Sol Em

Knowledge is power; I am a tyrant

A youthful lod triden is making his way down the Halls of realm octun at a brisk pace, a boy by the name of culd solv.

His skin is a mesh of glossy white scales around the neck, blue skin covering the bulk of his body, with fur patches accenting the joints. His jaw is sharp, not a puff of fat between the cheek and neck. He lacks the gills of typical triden due to his subspecies referred to as lod.

In his bag was a white notebook labeled 'solm', sealed with a xols lock, a keyhole that works with five different types of keys, the crest of house mesh, a testament to his upbringing; a mishmash of the five primary species all intent on living within the same house, a early failed experiment on behalf of the empire, made up with full admission to any institution for all members of their family and future generations, a gift accepted graciously by the family, resulting in becoming the highest standing house in the empire.

"Ulsor Lias!" The boy shouted, his voice pulsing with each step made. The aforementioned paying no mind to the calling.

The halls he dashed through were decorated in ivory with pale blue accents, the paintings shown silhouettes, all of failed case studies. Culd could see their eyes, feel their gaze, hear their cries, telling him to run. But he both could not hear them, and had a job to do, so he ran, leaving the pain of the fallen behind, the shadows forever watching his chase for his mistress.

To Culd, he had no place in her presence, he belonged at a dead-end job, servicing the nobles as a cleric. But he was here, and he needed to earn his keep, so he pushed the envelope in his studies, spending hours upon hours in the family library, pushing words to his notebook like a crazed author, he knew every one of the five hundred and thirty eight notes, every one of the one hundred and sixty five pages, if he was taught something, he knew it, and everything he knew was in his notebook.

Though through thick and thin he made it, a perk that comes with running; to reach the desired destination sooner than walking. His destination was Ulsor Holt Lias, the matriarch of the solstice, the legend, the epitome of "rags to riches". He now resides within conversation distance, the stage was set, and his early morning conference has commenced.

"Your work is impeccable Solv" the pulse of Lias, serrated in steel, cuts through the air like it was butter. Her eyes did not pierce through the boy, they phased.

The addressed lit up, his eyes wide. and he threw his gaze to the bag he possessed, along with his hands, "I brought my journal for evaluation Ulsor." He spoke, rummaging through the bag as he spoke.

The bag was a beige messenger, it's strap was decorated with three ribbons: cyan, pink, and orange. The main flap opened to reveal three spots for storage, the nearest to the back was empty, the middle had a bag of grains, and the third had an assortment of books and envelopes.

His goal was supposed to be in the empty pouch, his notebook.

At this point, most normal students would panic, but Culd was not within this category. He had failed; refusing to submit to the consequences would reflect bad on his family, that, and lying is just plain rude, especially to a martyr.

He had not expected what came next.

She held up a book, it was titled 'solm', sealed with a xols shaped lock, emblazoned with the crest of house mesh. She gave a soft smile, the one a friend gives you when you tell a really bad joke.

"How did this book end up in my bed as I was Showering?" Questioned holt, her tone friendly, welcoming his answer, rather than taking it.

The boy had an emotional overload, shame, confusion to name a few. So lost for words his mind finding itself in a labyrinth, where the exit was a response. His eyes were dry, taking to dampness. He just found the center, and the Minotaur has waited long enough for lunch.

She chose to speak for him, changing the subject abruptly, "what do you know of the solstice emerate?"

His stupor broke, sending his mind into student mode, and responded swiftly, "a pathological will connected to the city, controlled by those with the gift, a power generated, and enacted through will alone"

As a thrall of knowledge, the student has only one power, the neuroplasticity, the ability to form and reorganize synaptic connections, typically associated with learning. But a student can only know what they are taught, so it comes with much surprise to the boy that he just spoke of something he's never even heard of, and gave it a description that webster would be proud of.

He gasped and threw his hands over his mouth. What happened? He asked himself, of which, he once again found an answer: you had an instinctual need to formulate a response.

Taking a large gulp, he put together another, trepidation evident as he spoke "Ulsor Lias" he addressed.

She nodded, awaiting his following move.

"I do not know where I learned anything you just heard..." Words spoken in fear, fear for a fate worse than death. His lips taking to a pattern, bouncing up and down like a child caught at the cookie jar.

She threw her gaze to the wall,"You are lying to me" she challenged.

"No madam I am speaking the truth" he rebuttled

The hallway dissolved into a shouting match arena

"How did you gain access to the libraries?"

"You are the only one who knows its location"

"You need to speak the truth!"

"A voice that is not mine told me the answer to your question!" he shouted, with the force of under aged anxiety, and the primal need of victory, backed up by a stature that cries 'I Will Rival Gods', only to falter to an infantile state of helplessness, dropping him to the ground, and wrapping himself into a fetal position. Hands clasped over his eyes, knees pulled up to his chest, nearly slamming into his jaw. A rumble of wheezes begin rising in his throat.

From his position on the ground, he had only a sliver of light peaking through his hands and into his one open eye, through it he first saw her eyes, those incandescent blue orbs he saw every day, the sapphires that shared their gift of sight. Next he saw her mouth, in a word, dissociated, almost bored, like nothing even happened, an expression some never see their close friend share. Her dress came shortly after, trailing down to her feet and covering everything, was white trench-like-cloak, though stained brown with patches of green from years of hobby level gardening, a sign of dedication to the world of the living, a hobby shared, one that made culd, the student, and Lias, the teacher, into friends.

And in his rage he just shouted at the only one he has ever had.

"Get up Culd" she spoke, with a lack of causality, a feature she maintained at all times, at ALL times, an admitted habit of hers to the boy.

In his state he could only agree to lower his arms with only a fragment of force behind it. The motion doing next to nothing in raising his form. But next to nothing is still something, and so he rises slowly, in an almost mechanical fashion.

He eventually makes a change of state, from fetal to standing, his eyes red and swollen, dampness telling the act that had been hidden by his hands.

In a voice shivering in fear he brought a few choice words to the metaphorical room, "I'm sorry, a voice must not.." He sniffs in, cutting off his speech temporarily, "... Be about raised to a superior"

The tension in the room releases, words have been spoken, but questions arise once more. Lias turns around with indifference, and begins walking, her right hand held up, signaling him to follow.

Culd was confused, he just raised his voice to his long time friend, his ever wise teacher, and the literal martyr of the Solmet Empire.

And he just lived.