Sold Out

~°°~

"Lethe Walth ID 93.452, please head to the Office of Head Professor Noirin."

Lethe froze and Boreas felt a small string tugging his stomach, scrambling it into a puddled mush. The petrified look etched on her face was erased as fast as it appeared. Her face and shoulders relaxed, albeit stunted in a way Boreas—and only Boreas—knew was fake.

"Gotta go, I guess. My esteemed presence is needed somewhere else." Lethe winked and finger gunned, eyes crinkling in hollow laughter as she backed away.

Boreas saw her slip a glyph into her back pockets. That's too obvious, mentally he screamed. And weren't there supposed to be something watching? But, Lethe grinned like she had a plan, devilish glint in eyes, so instead, he rolled his eyes. "Right."

Suddenly, she yelped and sank to the floor. She yanked out her boot, muttering curses under her breath.

"What are you doing?" said Boreas incredulously.

"Nothing. Just—there's some rocks on my boots," the brunette said. Boreas raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie as she wore it again, stamping the ground eagerly. "There we go. So, bye again, Boreas." She grinned, brown hair billowing as she ran off. He narrowed his eyes at the small hints of charred flames in the outer sole of her shoe.

The pale boy blinked, suddenly remembering something of importance. "Wait. But, what about your laundry?" Only echoing footsteps answered him and the lingering scent of baked pies. Boreas grunted, glaring at his shoes. "Curses."

~°°~

Water pattered down, splattering against the cobblestones, dripping down the roofs, the ivories and the road of ladened statues. The ensemble of water reached the Light Tower, the stones of the Portal, and meshed with the giggles and screams of children as they rushed to get their hanging clothes.

They reached the Office of the First Sector, rapping against the triangular windows. Professor Eugene Noirin blew raspberries on the stack of unfinished, scattered paperwork on his desk while he pushed his wheeled seat around his office, a glass of beer in his hand. Procrastination made him peer at the window instead and watch the intricate patterns of raindrops through his spectacles.

Wait, were they even raindrops? His barely functioning brain reeled. Chances were they're the Dome's saliva or gods forbid—

"Drinking again, I see." The eyed-sun glittered on his forehead. "Appropriate behaviour, Professor Noirin."

Eugene snorted, chugging his glass. Froth clung above his upper chapped lips. "Says the one who spies on people everywhere. Creep."

He heaved out a sigh as he banged his face to his stable. "Only two Professors just at each Sector. So, four Professors. Supposedly. But, you murdered some so there's like two right now." He held out his hand to count then promptly gave up. "Managing hundreds of students. Heck, I'm the Head of the First Sector and this is supposed to be a break but no. Teach the Second Sector too, Eugene," he said mockingly. "Overworked and I don't even get paid. And you're saying I can't even drink?"

"Where did you even get that?"

"Stole it. Demons brew pretty good drinks." He burped, curly, dark brown hair flailing on the side of his face as he tilted his face. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?" Eugene chuckled darkly, childishly kicking the pastel walls and letting his wheeled chair slide on the tiles. Glee crept on his face as he circled his office once again.

The sun did not answer his question. "Stop being a child, Professor Noirin. It's on its the way. Recorder Glyph is snuck on the back pocket."

"See? Spying everyone." Eugene wiped off the froth on his lips as he put his blue drink beside the eight empty bottles below his mahogany desk. But, the sun had disappeared already. He huffed, "Bye, bitc—I mean, Principal."

Two knocks on the door, synchronized with the rainfall.

"Come in," he droned, slamming his cup to the table.

~°°~

The wind harshly kissed his face as he sped by the dim, snow-laden mountains of treacherous shadows and hindering trees that would sprinkle down snowflakes whenever he brushed against their prickling leaves. Mist formed as he heaved, heavy boots imprinting deep footprints.

The demons behind him were unwavering, unblinking eyes of gray, blue and orange-brown glowing in the withered dusk—yes, sure, they're simply simulations, but it was enough to instill the seeds of fear and pump adrenaline that heated his blood. Boreas grumbled. The snow was annoyingly thick, far from thaw and almost a knee-high, deterring his speed.

Blue eyes caught a red ribbon tied on a thin pine tree. He tiredly grinned. Freaking finally. Boreas faced the following hounds and pressed his hands to the ground.

A circle of light formed below raving beasts and they all fell on it, sending them into the trap he had made earlier. Boreas dropped to his knees, chest pounding and raising as he breathed heavily, legs sore and filled with blisters.

"Curses of Yves, I'm so tired.." He slumped his back against the snow and stared upwards, letting the cold gnaw his body. Soreness filled his body. The enormous pine trees blocked the view of the skies. Even in simulations, a glimpse of the sky was impossible.

Snow flitted down peacefully, sinking on his eyebrows, on his clothes and skin. The sight oddly gave him serenity even when frost grew on the hems of his clothes and reddened his skin. Training simulations were never of sunshine; always of snowstorms, rains, earthquakes and disasters.

He shook his head and sat up, bones cracking as he did. Boreas blinked. "Why am I still here though? I killed them all already."

Groaning, he opened up another portal to somewhere near his traps. One was still alive. The hind legs were caught in the spikes, though. His Teleportation Peculiar worked perfectly on doing traps but it sucked that he could teleport just within twenty meters.

He took out one of the sharpened spikes, fingers clasping the cold wood. The demon growled. Toxin and saliva slithered out of its mouth, scorching whatever it touched. Snow decorated its dented scales of black.

It looked so real.

They made such realistic training simulations yet were unable to do some technology to fight the demons. Could recreate seasons and weather for the Dome yet their potion books claimed that they were unable to do a memory potion. Their world was supposed to be of darkness and apocalypse, and yet here they were, with ivories as road, seemingly with infinite resources and food.

It just didn't make sense. He has been having these stupid dreams too. Boreas should have suspected something, and done something and —

Boreas stopped the train of his thought, shoved them on a locker and locked them. Not now, hopefully, not ever.

Because everything was supposed to be normal. And everything in this Dome was for their safety.

Boreas stared at the snarling demon. It was trapped and alone; its dark, beady eyes the front audience of its comrades' demise. He thrust the sharpened wood to its head and let the blade dig home.

It was done.

The helmet tooted and puked him out, bringing him back to the real world. The nurse rushed to him, wrapping a blanket around his neck, plastering Healing Glyphs in his wounds, and giving him Healing and Heating Potions. Pretending to drink them, Boreas glanced at the scoreboards. He would not lose his memories again.

He placed fourth as usual; third was Thalia Kruger. Just three minutes earlier than him, second, was Krowan Huine. And as usual, she placed first. Well, there was a reason people nicknamed Rycella 'Invincible'.

The main top three; the Golden Trio. The only people who had Specials as their Peculiars.

Burst, Creation, Metamorph and Borrow. Bursts produced their Peculiars through sheer power and energy. For example, Fire, working like fuel to a vehicle. Creations used their Peculiars in a similar fashion, albeit with slight differences. They didn't need that much soul energy. For example, Cloning; the clones didn't need constant soul energy to be maintained, but because they were a separate entity that stood alone, they couldn't be fully controlled. Metamorphs transformed their bodies at will—enhancing the physical body, turning into a giant or turning into an animal or such. Meanwhile, Borrows were the opposite of Bursts. They didn't have to generate their Peculiars, the environment was already at their disposal; telekinesis, geokinesis and such.

Specials were... well, special.

Not only were the owners given the chance to try their Peculiars the moment it was confirmed that they're a Special, they were also beyond the four categories, giving them an insane advantage.

Well, it's not like it mattered anyway. Blue eyes scoured the dimly lit room. He gazed at the flickering flames of the lanterns that hung on the wooden canopy and observed the way the tinted windows barely let the light from the outside enter. He watched the others finish the training simulation, slowly walking around, still slugged down by sore muscles and frostbite.

Lethe still wasn't here.

Boreas' thoughts were halted as he was roughly bumped by someone. The pale boy stared up, piqued by the professor's gaze.

"Sorry, Professor Jhlor." Boreas held his blanket much more tightly.

"You were a minute slower in your training." They raised their eyebrows, highlighting that intimidating scar in the face as their gloves hand opening their watch locket.

Boreas' jaw was set. "I was.." Memories. Watching. Danger. "I got distracted," he finished, gulping.

"I see," the Professor observed. The locket was snapped closed, their brown eyes now locked on the student. "Are you okay? You haven't drunk the Healing and Heating Potions. You're freezing."

"I—"

A crash roared from the side, cutting their conversation short. Boreas swerved his head in the sound's direction and the Professor doing the same, their long ponytail snapping the side of their face.

On a simulation slot, he saw a branch puked out from the helmet. It twitched and rolled around, transforming into a student. A student heavily bleeding, with dark brown skin and short, messy, snow ridden hair, two small braids splaying on the side of their face. Their black eyes opened in pure panic as they gasped. A mistake.

They transformed once again, into a chair, into a pen, tumbling and retching as they shifted from furniture to body to furniture again and again. "Help — can't — breath — !"

Finally, Eris was able to stop the transformation. Their knees to their chest and hands on their eyes with such force and desperation as if thinking to gouge them out. They trembled, while rasping out as if out of breath. Boreas was about to rush to them only to be blocked by the nurses. They dashed to their side, carrying blankets, Healing Glyphs and potions.

But, atleast they finished it and much earlier too. Perhaps, they got used to their Peculiar. The boy grinned proudly and looked on the scoreboards. Eris was disqualified. The smile withered as fast as it grew on his face.

The simulations could hurt the students to help more in their training and make it much more realistic. If the student was of course, in very grave danger, the simulation would automatically vomit them out.

Eris would usually be able to finish these simulations, and while perhaps they didn't rank high, they do better than average.

There was a sickened squirm in his stomach as he watched them getting carried to the Healing Lodge.

It should have been Boreas. Not Eris— joyful, idiotic Eris—a fool so endearing. Not Eris, who had always wanted to be an Elderstire yet was scorned by Lady Luck, the one with the weakest soul energy out of the trio and the stupidest Peculiars. Not Eris who actually worked for days and stayed late at nights just to understand the lessons. Not Eris who wasn't frail.

The fourth-place deserves someone else. It deserved someone who actually wanted it. Eris was still an Unpassed. He wasn't. Eris would have pieced themselves up together and stood as bold and brazen as ever.

They wouldn't have stayed silent, wouldn't have this stalking dread, wouldn't have acted like everything was normal and wouldn't have tried to deny it; locked it and begged it to be forgotten. As he did. Even when there's bloody proof that someone was fucking up with their memories. Even when their own best friend was missing. They would have probably tried to atleast know where Lethe was and if she was okay.

Boreas shook his head. He should have been doing something much more productive than—

He halted.

Well, what exactly should he do? What if tomorrow Lethe was gone? Forgotten by everyone else just like Kai? What if he was the only one who will remember? What should he do? Why were they losing their memories in the first place? Then, what? Then, what? It didn't help that Eris kept avoiding him like plague the whole day, shrinking away like some kicked puppy whenever Boreas went near, with a guilty look on their face. Even when the bell rang loud, even when dinner came near and his fingers twirled a spoon instead of papers and pens. And even when night came and his head dropped on his pillow, his thoughts continued to whisper.

Boreas stared at the lone ant in the pastel white ways on his side, shifting his pillow repeatedly. He groaned as he heard the snores of his roommates, fully awake and far from slumber. Lethe wasn't in the classes, in dinner—nothing.

"I won't forget," he whispered faintly. Only silence, the echoes of fairer days, the snores, lull of the falling rain and himself heard it. "I won't forget. So, please, just.." He stopped, his hands clasping his face. "Ugh, what am I even doing? Talking to myself like an idiot."

There's something wrong. There's something really, really wrong. Something he couldn't understand. Not just the memories, not just Lethe's warnings and disappearance. What was it?

Boreas sighed and rolled to his other side, staring around the compartment; the tiles, the walls and the slouching lockers that would so often drool. And snore. And sometimes, fall over, stand up, then repeat. He scrunched his nose in contempt.

Just as the touches of sleep crept near, a hand shot out from the darkness, clamping his mouth close.

The silhouette of a girl materialized out of thin air. Inside out pants that were rather crumpled. Ties literally on bare neck. In the dim light, familiar honey-brown eyes gleamed with one sporting multiple bruises near it. Under a scruffy black hood was the honey brown, curly hair that he'd always recognized, splaying frantically down her shoulder.

A mixture of relief and pure confusion flitted to his blue eyes

"Don't make a sound," she whispered, eyes wide in panic. "We need to go. Now."

~°°~