Heroist
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Another summer was drawing to a close... Occupying a park bench in the thick, fragrant shade, Nira held a stack of textbooks on her lap, with a blank sheet of paper and a crumpled envelope resting on top. The sun was already reaching for the mountain horizon, while the same indifferent void remained in the girl's thoughts. Who would have thought that she, of all people, would suddenly want to send a message to her kin? But having already decided on a step so shameful to her own worldview, Nira realized that she had nothing to tell them, really. Of course, the recent months had been saturated with all sorts of "exciting" events, yet all of it seemed detached, distant, and uninteresting to her. It wasn't even that she feared causing parental anxiety or exposing them to unnecessary danger by inadvertently saying something "wrong." Any mail would be ripped open and studied under a microscope regardless by royal thugs clumsily posing as civilians, scurrying through Alma like giant rusty-red ants. The point was that her story would be like a dull description of a large concert in some local rag: no words could convey the emotions and sensations of a "live" performance — one had to experience it in person.
But watching this performance was only half the trouble — in NAILS, they had all been made the lead actors in this clumsily written play. Only the expectations from participating in this circus concert had completely failed to meet her hopes. A cunning, flirtatious actress had dragged the local director into bed, grabbing the lead roles for herself ten years in advance. She assembled a team, half of whom were on a big stage for the first time, and the other half had been scouring dressing rooms for a female wardrobe just yesterday. Teaming up with a dim-witted composer, they misappropriated all of her — Nira's — ideas and suggestions, taking credit for them. And instead of words of gratitude, there were only creeping rumors of dissatisfaction regarding her honestly earned fee. The icing on the cake was the long-awaited slave-child labor for the benefit of the greedy Almians traders and another weekly massacre spanning thirty pages of script — now that was a wonderful conclusion to the summer concert!
And what could be said about her own summer? Well, first she almost had to lick royal boots, and then she almost had her brains knocked out by a crazed lumberjack obsessed with his own daughter. Ah yes, in terms of influence, even in her once-unremarkable class, she had sunk to roughly the level of an immigrant who had challenged a general to a duel, and a joker who vanished after the presidential elections.
👍 — with an involuntary gesture, Nira appraised her own academic progress. What comes next, another exit in the first round of a tournament and failing exams, and then being "sent home" following the example of the shell-shocked trio? A worthy result, one cannot deny. But on the other hand, resenting universal injustice would be the height of foolish naivety: she understood perfectly well how this world works.
Glancing once more at the empty letter, Nira finally folded it back into her student bag. Leaning back against the bench, the girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Her father was probably on another business trip, and her mother would deign to check the mail only in a couple of weeks, and even then, only if she were expecting tickets to some performance. Truly soulful relationships, as dreamy storytellers love to describe in their wretched tales, had never bound her to her parents; but even so, she would never trade a life of plenty and indulgence for a warm atmosphere of poverty and hunger. Since childhood, she could surround herself with the attention of servants, maids, teachers, and peers. And as for her parents, she could go to a beauty pageant once a month or beg for money for another fashionable outfit.
And yet, the life approach developed over the years had its drawbacks. She had no need for a source to pour out her own soulful tribulations and accumulated emotions: she considered herself above all that (or at least wanted to consider herself so). But now, an advisor with whom she could discuss a further plan of action and secure support, even if only in empty words, would be quite appropriate. How long will the lull before the storm of the old lord Sakuramoria's mind last? Should she try to join the royal Faction, or on the contrary, keep her distance while awaiting its inevitable collapse? And if the latter, how would she then coexist with commoners, when a mere scholarship destroys all possibilities for cooperation?
Smirking at her own thoughts, Nira gathered her textbooks, rose from the bench and headed back to the academy. I wonder how many other carefree students of Sakuramoria — no, not just Sakuramoria, even their academy — are currently occupied by similar reflections? From the outside, it would probably seem like the foolish fantasies of an impressionable silly girl, as if she should just sit and study quietly. But if Avaritia taught her anything, it was mathematical probability calculations. And considering all the events that had occurred, the chance that they (she) would manage to calmly reach the end of the two-year study period at NAILS remained somewhere at the level of Alidum becoming a new god of the pantheon.
But what can one do... All that remained was to bid farewell to the departing summer by drinking (tea) incessantly and engaging in friendly shooting galleries (10 level).
But watching this performance was only half the trouble — in NAILS, they had all been made the lead actors in this clumsily written play. Only the expectations from participating in this circus concert had completely failed to meet her hopes. A cunning, flirtatious actress had dragged the local director into bed, grabbing the lead roles for herself ten years in advance. She assembled a team, half of whom were on a big stage for the first time, and the other half had been scouring dressing rooms for a female wardrobe just yesterday. Teaming up with a dim-witted composer, they misappropriated all of her — Nira's — ideas and suggestions, taking credit for them. And instead of words of gratitude, there were only creeping rumors of dissatisfaction regarding her honestly earned fee. The icing on the cake was the long-awaited slave-child labor for the benefit of the greedy Almians traders and another weekly massacre spanning thirty pages of script — now that was a wonderful conclusion to the summer concert!
And what could be said about her own summer? Well, first she almost had to lick royal boots, and then she almost had her brains knocked out by a crazed lumberjack obsessed with his own daughter. Ah yes, in terms of influence, even in her once-unremarkable class, she had sunk to roughly the level of an immigrant who had challenged a general to a duel, and a joker who vanished after the presidential elections.
👍 — with an involuntary gesture, Nira appraised her own academic progress. What comes next, another exit in the first round of a tournament and failing exams, and then being "sent home" following the example of the shell-shocked trio? A worthy result, one cannot deny. But on the other hand, resenting universal injustice would be the height of foolish naivety: she understood perfectly well how this world works.
Glancing once more at the empty letter, Nira finally folded it back into her student bag. Leaning back against the bench, the girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Her father was probably on another business trip, and her mother would deign to check the mail only in a couple of weeks, and even then, only if she were expecting tickets to some performance. Truly soulful relationships, as dreamy storytellers love to describe in their wretched tales, had never bound her to her parents; but even so, she would never trade a life of plenty and indulgence for a warm atmosphere of poverty and hunger. Since childhood, she could surround herself with the attention of servants, maids, teachers, and peers. And as for her parents, she could go to a beauty pageant once a month or beg for money for another fashionable outfit.
And yet, the life approach developed over the years had its drawbacks. She had no need for a source to pour out her own soulful tribulations and accumulated emotions: she considered herself above all that (or at least wanted to consider herself so). But now, an advisor with whom she could discuss a further plan of action and secure support, even if only in empty words, would be quite appropriate. How long will the lull before the storm of the old lord Sakuramoria's mind last? Should she try to join the royal Faction, or on the contrary, keep her distance while awaiting its inevitable collapse? And if the latter, how would she then coexist with commoners, when a mere scholarship destroys all possibilities for cooperation?
Smirking at her own thoughts, Nira gathered her textbooks, rose from the bench and headed back to the academy. I wonder how many other carefree students of Sakuramoria — no, not just Sakuramoria, even their academy — are currently occupied by similar reflections? From the outside, it would probably seem like the foolish fantasies of an impressionable silly girl, as if she should just sit and study quietly. But if Avaritia taught her anything, it was mathematical probability calculations. And considering all the events that had occurred, the chance that they (she) would manage to calmly reach the end of the two-year study period at NAILS remained somewhere at the level of Alidum becoming a new god of the pantheon.
But what can one do... All that remained was to bid farewell to the departing summer by drinking (tea) incessantly and engaging in friendly shooting galleries (10 level).
Whatever