April, 27th, 1007

  Brown, deep, so deep, were her eyes, the color that reminded him of warm honey and freshly baked bread.

  She was sweet too. Slick and captivating. He couldn’t escape her if he tried, nor would he ever attempt it.

  Elegant. Her hips swayed with each step. Those thighs, so curvaceous, so hypnotizing.

  The silky feel of her skin below his bare touch… Her beautiful face, the kind that would awe millions if depicted in a renaissance painting.

  Pursed lips.

  Those lips.

  Lisbeth…

  A crash, a thud, and then a smack.

  Despite the vivid and warm cocoon of his dream, Gerald woke to the reality waiting for him upstairs.

  He opened his eyes begrudgingly; the sun shone past the curtains into his personal quarters. His gaze fixed on the ashy ceiling above.

  There was another crash, as if something just broke.

  Someone should go check…

  Oh, right. Gerald was the responsible adult here.

  Gerald Aldrick, the veteran Colonel turned Spirit Academy homeroom teacher. Upstairs were almost certainly his students. They all lived together inside the Indigo House. Seventeen students and two homeroom teachers.

  This was his job. This was what he signed up for.

  What could they possibly be doing at this hour? Recreating the destruction of the Altan Citadel?

  Slow and steady, careful not to make himself dizzy, he rose out of the bed, his feet landing softly on the smooth wooden flooring.

  “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?”

  Ah.

  He was already too late.

  Her voice alone was enough to make Gerald’s head throb.

  “Bastion, pick that up NOW! And you, Nicolas, STOP laughing! Do I need to call Mr. Aldrick here to smack both of your bums until you’re purple?”

  Despite the pointed threat from above, Gerald aimed straight for the restroom.

  She could handle it. He’d just pretend he hadn’t heard a thing.

  He tucked the line away for later as he started brushing his teeth.

  Actually, wasn’t that the same excuse he used last time?

  Would she notice?

  Did he even care?

  The scarf he had draped over the mirror had slipped loose along the left edge. He pulled it back into place, blocking the reflection.

  After what felt like an adequate time, he put the toothbrush back in its place. He uncapped the bottle of mouthwash and tipped a decent amount into his mouth, letting it freshen his breath before he spat it out.

  He plopped a reasonable amount of soap into his hands, rubbing them clean with a deliberate and practiced motion. Once they were scrubbed clean, he bent down, washing his face thoroughly. Freshened up, he dried his hands in the damp towel.

  That one has been there for a while now, hasn’t it? He should have changed it by now. Decided, he pulled it off the hanger to throw it in the laundry bin.

  As he tossed it away, a fleeting thought crossed his mind.

  That was the last piece of fabric he would hold with his bare hands today.

  He smiled despite himself. What has become of him?

  Back in his personal quarters, he opened the heavy wardrobe. He had arranged everything with deliberate care: pants folded in the bottom section, belts coiled together, ties stacked in perfect rows. His shirts, suits, and jackets hung in strict order of wear, each one spaced evenly apart.

  And yet, the first thing his hand reached for were the gloves. He slid them on slowly, feeling the leather mold to his skin. He pressed his fingers together, then worked his thumbs along his wrists, massaging the seams until the fit felt exact.

  It wasn’t the best habit, he could admit that much.

  And yet ever since he returned from Volnyr, he couldn’t find it in himself to touch most objects, let alone people, with his bare hands.

  His sins tainted those hands; he couldn’t risk spreading that onto anyone. Even through inanimate objects, it felt wrong. Like his vile past would curse his colleagues, or worse, his innocent students.

  Like he would mark them, destined for a future of suffering.

  That barrier of protection allowed him some semblance of peace.

  Leon Akradites, Spirit Academy’s head medic, lectured him constantly about the risks—irritated skin from trapped moisture or bacteria, reduced touch sensitivity, compromised dexterity… He even tried to warn him about the emotional toll of avoiding touch.

  Gerald would fire back in kind, hard enough that even Akradites’ sweet nurse eventually walked out. Not that it mattered; Akradites had a habit of turning up to work high and probably just zoned out his criticism.

  Or he didn’t care.

  Gerald didn’t know which was more impressive.

  If Akradites could treat children with an impaired mind to cope with memories of amputating limbs in wartime, then Gerald could cover his hands to avoid thinking about the atrocities he committed in that same war.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  He was fully dressed by now, but didn’t bother checking himself in the mirror. If his shirt was wrinkled or his tie uneven, his partner would be quick to remind him.

  What was that hag yelling about earlier?

  And just like that, he opened the door to their shared teachers’ quarters.

  Of course, she was standing there, prepared for him like a battle-hardened soldier.

  “Well, about TIME, youngster! What do you think you were doing inside of your room for so long? Did you not hear me screaming MURDER at Bastion and Nicolas just now?”

  Cece Solbakken, his homeroom partner of two years now. She was a tiny woman, her fresh face contrasting with her snow-white hair. Even on her tiptoes, she could barely reach up to his chest.

  Gerald smiled, practiced.

  “Ah, my apologies, Ms. Solbakken. I must have misheard.”

  She didn’t buy it. Or she was just angry for anger’s sake. With her, those reactions blended into one.

  Her cheeks flared with that pink color as she no doubt released another launch of her fury. Gerald shut it down, an interesting thought entering his mind.

  He wondered—why couldn’t NBSA have included women to the mandatory draft too? Most tsarnians would flee Volnyr at the sound of this one annoying woman’s screeching voice. Her pitch alone could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.

  Or better yet, she would be dead and he wouldn’t have to be dealing with her now.

  Then again, wasn’t she a bit too old to be drafted? What was she? Sixty? Seventy?

  The tiny woman clapped in his face.

  “Are you even listening to me? For the last time, you WILL respect me in this house. I am fifty-three, and I am your SENIOR! I’m not some—”

  Ah, thank you, Ms. Solbakken. That was indeed the one piece of data he was missing to conclude his theory.

  In that case, yes, the draft launched in 994. That would make Ms. Solbakken… She would have been forty-four at the time.

  Yes, definitely too old to be drafted–let alone as a woman. Women were allowed to volunteer, but at that age, she would be turned away even if she suddenly cared for anyone but herself.

  Unfortunate.

  He resumed his focus on her, but she was still shouting. How did she have the energy for that at her age?

  “—what I meant is you can’t ignore me when there is a CLEAR emergency. If you continue acting like this, I will—”

  Gerald was actually getting worried. What if she were to have a heart attack? If it happened right now, he would be the one responsible for performing first aid.

  That was not worth the momentary satisfaction.

  Then again, he could never understand how this haymaker of a woman functioned. Gerald was thirty-four now, and yet Ms. Solbakken, in her sixties, looked younger than him.

  Younger than the students they were teaching, in fact.

  No doubt, thanks to her witchcraft. Her room was filled with these objects he could only assume were cursed, designed to instantly kill him were he to touch them. He knew from her own exposition that she used those to maintain her youth.

  But did it affect her health too? Like was she a teenager in appearance alone, or was she physically as healthy as a young girl?

  He might have to pass that question off to Akradites in his next appointment.

  “—so Nicolas, the little scoundrel, broke the upstairs toilet. So how about you make yourself USEFUL for once and go FIX it.”

  That caught his attention. He cocked his head down to face her.

  “Oh? How did that happen?”

  “H-how?” she screeched, her hands now violently shaking. “What do you mean HOW? Did you not hear a word of what I just told you?”

  Gerald exhaled. If she hadn’t realized he, in fact, was not paying attention, now she knew for certain.

  “I’ll fix it. But I have history with the second years in just under an hour and I still need to finish grading their tests from last week.”

  “Huh?” Solbakken stomped, reaching up to him like a toddler and jabbing her painted nail in his face. “What do you mean you haven’t finished that yet? You had a whole weekend off! How many times am I supposed to tell you not to leave things until the very last moment?”

  Gerald ignored her. He walked out. Her screaming persisted, something about the audacity of doing as he pleased.

  Normally, he would stand there and take it. Lord knew he had been through worse than a single teenage hag in a perpetual tirade.

  But today, he just needed some peace….

  If this continued, he really might…

  He left the teachers’ quarters before those thoughts could drown him further.

  “Mr. Aldrick?”

  Gerald stopped in his stride, looking off to the side. Down the half-lit hallway, was one of their students, Jennie. She peeked over the edge of the wall, her soft rounded cheeks puffed from her pouting.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Aldrick. My rice cooker is acting up again. I—could you fix it for me later? I can’t afford another one…”

  Her voice was so gentle, so innocent. She left her hiding spot, inching towards him in slow, careful steps.

  Was she just nervous or genuinely scared?

  Was he scowling?

  Breathe in.

  He risked it and reached out his gloved hand to pat the teen on the head, only imagining the texture of her dark strands.

  “Did you try to cook your rice with cheese again?”

  Jennie startled. Not from the touch, but from his words.

  “Nooooo…” She rolled that word, avoiding meeting his eyes. Her cheeks were a shade of pink by the time Gerald chuckled.

  “Well… maybe a little bit?” she added. Her mischievous grin said it all.

  He ruffled her hair playfully. The girl flailed her hands to stop him, but her smiling from cheek to cheek gave her away.

  “I’ll take a look at it later,” he retracted his hand, a content smile on his face.

  Gerald noticed she had her school uniform on, but rumpled like she had thrown it on in a rush. His eyes narrowed on the yellow accents of the black fabric which signified her faction placement.

  The factions that would determine the students’ roles in the war.

  He shook his head—no, conscription was unlikely to last until then. His students were third years right now, between the ages of seventeen and eighteen years old. They still had at least four years until graduation.

  Gerald had been following the news daily, checking to see if the royals would finally fulfill their promise to stop sending spiriters to Volnyr.

  The news was yet to come.

  He had to stop thinking about it.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Jennie…

  He pointed his gaze at her as he crossed his arms. “Now, young lady, shouldn’t you be preparing for your math exam?”

  “Ah, yes, yes. Of course! I’ve still got an hour to memorize the formulas though, hehe,” she said as she scratched the back of her head nervously.

  Gerald chose not to comment about the last minute studying session.

  “Well, get to it then. I want to see an A+ on that scoreboard at worst.”

  She gawked at him with those auburn eyes. “At worst? Mr. Aldrick, that’s too strict!”

  He chuckled; the girl realized he was messing with her, so she ran off. But not without turning right before leaving the hallway.

  “Thank you. Mr. Aldrick.”

  Once she disappeared into the house, Gerald’s smile vanished.

  He hated this job.

  He really, truly despised this job.

  Not the children, no. If anything, guiding them through their years at the academy and helping them with any problem he could fix busied him. It allowed him to think about what mattered, not what was in the past.

  But even that couldn’t bring joy to his life. He wished it would.

  But he failed.

  He continued down the hallway, thankfully avoiding any more run-ins with the students, and exited towards campus.

  The courtyard was a massive sprawl of land, with luscious trees and clean pathways. The seven class houses were all lined up next to each other—each with its distinct flavour.

  Of course, Indigo House had to be the one furthest from the academy itself. Just his luck.

  Just another annoyance in his life.

  Sometimes, the memories from his time here as a student brought a smile to his face. But it was temporary, and bittersweet at best.

  All of his friends…

  All of them were gone…

  Lisbeth was gone…

  Every day he questioned himself. Why was he still working here?

  Sure, after the war, he felt lost and hollow.

  Sure, he got the offer and took it without a second thought.

  A paycheck was what he needed to survive, after all.

  But it had become his personal nightmare ever since. His colleagues respected him for his service, even the elders and the administration acted like his word mattered over others.

  Ms. Solbakken had zero respect for it, which at first was an appealing shift in pace.

  That wasn’t the problem. The problem was her constant screeching.

  Gerald was a mellow man, all things considered. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, let alone at a woman. God forbid, he would rather slit his own throat.

  He had only ever shown respect to her. He only ever listened to her every word, willing to engage with her thoughts and enact her will.

  It was last year that he completely disengaged. After all his willingness and good nature, he dared utter a disapproving thought.

  She had been calling him a disrespectful brat ever since.

  Even now, his emotions prickled at her constant complaints. Earlier she said he had all the time to finish grading papers during the weekend. But in reality, she insisted he used that time to repaint the facade of their house.

  Which, again, he did. No questions asked. No complaints.

  Thoughts, but no retaliation. Like always.

  So why couldn’t he just leave? Surely, he could find a better job than this? Truthfully, the pay wasn’t even that good. Most of it was automatically deducted for the costs of living on campus, while the money he actually earned usually ended up being spent on the students—or on Solbakken’s own matters.

  But somehow, he just couldn’t let go of this place…

  The academy itself hadn’t changed since his days as a student. The bell tower loomed overhead, throwing the courtyard into shade, while cracks marred the old stone walls and the uneven cobbles beneath his feet.

  It was frozen in time, just like Gerald.

  He opened the massive wooden door and climbed up the large staircase. With his current somber presence, he felt like a ghost haunting the place where he had once been happiest, now teaching in the same building where his younger self had studied.

  He moved down the hallway to find his office. That was the one place he could be truly alone. Not all teachers got a solo office, but that was one perk of his service. Inside, he allowed himself a released sigh.

  Truthfully? He did finish grading the papers. Yesterday, he pushed past midnight just to get it done.

  In fact, his history class wasn’t due for the next three hours.

  Ms. Solbakken was typically too busy in her de-aging witchcraft to notice the discrepancy in his timetable.

  And yet he knew if she were to find out, that would just be painted as another sign of disrespect towards her.

  Well, perhaps it was. As partners, he knew they should be honest with each other. But if she got to skip faculty meetings just because she ‘didn’t feel like it’, then Gerald was allowed a small hideout in his personal service-granted office.

  It was a pleasant office after all. The second largest, only to the principal. He even had glass cupboards, a nice window to look out from, a massive fine wood desk to work on, polished to perfection, and a high-backed leather chair.

  He even brought that globe into his office to finish the aesthetic. His little stash was hidden there too…

  He considered it, but… no, not the time for that.

  He sat down in his chair and allowed his head to rest. He could almost fall asleep here, and in fact—he had. A few times in the past two years.

  But there was one worry permeating his mind.

  That broken toilet…

  How did the students manage that?

  How broken could it actually be? Was it mechanical damage, or did they break the ceramic? The first made more sense, but judging by the noises he heard, the latter seemed more likely. In that case… that was actually kind of impressive.

  He mentally considered what tools he might need to get from HandyHome later in the evening.

  First, he would have to assess the damage and then—

  The door to his office burst open, forcing him out of his musings. He was in attention immediately, hands grasping the armrests.

  A woman stood at the entryway…

  Gerald’s heart jumped—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. His breath hitched, lips parting slightly.

  Those eyes so brown, pointed; her skin so fair like a piece of paper, that jet-black hair. The intensity of her entrance, the flair of her stance…

  Lisbeth?

  No… No. His vision unblurred, she…

  In fact, she looked nothing like her.

  Who was this?

  The lady at his door was stunning and so foreign. Her robes… Like those art pieces he’d seen of a distant land; women wearing these magnificent lines of clothing. With the adorned waistband and that decorative bow. He knew there was a name for it, but his mind went blank over the technicalities right now.

  The fire in her entrance matched the red silk she wore.

  Her hair was tied together with two chopsticks, held up so elegantly, the few loose strands of hair perfectly framing her rounded cheekbones.

  “Are you the homeroom teacher at Indigo House?”

  No greeting, no pleasantries. No sir, no respect, no Gerald Aldrick.

  Just ‘teacher at Indigo House.’

  He didn’t correct her.

  “Yes, ma’am. I am—”

  “What is WRONG with you?”

  She bellowed, stomping into his space like it belonged to her, stopping just short of his desk. Gerald leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on hers.

  The brown hue was identical to Lisbeth…

  “Little Bastion came distressed, crying to the Spiriter Home because his homeroom teacher screamed MURDER at him for an accident he did NOT cause!”

  She was angry, yet her face barely scrunched or showed any signs of emotion. The intensity in those eyes and the visceral pitch in her voice were all the signs he needed to understand her anger towards him.

  He considered every word, trying to figure out why he was being yelled at…

  Bastion…

  Accident…

  Screamed murder…

  Wait, that was Ms. Solbakken. He was being screamed at for her earlier tirade.

  “Do you have no soul? Do you have any idea how unlucky Bastion has been recently? Why do you have to traumatize him further?”

  Gerald was trying to figure out what was going on. This… foreign lady… Why was she here for Bastion–

  Oh, wait… he had heard of her.

  That was right. Bastion was from the Spiriter Home, an institute for displaced spirit-awakened children.

  Gerald had heard rumours of a fiery geisha working there. He’d heard… many things, but seeing her now, all he could think was…

  Beautiful…

  “You—all of you so-called teachers at this rotten institute are equally as despicable. Have you nothing to say for yourself? Is this just business as usual to you, hm?”

  Her speech was so eloquent; her voice rolled through those painted lips in such a mesmerizing fashion. She was fascinating, strict with him, and absolutely unapologetic. Not in that bratty demeanor Solbakken had, but a passionate defense of a child.

  A child he didn’t scream at.

  A child he was now being accused of abusing.

  He should have probably tried to at least clear his name, made a good impression, taken her side, or even led her to Ms. Solbakken—the true culprit behind her justified anger.

  A battle of titans. He would watch it.

  But if he were to admit the truth, would she stop shouting at him with such raw passion?

  Did he really want that?

  “Ugh—useless. Utterly useless man! Why did I even bother coming here?”

  She crossed her arms and looked off to the side. Gerald felt like he had just lost a lifeline.

  But thankfully, she wasn’t done with him.

  “I will have Mr. Attila file a formal complaint at your conduct. If you have no remorse for your actions, I’ll make sure you feel it in your paycheck.”

  Perhaps he could use that paycheck to ask her out for coffee or even a nice dinner?

  Wait, no—that wasn’t what she said.

  Focus, Gerald.

  “Or better yet, you’ll just get terminated for abusing your power to hurt innocent children. All of you veterans think you’re above the system. Well think not.”

  So she did know who he was… and pointedly avoided using any of the appropriate titles, or even his name.

  A sheepish smile forced its way through his composed demeanor.

  She turned around, preparing to leave.

  Wait. No—

  He stood from his chair.

  “Excuse me.”

  Thankfully, she stopped, crossing her hands and aiming that judgmental look right back at him. Now, on his feet, she was no longer towering over him.

  She was much shorter than his mind made her seem.

  “I’m sorry. I was…”

  He chuckled to himself; embarrassing as it was, he felt compelled to tell the truth.

  “Respectfully, I was caught up in your beauty. I couldn’t muster the courage to speak. Please don’t mistake that as indifference or any kind of disrespect towards you.”

  ︵ ? ︵?︵ ? ︵??︵ ? ︵?︵ ? ︵

  She raised her eyebrow at him. He couldn’t tell the emotion behind it at all.

  His mind was completely scrambled at her presence.

  “I apologize again. Could we talk about this? I understand your frustration and I’m sincerely sorry about the worry Bastion caused you—”

  “Bastion? You think this is his fault?”

  She cut in, sharp, accusatory.

  He smiled back gently.

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. Indeed, I must have…”

  He considered his options. Really, he did.

  He cleared his throat, preparing to make the speech of his lifetime.

  Anything to get her to stay.

  “I’m sorry, I got caught up in the heat of the moment and released my frustration on that poor boy. Truthfully, this was the third time he had broken something in the house, and I’ve been in charge of fixing everything. But I was out of line and I will apologize to him.”

  She gave him another look, and once again he couldn’t decipher it. There was no anger, no suspicion—at least none he could see…

  Suddenly, she released a pointed and short laugh, rolling her eyes to exaggerate the motion.

  Gerald was utterly lost for words.

  “Ah, Mr. Aldrick—you really are a terrible liar.”

  The call-out did not even rile him. Truthfully, his mind melted at just the way she said his name. It was so playful, downright seductive.

  Hypnotizing.

  She laughed again. This time with less venom.

  “Oh, you useless man. Just like everyone else.”

  She exhaled heavily, and his eyes caught the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was so petite, so delicate in that dress.

  “But I haven’t the time to speak to a doormat.”

  He could be a doormat.

  She turned on her heels again.

  Wait, no. He couldn’t be a doormat if that meant she left.

  Quick, Gerald Aldrick, Colonel of the First Squadron. Act.

  “Can you at least tell me how you knew I lied?”

  It was desperate—not that he really cared about the answer. Deceit was likely written all over his face anyway.

  Thankfully, she took the bait. She didn’t look back, but it was enough.

  “Bastion didn’t break any toilet. I assume you would know that if you were the one who was doing the shouting.”

  Oh, right. It was Nicolas…

  She shrugged, and because her robe was loose at the back, that small movement exposed a patch of skin beneath the flowing fabric.

  He stared—as respectfully as a man of his stature should.

  “And since there’s two homeroom teachers per class, I guess that leaves the witch as responsible for this particular offense. It’s simple logic.”

  He nodded, realizing his mistake only later. She was still turned the other way after all.

  But she didn’t wait for an answer; she walked off. Only now, he realized she was wearing high-heeled sandals.

  She was even shorter than she seemed.

  “One last thing—” He was reaching on instinct. His gloved hand extended toward her before his mind could catch up.

  “I’m so sorry, but… I didn’t catch your name…”

  He heard the faintest chuckle from her, but she didn’t stop her stride this time. She walked toward the exit, holding the door with those delicate painted nails, about to close it behind her.

  She graced him with that look in her eyes, so magnetic. Her smile, so confident.

  “Robin Taylor.”

  She moved to close the door, but Gerald expected it.

  “Ms. Taylor.”

  The name left his mouth like it was the most natural thing ever. Like he had been calling her for a lifetime.

  Thankfully, she stopped. But her eyes were directed at him, an expression as cold as ice. This was his last chance before she truly left…

  “I … I wasn’t lying about your beauty. That part, I meant that.”

  She smiled; it was genuine. His heart melted at the sight. She liked that. In fact, she had to look away for a moment, shaking her head as she considered her response.

  She was flustered.

  He waited. He would wait however long it took.

  Finally, she looked back at him; her smile now more mischievous.

  “I know...”

  The door clicked shut, encasing the room in a deep silence.

  Gerald collapsed back into his chair immediately.

  But somehow, he didn’t feel empty.

  His gloved hands were shaking, hovering over his thighs.

  He was still nervous.

  Robin Taylor.

  Robin Taylor…

  He etched the name into his mind like a mantra.

  Robin Taylor…

  His heart was racing, his cheeks hot. Had she caught it, or did they flush after she already left?

  He cleared his throat, yet he couldn’t shake the image of her. She lingered in his mind, still screaming at him, if only he shut his eyes.

  And that smile at the end.

  Was he imagining it?

  Perhaps…

  No…

  He shouldn’t assume.

  All he could hope was that he didn’t make her uncomfortable.

  Perhaps…

  He reached for the calendar on his desk.

  Just as he remembered, in two weeks, they had a scheduled check-in for a future student in Trizstan Attila’s Spiriter Home.

  He asked Ms. Solbakken to handle it. After all, he…

  Trizstan Attila…

  Gerald weighed his options…

  Get a chance to see Robin Taylor again, or avoid him.

  No, that didn’t matter right now.

  Not when his long dead heart was finally beating again.

  Perhaps he could apologise to Ms. Solbakken for today’s dismissal by taking the Spiriter Home visit for her?