"What? Wait, so you mean they actually allowed the ceremony to conclude without adorning your left arm with the crown? So, you're left without a weapon and a mission?" Ara's hushed whisper carried a mix of incredulity and concern, casting a mystifying air over our conversation. Ara, my dearest friend and an uncrowned urion, gently swept her fingers through her hair using her left hand, a gesture that seemed to carry an unspoken magic.
Ara had once stumbled during the rigorous assassin's test, an astonishing twist of fate that had set her on a course to retake it the following year. Her hair, a cascade of short, kinky locks, framed her face with an air of uncontainable energy. Her nose, far from commanding, added to her charm. The almond-shaped eyes that glistened like starlit pools against her fair skin hinted at the depth of mysteries held within.
As for me, I, known in the ordinary world as Kiera Roberts, shared in a hidden existence under the guise of Ara Tala. Our journey had led us into our second year at the hallowed halls of Diamond Hills University, pursuing the study of Journalism. A prestigious institution, DHU was reserved for the privileged and the brilliant denizens of the sprawling Diamond Hills region.
Ever since Dr. Roberts had taken me under his wing in the wake of my profound loss, he had left me an inheritance of sorts, both materially and academically. Among his final wishes was for me to undertake my education at DHU, under the watchful guardianship of his offspring, Friedan Roberts, known to the world as Astrid. She, the fifth pillar, would be my guiding light until I attained the legal age.
Yet, there was a deeper current beneath Dr. Roberts' actions, a current that tugged at my senses, beckoning me to explore. Beyond the mission etched into the very crown that would soon grace my brow, I was driven by an insatiable thirst for answers and the burning need to avenge the dear ones I had lost. All of this, even if it meant crossing swords with the very laws that governed LOU.
I was acutely aware that the embrace of the Roberts family, their introduction into the folds of LOU, held significance beyond the surface. It was a journey that might potentially lead me to the very heart of my parents' slayer, a tangled web waiting to be unraveled. It could unearth the truths I had been relentlessly pursuing.
For Ara, Friedan, and the other urions, their interactions with the mundane populace were marked not merely by the mundanity of existence but by the intricate threads of their designated roles. It was an indelible part of their existence, intricately tied to the crowns they bore, the crowns that bore within them lives to cherish or lives to extinguish. A heartrending verity that I had long internalized, even before the weighty mantle of responsibilities was draped upon my shoulders – responsibilities that entailed the ultimate act.
With only a few days remaining, I stood on the cusp of this destiny. Hope mingled with trepidation within me.
In the realm of urions, duality was the norm, where two personas converged and diverged in the tapestry of regular life.
In the realm of light's progeny, I answered to the name Lucy. Yet, within the intricate tapestry of the illusionary society, I masqueraded as Kiera Roberts – a woman adorned with thick glasses, averse to the spotlight, possessed by shyness, seemingly fragile, my world revolving around the delicate keys of a piano and the hushed sanctums of libraries. A self-professed semi-nerd, quirks intertwined with every fiber of my being, a brilliant counterpoint to the indomitable Lucy – fierce, bold, swift-footed, resourceful, unflinchingly ready to deliver justice with a single stroke.
In the annals of LOU, this decree stood strong – safeguarding us from the unknown entities that intertwined with the ordinary populace. In the grand tapestry of existence, beyond being born urions, we eked out a transient semblance of normalcy.
***
In front of DHU's music hall, we stood in line, bearing the searing glare of the Eastern sun while waiting for our numbers to be called. I was assigned the number twenty-three, and Ara, twenty-two, cradling her ukulele for her audition piece. Yes, we were auditioning for the forthcoming Holiday Musicale, set to be headlined by the campus's singing heartthrob, Phelan Vargas from the College of Engineering – the crush of all, fantasy of many, idol to all, and beloved by all.
Within the confines of this university, he assumed an almost god-like status, lacking only a statue and a devoted following at every ticking second. This was evident from the line that snaked outside the hall – comprised mostly of young women feigning talents, eager to squeeze themselves into the musicale, all in an attempt to capture the attention of the young man.
Contrary to Ara's and my wishes, we didn't want to become the center of attention.
'Blend in, don't get noticed' was our steadfast motto when navigating the school's landscape, a shield against the arrows of ridicule. We were labeled as campus wallflowers, campus nerds, geeks, and even Betty La Feas, thanks to the certified bullies.
However, because of our love for music, we couldn't relinquish it just because of the opinions of others. We were content with being part of the orchestra, lurking behind the grand curtain, or concealing ourselves in the shadows during such events, as long as we remained part of the music.
Perhaps our shared passion for music was what drew Ara and me close, in addition to our roles as urions.
"Twenty-two!" the audition master's voice reverberated from within the hall.
Ara and I exchanged glances. I sensed her nervousness, evident from the tiny beads of sweat that formed on her forehead. With her left palm, she gently wiped her brow and nose. I patted her back reassuringly and flashed her a smile, hoping to impart some good luck.
"Good luck!" I whispered, giving her a slight push toward the hall's entrance.
I could still hear the echoes of her footsteps as she entered, and in a matter of seconds, the entire hall was enveloped in the vibrant strains of Train's "Soul Sister." My own feet couldn't help but tap along, caught in the rhythm while Ara strummed her ukulele. Flawlessly. Meticulously.
Hey soul sister, ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo
The way you move ain't fair you know
Hey soul sister, I don't wanna miss a single thing you do tonight...
The playing came to an end.
I heard the sound of Ara's footsteps, heavier than before, as she exited the hallway.
Something felt amiss. In the rhythm of her steps echoing against the concrete floor, it was as if the comments from the judges had left her disheartened. Her gait was melancholic, a far cry from the buoyant and almost airborne steps she took earlier. Ara emerged, her shoulders slumped, seemingly enveloped in a cloak of disappointment.
"Ara, w-what happened?"
"My hands were a bit shaky, they said. And they were wondering why I was holding the instrument the other way around – I'm naturally left-handed! Also, they've already chosen two ukelele players, but I'm on the shortlist," she said, almost stifling a sob, before continuing, "But Kiera, when you're shortlisted, you're not really chosen, right? 'Shortlisted' is just a word to console us."
"Come on, you're still on the waiting list. That means there's a chance. As long as the musicale hasn't started yet, we still have a shot," I whispered to my friend, who was on the verge of tears. "We'll be part of the-"
My words were drowned out by a loud shriek. It came from the end of the line, and I knew that there was only one person on campus capable of emitting such ear-piercing screams – Phelan Vargas. It crossed my mind that he was probably on the audition committee and, as usual, was late again.
Seeking attention. Striving to look handsome. Trying to appear important. These were the behaviors of attention-starved individuals, arriving late to an event to make their entrance more dramatic. I understood it well.
"Phelan! Phelan I'm here!" a girl's coquettish shout came from behind me.
"Oh my Phelan! Marry me!"
"Phelan my love! Father my child!" another voice, a gay one this time, shouted from not too far off.
The waiting area outside the music hall was filled with desperate exclamations, and finally, the guy himself arrived at the door where I was standing. I simply lowered my head and took a step to the side, slightly distancing myself from his entrance. I caught a whiff of his expensive cologne as he paused briefly. I couldn't fathom the reason for his halt – who he was looking at or who was looking at him. Before I could lift my gaze, he had already entered the music hall.
I almost held my breath, hunching slightly against the door frame to avoid being noticed or targeted. I felt a sense of relief when he moved away from my vicinity.
Once again, I was being intimidated, or rather, silently taunted by Phelan Vargas.
Though he hadn't done anything to me during my over a year at this university, I felt like he secretly laughed at me whenever he saw me in the hallway or passed by me, picking up the things I dropped, thanks to people like him who delighted in asserting power. He was one of the silent bullies – those who smirked and did nothing when they saw someone being bullied or harassed.
I really hate myself for being Kiera. I feel so weak and helpless with these eyeglasses hiding my strong self. I despise this pretentious normal life!
But I had no choice.
This was part of my true identity. I shouldn't pretend anymore, even though I'm just a urion tasked with maintaining peace in a society trampled upon by oppressors.
This was me and my dual personality.
I had no intention of defying LOU's orders. I will follow and obey until I have executed all of my plans – to hunt down those responsible for killing my parents and Dr. Roberts.
"Number twenty-three!" my deep thoughts were abruptly severed as one of the audition masters, Professor Ramos, called my number.
My heartbeat raced even more, and anxiety crept in as I heard my name being called. My fingers trembled slightly before I stepped into the music hall. I wasn't this nervous earlier. The thought of Phelan Vargas being there made me feel self-conscious and ashamed, but why did my heart beat so strongly?
I took a step inside. My head was slightly bowed, my shoulders hunched. I surreptitiously looked from beneath my bangs at the long table where the five judges sat, including Phelan. His gaze was fixed directly on me. The intensity of his stare made me feel self-conscious about my appearance and posture.
I anticipated the gaze that said, "Look at this freaking nerdy weird girl," so I brushed it off and quickly made my way to the studio piano at the side of the stage. It bore the Steinway Piano insignia, just like the one at home. I couldn't help but rejoice silently because I was more accustomed to the feel and touch of its keys.
"Take it away, Miss Roberts!" I heard Professor Ramos shout.
I didn't glance back anymore. I exhaled slowly to alleviate my nervousness and began to tap the keyboard. I closed my eyes and started playing a sequence of notes in succession. It was Beethoven: Sonata Op. 106 in B flat major, the Hammerklavier. It was my favorite piece among all the classical piano compositions because of the overwhelming emotions it contained.
I wasn't even halfway through my piece when Phelan suddenly stopped me, obviously displeased with what I was playing. His eyebrows almost met in the middle, a clear sign of his boredom with the music.
"Can we stop pretending and get rid of those pieces? They're overused," he remarked from his seat, then he glanced at my application form on the table in front of him. His dark eyes met mine, and I felt something strange. I noticed his forehead furrow slightly, as if he was emphasizing something on the paper. "Kiera Roberts, can we hear something unconventional? Something new?"
I clenched my palm. He didn't like my rendition of Beethoven. Meaning, he lacked an understanding of real music.
It was infuriating!
I didn't know many new songs. I glanced at the judges again and met Phelan's gaze – I felt his patience was wearing thin. I became flustered and accidentally pressed the 'G' and 'Bb' keys. Even more panic struck me as Phelan shot me a pointed look. I decided to play around with these two keys, and eventually, I managed to remember a familiar tune. I started with the intro and silently hummed the song 'Catch Me I'm Falling' by Toni Gonzaga, as I tapped out the notes.
I don't know why
But when I look in your eyes
I felt something that seems so right
You've got yours I've got mine
I think I'm losing my mind
Cause I shouldn't feel this way
I was possessed by the song. I kept my eyes closed as I played, feeling every word align with the notes. I finished the song, and surprisingly, the judges, even the unlikable Phelan, didn't interrupt me. Each key I pressed felt like tiny pinches on my heart. Wait, I didn't have a love life. Why was I so caught up in this song?
It felt weird. Or perhaps there was someone out there who genuinely resonated with the song along with me.
"Okay, Miss Roberts. We'll keep you posted. The results will be posted on the official musicale bulletin board. Callbacks will be listed there, and hopefully, you'll make it," another judge said, signifying that my audition was over. Perhaps I was shortlisted again, just like before.
I stood up and took steps away from the piano. I bit my lip and walked out of the hall. It was awkward; all I could hear were the echoes of my own footsteps on the floor.
"W-wait, Miss Roberts," a familiar voice called out to me – Phelan. Why did he seem to be addressing different parts of my body whenever he looked at me?
I paused in my tracks and faced the towering figure. I had to admit that he did look like a Greek god, but he wasn't the type to make me drool like a helpless person. He seemed more like a child to me. His personality: immature, childish, and destructive.
"What was that song you played?" Phelan asked, and surprisingly, he didn't sound stupid. He seemed genuinely interested. Did he not know the song? Why was he even involved in this musicale?
I forced a smile and answered, "It's an unconventionalized song, Mr. Vargas."
He seemed taken aback, as if he hadn't expected that kind of response from me.
I rolled my eyes at him and then gave a slight bow as a farewell to the committee. I had to leave before I literally fell off the stage due to my snarky reply to the campus god, Phelan.