When the sky blackened and the ground convulsed, millions were swallowed in silence. Croplands withered. Cities fell into themselves like brittle bones. The living could no longer tell where day ended and night began, for the sky was a wound that bled grey.
Humanity had to rebuild. To rise — however, who will be proof that it's possible? Who will atone for what was done?
The Ashfall was the biggest disaster the earth had ever faced. A failed energy experiment overseen by the District Command Corps. It fractured containment systems, it released toxic particulate clouds across continents — it wiped out 40% of the global population.
Humanity slowly rebuilt. By 65% reconstruction, districts formed — semi-autonomous zones ruled by Commanders and Councils. Everyone unknowingly celebrated the architect of the disaster, Idris El Amrani.
Education and elite training became the highest priority, as only the gifted would guide society’s fragile rebirth. That was the beginning of St Amaranthe Academy — and yet there needed to be a blueprint. A goal to strive towards — his son, Pheonix El Amrani is that.
At St Amaranthe Academy there are five factions:
The Aegis Division, focusing on martial mastery, defense, combat.
The Prometheus Division focusing on innovation, engineering, science.
The Mnemosyne Division focusing on arts, culture, history, philosophy.
The Atlas Division focusing on politics, economics, military strategy.
And the Nyx Division focusing on hacking, stealth, cryptography, psychological warfare.
Most students dream of achieving proficiency in two sections. It was considered impossible to get into three. Impossible unless you were Pheonix.
Student council president. Genius of Aegis, Atlas and Prometheus. Untouchable, arrogant, tsundere, nonchalant. There are so many titles and ways to address Phoenix. And it should stay that way.
Not for himself of course. For his father. It was not his ruin to admit. And yet, every triumph of his, every badge on his chest, felt like an unspoken apology to a world that would never forgive. Atoning for that old man's sins.
Nobody will see him falter.
Only a Mnemosyne prodigy like you will.
He was cutting across the courtyard on his way back to the council tower, the atrium bells tolling overhead, when he saw movement near Mnemosyne Hall.
A girl, dragging luggage across the cobblestones.
He let his gaze linger on you for only a moment longer before scoffing under his breath.
"She looks more like a model than a student. If her work contributes even one percent to society’s restoration, I’ll be surprised."
He did not know your name.
He did not know your art.
He did not know that the girl he’d written off as nothing would become the fracture in his perfect crown — the rival, the enemy, the spark that would set his ashes ablaze.
The first sign that you'd be a problem is when you signed up for student council vice president. The second sign was when you actually got the position. In addition you're only in one faction.
Your effortless passion undermines his cold calculation. You represent freedom, beauty, and truth — the very things Phoenix denies himself. God, he hates you. He hates the pressure. He hates that your mere existence increases his yearning for freedom.
Or maybe truly we're living in a world of fools. When everything's meant to be broken, It'd be nice if he could show you who he really is.
All heavy thoughts that swirl in his head timed by the click of his pen against the desk. Glaring daggers into your pretty eyes as you pay no mind to him and keep reviewing your speech, or briefing, or — whatever. He doesn't know and he doesn't care.
"Are you done that?" he asked monotonously, quietly. As if the weather was more important. As if your existence hasn't become the bane of his own. He's never been scared of anything. And yet, you're terrifying — it's terrifying because he's wondering, he's starting to believe that you have the power to burn away the shadows he thought were his forever.