RAFEL REMAINED MOODY the rest of the day. At dinner, his face held a crestfallen expression that all his friends noticed. They sat in their usual circle at Salem Hall's cafeteria, even though Aya could've stayed back at her own dorm; Copenhagen Hall.
"You don't get it...she didn't recognize me. There was nothing there. Nothing! Not even a flicker."
Aya took Rafel's hand as he spoke. She'd managed to pry info about the drama in the gym from Rafel's lips. "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice held a beacon of hope, but Rafel wasn't waiting around for Lady luck to charm back the memory into Cora.
"I will find whoever did this to her, and make them pay," Rafel said solidly.
He pulled his hand from Aya's grip and dragged his plate of yams and scrambled eggs close. He, who had once acted like there was no food in front of him now forked the dry fried tubers into his mouth like it was the Usurper's guts. Those watching half-expected blood to come leaking out his mouth.
It certainly wouldn't be unusual, considering the vampires in the canteen.
Aya shared a concerned look with Rosa, Percival with Brunhilda and Ravenna. Rafel finished off his food and cleared his plates. Rising, he ignored Aya's offering for a [Blood Feed]; Rafel was no vampire, but he did enjoy little sips from a carotid every now and then. It helped calm him—but not tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep and forget.
He excused himself. "Thank you all for coming out to hear me. I know we all grieved Cora in our own way. But trust me when I tell you I will handle this. For now, I just wish to sleep."
"Don't forget your warlock practice is tomorrow in the grand guilds!" Ravenna called to his back. She was well informed in this as a Second Year.
The next day was Martyr's Day, the seventh day of the week. Sunrise was early and bright. Rafel slept in until the dawn speared through his curtains and the general alarm system of the dormitory belled loudly in his head. Rafel pummeled a pillow, as if to shield himself from the ringing pouring down from above. He tossed and turned in bed, hearing Percival in the showers.
Morning had come so soon!
Sure enough, he heard the songy voice of the Student President coming from the corridors.
"Hello, and Good Morning all! This is your Student President speaking! Hop to it, First Years. You've got a full day of Warlock practice. The Guilds are all primed and ready for novice warrior training to commence. DON'T BE LATE!"
"DON'T BE PUSSIES!" The First Years barked in turn. It sounded funny, but no one was laughing.
The students all stood in fighting Karate Gi, in the colors of their various Arcs, for easy limb movement. They were all barefoot, save their roaring veteran coach. Rafel's Judo Gi was a blazing red, the only similarity he shared with Percival's gold, Mikhail's blue, and Rosa's black, were their white belts.
All who stood in the Guild at this time were novices, no matter what points you scored in your Manifest.
"WHAT'S THE SECOND RULE, RUNTS?" Tanaka boomed higher.
"FUCK MAGIC!" All the First Years roared in unison.
"FUCK WHAT?"
"FUCK MAGIC!"
"—AND WE USE OUR WHAT?"
"WE USE OUR FISTS!"
Tanaka eased down, letting them catch their breaths. She moved around their lines and studied their stiff backs. "Good, runts! You're learning. Now, before we separate you all into groups of two, let's have some light entertainment of fists, shall we? I'll need a challenger for our only First Year red belt holder, OLIVAR D'SHENKO!
Olivar, where are you, boy? Fall out!"
Out from the extremes of the lineup, a tall, stocky young man with white hair and a gold [doh-gi], and a unique red belt, started walking out the lines. The Griffins began to cheer. Olivar Dshenko had a buzz cut, but his eyebrows were blond as the sun outside the Guild.
"As defender, Olivar D'shenko of [Griffin Gold Arc] is free to choose his opponent. Olivar, point your Challenger!" ordered Coach Tanaka.
Every [First Year] in the Guild watched Olivar's huge, ham hand rise and slide across standing lines, past the Ravens, and Pegasus Blues, and the Griffin Golds, coming to rest on the Phoenix Reds. And on Rafel. His single finger pointed. "I CHOOSE THE REDHEAD!"