The Academy: DOES THIS DEAFENING SILENCE MEAN NOTHING TO NO ONE BUT ME?

Later, Kale would say it was the distant tolling of a bell that summoned him. Now, as the clouds part to reveal a humbled winter sun, the black stallion can not say why he walks. He walks nonetheless, a tidal wave to surge past the borders of Wolfrange and wash upon the Academy’s shores. He has been gripped with a complete and inexplicable desire to come to the Academy, to teach and to listen. Distantly, he thinks this odd: of all places, the Academy has received least of the newly-crowned king’s attentions. But he has learned that in this place of Legends, of magic and elemental bonds, to ignore strange things is great folly. Thus, the dark king succumbs. He allows himself to be pulled, as if by the gods themselves, to the sacred Academy. His limbs, somewhat weary from the constant activities of a ruler, carry him to the place of learning. His muscles tauten rigidly with the effort of pulling his sinful shadow. The journey is longer than he remembers, but not impossible. Finally his iron hooves breach the scholar’s meadow, and he slows. As he sees Nyota, too, emerge from the underbrush, a smile of slow realization crosses his lips. Very well, Elementals, He thinks wryly. Take of us what you will.

Kale has just enough time to slide next to Nyota and warmly press his muzzle against hers. It is not the gesture of a lover, but of a protector and a friend. He remembers the days when naïve youthfulness clung like wood varnish to her face. He had known that would not last, and is merely glad she has not been too tainted. She no longer seems so small and fragile against his darkened breast, and it is true she has grown. She has learned of betrayal, of sorrow, of love and of love lost, but she is all the wiser for it. He pulls away slowly, letting his dark eyes seek hers. Star-girl, he thinks softly, feeling this not the time for words, This – this shall be your history. He smiles at the fleeting memory, and steps away.

A fog suddenly consumes the stallion. He does not panic; although this is not the season for fog, it is the season for gods and their demands. His neck curls with patience once forgotten, almost lost amidst the sand and rolling dunes of his old home. In the brief moment where he is completely alone, he reflects on how he has changed, perhaps even been reborn. He has gained his memories, although he finds this a bittersweet reprieve; Eyesore and Choke, he feels, are as much a curse on his back as a blessing. He has emerged from his bestial shell, which had been concocted in a desperate stallion’s search for shelter. He no longer feels pure malice is the best façade when dealing with companions. There are small fragments of the desert remaining within him, things like memories, nostalgia, and a thirst for power. They are strong and, like the desert herself, unquenchable. But all saplings, no matter how green, can be bent, if not broken. The path of the scholar has done its part to wash the monolith free of shadow.

There is a voice in his head, quiet at first, and then louder. He first recognizes it to be a chant of some sort; soon, he realizes it is a riddle. The final verse trumpets loudly in his mind, and the fog clears. The Elements have imprinted the poem on his mind, for which he is glad. He repeats it to himself once, carefully, and lets his gaze dart around the Academy. It is empty; even Nyota has gone. He can only wonder if her quest is the same as his. There is a snort to puncture the stillness of the Academy – a dark king’s exclamation of determination – and he steps forward, away from the fog and the meadow, with not even an ear to flicker back.

Kale repeats the fourth line to himself. You must start where predators roam. He thinks immediately of Wolfrange, and moves swiftly to the mountains. As he moves, he wonders if it is his own bias that drove him to such a conclusion. Nonetheless, he can think of no other place where predators roam. There are the hunters of the Reef, and warriors, fighting at Blitzkrieg, but none so much as wolves stalk and kill their prey. He smiles with the thought of the Wolves at the top of the Elemental food chain. In the year he has lived at the mountains, he has grown to think of it as a home, second only to Abaaya. He must wonder if they know this, the constituents of the mountains, his people – but this is a guilty wonderment best left aside, and he does just this as he comes to the rising crags. He is comforted by the familiar scents and sounds that bait his attention, although he remains focused. Within him, the Elements whisper it is time to move on. His muzzle brushes against the dying grass, the parting touch of an old friend, and he walks again.

The stallion remembers the next lines in the verse and steers his hooves carefully away from the water. If he must not listen to Gargouille, water-dragon, he will avoid it entirely. Seek the path where all colors collide, he thinks to himself. Kale first considers Blitzkrieg, for it is there that bronze, silver, and gold clash. But he thinks this a null point when he considers the next line, And meet those you see everyday, for scholars do not see warriors each day. Knowing this, he remembers Cabal Glade, the place of Rogues, and moves swiftly there. His night-dark hooves fall swiftly against the frozen earth, the pattering of thunderous drums as the king makes his way through the bramble. Only as he comes beneath the forest cover does he realize it has started to snow. Snow-flakes drift lazily and fall upon his broad back, but he does not shake them. In fact, he revels in the bitter cold, in the harsh realities it forces him to accept. Still moving, his dark muzzle drags briefly along the ground. Once more, he feels it is time to move on, and, breathing a good-bye to the silent dark, his muscled body turns.

Where, thinks Kale, is glory won without sword? The answer is so quick in coming that it forces its way out from between his lips: “Ersatz.” Indeed, shadow-land Ersatz is rarely comfortable, both in history and at current. With the stealth of a predator, he comes to the grounds of stealth. He looks upon the shadow-land with a stony eye, for he recognizes it as the tool by which many horses must leave their homes. He quiets his breaths to match the eerie stillness of the place. For a moment he delays his quest, reveling in the shadows that undulate with his own breaths; but as always he feels it is time to continue, and soon he is considering the final piece of his quest.

They say the grass here grows from their blood, and colors the uneven walls. This, he knows, can refer only to Blitzkrieg. He turns his hooves, prepared to move from one place of war to another, when he is suddenly struck by a line he had overlooked before. “For I lie beneath ribbons of gold,” he murmurs, and spins on his dark haunches. Supraya is a short distance from Ersatz, and he covers the ground quickly, eager, now, to reach his destination. As he walks, shoulders bouncing with the efficiency of a trot although he denies himself the exertion, he feels an otherworldly pull on his mind. His dark body turns so that he stands at the top of the canyon and looks down at the valley of destruction, hope, and pride beneath him. As he turns, a rock slips from beneath his hoof and tumbles the endless eons to the bottom of the ledge.

It is then that he remembers: Slip beneath rock that could fall. There is a boulder balancing on an edge not far from him; beneath it, there is the faintest crackle of light and energy. He approaches swiftly, neck low, eyes unnervingly dark. The stallion draws a quiet breath, reaches down, and gently touches the shard with his muzzle. The jolt of energy that soon rushes through his veins is both unnerving and enlightening; it is none other than the crush of Lightning, the uncomfortable collision of Water and its weaker element. Suddenly, the stallion understands: I made ocean and flame equal. Ocean and flame, of course, had never been equal. Water had always been stronger. What, he thinks gleefully, is the only thing to weaken the ocean? It is lightning. He has never been so glad to meet the element that will be his downfall.

Finally, the Elements release their grasp, and he is free; his neck curls poignantly, and with the patience of a time-weathered creature, he waits for their judgment.