[Noon, grounds]
There was a small group of prey gathered at the grounds, looking slightly lost and afraid. They huddled around anxiously, conversing in hushed tones and exchanging doubtful glances; some of them perhaps even wondering why they had to converse in hushed tones.
There was no reason to, really.
They simply felt the need to do so when they were facing something unknown.
After all, the invitation had stated nothing apart from the time and venue.
It was then when Pipa and Io arrived at the scene, joining the equally confused group with a smile, grateful that they were not alone.
'Strength in numbers' wasn't an uncommon thought that surfaced at that point of time, since it was unlikely for a passing Predator to pay interest in a group of five to six Marks.
They soon noticed a professor approaching them, strong strides crossing the grounds easily to reach the Marks.
One might say that it was the sound of his footsteps, somehow—loud as the beat of their hearts despite the soft grass beneath the professor's feet, that made the group turn their heads; or the changing air that struck a fearful note in the keys of their mind; but in all truth, it was a simple instinct.
The instinct to run—
When something was closing in.
And that was the imminent darkness the Marks saw even before meeting the eyes of the professor.
This, their hearts concluded then with a flutter of sweet despair, would be the footsteps of a Predator. The fear of being in close proximity to one. And the horror of their presence.
"Mm?" There was a hum of amusement as a hawk landed on his shoulder, wings folding swiftly. "Are you kids for Season next week?"
Silence was far from an appropriate response. After all, it was a teacher speaking to a bunch of students. There was no excuse for them to keep their mouths shut despite the heavy fear that held their throats in a vice-like grip.
"Yes Sir, we—we are," Someone spoke.
Io thanked them from the bottom of his heart. It was hard to breathe.
"Oh," The man said simply. "Man, they suck at choosing candidates."
None of them knew what he meant. The possibilities were far too many to count.
"Quint Faustes, Deputy Headmaster." The man said shortly, intending to cut the conversation right there and then; but upon scanning the Marks and noting their uncomfortable gazes, continued.
"You've seen me on your first day, quit looking like I'm gonna eat you up," Faustes laughed, sending his Avian into the air to lighten the pressure.
The sparrow tried hard to swallow his instincts, taking tentative as he and the group of Marks followed the professor. He's not going to harm you, Io reminded himself relentlessly, you've seen him before.
Now that he thought about it, the Deputy Headmaster he saw on the first day didn't speak in this manner. Neither was he wearing a piercing on his ear—
"Keep up. We're having the briefing in Hall 7."
Io remembered that Hall 7 was one of the lecture halls used by Predators—and he couldn't help but wish he hadn't signed up for this silly game.
Silly—
Game.
.
"Avians to the gallery. The rest sit anywhere you like as long as you're paying attention," Faustes gestured vaguely towards the vast hall. "Get out if you're just here to skip class."
"Sir, what are we—" Someone began uncertainly with a meek raise of her hand, only to be interrupted instead.
The professor waved off her question with a sigh. "Sit—you'll know in a minute. It is basic courtesy in my class to follow simple instructions," He glanced at the Avian over her shoulder, "Blue jay."
The girl who had posed the question reached instinctively for her Avian despite the frown of dissatisfaction on her face. She bit her lip, pushing past Io and Pipa to take a seat grudgingly with a curse under her breath.
"Don't stand around with your mouths open kids, the sky's not falling," Faustes snorted, an unbelievably amused smile surfacing. "Sit."
They sat—
Filling the seats in the back row, of course.
The predator's footsteps echoed in the hall—leather shoes creating a crisp and sharp sound that had a certain effect on the beat of their hearts.
Io could feel it; the power small things like this had over himself.
He figured that he would not have been able to last five minutes in this hall without throwing up, alone, with a Predator like Faustes.
"Right," Words ceased from the rest of the hall as all attention snapped towards the stage, attention caught and caged. There was a difference between those that were held captive in such a situation—and those that were captivated.
The wings of the professor's hawk spread wide, displaying its entire span; much like a peacock showing its feathers. It seemed to pause, delighting in the blank stares of awe and fear carved into the very eyes of present prey.
There was much to marvel at. Every feather, curve and shape of its wings were perfect, along with the tint of red on its tail—but the true purpose of its actions came to light at an abrupt flicker on the screen of the stage.
A catching image was projected, rather suddenly, on the screen.
The words below the image brought about a sinking feeling in Io's gut.
He never thought words could do such things.
They were, after all, merely words.
"As you can tell, I'm about to give you kids a quick briefing on what's going to happen during Season games—'cuz new Marks like yourselves mess up all the time," Faustes stated in a bored manner, as if he had done this many times.
"This is a redundant image, don't bother looking at it," He clicked for the next slide without time to spare. "This, too."
The Marks shifted uncomfortably in their seats, slightly on edge. Why put redundant images if he wanted to skip them anyway?
"Brief intro—the game will be held in the Box," The predator yawned. "It's a forest arena in the east woods of the floating island. Yeah, it's big."
Someone raised their hand.
"Don't ask how big—that's a dumb question."
The hand retreated.
"Moving on, we put you into the Box and you find the exit. Easy? The record time taken to find the exit is 49 hours and 11 minutes. The longest ever is—I don't know," Faustes waved off another raised hand.
"You will be provided with a week's rations of water and biscuits. There are rest points in the arena where you can turn in for the night."
"Note that not everyone sleeps at night," The professor sighed as though he had been reminding Marks for a century but no one really bothered to remember—
"Yeah, basically that's it. Find the exit."
Faustes paused, scanning the filled seats swiftly.
His eyes met Io's for a moment, and the boy was sure those amber orbs were smiling.
"To make it fun, Predators will be on the hunt for Prey. They are only allowed to hunt the Prey that has the same number as their charm. Which means a six of spades can only be hunted by a six of clubs, hearts, and so on."
"If you're not asleep and actually using your brain, you would have inferred by now that one—all Marks are spades; and two—at least three Predators will be hunting each of you."
No. Wait, what about—
The man's piercing glinted under the light.
"Excited? Yeah. I know," The man laughed with a roll of his eyes. "They say that every month."
Io was beginning to worry.
His lips were dry, and he had to lick them twice.
"Rules. This is the part where you pay attention despite my boring voice—yes I'm talking about you over there," Faustes didn't look away from the screen, merely pointing right at the half-asleep boy sitting next to Pipa at the last row.
The boy named Shel Castillo jumped, turning around. His magpie fluttered close, frightened by the sudden movement.
"Don't turn around, there's no one there," The predator clicked his tongue in impatience, "Keep your eyes open, this is important."
The Marks sat up in their seats in a desperate attempt to look as attentive as possible, seeking to please.
Words flashed in the next instant, displayed in the order of a list.
"Read, I'll explain after."
All Marks are required to wear their Mark of Prey at all times in order to be identified by Predators.
"Self-explanatory. Your Mark of Prey comes with the invitation, a glass charm attached to a choker. All clear? If anyone doesn't know how to wear a choker, ask someone who is not me," Faustes droned, yawning mid-sentence.
Marks who have lost their 'Mark of Prey' to a Predator of the same number will be registered as being successfully hunted if they are brought to the exit.
"Twos should bring back a two; sevens should bring back a seven; kings should bring back a king—and so on. Easy? Good. Next—"
Someone raised their hand.
It was Pipa.
Faustes almost groaned out loud, broad shoulders hunching over the podium as he tried to keep a straight face. "What?"
"Um, sorry to interrupt, Sir," The sheepish canary began tentatively, holding her smile. "But does that imply a Predator will not be able to hunt a...Mark that has a different number?"
Surprisingly, the predator seemed relieved. "Partly," He nodded, "Predators can hunt a Mark of a different number, but it will not be registered as a successful hunt. So it doesn't make sense for them to."
"Okay, but what's hunt? Like...do they put us in a cage or something?" The blue jay shot immediately after, forgetting her manners for a moment. "Um, Sir."
Faustes' Avian eyed the girl carefully, feathers ruffled by her rude behavior. But the professor seemed too lazy to bother with manners at that particular time, especially when he wanted to get this over and done with.
"No. They take your Mark of Prey."
"Oh...so as long as we have our Mark of Prey, we're safe?"
"Kinda," Faustes yawned.
The rest of the prey were beginning to worry if she was asking too much; in an all-too-rude manner as well.
"Can we take our Marks of Prey back, then? If they are taken," The blue jay continued relentlessly, oblivious to the mood.
"You can try, technically."
"Then, so if we make it to the exit with our Marks of Prey, we're safe?"
"That's what I said," The deputy headmaster snapped. "You're just rephrasing it. Can we move on?"
The rest of the prey nodded vigorously, for fear that further questions would annoy the predator.
"Next,"
All players are not allowed to speak.
"W-What?" Pipa breathed, turning to her friend. "That's..."
Shel Castillo remained quite still, waiting for an explanation.
"Again, self-explanatory. No talking. No communication. There will be game masters on the lookout in the form of their Avians—which, unfortunately for both you and I, includes me," Faustes sighed, perhaps wondering whether a good night's rest was ever possible for someone with his position. "And the other professors on duty. The Headmistress will be there too."
"For fun," He added under his breath;
Thankfully, unnoticed.
"So don't even try to break this rule. It's not worth your time," The Deputy Headmaster droned, "Or mine."
An exasperated sigh escaped from the blue jay beside Io as the boy Castillo voiced his dissatisfaction to an awkward, smiling Pipa.
"I knew it. They have some hidden motive, don't they?"
Pipa laughed tentatively, nodding. "I...guess."
"Getting those predators to chase us about like we're a bunch of hares and then not allowing us to form strategies by forbidding us to talk—"
"Magpie,"
Castillo flinched in his seat.
"Covering your mouth with your hand doesn't work with that loud voice of yours," The predator commented casually.
The magpie turned a shade that resembled a ripe cherry. The blue jay snorted, suppressing a laugh.
"Lastly—"
2-10 of Spades — 500 points
J, Q, K of Spades — 750 points
Ace of Spades — 1000 points
Joker —
There was a blank;
And it only brought far more fear into the sparrow's heart. For it was, yet again, the unknown.
"Alright kids, this is where you get a chance at winning the game. If you make it to the exit with your Mark of Prey, you get the score allocated to your number. The advantage you Marks have is that you are already in possession of the score at the very start of the game—since you are the ones with the Spades."
If Io voiced something about the joker now, he was sure that the rest would know his role—
"The joker," There was a hint of a smirk at the corner of Faustes' lips as he clicked to show the next slide. "Will be, by this rule,"
The player in possession of the Joker's Mark of Prey will gain infinite points.
"The champion of the game.
First place, gold medal, blue ribbon—whatever you call it. They will be the sole number one.
Season scores over twelve months are tabulated and the first; second; and third places will receive a reward. Second and third will be awarded the position of President and Vice-president of the student council.
First...will be granted a wish."
There was silence in the hall, but this one was far from uncanny.
There was hope.
Hope that something could be done—
To turn the tables and change the game.
"That's right. Any wish,"
Faustes laughed.
How he loved to see the hope in their eyes.
It was; a delight.
"But—
Because the joker has no number, I'm sure you all know what this means."
"Everyone can hunt for the joker."
And it was as if such a tiny candle could hold its flame under the winds that were dying to snuff it out.
"Relax," Faustes said, "Even if all predators can hunt for the Joker, not all of them will. Especially the weaker ones."
"Well—you don't have to really care, do you? I'm sure none of you first years are lucky enough to draw the Joker on your first game."
"Besides, it's just five of you here. One of the nine other seniors would have gotten the Joker, and they are far more experienced than you kids anyway."
Pipa's hand was in the air faster than usual, perhaps sensing a floating question that had yet been asked but was dying to be answered.
The professor nodded, giving her the green light.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, but, um, since the season games are held once a month, what happens when more than one player is in possession of the Joker's Mark of Prey? I-I mean, so if one of them wins twice it's 'two' infinites?"
It was a good question, the hawk himself admitted.
"As for those years where more than one player is in possession of the Joker's Mark of Prey, the winners will be decided by a case by case basis—"
"—which is most likely to be unnecessary, because it hasn't happened in a long time."
The Marks were left in crafted confusion, but the air that Faustes set was geared towards the end of the briefing—and none dared to ask another question. Not even the blue jay.
"Have fun, kids. No stress," Faustes laid out simply. "Don't be too hard on yourselves—and don't speak about the games in a casual conversation, understood? V hates that."
"Right. Get out, I need to lock up," He said shortly.
And of course, no one dared to disobey.
Once outside and, naïvely, thinking they were out of earshot, the blue jay cracked a haughty smirk.
"May the odds be ever in your favor," She laughed with a wave before disappearing around the corner.
Pipa and Io laughed good-naturedly, but Castillo remained quite silent.
There was one more girl, however.
The girl that no one really noticed.
She was a flightless bird—a Kiwi. And she smiled as she said, "I think Faustes was trying to tell us that the winner has already been decided."
"There are no odds to be in our favor. There are no odds.
Everything was decided beforehand."
Inside the hall, Faustes laughed as he heard those words.
____________________________
Where are you going? D:
Jiro had written anxiously; checking the time on the digital clock beside their study table as he had noticed Io gathering several documents and making his way towards the door of their room.
"I'm going to meet Callaghan at the Astronomy tower," The sparrow explained nervously, his Avian hovering behind. "The letter says that club meetings are at nine, so."
Jiro shook his head violently, holding onto Io's arm as he struggled to write his next words.
Don't go! It's past curfew, don't go—
The first year smiled gratefully; a certain warmth in his chest welling up at another's care and concern. "Don't worry, Callaghan said it's just once. And besides he's a professor; Predators wouldn't do anything as long as I'm with him."
How would you know? A voice rebelled at the back of his mind. But then again, Io's curiosity crushed it.
Mercilessly.
His roommate sighed, smiling hesitantly as he slipped a sweater over his shirt.
Hold on, I'll go down with you, Jiro penned his thoughts soon after.
The sparrow blinked. "W-Wait, what? Now? Um, Jiro. Just a moment ago, you said that it's past curfew."
Yes, but I have a Predator, unlike you :< The rest of the Nocturnes would know that I'm claimed, so they wouldn't dare to do anything.
"Oh," Io scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "You don't have to go to so much trouble, though."
The Japanese boy returned a pout, prodding his roommate's tummy.
Silly sparrow =3=
They laughed together.
___________________________
It was quiet outside, as if the floating island was cloaked in a blanket of silence—tucked in by the moon at night.
Jiro's nightingale was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps taking a pleasant night's flight under the veil of moonlight.
Io was narrating his experience about meeting other Marks earlier in the day while his roommate nodded away. The brave and loud blue jay; the quiet but constantly thinking magpie; and the unnoticeable Kiwi.
He didn't mention the games at all.
Io didn't want to think about it.
Perhaps he would, later.
He should, in fact.
There must be something he could do.
Something that could take him on the flight to victory—
"Hey pet," Someone was waiting at the entrance of the prey's dormitories.
"Cute sweater."
It was a predator, the boy could tell from his eyes—
They were glowing.
Io cowered instantly, taking Jiro's arm and pulling him behind himself. "What do you—"
The predator raised an amused brow. He was tall; and he had to lower his gaze to meet the sparrow's.
"And who might this be, pet?"
Io blinked, confused.
It was only then when he noticed that Jiro was trying to wriggle out of his grasp in order to write on his notepad.
The boy apologized profusely, not having a single clue what was going on still—yet, having a vague inkling that...
This is my predator, Io > - <
Master, this is Iolani Tori, my roommate. I'm so sorry to call you out suddenly...
And I didn't expect Master to arrive so quickly, so I hadn't told him about you therefore his actions can be—
Slayne reached down with a smile to stop his prey from writing.
"It's fine pet. I skip philosophy all the time anyway."
A lone nightingale hovered just behind the predator's shoulder, as if the Avian had called him here.
The snowy owl was slightly displeased that his pet was not using the usual drawing pad that he had given him, but was understanding enough to infer according to the context—that the sparrow had yet to understand the relationship between him and Jiro.
"It was a pleasant surprise, pet, when I saw your Avian coming to me with a request at this time," Slayne raised his gaze to look at the infinite stars as he took his pet's hand. "You owe me two favors now, though. I wonder when you're going to return them."
The Nocturne glanced down at his prey, eyes gentle and soft with a certain emotion.
Io trailed behind, trying not to stare at the backs of his roommate and the predator.
Strange.
The nightingale laughed pleasantly, a sound fit for the silent night.
Christmas bells.
He nodded with a sincere smile, admitting that he now owed the predator two favors.
After all, the boy was true to his word.
Strange.
They were predator and prey, yes; and yet—
And yet...
Io stroked the top of Lyra's head as she landed on his shoulder; cold fingers connecting with a pleasant warmth that spread over his fingertips.
It was a nostalgic feeling.
The night wind collected, passing a gentle chill at the tips of his fingers.
Dark trees swayed.
And yet,
He had missed this;
He had missed the night.
__________________________
He had missed the night at the treehouse.
__________________________
A/N: The picture above is a magpie! The games will probably be starting next week, and I really can't wait to write. Of course, I'm trying to restrain myself because rushing is the worst mistake anyone can make when it comes to writing ._.
Thank you so much for reading. Gosh, I can't thank you enough. I hope some things are clearer now ^^
-Cuppiecake