted and Deities came and went, certain qualities of their influence left ‘scars’ upon the fabric of existence.  Traces of the concepts which had been their Domains; these ‘scars’, for lack of a better term, carried throughout the eons in permanence, attached forever to the matter which sourced them.  Distorted over time, they became triggers of Chaos embedded deeply within source magicks. Providing methods of invoking power which circumvent conventional practice, disobeying natural Laws to instead manifest their effects by drawing energy from the dissonance between spheres.  This being the case it was only a matter of course that they were quickly condemned by most circles and written off as dangerously forbidden, particularly amidst the fear-mongering and superstition which followed in the wake of Convergence, as it was claimed such methods were responsible for destabilizing the fabric of reality similarly to the Riftwalkers, or the Marked Ones.

Of course this is an undeserved and uneducated prejudice.  While it is perhaps, unfortunately, statistically accurate to say that those who seek out and utilize ancient rites are often of unsavory character; there is nothing inherently dangerous about the rites themselves.  Infact, as they stem solely from their origin Deities, they range in method and result in a spectrum as widespread as the domains of all the Gods, lesser and greater.  Rites of Eon may create, Rites of Lazarus may distort, Rites of Naphtalia may awaken the slumbering arcane, and Rites of Isenhart may bestow tremendous combat prowess.  On and on this continues for any God or Goddess once powerful enough to command a significant presence of worship within their time.  

Setting aside their origins and types, within this Ninth Reality these Rites are more commonly known as “Ancient” or “Old” Magicks, considered secondary to aspect arts.  Whether you accept them, fear them, or condemn them; there are two universal qualities of a Rite which set them immediately apart from an art.  First, they require advanced somatic components, referred to quite simply as ‘chants’.  Though it would be, in my mind, more ample to refer to these lengthy and often quite unnecessarily pompous lines of gratuitous supplication to be referred to as 'Prayers'.  That is what they first were, and that is what they almost always sound of.  A verbal ego-jerk for whichever Deity involved.  That aside, the second trait is that there is an utterly incomparable difference in potency between a properly performed Rite and an aspect art.

It is this second quality which I personally believe to be the true reason behind the condemnation of Rites within this sphere.  Though the political guise of the time was convenient for the purpose of writing them off as sources of Chaos, it is my firm opinion that behind the curtains the elitist amongst the circles of aspect art users at the time were terrified by and jealous of this new, indescribable source of power which they could not actively comprehend.  As casters from different scraps of salvaged realities were combined into the Ninth, they threatened the established power balance and upset the existing hierarchy, drawing the ire of those who had grown comfortable in their seats.  Which is why most of these new transplants to the Ninth ended up in the northern reaches of Orodae, many of them here in my own city, where we entertained no such notions of lunacy.”

Pouring over the text, Argent gave an appreciative smile to the commentary from the author.  It was said that Axios had been known even in his own time for having an extremely upfront and abrasive manner of speech and leadership.  Unsurprising when one considered that he had carved out his entire empire from a lowly start as a mercenary warlord.  

What struck the young Alchemist the most, however, was not the colourful opinions of the Black-Winged Angel.  Rather it was the realization that he had been training shoulder to shoulder with someone who had been utilizing these methods since his first day here at the academy.  Fenn Cobalt, the perpetually lethargic spellcaster, utilized chants for almost all of his spells.  It was something Argent had recognized as being odd and extremely uncommon, but he had not truly understood the implications of casting in such a way.

“Calling upon the lost powers of Gods, huh…”

He muttered, tilting his head to the side and supporting it on his fist.

“Kioku’s tits, what the hell are you reading so early in the morning??”

A voice from behind made Argent jump, Gauge’s face just barely coming into peripheral vision as the rogue peeked over his shoulder to look over the codex.  Shaking himself from his surprise, Argent pushed his chair back and turned his attention to his friend.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days, you know I can’t hear your footsteps.”

The black-haired boy grinned, blue eyes sparkling.

“What kind of rogue would I be otherwise?”

“I’ll bet Shizu still knows when you’re coming.”

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not fair.”

Gauge huffed, his face falling a bit.  Sinking even further as he added on;

“Her and Naiara, both.. Damnit.  Those two aren't human.”

“Of course not, they're Beastkin."

Gauge gave him a flat look.

"You know what I mean."

Argent chuckled.

"Yeah... I get it, believe me."

Argent agreed with a sympathetic frown.  Gauge shrugged, brushing it off as quickly as he had brought it up.  It wasn’t anything new.  The dynamic of power within their class had been obviously skewed since day one, with three or four members of their peer group clearly in the lead while the rest of them fought to keep up.

“No point crying over it for the hundredth time I guess... What is it that Instructor Hanill likes to say?"

The rogue paused a moment, before exaggeratedly squaring up his shoulders and putting on a gruff immitation of the militant man's voice.

"'No one cares, Work Harder.'  Hah... Whatever... Come on. Lets grab some morning chow.”

The remainder of the morning passed quickly, as the two young men made their way into the dining hall and gathered up their preferred meals.  True to form, they found Remelia already seated at the table where their class usually gathered, and while the small girl may not have been the most talkative company, her quiet presence made Argent feel at ease.  While it was technically incorrect to refer to him as an orphan, Argent had nonetheless spent a large majority of his early life alone, and as he aged his work and studies had not afforded him the opportunity for many friends. The familiar gathering of his classmates here, no matter how casual, carried a social warmth which he was unaccustomed to.  He and Gauge talked amongst themselves as Remelia perched lightly upon her seat in her usual way, legs swiping through the air with rhythmic kicks where they failed to meet the floor, eating her way through gratuitous portions of southern breakfast foods with intense focus.  It was a scene becoming so familiar that it carried with it a sense of normality. A sense of home, he realized as the feeling sunk deeper.  Before he could catch himself in the act of staring at her for too long, Remelia’s blackened sclera turned upwards to face him in her questioning way, head tipping to the side in a rustle of fluff.

“..What is it?”

Her consistency was a thing of wonder, Argent had to admit.  Having come to expect this response from the small girl, he only smiled and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, Remelia. Sorry.”

“Mhm.. It’s no problem.”

Leaving the girl to finish her meal in peace, Argent and Gauge focused on their own plates as well, letting the conversation die down in favour of getting food into their bellies.  Hanging around to wait for Remelia to finish, they were greeted by Shizuka as the dutiful beastkin came to collect the tiny knight in question.

“...Good Morning.”

“Yo.”

Gauge raised a hand in response, and Argent gave her a smile.  As she drew closer to the table and leaned against its edge, he noticed that her normally sleek and straight hair was instead a mess of dampened waves still fresh from the shower. The ruffled fur around the base of her ears was also noticeably matted, the scent of wet animal subtly mixed with the gentle aroma of flowers she had used to cover it.

“Training late today?”

He questioned, causing Shizuka to give him an uncertain look.  Before either of them could elaborate further, Remelia appeared with her arms around the Beastkin girl’s waist, burying her face into the lengths of the taller girl’s hair.

“You smell nice, Usagi-neesama.”

The kunoichi’s face flushed a gentle pink as she put the pieces together, reaching up to touch her ears before quickly turning herself away from the two boys as Gauge started to laugh.  Empathizing with Shizu and feeling bad for indirectly triggering the topic, Argent stood up and stepped overtop the situation with a subject change.

“Come on, come on... Let’s get to class before we get scolded.”

The four made their way into Homeroom and found their seats.  Argent looked around the room as he settled into his usual position, noticing that their group had been the last to show.

Ah, no.. That’s not quite right.

The thought sunk in his mind as the realization of Seren’s absence hit him, looking over at the table with only Matthias and Cassius.  Concern began to well up inside him.

She should’ve been able to come, shouldn’t she? She should be here…

Naiara’s gaze caught his attention from the corner of his eye at that moment, and Argent felt himself involuntarily gulp.  He couldn’t say for sure whether those piercing orbs were asking ‘where is she?’ or threatening to kill him, but either way it didn’t bode well.  Breaking into a light sweat, Argent gripped the edge of the desk firmly as the impulse to push back his chair and go running out of the room struck him. He hesitated for only the briefest moment before shooting up out of his chair, drawing the eyes of most of the class to him.

“Oi, everything okay? What's up with you??”

Gauge hissed over at him in a bewildered whisper.

Ignore them, you’ve got to find her!

He told himself sternly.  But he didn’t have to endure the gazes of the others for long, as the bandaged and bruised Dragonkin in question walked quietly into the room.  Argent’s heart nearly stopped beating for a split second as he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, sinking back down into his chair.  He felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as Naiara’s glare no longer stuck him like a knife.  Meanwhile Seren upheld her tough front, playing it off as though she didn’t even notice the entire class staring at her as she made her way to the center stairs. 

Matthias didn’t have the heart to look her in the eyes or even lift his head, but Cassius could not have looked more smug as she approached their table, his expression a vile display of abusive content.  He opened his mouth, the beginnings of a taunt already on his lips-- but was abruptly silenced as Seren grabbed the back of the nearest chair and dragged it unceremoniously across the aisle.  Setting it directly alongside Argent with a loud thump, she plopped down into it and kicked it back, leaning her feet up against the desk in her usual way without a word.  

Argent looked over at her, blinking as their eyes met.  There was something subtly different about the powerful crimson surrounding her slit draconian pupils. It seemed less like a raging inferno waiting to consume him, and more like the warm glow of a hearth.   

“Good morning.”

He said at last, the words paired with a bit of a grin.  Seren faced him for a long moment before closing her eyes, reaching a hand up to nestle the folds of her scarf around the lower portions of her face as she settled comfortably into her leaned back position.  Argent couldn’t be sure, but he thought for the briefest moment, right as she pulled the supple fabric around the corners of her mouth and turned her head back towards the front… There was the faintest hint of a smile.

“Morning.”