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-- Yesterday, you tolerated a demon; today, do you want to tolerate this? What else will you tolerate? We had a chance, here and now. One for all, all for one, and the many against a couple of tyrants. But it's much more convenient to sit around with a sour face and hope that someday... But nothing will happen later. I don't know what else you will silently endure, but nothing good awaits you anymore. And I have made my choice.
He continues.
Tioskets watched Fortis leave with annoyance and muttered something inaudible under his breath.
Gideon watched the ensuing escalation of the situation and the attack with bitterness and indignation. Fortis and Vari's actions seemed, in general, justified, but where was Veylis going? It was hard to believe that he was so touched by the fate of Ignat and Dion; he probably didn't mention the real reason. Gideon felt that his intervention and participation in the brawl between the tyrant and the rebels were expected, and involuntarily reaching for his pistol, he grabbed the strap on his shoulder, but for some reason hesitated to take out the weapon and jump into the battle. Shouldn't he, as a friend, join Fortis? Shouldn't he, as an elected representative of the class, stand up for his own? In theory, yes, but something persistently stopped him, and it wasn't even fear, but a quite conscious doubt. It was all wrong. In a fit of hot-headedness and stubbornness, to openly kill the deputy director at an official ceremony in front of the entire academy under the pretext of an honest duel? If this is possible, and they somehow manage to do it, what then? Definitely nothing good; it could turn out even worse than just expulsion, and that's if we don't think about the very likely casualties among them. Even though all the solemnity was completely shattered by Duncan's madness, and the ceremony was nothing more than a ridiculous farce, such a reprisal against one of the parties would be a very sad end to this page of history, on which one should not allow one's own name to be written in blood, whether it be one's own or someone else's.
Perhaps, it was this minute of doubt that saved him from rash actions; the royal commander, appointed as their new curator, stopped this unsightly spectacle. Gideon approached his comrades who were gathering to kill and be killed and looked at them with a heavy gaze. But not finding the right words, he gritted his teeth, turned silently, and walked towards the exit.
Indeed, what could he say to them? Scold them like naughty children or praise them for their desire to defend their principles? Well, of course, it's the perfect time for lectures, but it won't convince anyone, Mr. "class representative" - Gideon thought later, sitting on his cot in his room. The last thought was accompanied by an ironic smile.
Against the background of recent events, it became clear that this meant nothing compared to the real title and the accompanying hardships that Futaba faced, although in reality, it was clear anyway - how much sense is there in a demonstrative title assigned by an aunt to children who had just met? Now, it is unlikely that he will be able to convince himself that this is exactly what he should strive for. Fantasies of following an illusory duty, blind faith, and support for comrades were fading and flowing away like water, as was, perhaps, the time they had left in this world after opposing the general.
Gideon wearily ran his palm over his face and looked absentmindedly out the window. It was late, and a calm, warm July night was outside. As if no crazy scenarios had happened that day. At least some of his friends carefully avoided the incident, Leila, Nira... If there are good turns possible in this universe, he hoped that one would save Fortis and others from an unenviable fate at the very beginning of their lives. In any case, he needs to move on so as not to drown in the thickening darkness in the academy. And not only in it - the future of the whole country was under the shadow of the king, who decided to have fun at the expense of the students in his old age. There is something in common between them and Duncan; maybe they are even friends. Be that as it may, the question of how to act in the current circumstances did not give him peace, and he sat in the middle of the night in thought.
Although he was not locked in here, room 305 gave the feeling of a prison cell, and the presence of an unpleasant neighbor completed the picture. Now, he had been sleeping for a long time, and Tioskets had become accustomed to this rumbling sound that accompanied every night and even considered it a good sign - it meant that the demon was here and sleeping, not going to do who knows what. Still, there was no time or desire to constantly monitor him, although he was probably connected to what was happening. The young man put his watch on the table in front of him and simply watched phlegmatically for a while as the second hand went around in a circle. Then, he took out the small set of tools that his father had given him from the drawer, which he had intended to use on his very first day at NAILS. Think about the future, but live in the present - that's what his father had said to him then. But the future comes every second, tearing the ear with the unbearable creak of gears! Or maybe he misunderstood? After a while, instead of an accessory, all its constituent parts were neatly laid out in front of him. And a few hours later, the watch was back in its usual form, and he was again looking at the dial, constantly and relentlessly moving forward, the second hand, slowly but surely moving the minute hand, as if with all its might. A very simple task for him, seemingly meaningless, but it brought thoughts and emotions into order. It reminded him that he was not only good at shooting, that he knew and could do something even before entering the academy, that he had something to strive for and dream about. Just a symbolic ritual, like affixing a seal to a list of dry facts in a document.
He put the watch on his hand to check if he had adjusted the strap correctly. A thought flashed through his mind that he was like locking a handcuff. The guy frowned and looked at the cheerful pictures of Alidum on the walls - that's where such comparisons come from. The drawn shackles on the walls reminded him of the very real ones on Futaba - the shackles of other people's power and choice. He did not forget his words to Fortis and, to some extent, sympathized with her. He could believe that she would not allow power to corrupt her, but it would still be better to help her as much as possible or at least not create problems. To play along with Her Majesty a little and put the mad old dog on a leash - that sounds like an idea.