Sleep was fitful that night. Atelier has dreams often, and they're not very nice. There's always smoke. Fire. The smell of blood. Her eyes will sting with tears and she will hear a scream, recognising it as her own. Her heart will skip a beat, and then she is back on her bed.
Recurring dreams usually mean something, but she doesn't know what to make of hers.
Atelier lays still, listening to the sound of her breaths. Outside her home, she can hear her neighbours starting their day, already beginning work. Today is Monday, which means she has school. She contemplates skipping it. After all, it's study week, the week before their final exams, and classes aren't really in session anymore. She wonders if she would get in trouble for that, but decides not to tempt fate.
Groaning, she peels the blanket off her body and sits up. Her siblings won't have to be up until much later, so as usual, she begins her morning routine without making much noise. She washes her face, takes a quick shower and slips into her uniform; black and red, a non-Elite. She combs her hair and smiles at the mirror. It fades quickly. Sighing, she heads downstairs.
Mother is already up, of course. She prepares breakfast for the family before leaving to work, not that there's much food to prepare, though. Atelier looks at the spread of stale bread, jam and cheese, and picks up an apple instead. She can always grab something at the cafeteria later, but her family isn't so lucky.
She greets Mother and gives her a quick peck on the cheek, waking her up from her little doze at the dining table. "Morning, mama. See you later."
"Oh, dear. Already?" Mother asks, same as she does every day. Atelier nods, taking a bite of her apple before putting on her shoes. Usually, she would be out the door in ten seconds, and that would be that. But today, she drops the apple and it rolls away. In the time it takes her to pick it up, Mother strikes a conversation.
"Last week of classes, isn't it, Atelier?"
For some reasons, it takes her by surprise. She never discusses school with her family. It just... never became a thing, and that is fine by her.
"Yes," she answers.
"Time sure flies," Mother mumbles, then lets out a small chuckle. "Well, do enjoy the most out of it, dear."
"I will!" Atelier chirps, waving and letting herself out the door. As soon as she is out of sight, her smile fades. /Enjoy, huh?/ She stares at the apple in her hand and sighs. /If only./
The walk to the train station is not as exciting as it is long. She knows the route by heart and reckons she can find her way through with her eyes closed, which helps, because half the time, her mind drifts off elsewhere and she is on autopilot. Occasionally, she'd run into people, but they don't greet each other. The people of Morheim don't share pleasantries. Everyone has their own worries and troubles, it's best to stay out of the way and mind one's own business. The government has done that very well, especially.
Despite the poverty and hardships, Atelier likes Morheim. It is her home, after all, and she has grown to love the musty air, the overgrown plants, and the decrepit and dilapidated buildings. It has its own charms, or maybe she's just comforting herself.
Her thoughts come to a halt as she reaches the station, whose sophisticated architecture has remained pristine over the years and stands out like a sore thumb in the district. Hardly anyone peruses the facility. It may be out of grudge, yes, but mostly, people just don't have a reason to travel to the city. Nor do they have permission.
It is quite sad that Ishalgen segments and isolates its own districts, but it isn't up to Atelier to question the government.
The train takes off at 6.30 am sharp, and she boards with time to spare. Being the only one on the entire train is quite a treat, honestly. The air-conditioned space is wonderful and clean and comfortable. She knew from the very first time she took the trip to the city, that this was only a sample of what life in Pandemonium has to offer. Someday, she wishes to be able to take her family with her. Hopefully on a one-way trip.
Atelier takes her usual seat and prepares for the journey by humming herself to sleep. 93 minutes breeze past in a blur, and she awakes to the announcer's message that they are approaching Pandemonium.
The city is as different from Morheim as it possibly could be. There are scarcely any trees, for one, and what little greenery left untouched – or artificially planted – is obstructed from view by towering skyscrapers. Not a single building looking more than ten years of age. Instead of carriages and trishaws, Atelier is looking at sleek, hovering cars as they zoom across and over at sonic speed.
The station is crowded, to say the least, as there are travellers to and from the sister states, Kanstria and Crescentia. But it isn't the only place congested with human traffic; there are people /everywhere/ – talking, driving, walking, and checking their electronic devices. Atelier struggles through the crowd and makes her way to the tram stop. She sees another student of the academy. Black and red uniform, same as her. Their eyes meet and she smiles.
No, not same as her. The girl looks away quickly, not bothering to return the pleasantry. Of course, there is only a handful of non-Elites in the academy. Everyone knows each other, or rather, everyone knows Atelier. The girl from Morheim. The Untouchable of the untouchables. She hides her dejection and boards the tram silently.
---
The Jeron Vidar Academy, unlike the other buildings in the city, boasts exaggerated gothic, Victorian architecture. It is enclosed behind wrought iron gates and tall brick fences; either serving to prevent intruders from entering, or students from escaping. In the middle of the courtyard sits a majestic stone statue of Ishalgen's first Primarch since its reform after the war, who also founded the academy. Strangely, his name wasn't Jeron Vidar. Nobody knows who this Jeron Vidar is.
Like any other school day, Atelier shies away from the others, hoping to blend into the background – the wall, the lockers, the trees. Anything. She doesn't want to be noticed, but when one is wearing black in a sea of red, the non-Elites are quite often seen. And being seen is not necessarily a good thing. To Atelier, being seen means being ridiculed, and she is sick of it.
/Just one more week,/ she thinks to herself as she passes by a couple of sniggering students. Five more days, and then she is free. Well, sort of.
Atelier waits on the sides until most of the crowd has dispersed from the hallway where her locker is, before she skitters over to grab her things. A nasty surprise awaits her discovery.