The next day, as the bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, Serian walked quietly into the classroom, his record book tucked under his arm. The walls were lined with maps and charts detailing various creatures and mutant biology, but as usual, his thoughts were elsewhere.
Class A was as orderly as ever, with students already seated at their desks, scribbling down notes from the previous lecture. The instructor, another military officer, stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, watching them like a hawk. His expression was cold, and his posture exuded authority.
"Focus, students. Answer quickly, or I will personally educate you with chalk," the officer growled, his voice sharp and cutting. The students straightened up in unison, clearly used to his threats.
The man paced back and forth, tossing a piece of chalk into the air before catching it effortlessly. As a student hesitated to answer a question about mutant anatomy, the officer shot his hand out and whizzed the chalk across the room, hitting the student right on the forehead. The student yelped in surprise, rubbing the spot where the chalk had hit.
"I didn't ask for your excuses. Answer the question or be prepared for more lessons." The officer's voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement, clearly enjoying the power he held over the class.
Serian sat at the back, as always, calm and unmoved. He watched with disinterest as the officer continued his impromptu chalk-tossing game, his violet eyes unfazed by the chaos.
Then, just as the class was about to dive deeper into mutant classification, there was a soft knock at the door.
The officer paused, glaring toward the door.
"What now?" he grumbled, his patience clearly wearing thin.
The door opened slightly, and a familiar figure stepped inside: Kael.
The students immediately perked up, whispering to one another. Kael, the former military officer turned instructor, was known for his no-nonsense attitude. His stern gaze and disciplined air could cut through anyone's bravado. He wasn't the kind of person to interrupt a class unless it was important.
"Instructor." Kael gave a curt nod to the officer before turning his attention to Serian, who was still sitting quietly in his seat.
The officer raised an eyebrow, clearly not happy with the interruption. "What is this?"
Kael glanced at the officer and then looked back at Serian. "I'm taking Serian with me. He's been granted an exception to attend my class."
"An exception?" The officer looked visibly annoyed. "Why?"
Kael sighed and crossed his arms. "Because he's the one who got a 5 in ethics."
There was a sudden, palpable shift in the room. The other students stared, some with their mouths hanging open in disbelief. A 5 in ethics?
"Five?!" one of the soldiers muttered. "That's impossible."
"But… Vincent Rutherford only got 28 out of 100, and that was ten years ago when he was still a monster executioner. Now, he's down to 28, and Serian is getting a 5?!" another student added, their voice dripping with skepticism.
Serian stayed still, his expression unchanged. He didn't care about the murmurs or the confused glances. In the back of his mind, he was still preoccupied with the records, with his dreams, and with the nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite shake.
Kael's tired voice broke his thoughts. "The student has shown exceptional performance in mutant and infected analysis. He's more than capable. Let me take him."
The officer still looked hesitant. He glanced at the other soldiers in the room, all of them waiting for a sign of approval. After a long moment, the officer waved a dismissive hand.
"Fine. Take him. But if he fails… don't come crying to me."
Kael nodded curtly before turning to Serian. "Let's go."
Serian stood up and followed Kael out of the room, his long silver hair flowing behind him. The students' eyes followed him as he left, whispers still buzzing in the air.
*****
Once they were outside the classroom, Kael led Serian down a series of hallways toward a quieter, more secluded area of the academy. They arrived at a small, plain classroom. It was much less imposing than the others, and there were no fancy charts or maps on the walls—just a few desks and a chalkboard.
Kael closed the door behind them and turned to Serian, his expression softening slightly.
"Alright," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Let's get this over with. Your first class is empathy."
Serian blinked, confused. "Empathy?"
Kael gave a dry laugh. "You'd be surprised how many students here don't have it. You've got a long way to go." He paused. "The world is in chaos, Serian. The monsters are multiplying. But we can't just fight them with power. You need to understand people… their pain, their suffering. It's more than just learning about mutant biology. You have to learn how to act with compassion in a world that's falling apart."
Serian nodded slowly. He didn't fully understand yet, but something about Kael's words felt strangely familiar.
Kael pulled a chair out and sat down, staring at Serian. "For now, let's start small. Answer me this: When you see someone hurt, what do you feel?"
Serian was quiet for a long moment. He thought about the question, his gaze drifting toward the window.
"I don't feel anything," he said finally, his voice calm and steady as always. "I used to walk away."
Kael's eyes softened for a moment before he sighed. "I see. That's a start. You're not the only one who feels that way. But you have to understand, sometimes, even when you want to walk away, you can't. Not anymore."
Serian looked at Kael, his violet eyes thoughtful.
"Why?"
Kael looked away, his voice quiet but firm. "Because even if you're not a hero, even if you don't care, you still have the power to make a difference. And that's something you'll have to come to terms with."
Serian didn't respond. He just sat quietly, processing Kael's words.
The room was silent for a moment, save for the faint scratching of Kael's chalk as he began writing something on the board.
Empathy.
A world full of pain.
A lesson that had only just begun.
*****
The small dorm room was silent except for the faint sounds of shuffling papers and the scratch of pen on paper. Edward sat hunched over his desk, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to focus on his homework. It had been a long day, full of drills and grueling classes. He was exhausted—his muscles sore, his mind foggy from the constant push to perform.
He glanced over at Sienna, who was slumped in her chair, barely able to keep her eyes open. Her skin was pale, her face pinched in discomfort as she fumbled with a piece of bread, struggling to shove it into her mouth. The effort seemed like it took everything she had.
Serian, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, his silver hair glinting under the dim light as he focused intently on his homework. He was writing down his answers to Kael's latest assignment—an exercise on emotions, memories, and their connection to actions.
Sienna glanced at him for a moment, her tired eyes barely open. "Serian... you're so... calm," she muttered, still holding the bread between her hands, though it looked like it might slip from her fingers at any moment.
Serian didn't respond. He simply scribbled away at his paper, his expression unchanged.
Edward sighed, looking down at his own assignment. The page in front of him seemed endless—filled with questions that seemed impossible to answer. Memories of happiness, sadness, anger, and fear. How was he supposed to answer those? His hands shook slightly as he wrote, though he wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or the weight of the memories.
"What's your assignment?" Edward mumbled, mostly to himself, but Sienna heard.
Serian glanced up briefly. "Memories," he said nonchalantly, his pen still moving across the paper.
Sienna snorted, even though it sounded more like a cough. "You don't have memories, Serian. You're like... perfect."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, he doesn't even have to try. He's always... well, serene."
Serian gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, but he didn't comment. He wasn't worried about memories, or emotions. But when he saw Edward's brow furrow in frustration, he glanced at the paper again.
Edward frowned at his assignment, the words almost mocking him. Write about your biggest fears.
"Ugh, this is going to be so stupid," Edward muttered. "How the hell do I even start this?"
Sienna's voice was small but frustrated. "I have to write about mana threads... How am I supposed to turn a ball of mana into a thread?!" She gripped the piece of bread tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping her together.
Serian, still calm and unfazed, tilted his head slightly. "Just focus on the flow. Mana is just energy—it needs direction."
Sienna blinked, a little confused. "What do you mean?"
Serian looked at her for a moment, as if evaluating the situation, before lightly raising his hand. "Observe."
A soft green glow appeared around his hand, like the faintest glow of summer leaves. It twisted, forming into thin, delicate threads that wove together, eventually forming a small flower. The threads shimmered in the dim light, a clear sign of refined mana.
Sienna stared, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. "Wha—How did you—?!"
Edward blinked, equally shocked. "Wait. Did you just... do that with your mana? That's... incredible."
Serian merely nodded, his focus still on his work. "Refining mana is like shaping it into your will. It's not hard if you can control it."
Sienna looked down at her own paper, frustration written across her face. "But… how do I do that? I can't even make the mana stay in one place for long enough to... thread it."
Serian didn't offer any more advice, instead turning his attention back to his own paper. His pen was still moving steadily, even though he didn't know what to write. He had no fear. He had no anger. He was a god, for crying out loud! The idea of writing about memories felt... pointless.
Edward, still staring at Serian's glowing threads, suddenly leaned closer to the paper. He raised an eyebrow. "Wait. I remember something like this."
Serian paused for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Edward, who was clearly deep in thought.
"Yeah, when my brother Vincent was still around," Edward said, his voice quieter now, tinged with nostalgia. "He used to ask the same question in ethics class... What's your biggest fear? He made a game out of it. He'd ask all the family, then he'd—"
Edward stopped, his face flushing slightly as the memory resurfaced.
Serian raised an eyebrow. "Your brother? Vincent Rutherford?"
"Yeah, Vincent," Edward said, chuckling softly despite himself. "He used to walk into rooms all serious, with that bloodied aura around him, looking like some kind of monster, and then ask everyone—everyone—what they feared the most. It was weird."
Serian's expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Edward. "And what did you answer?"
Edward paused. "I told him I feared... losing my family. Losing everything I loved." He swallowed, as if the words still carried weight.
Sienna, who had been listening intently, blinked at Edward. "I didn't know your brother was like that."
Edward shrugged, though there was a sadness in his eyes. "He was... different. But he cared, in his own weird way."
Serian's pen moved again. "The question's too vague. There's no way to answer something like that."
Edward gave a small smile, despite his frustration. "Yeah, guess that's why Vincent always asked it—he wanted to mess with us."
Sienna let out a tired sigh, her head resting on the table. "I can't even turn mana into a thread..."
Serian looked at her, his voice steady as always. "You don't need to. Just refine your focus. What's the purpose of the mana? Find the path."
Sienna blinked, processing his words. "Path…"
Edward glanced at Serian again, his mind still processing what had just happened. "You know, you might be a freak of nature, but you're kind of amazing when you explain things like that."
Serian didn't respond. Instead, he flipped his page, still lost in his own thoughts. The assignment about memories and emotions sat in front of him, the blank lines staring back at him like a challenge he had no interest in accepting.
Edward, his hand still trembling from fatigue, finally looked at his own page again. He tried to answer the questions, but the words didn't come easily.
Meanwhile, Serian continued to write his homework, oblivious to the fact that his classmates—who had struggled and stumbled—were both amazed and confused by his casual ability to perform feats that they couldn't even begin to understand.
And yet, when it came to emotions—when it came to memories—Serian couldn't help but feel a strange emptiness. He was a god. What was there to be afraid of? What was there to feel?
But for the first time, the question lingered in his mind.