Catalyst

The next day, as Leo studied intently for his upcoming exams in inorganic chemistry and history, Xenron crammed in his own way. His training session had to fit in before 9 am when he had his morning lesson with Ms. Vale. While there was time enough afterwards, Xenron wanted to strike while the flame of eagerness still burned. He hurried to the training room at first light with this resolve.

The enclosure’s walls were light, polished wood like its floors, save for the one across from Xenron. One of the long walls of the rectangular room was a pristine mirror to check his form. It was heavily outdated but, importantly, completely private. In this space, besides keeping his current limits out of sight, Xenron could enjoy his unconventional music tastes without comment.

“Start my Nevermore playlist,” Xenron called, and fierce bassline pounded alongside his heartbeat. Time to get to work.

He started by running through his traditional forms and then combat forms, tracing the movements of a holographic projection. The ideal image set an athletic pace, and each movement needed to be perfect. These movements were the foundation of martial arts and magic, and if Xenron mastered them even 1% better, it might make the difference that made him a caster. By the time he finished them, his breathing was heavy and muscles warm. Xenron stretched them out quickly before jumping into strength training, calling on the room’s one modern feature.

“Turn on targeted weight enhancement with my preset parameters.” Immediately Xenron felt a pressure all across him, as if it would force him the ground. It wasn’t uniform, he knew - that might strain his joints too much. The artificial gravity would track his movements and give him the optimal challenge. Under this weight, he pushed out an initial set of twenty pushups before shifting to a minute of abdominal planks and another minute of wall-sit. From there, he dropped the last quarter of each set, doing fifteen pushups and so on, and continued through descending sets to zero. The last five pushups had Xenron’s arms shaking as he fought for stability, his clammy hands threatening to slip on the polished floor. At this gravity level, the fall would hurt. Xenron bit into his lip and pushed through. The workout was just beginning.

From there, it was almost a blur. Driving bass beating through his chest. He set up wooden boards on stands from near his feet to above his head. It wouldn’t be hard to break them normally, but with his growing exhaustion and the gravity, it was less of a sure thing. Xenron grinned, forcing manic enthusiasm. Punches, kicks, knee strikes. Blood. Wood cracked. The satisfaction of victory and the pain of more and more strain warred in him. He increased the gravity until he could not break a board even with a straight punch or kick - and then did so anyway. He collapsed to his knees afterwards, breaths heaving. He grinned, genuinely this time. He had to push his limits - and he would.

An hour later, Xenron could feel rivers of sweat running down his arms and legs and bleeding into his athletic shirt. He’d battered and stripped his knuckles by striking without gloves. They would come back stronger in due time. However, at the moment this meant that his shower would sting, to put it lightly. Xenron wanted to cheat and use a Printer to give his hands fresh skin, but he knew that his training would be meaningless unless his body was forced to heal on its own. Knowing this, he went into the bathroom and stripped for a shower.

Like most professional spaces, the gyms were equipped with the Fountain, a 360-degree lather and shower chamber. Xenron walked through the blue tiled room and entered a chamber equipped with no less than thirty jets. Leaving the temperature at “ideal” he pressed the start button and closed his eyes. Soap jets washed over his body. Xenron winced when they blasted his knuckles and rinsed away dangling bands of dead skin. Water jets came just a moment after, colder than the previous blast. At first, the chill was unwelcome, prompting him to shrink away from it and shiver. However, the evolutionary urge to stay warm subsided after a moment. The prince’s shivering arms felt alive again. Thoughts began to flow. He began punching energetically at the air as his entire body woke up. Cold showers - this, too, was a recommendation of his program, and a discomfort Xenron had previously resisted. Overcoming that small hurdle gave him confidence. When he was dressed in a classy change of clothes, endorphins propelled him with renewed vigor into his afternoon tutoring session.

When he entered room 1507, his tutor raised an eyebrow almost immediately.

“What happened? Did you get in a fight with a belt sander?”

Xenron laughed awkwardly at that. Ms. Vale waited for his answer with her strong arms crossed. She raised an eyebrown.

“I just did a lot of punching in my training session. Hopefully I’ll toughen up from it.”

“You need to work on your form, Xenron,” she began, looking over the injuries. “If you’re skinning your knuckles that seriously, it means you’re sliding along the target.”

He thought about arguing for a second, but realized immediately that she was probably right. Besides, he didn’t want to make it obvious that he had chosen an experimental training program that rewarded minor injuries - especially since she’d done him the kindness of acting like usual after last session.

“Thank you for the tip, I’ll work on it next time.”

Ms. Vale nodded her acknowledgement.

“Let’s get those wrapped up before you get an infection,” she said, pulling a first aid kit from an amethyst colored portal. The spell had started and then finished without a word and almost before Xenron noticed, and she set to wrapping Xenron’s knuckles around several times with a protective bandage. Protecting his pride how he still could, Xenron tried to contain his winces.

“It is good to see you’re working hard.” She cleared her throat to punctuate the discussion. “Now, we ended off last time after a brief outline of military structure. Let’s see if you remember the basics.”

Xenron had looked his notes over the afternoon before. He exhaustively rehashed the structure as it had been taught to him. Once he got through most of the chain, Ms. Vale nodded, looking satisfied.

“That was good. Granted, you mixed up the ranks of regel and general, but I can hardly blame you because the official rankings are backwards. Regels - high priests of Xexherre - have the true power in an army. Men under their command must swear an oath of loyalty to them and, by the power of Xexherre, that oath will be enforced by the universe itself. They could instantly command an army to halt and watch as the enemy slaughtered them.”

Xenron’s eyes widened at that.

“I didn’t realize their sacred powers went that far.”

“New regels are rarely ordained for that reason. Even once they have proven themselves, their actions are reviewed and critiqued constantly. They use their powers only when it is absolutely necessary. Only one regel in history has defected, and that consequences for both her and those she had once commanded are - well, not pleasant small talk. You read the details. Do you have questions?”

Xenron swallowed uneasily at that, shaking his head.

“But what about saints then?”

“Saints are anomalies. They are exceptional individuals who have risen through the ranks in the Xexherrian Order and the military separately. They are recognized as masters of war, diplomacy, religion, and life itself by their peers. Saints also have the power to command their comrades, but they have no need for it. No one would disobey their orders. Granted, they are even fewer in number. After the bloody battle with the Dark Incarnate, only one still lives. In most military engagements, a general with the potential support of a regel will have to be sufficient. Of course, the Lucerna have their own champions. We are overmatched in that regard - each of their five Malacheem has the presence of a small army. It is, perhaps, only thanks to our own saint’s might and the trust our forces place in him that we hold them back from their spaceports and a full assault on our world.”

Xenron’s eyes glistened at that. Saints had always fascinated him, but the knowledge of their rarity and the reverence due to them only enthralled him further. Seeing his interest in the subject, Ms. Vale went into the history of these figures and then continued with a full lesson on the various military and clerical ranks and the means to reach them. At the end of three hours, his curiosity in that regard was satisfied and she seemed content with what he had learned. However, despite his stomach’s consistent protest, Xenron stayed to satisfy a more pressing hunger. As his tutor departed, Xenron ran from the room and caught up to her, falling into step beside her.

“Ms. Vale, could you talk a bit about magic from the top? I’m trying to be exhaustive in my training. I think there must be something simple I’m missing.”

She turned her head to one side as her forehead creased in a way that made her resemble Leo for a moment.

“There’s no harm in it. I do need to be going, though, so would you walk with me?”

“Absolutely!”

And so the two wove through the 15th floor, a long granite maze dotted with classrooms for various purposes, as she answered.

“Tell me what you know so far, Xenron.”

“Well, mana is the power source for all magic, but it also serves critical physiological purposes in Xexens. It allows them to heat or cool their bodies in extreme conditions, resist impacts, and enhance athletic performance. Burning mana also strengthens muscles and bones over time. It flows through specific blood vessels and reaches various regions quickly due to its tendency to diffuse naturally.”

“And how many spacial dimensions are there in our universe?”

“Three, right?” Xenron said, more tentatively than he thought he needed to.

She shook her head, and a mysterious grin spread across normally taut lips.

“There are at least four, as it turns out.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Xenron said, but shut up as her eyes narrowed.

“Just because you haven’t experienced something doesn’t mean it’s not real. The soul exists parallel to the body, but shifted in a fourth direction that we cannot move in by any known means. That’s the only possible explanation. It’s in the same place as the body, and it also isn’t. It is there that mana originates. The mechanism is not yet understood, but it seems that pure force of will is responsible for moving mana from the soul to the body. However, mana doesn’t disappear from the body until it is used and becomes other kinds of energy. The mystery of our era is how mana is continuously produced in the soul. Xexens are themselves perpetual motion machines, in theory. Once we can figure the specifics, many doors open.”

Xenron forgot the awkwardness of his mistake as Ms. Vale went on. She spoke about profound mechanisms of life and the universe as easily as the weather.

“Hone your willpower, Xenron. Train your body, mind and soul, and bring forth the spirit to overcome anything. If you do that, I know you’ll be a great mage,” she said, flashing a rare soft smile. “Now, I have administrative business on the 30th floor,” she digressed, walking into the elevator.

“I understand, thanks for the pep talk!”

“I don’t do ‘pep talks’,” she responded, her expression becoming stern. “I’m merely instructing you on how to succeed. It’s not easy, but it is simple,” she finished confidently as the elevator door closed.

Xenron stood for a moment contemplating her words, slowly getting a bit of the wisdom out of them with his young mind, as he waited for the elevator to return. He struggled to wade through exhaustion, and his mind went to the place of vague dread and loneliness that seemed to fill every silence. Suddenly not hungry, Xenron made his way to a cafe on the next floor down. He would settle his nerves, eat once he would be glad for it, and get back to training. Sure enough, though he made it there in a haze, he felt a bit more real as he sipped the hot, bitter drink, sighing contentedly. Alas, his day was not to remain quiet.

Xenron looked through glass panes to see a boy with spiky dark brown hair running down the hall, sweating. Before long, he’d made his way into the cafe and taken a seat across from Xenron, a relic-wood training sword across his lap. He stood tall at perhaps a half-head or so above Xenron, but settled in quickly as if they knew each other. They did not. Xenron had made note of him - the boy with golden eyes that always seemed relaxed - but he didn’t know his name. He supposed this would be a chance - but the circumstances had him a bit baffled.

“Mind if I join?” the boy said, panting but offering a friendly grin. “I’m trying to lose a tail.”

Xenron found himself nodding. He didn’t understand the context, but perhaps this boy was like him. Running from Johan wouldn’t do very much good considering how close together they lived, but there was no accounting for taste. If this boy thought he had to run from whatever threatened him, far be it for Xenron to argue.

“Hell yeah. Name’s Ken,” he said, offering a handshake that Xenron mutely returned. “How’s this place anyway?”

Xenron had trouble not staring at the fine workmanship of the dark, textured sword, but he tried to find an answer, feeling awkward. “Bitter, but not bad? T-their drinks are strong.”

“Just how I like it,” Ken said, stroking his chin as if he were not Xenron’s own age. Xenron smiled at the gesture. It reminded him of a corny side character in Greatsword of Glory. That title is too long… GG, then.

“Is that so? I would just get their house blend, then. It’s wonderful.”

Ken nodded, giving the order as the server came around. He turned to Xenron with a conspiratorial grin as he whispered, “I don’t know shit about tea. Coffee guy, myself. Thanks for the assist.”

Xenron was always nervous to jump into a new conversation, dreading whether he would have the right things to say. That didn’t seem to be an issue, though. Ken either detected Xenron’s hesitance or guided the conversation automatically, talking first of rare beans and exploding machines, then of things that earned him the fondness or ire of his peers. Xenron nodded along, asking prompting questions, thoroughly enjoying the stories. Already, he was starting to get more names, names that he could almost put to faces from the colorful tales.

“Vex tore into me for getting some extra target practice in after-hours. I told her it’s tough when noble folk have a years long lead on me already. She didn’t give a damn.”

“That must have been hard,” Xenron said, having little context for the situation.

“I guess? But she was totally right,” Ken said with that same crooked grin, curved hand hovering his mouth like he was sharing a secret. Like Xenron was on the inside of that secret. It was a wonderful feeling. Unsure entirely how to respond, he just smiled. Ken didn’t seem to expect anything particular, because he continued.

“Yeah, I can make a mess of things sometimes. I probably would’ve gotten screwed worse if it wasn’t her that found me.” he said. “She’s got her shit together, and she’s noble - they try to pair her off with you yet?”

“Of course not! I’ve hardly…” spoken with anyone, the rest of that response went, but Xenron didn’t want to voice it.

“Yeah, maybe it’s early. Different royal families have different speeds, I guess. But is there someone you like, then?”

This time, Xenron felt his cheeks warming, and Ken’s grin expanded.

“Oh, you definitely do. Care to share?”

“There’s n-no one,” Xenron said.

“Sure,” Ken said, drawing out the word. “I won’t say a word. Not like I know anything.”

Xenron looked away, hoping to conjure another topic. Before he had a response, though, Xenron noticed someone else coming down the hall, slower, more dignified than Ken had been.

“What’s up?” Xenron heard distantly, but perhaps Ken caught on to the newcomer because he was quiet afterwards. The young man was a tower of tense muscle, light purple hair framing his head making him unmistakably distinct. Bruce Fernaux. A Tier III student, he had been picked out even amongst that elite group and hired by the program to train other students. This waived his tuition and offered several other advantages, and Xenron knew from Ms. Vale that such a position would not be unearned. When Bruce turned into the cafe, Xenron turned back to Ken, an apology dying on his lips as he saw the boy looking down as if ashamed, or afraid. Then Xenron startled when he found himself in Bruce’s shadow, the towering young man raising his own eyebrows.

“Your highness,” Bruce said, offering a small bow. It was less than was technically proper, while being more than Xenron expected or wanted. A confusing middle ground. “I have business with your ‘guest’. I trust he just joined you?”

Xenron nodded numbly, scared at the restrained anger in Bruce’s words. It was bound up tight, but still evident to him.

“Kenneth,” Bruce boomed, hovering high over them, and the boy sighed. “You need to return for discipline.”

“Gonna kick my ass too?” Ken asked offhand, feigning casualness. He turned an apologetic smile on Xenron. “Sorry to bother you, highness. I didn’t mean to ruin your tea.”

Ken’s goodbye bothered Xenron. Formal, boring, self-deprecating. Not in the fun way he was just starting to get a taste of. Ken stood, and Bruce turned, the result of the exchange a foregone conclusion.

The target-practice story had showed Xenron that Ken was prone to breaking rules, and he didn’t know much more. He could easily make a fool of himself in this situation where he knew nothing. So he was nearly as surprised as everyone else when he stood and words tumbled out of him.

“What is Ken’s crime?”

Bruce turned back to him, looking over Xenron.

“That practice sword is my personal property. Theft is grounds for expulsion from the KEY Program, depending on the circumstances. I am not inclined to give up on educating Kenneth just yet, but his punishment will be commensurate with the disruption he caused.”

He held out a hand, and Ken handled back the sword wordlessly, as if in admission. However, the boy’s other hand squeezed in white-knuckled fury. There was more to the story than Xenron knew. More than he was going to get here. Another approach, then. Before he lost his nerve.

“Let me handle his punishment, Corporal Fernaux,” Xenron said, his voice firm.

“I’m sorry, highness,” Bruce said quietly, “but I cannot do that. You haven’t the authority.”

Xenron wanted to shrink back into his seat and disappear. Instead, he spoke steadily as Ms. Vale had tried for years to instruct him.

“Do I have no authority as prince?”

He could feel eyes on them now, from the other high castle personnel taking breaks. The space wasn’t quite public, but neither was it sheltered. Bruce stared hard into Xenron’s eyes, and seemed to find something that surprised him.

“You don’t know, then? I suppose he would want you to gather your information. I am to follow your orders in public matters, for propriety’s sake. But as of now, I am to treat you no differently to other youths in the castle, when it comes to private matters. This is a directive straight from His Majesty.”

Xenron recoiled at that, feeling several things lock into place. Not the least of these was Johan’s behavior. He wasn’t mouthing off to a prince, but to a peer. My mind retorted in a flash. As Ms. Vale had taught, a large part of politics lay in implications beneath the surface. Gifts meant bribes. Meetings made alliances. Tournaments were proxy wars for power and influence - displays of a clan’s power that (usually) avoided the need for bloody conflicts with thousands left dead. He had mixed feelings on such interactions, but at the end of the day, each tool available to him was worth using.

Bruce wasn’t supposed to listen to him, so he couldn’t make any orders. But that didn’t mean he lacked cards to play. I’m asking you to give life another chance, his teacher’s words echoed in Xenron’s mind, and that chance felt like his sole hope. Give this world your best for one week.

“I-I see. I shall rephrase, then,” Xenron said, admonishing himself for the stutter betraying his fraying nerves. Steadying himself, he continued. “I would be most grateful if you left this matter to my discretion. If I can deal with Kenneth and avert future behavioral problems, it would be to everyone’s benefit.”

Bruce sheathed his sword put his hands on his hips, his black uniform vest barely containing his strong form, while Kenneth looked on with neutral curiosity.

“Why should I let you throw around power for personal interest, Your Highness? It seems imprudent - for all involved.” His words were clipped and the emphasis threatened to put Xenron into submission. Already, he was so far outside his comfort zone as to burst into heavy breathing or tears. Still, he stood firm. Bruce’s words, above all, were quiet.

Crazy as it was, Xenron’s intuition told him what was happening to Ken wasn’t right. A prince’s best wouldn’t fail to protect someone right in front of him. Not when he still had so many stories to hear. Not when he was just starting to live.

“I offer it as an exchange,” Xenron said, each word slow and deliberate. “In the course of my private education, I have access to a few sections of the restricted archives. By my understanding, this falls outside of even your access, and would be of great interest. It would be beneficial, despite my lack of immediate power, for us to form a friendship.”

The last part of the offer was the crux of it. Xenron’s father had put Bruce - everyone in the KEY Program, really - between a rock and a hard place. If they kowtowed before an unproven child, they would face the ire of the current King - the worst case scenario. Like everything, they were meant as a trial for Xenron. But on the opposite side, if they were so dismissive as to earn Xenron’s own resentment, it would someday catch up to them when Xenron ruled, provided that truly came to pass. This cafe was a bizarre boundary case. Was a keep floor available to staff but not tourists public, or private? Not quite either - should Xenron’s peers treat his as no one, or as the prince he was? This was a classic juggling of conflicting interests, and Xenron could see the pressure of that test on Bruce’s face as he weighed his options. What Xenron tried to construct was a way out - a deal, not a command - to follow Verox’s command while clearly winning his own favor. He underestimated Bruce’s integrity.

“I will not leave Kenneth’s punishment in the hands of someone who will not take it seriously.”

“You mean to impugn my character?” Xenron said with manufactured rage. Really, he could not have managed it normally. But Kenneth’s own contained fury towards Bruce spurred him.

“Not at all,” Bruce said, raising his hands. Xenron imagined he turned a shade paler. “Please understand; it is impossible for one your age not to show favor to a peer, even unconsciously. I would say the same of my own clan members.”

“Would you presume to understand the training of the royal family? Without any intelligence on the matter?” Xenron said, pressing the attack, his voice loud enough to carry. Bruce flinched at the volume. Ken stifled something - a laugh or a gasp, earning Bruce’s glare. A distant part of him felt guilty for pressing Bruce so, but momentum carried him. His course was set. Wisely, Bruce did not answer the question.

“I aim to make all my decisions backed on known quantities. How can I know that you are taking Kenneth’s transgressions seriously?”

Bastard, Xenron thought, with no small amount of admiration. Questions, whether Socratic or otherwise, were a potent tool. They put an opponent - and Xenron was Bruce’s opponent - back on the defensive. Xenron had to justify his out-of-place interest here and now, or he would be ignored.

“Take me into your training section. I will oversee him personally, and you will oversee me in turn. If you dislike what you see, then our deal is off.”

Ken and Bruce both blinked at that, looking at each other as if to confirm the assertion.

“It is not traditional for royalty to train with the KEY Program,” Bruce said.

“It is not forbidden,” Xenron lied. He was going directly against his father’s orders, and now he could not suppress himself from breathing heavily. He just had to hope Bruce chalked it up to the excitement of the situation.

“…Very well. I would be glad to take your measure and offer my humble pointers, your highness,” Bruce said, giving the same restrained bow. Middle ground, Xenron thought, nodding with what he hoped was dignity at the gesture. Then, Bruce swept into rigid walk, leaving Xenron and Ken in the cafe. As if cued, people watching with sidelong glances suddenly became very interested in their conversation partners, the menu, or polishing the counter.

Xenron, for his part, only lasted until Bruce was out of sight, falling numbly into his chair.

“Xenron? Hey, are you good?”

Ken shook his shoulders, he was vaguely aware, with the sort of concern he’d only ever seen in Leo’s eyes. For his own part, Xenron thought he would cry, the terror of going against his father and signing himself up for assessment by Bruce in his weak state grinding against him on either side. Instead, he found he’d stressed himself to such a point of absurdity that he couldn’t properly bother with it. He’d done what he set out to do. Somehow that, and the concern on Ken’s face, mattered more than all of it. He found himself laughing with relief, laughing with such abandon that Ken couldn’t help but join in.

“That was one hell of a different personality,” Ken finally said as they quieted down. “You’ve got guts, err, Highness.”

“Save the formality for Bruce,” Xenron said. “Even if I told you to use my title, I’m sure it wouldn’t last.”

Ken’s smile broadened at that. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Xenron. I owe ya one.”

Xenron shrugged, still high on the intensity of the situation but starting to come off of it.

“Don’t thank me too soon. I have to take this seriously, or I have a feeling Bruce will just come down on both of us.”

Ken sighed, sipping his tea. “You’re right, I guess.”

“To start,” Xenron said, “can you give me the whole story? I’ll be glad to at least know what I’ve inserted myself into.”

Ken nodded, his expression more sober as he started. Xenron listened intently to the whole of it, coming to understand his peer better by the moment. He would have a lot to write in his journal.