Valeri sighed in relief as their familiar dynamic returned. Now this makes more sense, she thought.
"Let's take this class outside," she called, already walking. "And leave your Scruners on the desk. Orin will take them all to their nest as punishment."
"What did I do—?"
"You volunteered," Hysteria lied, pouting as she brushed past him.
Orin opened his mouth, questioned the logic, remembered the Whisper Leaf with his signature, sighed, and complied.
The rest of the kids skipped out, leaving trails of smug laughter and occasional sympathy behind.
Orin couldn't decipher either expression. But he assumed they were stupid enough to think he'd carry each Scruner to the basement by hand.
"If only they moved the muscles in their head half as much," he muttered.
First, he slammed each Scruner shut.
Click!-Their hollow spines snapped closed with a sound he liked too much.
This simple action pumped a jolt of adrenaline through their weird booklike bodies. Scrunters hated adrenaline and exertion, so naturally, they worked out quickly just to nap harder.
"Lirvos!" Orin barked.
The Scruners flapped their inner wings and lifted off the desks in a slow swarm, obeying the command.
This little trick had taken Orin hours to rediscover. If only he had access to the third-year scriptures, he could've spent that time learning something new. But no! He'd rediscovered it during his first detention—throbbing headache, wobbling knees, every drop of water gone from his body as he lugged one Scruner after another, manually, to the basement.
Orin often worked under such imposed constraints. Valeri's rules made progress crawl, and he hated wasting time rediscovering the ways of Mystica that had already been documented.
He double-checked the old theories, sure—yet those should be background processes. Something to keep the mind humming while one gets to chase something new. Something undiscovered.
Valeri considered Orin a child. Once he gets to prove her wrong—really wrong—he'd be able to bypass her entirely and unlock the full mysteries of Wanderlust.
Simple plan: undermine her authority. Make a compelling case to the Board of Scholars. Get her replaced, and get himself certified by the board of scholars, or whatever they are called.
Maybe calling them a burden on Wanderlust wasn't the way to go. Either way, Orin blamed those extras for the reason his plans never worked.
"They wouldn't know genius if it weighed a ton and was on top of them." Orin snorted.
Valeri had immense knowledge about Wandererkind. Knowledge, Orin didn't care to match.
Not caring enough to remember the name of the person you needed a favor from had nothing to do with Mystica, and everything to do with power, it seemed.
"Wanderer certificate isn't a thing!" Orin complained to the Scruners flapping behind him. "Every aspect of Wanderlust has elements of you guys woven into it, and I shouldn't be forced to study—or adjust—for people who don't let me do my thing. You catch my drift?"
One path down, Orin had only one other route to freedom.
The world considered him a child. This meant a parent held the power to overrule a teacher's judgment call. They needed a rock-solid reason—sturdier than a Joot's exoskeleton—which, in Orin's case, could be a claimed family emergency. That way, he could quit the institution while still retaining his Whisperkeep privilege.
Knowledge was a basic right, after all.
"Teach thinks she's smart," Orin chuckled. "But pushing me only makes me stronger. Look at you guys." He turned to walk backward, the route by now etched in memory. "Which nine-year-old figured out how to make you fly? Lady wants to meet my creator… I'll make her one."
The Scruners sensed the malicious intent leaking from Orin, yet stayed close as their nest fast approached and their adrenaline reserves plummeted.
A few Mystica could mimic one's voice, and fewer still could impersonate a person. Mix-matching the two could create as many fathers as Orin needed.
"I'll have to break into the Whisperkeep tomorrow," Orin decided, clenching a fist. "Can't waste time figuring out their Orphus."
He walked past a massive rock with an ethereal form of shadows. It hosted several swirling bushes that turned inward in an endless loop. The Scruners stretched their wings to form a cocoon before attaching themselves to the swirling bush.
Orin didn't bother with the chant—or the Orphus—needed to guide the bush into accepting the Scruners. Both were ancient Mystica who had been doing this dance long before Wanderer's interference.
"The child is back," the rock conveyed to the [Mother An'z] in Orin's classroom, who in turn passed the message to her Queen.
Deep underground, the earth stirred, agitated by a shimmering green liquid, giving rise to a disfigured mass of flesh.
When the [Queen An'z] spoke, her voice echoed like a creeping sensation rather than a sound. A whisper that curled in the marrow of bones.
"Where is he?" The words slithered through the air, carrying an eerie, broken attempt at Wanderer laughter—distorted, fractured, unnatural.
Several eyes burst open from the fleshy mass, scouring the darkness in search of Orin.
"Found you. Ha... Ha!ha, eh…" she tried to imitate a Wanderer's chuckle, but the broken sound twisted into something sinister.
Orin kept hearing a faint static sound—crackling, vanishing, then returning—but he didn't think much of it. The basement was home to several Mystica, some sworn enemies of one another.
He walked past the blob of flesh—the Queen's temporary body, a well-hidden shadow among the many shadows in the basement.
"He can sense me, but not see me. How unique."
The [Queen An'z] sank into the ground and reappeared three hundred [Silkons] away, at the center of Zone-W. Her mass of flesh folded inward, shaping into one of the Queen's antennae.
Her head was immense—smooth in some places, ridged in others—crowned with a pair of antennae so long they vanished into the darkness beyond. These appendages twitched with purpose, sensing not just the physical world, but the threads of unseen connections stretching far beyond her chamber.
Her eyes—many, dark, and unwavering—gleamed with a knowing intelligence. Each was a window into a mind that did not see as a singular being, but as something far greater, stretched across vast distances.
Her form was layered, ribbed with overlapping segments that pulsed faintly with life. They shifted ever so slightly, as if tuned to some unseen rhythm beneath the soil.
She did not speak in words, yet her will was understood. A single flick of her antennae, a ripple through her presence, and an entire hidden network bent to her silent command.
Those within her domain did not simply obey—they moved as though her thoughts were their own.
She did not rush. She did not need to. Time belonged to her. Within the depths of her kingdom, nothing stirred without her knowing.
"Why is he always down there? Isn't he a Wanderer?" the [Queen An'z] questioned the [Mother An'z].
"Ah… I see now." She received a signal—an answer—only her antennae could detect. "Punishment… He ordered how many Scruners? Interesting. When was the last time… yes, there was her."
The Queen An'z shifted, the cavern around her wriggling and expanding to better accommodate her mass.
"And that lady… another. Him too…" She counted back. "Xavier, was it? The first Wanderer?" She stirred again. "Keep monitoring the child," she ordered, severing the connection with the An'z across Zeus.
"What's the condition at Xandor?" she inquired, gathering signals from all four kingdoms. "We'll focus on this one for now… The child whose path is destined to cross with ours. For good or ill, I cannot yet see—not while Valeri has him confined."
"Fear not!" she assured the other Queens. "For he is destined to roam Wanderlust, collecting strands of prophecy that will lead him to the crossroads of fate. I will ensure it."
"Remember. Monitor him. His name is Orin Mystiq—the one closest to our ways. The one closest to the true source."
———P.B———
Fate—an unavoidable crossroad. A distant point in one's future that cannot be evaded. A place where strength of conviction, flashes of courage, a malleable heart, and the will to choose are all tested.
Tested not for the greater good, nor to determine one's place in the great cycle, but simply to decide the next crossroad.
The higher power has no hand in the squabbles of lower beings, for all are minute variations of it. And in their final moments, they shall once again return to it.
In the grand scheme, fate is merely a system of intersections. One may alter another's path, and, aside from the immediate ripples, that fate remains bound to mediocrity.
One reason philosophers travel so often is their understanding of fate.
The more one travels, the deeper the entanglement within the web of fates, creating a chance for a mere peasant to meet, greet, or even become the queen. It is this belief that led our ancestors to name us Wanderers.
"Everything a soul touches encompasses its will, and within that will, the web of fate is woven:" A quote decoded from the Tablet of Fate by a Mahant.
Orin always found fate to be an intriguing subject because he secretly believed it to be a Mystica in disguise.
Dr. Quack once said, and Orin quoted often: "The web of fates is sticky." The ink on the parchment had been scribbled as though written by a madman. "By sight, smell, touch… even a single word spoken millions of Silkons away can glue two unknown strands together."
Orin regretted asking that nut-job to forge his father's signature. And now, he already regretted relying on him as his final backup plan to climb Ouroboros. Still, the philosopher-scholar madman always had a point.
They were Silkons apart—each on opposite ends of Wanderlust—yet their crossroad could easily be a meeting at the infamous market.
Fake or not, in theory, someone who could see the entirety of Wanderlust could predict such a meeting by studying their choices.
The third eye, said to perceive all, does not truly see the future. It sees the web of fates.
"Crack jobs and their crazy theories," Orin chuckled to himself while peering down at the street, where his classmates awaited his return.
Among several other things, Orin always carried a thin sheet of Camlyth scales, powered by Nexalt-ore and fine-tuned by his own hands. The sheet bent light itself, distorting his figure from view.
He convinced the school to let him plaster those sheets over every window of the building, insisting they enhanced privacy.
True to their nature, people inside could peer out, but outsiders couldn't peep in—except for Orin, or anyone else with orange eyes pumped full of Ore.
"They can wait a bit longer," said Orin, drifting back into thought. "That's it…" A theory formed, one that scratched at the edges of his subconscious.
"…The so-called current gods of Wanderlust—the Aurochs—they aren't all-knowing. They just have a better view of the web of fates. Their crystal eyes aren't just for show…" He patted himself on the back. "Those stars captured in their eyes must be viewing points."
Orin stepped up to the Z'board and ordered the Crawlers to move by bossing their mother around. The [Mother An'z] interpreted his inner vision and relayed it to her children, who then began reforming their house based on its minute fluctuations.
But the [Queen An'z] intruded, issuing her instructions—subtle tweaks to Orin's vision, just enough to keep him satisfied… and just far enough from the truth.
The kid dared to break down the most complex Mystica into simple terms. And everyone knew what a Wanderer did once things were simplified.
Queen An'z tried to deter him, yet Orin still sensed it—an itch in the back of his mind he couldn't quite scratch.
He began to catch onto the invisible struggle for control—this tug-of-war for information. Not wanting Orin to trace the trail back to her, the queen ordered the [Mother An'z] to unravel the mystery quickly, hoping the sudden influx of euphoria would wash away any lingering theories.
"If only there were a way to kill the brat without raising suspicion," thought the queen, her every breath somehow pulling Orin closer to the unknown. "If only they had heard my voice back then…" She cursed her fellow Mystica. "We wouldn't have our pets reaching for what we never dared imagine."
Queen An'z considered reaching out to the nearest Aurochs. But their laid-back attitude to life gave her the answer before she could even form the question.
"The Source is everyone's and no one's." Queen An'z finished the Aurochs' thought.
"If you understood, I wouldn't need to repeat myself—every time," said the Aurochs in a calm, mesmerizing voice, her words vibrating gently, altering the queen's deepest doubts.
"Stop infusing your voice."
"Oh, what do you mean by that? This is how I speak," the Aurochs replied with a chuckle.
"Don't play your pointless mind tricks with me, Auro," Queen An'z warned.
"If it bothers you so much, I shall keep my eyes shut when the kid visits me at noon," Aurochs assured, her voice vanquishing the last traces of doubt and anger within Queen An'z.
The Queen realized the trick, but she also knew their kind never went back on their word. Whether it was the Wanderers claiming them to be divine, or their delusions since birth, something made them feel holy… and thus, made the sin of falsehood unforgivable.
"I can see your inner conspiracies," Aurochs intruded. "Disconnect before you make any more."
Queen An'z focused on finding the invisible, ethereal thread connecting her to Aurochs. She pulled, stretched, and split the thread into several strands, tying a "knot of silence" in the shape of a rune.
The sudden adrenaline rush from witnessing the diagram of an Aurochs eye appear on the Z'board turned Orin red, his hair follicles rising in astonishment. But one glance at Valeri dragged him back into the cold realm of Znox.
"I'm pretty sure someone already discovered and published this theory too," he muttered, scattering the Crawlers across the Z'board. "Make yourselves some comfortable beds," he told the little fellows. "We're done for the day."
And without a chant or direct order from their mother, the Crawlers began adjusting their home for a restful night.
The sight of a Grumvok rekindled Orin's spirit of vengeance.
Grumvok were peculiar, cantankerous Mystica that resembled wizened old men, perpetually draped in ragged, dirt-streaked ballians that hung just low enough to preserve a shred of dignity.
Barefoot and hunched, their short, wiry frames gave them the appearance of creatures that had just rolled out of a gutter, unbothered by the world's standards of cleanliness.
Their patchy, dull hair was a tangled mess, constantly scratched at with gnarled fingers as if infested with unseen pests. Wrinkled, sagging skin, sunken eyes ringed in shadow, and a permanent scowl completed the look—these Mystica didn't merely exist… they endured life with a deep-rooted irritation.
What truly set the Grumvok apart, though, was their behavior.
Upon encountering a Wanderer, a Grumvok would immediately freeze, squint with narrowed, judgmental eyes, and begin an unspoken, overly detailed evaluation. Its mouth, always working—whether chewing on an old twig, a pebble, or something more mysterious—moved lazily as it judged the sorry figure before it. Then, with a loud, guttural grunt, it would spit in disgust.
The height of the spit determined the level of contempt:
A low spit meant mild disapproval.
A shoulder-level spit signaled deep disappointment.
A high, arcing spit—utter repulsion.
Unfortunately for the people judged, Grumvok's saliva is highly flammable.
The people of Wanderlust, ever practical, have learned to collect its spit to light street lamps filled with wax, making use of the creature's natural disdain to fuel the city's nightlights.
Despite its foul temperament, the Grumvok is not actively harmful. It simply exists in a state of eternal discontent, forever disappointed in Wandererity, forever chewing, forever ready to spit in judgment.
Orin related to the disappointment Grumvok held toward Wandererity. None truly understood his intellect either. A Mystica, after all, is known to comprehend more of the world than a Wanderer ever could. This certified Grumvok's disdain… and Orin's disappointment in Wandererkind, giving him, at least in his mind, the right to judge and spit as well.
"If a god finds you disappointing, you are a disgrace," Orin declared, peering down at the encounter below. "There isn't any other way to look at it but through acceptance."
Grumvok stumbled upon Valeri first. It spat on the floor, failing to produce flame in Orin's sight. Tiny black fragments embedded in the paved road dove into the mystica's saliva, neutralizing its flaming essence.
Scratching its belly with indifference, the Grumvok shifted its judgmental gaze toward the class bully—this time letting loose a high-arching spit that lit several street lamps in a single fluid motion.
"Why you little—"
"Harming a mystica is stupid," Valeri cut in, reminding both him and the class. "That's the fastest way to lose all your hard-earned stars and land yourself in detention. Not to mention jail time for second-time offenders."
She stressed every word like a hammer driving in a nail:
"Never. Forget. Your. Basics!"
Valeri didn't need to mention what happened to third-time offenders. Even as children, they knew the terrible consequences of messing with the delicate balance—by word for most, and by sight for those stubborn few who thought their age would shield them from retribution.
One had to grow up fast at the dawn of a new era… or chaos would take hold.
The way Valeri handled the situation—and the various emotional contraptions flickering across the kids' faces—sparked an idea in Orin. With no more time to waste, he decided to become the class guide for the day, leading Valeri to Aurochs and revealing his theory about the eyes—and testing its merit through her reaction.
Down in the waiting hall, Orin woke up Elio Ruiz, assuring him he could sleep on the trip.
"How about you make up an excuse for me instead?" Elio mumbled. "Say I'm lost, sick… or dead. Anything for five more minutes."
He leaned on Orin as he dozed off again, clinging to sleep like it owed him money.
"Come on, Slooth," Orin grunted, jerking him awake. "Forgot about the star you need for Ouroboros?"
"I'm one short. I can earn that anytime," Elio protested, eyes barely open.
"How in Aurochs' name do you have more stars than me?"
"Well..." Elio yawned, "I don't do much... which also applies to the negatives that reduce the stars I do earn." He stretched lazily. "Also... I'd rather sleep here and now than in some mountain that keeps moving. I'm guessing it's harder to sleep there?"
Orin knew Ouroboros pumped its residents with unnatural vitality, making slumber a foreign concept, but he kept that knowledge to himself. Partly because he wasn't sure. Mostly because he still needed Slooth's help to get in.
"How can anyone just dismiss Ouroboros?"
"See, that's why I didn't want to say it out loud... but then I remembered I didn't care either way... and it slipped out."
"That's rude," Orin scowled.
"Says the guy who can't remember his only friend's name." Elio contemplated frowning… but gave up. Too much effort.
"Touché. But we're more colleagues than friends."
"I don't know what either of those words means."
"And I don't know the definition of a friend."
"Let's just keep each other's words to ourselves. I've already used up today's allocated energy."
"Damn!" Orin chuckled. "Let me help you out till the Whirl-track."
Elio nodded in appreciation and leaned into Orin, who half-carried him toward the exit.
"You don't have any mysterious disease or infectious condition, right?"
"Said–umpteenth–no." Elio broke it down into the bare minimum of words.
Orin understood. From experience, anything further would only be answered in vague grunts, which proved true as Valeri peppered them with questions.
Elio only spoke again when necessary, chanting a simple spell to activate their Gyro-Cab, then crawled with slothlike precision into the spiky embrace of the Mystica's shell.
The Gyroclaw was a low, armored fortress—sturdy and unyielding—moving with deliberate, unhurried steps. A massive, spiraling carapace sat atop its back, twisting like an ancient coil. Its surface bore half-moon ridges—natural hooks where travelers could secure themselves.
Despite its slow and steady gait, the shell rotated in a graceful, continuous motion—mesmerizing and methodical. Its limbs, thick and ridged with age, carried it across land and shallow waters alike, indifferent to the weight of those clinging to its living spiral.
No one has seen the true form of this mystica; the only visible attributes are its rock-like shell, which we ride on, and legs that pop out beneath the rock to move it around.
Silent and unmoved by urgency, the rock follows a path of its choosing. Those who wish to ride must learn its ways—coax, wait, or accept the journey it offers, not the one they seek.
Orin had several ways to solve the mystica's mysteries, but he acted on none, as every theory fell into the category of harming the mystica.
His claims—"A mere mortal can never harm a god-like mystica, or, why can't I experiment on my friend?"—were never approved.
While Valeri had access to more knowledge than Orin, even she was shocked by the chant Elio used on their cab, earning him the stars she had taken away just a minute ago.
Elio had somehow turned the uncomfortable ride of a 'Gyroclaw' into the comfort of a mother's womb. His position was akin to a baby in a womb, with the spike morphing into an embryo sac that tended to his needs for comfort.
Valeri and Orin shared a look, their rivalry taking a backseat as amazement steered them toward the wildcard—Elio Ruiz.
Before Valeri could confirm the true genius nature of Mr. Ruiz through Hysteria, Orin dropped another bombshell into the confusion.
"Shall I take over the guide duties for today?" Orin proposed.
"Why?" The entire group questioned in unison, filled with wonder.
"I need the stars more than anyone here!"
In the heat of the moment, despite her reservations about letting Orin steer the narrativ, —Valeri let him be their guide, regretting her decision the very next moment.
"This is how one truly learns the ways of mystica," Orin announced. "I should become a teacher," he wondered aloud. "Aurochs knows these misfits of the miserable—"
"—Inner voice..." Hysteria interrupts Orin's monologue. "...is meant to be on the inside."
Orin scratched his head, avoiding everyone's gaze. He confirmed the route he wanted to take by pressing a few dials etched around the 'Gyroclaw.' Each dial represented a stop on the 'Whirl-track' that covered their little town of 'QW-Z007.'
"Who here can tell me why our crappy little—"
"—Inner voice edit..." Hysteria said with gritted teeth.
"...Our village is called QW-Z007 instead of having a normal name?" Orin waited for a reply, frowning like a Grumvok. "Hint! Look closer at the houses you've been living in all your life." He pointed out the street filled with identical houses.
The buildings had a solid base frame that rested on a self-adjusting, wheel-like mechanism, similar to Ornyx, at the bottom, and were topped with an inflatable roof. Everyone knew their homes weren't just mere shelters—they were living, adaptable vessels. With a few mechanical adjustments, a simple home could traverse land, water, and sky.
But what did their house have to do with the village's name?
Hysteria understood what Orin hinted at because of her vast knowledge, yet she stayed calm and oblivious, blending into the crowd of children.
Orin had a crude way of getting to the truth when it didn't involve any mystica, and even if the truth was incomplete, he stuck to its premise, not wasting any precious time on terms made up by Wanderers.
Orin tried throwing a hint. "Why do we move all the time?"
"Because we don't want to be crushed by a moving mountain. Duh!" Billy the Bully retorted.
"Not bad, Billy." Orin gave him a thumbs-up.
"Who is Billy?" The class wondered, looking at Axel Kade.
Orin ignored the doubts and listed the terraforming wonders of Wanderlust. "The Spiral Sea—Tartarus Hallows, Sudden Depth—Devil's Kitchen, Descending Pyramid—Eon Exor, and Rudra Mountain—aka Ouroboros Zee, are but a few examples that require even the mystica to relocate."
Half of what Orin said made no sense to his classmates. They had only recently learned that the moving mountain was called Ouroboros, with only Hysteria and Valeri knowing the "Zee" tag at the end.
In fact, Valeri doubted if there were more than a handful of people who knew about the "Zee" title at the end of Ouroboros.
"The Spiral Sea we get..." Rohan Reddy inferred from a distance.
Like always, he was late, and like always, Valeri acknowledged her favorite student by showering him with stars instead of disciplining the brat.
Orin hated Rohan's common black hair, forgettable muscular physique, mismatched Bubblepede that made him "cute" in the eyes of others, and his entire existence.
Except for nitpicking on physical features, Orin usually forgot that he didn't have any solid reason to hate Rohan, except for the fact that Valeri loved him.
"...What are those others?" Rohan asked.
"Nothing, my child." Valeri hugged Rohan—instead of reprimanding him for being late—and whispered something into his ear. "Those are titles you are meant to learn during the third year." She turned a sharp gaze at Orin. "And one at your graduation... if you desire so." Her eyes warned Orin to keep his mouth shut.
"Why is some knowledge restricted?" asked Rohan.
Valeri would have chewed Orin whole if he'd asked the same question, but since Orin planted the question in Rohan's mind, she had to answer it—albeit in a mysterious way.
"Some truths must be earned to be fully understood." Valeri petted Rohan on the back. "Half knowledge is half wisdom, and half wisdom only brings chaos." She intensified her glare on Orin.
Moments like these were what confused Orin the most. He had a hard time distinguishing one emotion on a person's face. With Valeri edging on three different emotions, any comprehension of emotion left the room.
Valeri showed unconditional love toward Rohan, uncontrolled rage toward Orin, and had a neutral aura where the rest of the class chilled—all in the same space and time.
She must be an emotion-controlling mystica... Orin successfully used his inner voice this time. ...or have several hormonal Ornyx stuffed down her pants. Either way, I got another vague answer to one of my doubts.
"Let's just move on." Orin shrugged off the intense bout as if it were a mere pebble in his path.
This kid! Hysteria and Valeri shared a baffled look.
"I was building up to say everything is interconnected, so breaking down a single aspect of anything will get you closer to unraveling the true reason." Orin paused to see if anything sank in, but couldn't separate their 'thirst for knowledge' expression from their 'I am a dumb-dum' expression. "We made houses that can make us move on short notice because of the Wonders."
"Yeah..." The class agreed.
"The name of our village helps the government rearrange the kingdom back to its original form with little effort."
"Oh...!" The class chorused as one.
"Why does it have to be the same?" Julie asked.
"Because it's less likely someone would get lost," replied Oscar with a terrifying look. "The real question is, why would you want what works to change?"
"I agree," said Selene.
"Or it's how the government keeps us in check." Novak's twisted smile lured Selene away into his conspiracies.
"I agree," Selene was brainwashed.
"It is more about order and organization," Kairos said.
"Oh, look... the wheelchair decided to talk." Axel stepped on Kairos's wheelchair, cracking his knuckles to awaken his Ornyx. "For someone who opposes the government at every point, you sure agree with them a lot."
Kairos swiped on an ore embedded in his wheelchair, pulling away from Axel in a sudden burst of speed. "You understand before you oppose." He stole what Valeri once told him. "Everything is a wall if you want to break through, and everything is a door if you search for the knob."
"I don't know about what the wheels said," Orin interjected. "Mystica have rivalry, love, and hate amongst their kind, so one doesn't prefer staying beside the other, or only stays beside a certain kind. Wanderers..."
"—Ahem!" Hysteria coughed.
"—The government..." Orin adjusted his stance. "...has no choice but to adjust based on the mystica's whims. This is why we get announcements of shifting even though there isn't any disaster heading our way. It is also why we have so many restrictions on the kind of mystica we can introduce to our village, zone, or quadrant."
Valeri wanted to step in and clarify, but Orin's insight shocked her. Upon deeper analysis, it made sense. This particular insight into ruling fell under the bylaws of Mystica, so Orin, noting it down as a sub-point in his vast knowledge, seemed entirely plausible.
"Unless you want your stars to become shooting stars, I suggest we start and finish this class in silence." Valeri snapped the class back on track.
The class strapped themselves onto the Gyroclaw and went in circles along the whirl-track. Orin had to keep his description short—his enticing ego of knowledge in check—as a person's right side soon became their left on the whirling ride. He only stopped talking when they came across a Whimzle.
Shrouded in a dense coat of stiff, bristling strands, the Whimzle was a mystica of silence and secrecy. Its body was etched with strange, childlike markings—swirls, stars, and odd, uneven shapes that seemed to shift when no one was looking.
At the slightest hint of attention, the Whimzle locked in place, every fiber of its being stiffening as if it could disappear through sheer will alone.
It did not run, nor fight.
It simply froze, hoping the world would forget it existed.
Valeri caught a sense of intense yearning for the Whimzle in Orin's eyes. But then his obvious ploy of steering the Gyroclaw toward the destination of his choice became clear, as he circled the shell, changing the dials without using any chants.
"Knoc'tos." Valeri chanted, stopping their ride. "You choose this role." She pointed at a Z billboard. "Explain."
The Z'tablet, Z'board, and Z'billboard have similar components, with only the Mother An'z and the screen size varying drastically.
"Meet the map of our little shi..." Orin stopped, looked into Hysteria's frown, edited out the unnecessary insults, and continued. "...Dum children, stuck in a delusion of... stuff... who need a way to navigate the village they live in."
"What about the disabled?" Kairos pointed to himself, furious.
"You have two wheels; you should be covering twice the ground I can." Orin shrugged away the question with a dissatisfied click of his tongue.
"Ahem!"
"What? It's true." Orin shut off Hysteria's help. "We have mysticism, Ornyx, and a Wanderlust of plausibilities. The only one in your way is you."
Valeri waited for the confrontation to play out, and once she saw Kairos clutching his fist and going silent, she stepped in. "Isn't there a better way to phrase that insight of yours, Mr. Mystiq?"
"I edited out all of the insults," Orin shrugged. With Valeri's gaze still boring into him and Hysteria uttering a silent prayer, he apologized. "I'm sorry the one true source messed up your creation. Maybe it's revealing a piece of the puzzle only you can see. Think of it that way. More often than not, it's you standing in your path to success. Give up the excuses and start searching for ways to achieve. I bet everything will seem like a blessing then!"
"What is the true— OUCH!"
Valeri flicked Axel's forehead before he could ask more questions.
"Another need-to-know knowledge," Valeri whispered to Orin through gritted teeth.
"That is why I say I need to graduate fast and be with peers of my intellect," Orin smirked. "Hold me back all you want. You can never hold back knowledge from the thirsty."
"Even if it costs Wanderlust everything?"
"You see Wanderlust as Wanderers and mystica. I see it as just another part of the true source. Maybe we need to break it down into manageable parts to understand it better. Maybe..." Orin stiffened, fighting back the tears that didn't listen to his commands. "...then we can access it all." He rubbed his nose, looking away. "Find true balance in this accursed society in which all of you like to play pretend." He placed both palms on the huge orb holding the Mother An'z. "I don't care what you or the others might think—or do. I will find a way to find the truth, try all you might to hide it."
Valeri stopped Hysteria from reaching out to Orin. An unspoken truth in her eyes forced Hysteria to comply. "Let's get back to the class." She ordered everyone back in line.
Orin briefed the class about the map, where certain things could be found, and which commute was best, based on the distance required to travel. He kept the description precise. His tears dried off before the explanation came to an end.
"The gap between two villages is necessary for the mystica to travel," Orin pointed in the air, away from the Z' billboard. "This gap, otherwise known as safe-zones, helps them keep a safe distance from other mystica's senses. We use them to host visa applications."
Orin saw Axel raise his hand from the corner of his eye and expanded the explanation. "A place for us to get used to mystica that can't enter our village. For travel or immigration purposes." Axel lowered his hand halfway. "I am not explaining immigration." He frowned, and Axel lowered the rest of his hand. "Some also use it to introduce new mystics into their village, like a trial run of sorts. Above all, the smartest people use these areas to host carnivals. Which happens to be our next stop."
"Are you sure?" Valeri asked. "That's going beyond the required class material."
"Need the extra steps for extra credit," Orin said while thinking to himself. Need that area to test out your emotional leaks. Only then will my revelation at the temple yield me some answers.
"So predictable," Valeri whispered with a chuckle.
Even though decoding the hidden motives of a self-proclaimed mysterious man was child's play for Valeri, she often used these words ("so predictable") to throw Orin off his game.
After all, Orin wasn't the only game she played. The nineteen other students, not as vicious as Orin, but almost an equal challenge to handle.
Twenty different devils, twenty different ways, and a single year to implement it all. If all went right, the second year would be slightly less challenging, and hopefully by the time they graduated, they would become a better generation for a greater future.
While those two words bought Valeri a bit more time to plan and tackle the issues of other students, the same two words rocked Orin's entire plan of action. Like a domino effect, he had to alter, change, and revamp the entire plan and its backup plans.
Wanderers! Orin used the word as a curse. I need to spook them fast and take them to the temple. He reassured himself about the latest plan. Wait... then my plan might become obvious. He looked at Valeri, pretending to handle other kids' problems. She is good. Too good.
He looked at the map and found a street that had recently changed its name. The politics behind it didn't intrigue him one bit, but the change gave him an idea. What if I rename and readjust the same plan? She won't see it coming. His cheeks spread wide, unable to contain his devious smile.
"I am a freaking genius."
"Let's get a move on." Valeri hopped onto the shell. "Did you readjust the route, Mr. Mystiq?"
Orin replied by turning the same devious smile toward her. Relax you with some Co'he, spook you with the Cerberus, then unravel a mystery in front of the Tablet of Fate… I'm a freaking genius.
"Yes, ma'am." He saluted.
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