Page 37 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

I frowned. “You have to be suicidal to train with the Offensives?”

Enya sighed. “It’s not a prerequisite, but you’ll succeed faster if you’re not afraid of death.”

Suppressing a chuckle, I interjected, "I'm not sure fearlessness is the same as being suicidal.

.." but my words were swallowed by a sudden rush of air.

As we arrived at the base of the Summer Palace, I glanced upward, marveling at the towering structure that stretched toward a skylight in the roof.

There were no stairs in sight, leaving me to wonder how on earth we were supposed to ascend the fifteen floors of the Summer Palace.

"Welcome to the Academy," Enya smiled and closed her eyes for a second. A few seconds later, a weirdly shaped platform appeared. It looked a bit like one of those platforms window-cleaners use when they climb skyscrapers, only it wasn't bound to any string or cable.

Enya hopped (!) onto the platform and motioned for me to join her. She grinned at the worry visibly spreading across my face, then snapped her fingers quickly. With a little wobble, we lifted off.

“This must all be very new and exciting for you,” she stated without question. I nodded, unable to find the words to describe whatever I was feeling. As we “flew” by the floors, she continued her explanation.

"Every floor is designed specifically to accommodate the needs of the function being taught," Enya explained, her tone thoughtful as she considered the uniqueness of their Academy.

"Not every Collective provides all functions in the Academy.

Cyclos Academy is renowned for Offensive schooling, but we also have Healers and Defensives," she added, pausing to let the significance of her words sink in.

"As you can see, we just passed the first five levels where the Defensive classes take place. They all get five levels each, except for the Defensives, who share two corridors for connecting purposes."

"Defensives?" I asked.

"They're like the social workers or police forces you have," she explained. "They work internally, try to keep order if necessary, and send for help whenever needed. They are very nice, very peaceful people.

I frowned. They did not sound like the police in my world at all, nor were the latter interchangeable with social workers…

"Everyone else, like Specialists, Recruiters, Orators, and so on, have to go outside of Cyclos to specialize before they can operate here as such," she explained.

I took a deep breath, trying to process so much information in so little time.

"We'll cross the Healers' levels now," she said, pointing at the next five floors. "Healers are the only magi who can use their energy to influence any state of the body. Apart from our ability to age at will, the rest of us aren’t capable of using magic to change any physical aspect. It takes almost half a cycle to specialize, and only the most exceptional individuals are permitted to do so.”

She gestured toward their level. “Their levels all consist of rooms filled with medical equipment, plants, herbs, and every book ever written on anatomy and complications arising from translation."

Easy enough. Healers were kind of like doctors who specialized in magic.

By the time we arrived on the eleventh level, a rather dark hallway emerged and Enya was almost giddy with anticipation.

Seriously, what’s up with these Offensives?

"This is the Offensives ' wing," she smiled, pausing the elevator. We got out on the floor, and I could hear some clear fighting grunts and gasps in the distance.

As my feet met solid ground, a shiver ran down my spine. Surrounded by nothing but darkness and pitch-black corridors, I couldn't help but long for the vibrant colors and bustling energy of the Scola.

Walking through the dark hallway, we passed at least ten training rooms, each showcasing their own distinct ambiance.

Some were enveloped in darkness, where the only sensation was the faint echo of sound, while others blazed with bright lights, revealing hazardous obstacles scattered across the floor.

I could've sworn I heard the distant rumble of a volcano erupting at one point, but we swiftly moved past each room without pausing.

Somewhere down the hall, I caught the sound of someone giving clear instructions, unmistakably one of the trainers. Enya nodded toward a particular training room, and as we entered, I caught the tail end of what had clearly been a rather "inspiring" speech.

"Times are changing; we are Offensives, the frontline defenders and attackers. We are the guardians of our small yet crucial community. We are what everyone relies on us to be: the ultimate protectors! Can we fulfill that role if we neglect our training?" the authoritative voice persisted.

"No Pro, no!" the entire class chanted, and my jaw dropped.

"Can we be protectors if we do not evolve?"

"No Pro, no!"

"Can we be protectors if we are not the best of the best?"

"No Pro, no!"

In a brief moment of silence, we seized the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed, the faint scent of sweat and the sound of clashing bodies filling the air. A shudder of anticipation ran through me as I observed the scene before me.

The class consisted of at least eighty pupils. It was huge.

My eyes were drawn to the instructor, a clearly seasoned Offensive with a stern expression and an aura of authority which commanded respect.

With her black hair and small figure, she seemed familiar.

She barked orders with a voice which cut through the air like a whip, and the students responded with unwavering obedience.

"I expect nothing less than absolute perfection from you. Those who are not up to the task will be asked to leave the program. I have no room for eighty Superiors and only a few Advancers or Professionals. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Pro, yes!"

I was fascinated.

"These are Offensives?" I whispered to Enya so as not to disturb the class.

"It’s a Moderates class, yes. They haven’t been appointed yet, but they are training to join them."

“They look like warriors,” I murmured thoroughly impressed.

“Offensives basically are. If there were ever to be a threat to our existence or our Collective, they would be the ones neutralizing it."

"Like an army?" I asked.

"Not really." Enya shook her head. "More like warriors of the night, like ninjas or samurai.

Or special forces. They have insanely well-developed fighting skills, and they are fast in their interface.

They train their entire lives to develop the highest and quickest form of translation.

If they're on the fast track, they translate at four seconds interface by the time they're twelve years old.

They go on secret missions all over the world, interact with Leaders and other high-positioned magi, and have a sense of duty that comes before everything—family, friendship, even love," she explained, almost in awe.

I nodded, looking at the class entirely wide-eyed.

"What was she talking about when she mentioned Professionals and Superiors?" I asked after a few minutes, quietly.

"It's an educational system designed by Edward Connors. It’s kind of like a pyramid system. Regardless of whatever function you desire in life, the training consists of six levels," Enya whispered in hushed tones, not to disturb the class.

"When you're done with Scola, usually around sixteen-years-old, you begin at the Academy.

The first year, is an Entry-level, holding everyone willing to train for a specific function, regardless of their talents.

A year later, you go from Entry to Basic level, where you train for two years, learning the basic principles.

At nineteen, you're a Moderate. Moderates train for an additional three years.

After that, it's the Superiors, usually the last level, lasting until at least twenty-five. Most magi are Superior and blend in with their peers in their respective fields.”

She paused, taking in some of the instructions “Pro” was shouting.

"However, if you appear better than your peers,” she continued, “there's the Advanced program for the happy few who get recruited. Not many go through that program, reserved for only the exceptional ones, who usually obtain very short interfaces at a young age. When they grow up and specialize, they get recruited for the Advanced program and go on very specific missions within their function.”

I smiled encouragingly, it was the last level I had most interest in.

“Then, last but not least. the Professionals, the top of the top. They are regarded as the VIPs of our community. They're famous because there are so few. In every function, there are usually but five professionals."

"A year?" I asked.

She smiled. "No, overall."

I gasped.

"In the world?"

She laughed. "No, I mean per Collective, but it crosses generations."

I nodded hesitantly. I couldn't help but ask, "So what's that guy James?"

She seemed a little taken aback by my specific interest in him but didn't press the matter. "He skipped the Moderates entirely and was recruited at twenty-one out of the Advanced class to be our First Offensive, so he was a separate category."

"Of course he was," I mumbled, vastly irritated by this in no way surprising information.

We watched the class for an hour and it amazed me what they were capable of.

The students, dressed in sleek black attire, moved with a fluidity, nothing short of mesmerizing.

They fought each other in silence, their footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floor.

I couldn’t help but be in awe of their precision, their entire essence a delicate dance of power and control.

They were all highly developed and their fighting skills were nothing like I had ever seen humans do. Half of their techniques took place while hovering over the floor for a few seconds. Like some form of Cirque the Soleil but with assassins instead of acrobats.