Chapter 05 / First day at school

1st February, 15.002

La Paz, Ashveil Desert, Umbra [Vampire Continent]

The dining hall was unusually quiet for breakfast. Most of the cadets and officers had already rushed out toward training grounds or classrooms, leaving only a handful of tables occupied. At one of the smaller ones, a folder sat between bowls of porridge and half-eaten fruit rolls.

Risha frowned at the papers as though they might bite him. Sukira, pen spinning between her fingers, sighed through her nose. Elon simply stirred his tea, as though this wasn’t his problem — though he hadn’t moved the folder from in front of him either.

A few of the others lingered nearby — Ailin, Eloise, even Sami — but when they saw what the trio was dealing with, they exchanged knowing glances and drifted away to another table. This was family business.

“Okay, kid.” Sukira broke the silence, flipping open the first sheet. Her leather jacket hung off on her shoulders, sunglasses on as if the situation required an extra shield. She didn’t bother to sound gentle. “We don’t want to sweep your identity, but this place asks for every person to be in the system. And the system wants a last name and at least one legal tutor.”

Risha’s eyes widened slightly, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Sukira rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. “Don’t look like that. It just means when you turn eighteen, you’ll be your own man. Until then, we’re responsible for you.”

“So… I’ll stop being yours when I turn eighteen?”

“No.” Her tone softened, just slightly. “We already talked about that. We’re together no matter what a paper says. It’s just bureaucracy.”

“Bureau–what?” The word tangled on his tongue.

“Doesn’t matter.” She tapped the page. “Let’s cut to the point. You’ll have a new last name, but that doesn’t mean you need to forget who you were before. Makes sense?”

“Yes.” Risha nodded quickly. “I’ll be part human, part him, part you.” He pointed at Elon and then at her with his finger as he talked. 

Sukira made a face that showed only exhaustion.

“That’s the idea, yes,” Elon said finally. Elon was more used to flowing with Risha’s train of thoughts. No, that was not the idea but it was close enough to tell him ‘yes’ and keep moving. 

Risha slid off his chair and bowed, awkward but sincere.

“Oh no,” Sukira groaned. “Don’t bow. Where did you learn that? Eloise?”

Across the hall, Eloise glanced up mid-bite, cheeks puffed with bread, and waved innocently.

Elon leaned forward, one hand landing firmly on Risha’s shoulder, pushing him gently upright again. His voice was calm, steady, but his eyes searched the boy’s face. “Are you okay with this?”

Risha nodded hard, tears already threatening to spill. “Yes.”

Something twisted in Elon’s chest at those words. He didn’t show it, only gave the boy’s shoulder a small squeeze before letting go.

“Good,” Sukira said briskly, reaching for the quill. “We talked about it, and we think you should take Elon’s last name. Fenroth. It’s the cleanest, safest option.”

But Risha shook his head immediately. “I want yours too.”

Sukira barked back instantly. “This is not a debate. My last name doesn’t represent anything.” Her tone was flat, almost bitter.

She wasn’t wrong. Varn had once meant honor, intellect, and progressive politics — until it was erased from vampire history. Slowly, it was completely stricken from records, branded unfit because it did not serve the “correct” image of Umbra’s nobility. What it represented now was danger, controversy, and survival under false names; Umbra’s current rulers, the Velaric, took care of that, killing all the Varns and all the people related to their ideals. A few, like the Vexmere siblings or Sukira herself, kept breathing, but in the shadows. 

“It represents you,” Risha shot back without hesitation. His voice wobbled, but his grin was defiant. “I told you I want to be half both-of-you. Fenroth-Varn. Like a double attack.”

Elon almost choked on his tea. Sukira stared at the boy, torn between exasperation and the sharp sting behind her ribs. She was feeling a bit proud, also. Risha wasn’t going to step back on what he wanted to achieve. Slowly, a smirk tugged at her mouth.

“Thoughts?” she asked Elon.

“I believe it’s the correct thing to do,” he said. His gaze lingered on Sukira. “Names carry weight. You vampires are very fond of calling something into being. Even if modern ones pretend not to care, it still matters.” He talked as if trying to convince her with her own values.

“Don’t lecture me about my culture,” Sukira muttered, scribbling across the form. “Fine. Fenroth-Varn it is.”

Risha beamed so brightly it almost burned. He grabbed both their arms and hugged them at once, making the papers crinkle between them.

“Okay, bye!” Risha downed the last sip of his juice, bolted for the door, then froze halfway.

“Risha,” Sukira and Elon said together.

He looked back, confused.

“Your bag,” Elon said flatly, pointing only with his eyes at the floor where the backpack was waiting. 

“Oh.” He dashed back, grabbed it, and puffed out his chest. “This—um—this was a test! Yes. To make sure you’d remember! But… you passed! You’re going to be great parents.”

He sprinted out again, Cloud bounding after him. Through the windows, they saw him race across the courtyard to where Reno and Haru were already waiting, waving him over.

“I hope Reno is equally excited to start school as he is,” Axis exclaimed, who stumbled with Risha right at the door of the dining.

Sukira shook her head, her lips twisting into a grimace that only barely hid a smile. Elon stacked the papers neatly and rose from his chair.

Together, they crossed the dining room and slid the signed forms to Ailin, who conveniently was still there. She was sharing a table with Eloise, finishing their breakfast. 

Ailin, as ever, was unreadable. She brushed one pale finger over the ink and smiled faintly, eyes sharp with some unspoken meaning.

“Children don’t care for the weight of names. They only care for who answers when they call. Make sure you always do.”

“You are always so cryptic, Ailin.” Eloise said with a small, sweet laugh. 

♥︎

The Citadel of La Paz was not built for comfort, but for survival. Still, its people were slowly turning it into a home. New murals and the first stubborn plants softened the edges of the architecture — brutal, monumental blocks of steel, glass, and concrete poured into the desert.

At its center rose the Command Towers, unfinished but already the heart of La Paz. Around it stretched the functional wings: the training yards to the north, the medical complex to the east, the research and scientific halls to the south, and the Civil Quarter to the west.

The Civil Quarter had grown the fastest. Rows of small concrete apartments housed the families who had arrived here, while markets and improvised stalls filled the courtyards with noise and joy. A dining hall served as a common canteen, though it was only temporary — once the Command Towers’ internal facilities were completed, officers and lieutenants without families of their own would move there. For now, everyone without a household still ate together under this Quarter’s roof.

The school stood at the edge of the Civil Quarter, close enough for families to reach easily but still closer to the Main Tower walls for safety. The building was new, its concrete pale and sharp-edged, steel-framed windows glinting under the desert sun. Its halls opened into classrooms, a small kindergarten, a study salon, and a communal dining space for children. At its far end, a broad recess yard had been poured in plain stone — waiting for laughter to give it life.

It was raw, utilitarian, and heavy with the geometry of brutalist ambition. La Paz had started as a secret fortress, a coalition meant to stop the next war. And yet, for the first time since the Citadel’s foundations had been poured, it looked like a place meant to raise a future, not just defend against an end.

The school was the experiment at the center of it all; the newest structure in the Civil Quarter, and it carried more than walls and chalkboards. It carried a promise.

By the first day of classes, thirty children had been enrolled — some from families who had resettled in La Paz, others orphans brought by the Elite from villages scarred by Calamities or abandoned after natural beast attacks, which lately had increased. They ranged in age from six to fourteen. In time, the Committee expected that number to triple. A hundred children, maybe more, by the year’s end.

For now, the system was simple: two classrooms, one for the younger and one for the older students. The very youngest, those still barely learning to speak and walk, had a small kindergarten of their own beside the main building, watched over by patient volunteers.

The rest of the school was organized with the same practicality as the Citadel itself. The children’s dining hall, where meals were served quickly between lessons, had been poured in plain concrete with steel-framed windows. The study salon was little more than a large room lined with desks and benches. Outside, the recess yard stretched bare, a single expanse of stone and sand — swings and a few other games were about to be installed.

It was modest, rough around the edges, but it was the first of its kind. A school where elves, humans, and vampires — purebloods and halves alike — would learn the same lessons under the same roof. No other place in the world had ever attempted it.

And on this morning, the first bell was about to ring.

♥︎

Risha jogged up with his bag slung half-open, Cloud trailing until Sukira whistled him back toward. At the gate of the dinning, Reno and Haru were waiting.

“You’re late,” Reno barked, already bouncing on his toes like he’d been saving the words just to shout them. His elbow was bandaged again but his grin was too wide to care.

“I wasn’t late,” Risha puffed, hair sticking to his forehead. “I just forgot my bag…”

Haru smiled softly, shifting his own bag higher on his long shoulder. He looked calmer than the other two, though his sleeves were rolled up unevenly and the string of his bun was already half undone. “At least you remembered.”

Risha hugged him quick, because he always hugged without thinking, then hooked an arm around Reno too. Reno tried to shove him off but laughed anyway, sharp and loud. They walked together to the school’s building, only a few minutes away. 

The courtyard outside the school buzzed like a hive. Kids ran in every direction, some clinging to parents, others daring each other to climb the low rails or balance on the stone steps. The bell had already rung once, but no one seemed ready to go inside yet.

The teachers finally called them in, herding the children toward the double doors. The air inside smelled new.

Desks filled the main classroom, split into neat rows. No uniforms — which meant everyone’s clothes showed who they were. Haru wore baggy, linen pieces, sleeves smudged with ink but somehow still neat. Reno’s shirt was crooked and already stained with something red — juice? blood? both? Risha couldn’t tell. His own collar was half-tucked, because neither Sukira nor Elon cared much about those things. “Good enough,” Elon had said that morning.

Risha dropped into a seat near the middle. Haru took the desk beside him, Reno directly behind them, but on the window side — already drumming his fingers against the steel desk like he couldn’t sit still.

And just sitting in front of him, Risha noticed her.

A girl with long, straight hair pale-blue but electric at the same time, depending on the light. She kept her head down, grey eyes fixed on the blank page of her notebook. Her hands stayed folded neatly on top, as if she didn’t want anyone to see them shake.

Risha leaned sideways, whispering toward Haru. “Do you know her?”

Haru shook his head, bun sliding apart.

Before Risha could ask more, Reno twisted around with a grin. “She looks boring.”

A boy who had just entered the classroom turned at once — same grey eyes, same pale hair, but short and with an immaculate aspect. His glare cut sharp. “Say that again.”

Reno lit up like someone had lit a fuse. “I said she looks bo—”

“Reno,” Haru interrupted, calm as ever — more warning than scolding.

“Haa-ruuu,” Reno mocked back in a drawn-out whine, imitating his voice. “She looks boring, and so does he—”

Risha wasn’t listening. He had already leaned forward on his desk, smile wide as he waved at the girl. “Hi! I’m Risha. What’s your name?”

The girl startled, blinking like she hadn’t expected to be spoken to. Slowly, she turned her head. No words came out.

“Your hair is so beautiful,” Risha blurted, already reaching without thinking. “I know how to make threads, my aunties taught me, do you want me to—?”

His fingers were in her strands before he realized, soft and cool like silk.

“Don’t touch her hair.” The boy with pale hair and dangerous look was suddenly at their desks, glaring daggers. “Don’t touch her at all. She doesn’t like that.”

Risha froze, yanking his hands back and holding them in the air like a thief caught red-handed. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” His eyes went wide, guilt flooding in. Not again.

“Nima.”

“Uh?” Risha blinked at the girl, still frozen with his hands raised.

“My name is Nima,” she whispered, small but clear. 

Relief flooded him. His grin stretched wide again. “Nice to meet you, Nima! I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—”

“He’s not a weirdo,” Haru added quickly, smoothing over the moment as he always did. “Just… very friendly. Hi, I’m Haru.”

Nima hesitated, then gave a tiny wave, just once. A flicker of relief softened her face. Her brother, though, still looked like he was ready to fight Reno — and maybe Risha too — at recess.

“Oi, he already said sorry,” Reno cut in, shoving himself between Risha’s desk and the boy’s glare. “What’s your name? Are you siblings? ’Cause of the hair…” He trailed off halfway, remembering the lecture about genetics not working exactly like that. 

Ups, too late.

“Yes.” The boy’s tone was clipped, almost a bark. “I’m Zevran.” He dropped into the desk beside Nima, on the window side, directly across from Reno. His stare didn’t waver. “And you should apologize too.”

“For what?!” Reno snapped back, his heels leaving the floor as he floated just slightly — not much, but enough to notice.

Haru grabbed Reno’s hand under the desk and tugged him gently back down.

“She seems boring, and so do you,” Reno said anyway, his grin daring. “But maybe I’m wrong. Prove me wrong! I dare you!”

Before Zevran could leap across the aisle, the teacher walked in, clapping his hands once.

The first class, of the first day of school, had begun.

♥︎