Leon.

The word slipped from his tongue, as he tried to get ahold of his identity.

“I am Leon.” he said, trying to retain a confident expression on his face.

“Why yes, but technically,” said Carmille, as her eyes darted light blue in the air, “your tag is LE0N3271, but yes, you will go under the title of ‘Leon’ under casual circumstances. Of course, you will need to remember your tag in case of emergency security checks.”

A small metallic piece was pressed into his hand, dissolving instantly as the note went into his memory.

“Yes,” said Edward as he walked out of the room, his bellowing voice echoing the corridor, “now get up, minor. Alma mater awaits your attendance.”

“Ed.” Carmille nudged him in the elbow. “He doesn’t start alma mater until next day.”

Edward looked offended. “No, schedule change and executive decisions must be made in the household. He must go to school.”

As he left the run down house, he felt a pair of glowering gold and silver eyes, similar to the ones on the door, pierce inside him. Edward leered at him as he inserted a small piece of white tile in his ear. “Never, in any circumstances, take it off.” said the leaning man as Leon headed off. “And lock the door with the key in that tile there, boy.”

“You are required by the Supreme Emperor of Terresios,” the white tile muttered in his brain. The train went by, his body was hit by a blow of wind from the movement on the tracks, missing a number of words the tile processed to his eardrum. His knapsack weighed him down to the ground with the heaviness of the words.

“... As by law, each personnel living in every household needs to be educated by one or more certified Avalonians in order to merge with the society.” Unfortunately, this only made the mentor more disgusted at him.

“Let me restate this: what previous knowledge do you possess?” He said irritably.

For someone who has little to none memories before today, Leon found it hard to recall any knowledge he had acquired.

“Mathematics? Law? Linguistics?”

Puzzled by the number of odd words, he said the only word he could manage.

“No.”

The mentor leaned closer, his brows knitted, his face a stranger shade of colour than before. “The Betas sent a vestige.”

The last word was more confusing than the subjects.

“A vestige?”

“Obviously, you’re a leftover from the batch. Never developed in time for the classification. Of course, a teenager vestige is a rare occurrence... But haven’t your custodians clarify your status?”

“No.”

“An odd decisions by your custodians, but I suppose not an absurd decision for Mr. Edmond Beta... Yes, ED03507, I remember him... Never did well in alma mater...”

Leon’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He secretly hoped that he would not be of kin with the two. What was a faint goal in the back of his mind to at least try to succeed in Alta Mater seemed to dissolve before his eyes. If he was part of the Betas now, he had dared to hope Edmond would be academically successful, since he lost hope in Carmille, with her superficial talk about altering and whatnot. The other boys appeared. They seemed less confused than he was, unfortunately.

The mentor’s voice seemed to tune down in his head, and slowly, he was lead within the concrete walls of the small classroom, consisting of the other boys living with him seems to push in, making him feel claustrophobic every minute the bored teachers delivered their speeches on Avalonian history.

Leon can never focus on the words. The letters seem to float in his mind, then flying off elsewhere, where he cannot foresee.

The long lectures overwhelmed him as he lost all focus on the mentor. Leon began to twirl his fingers in a circle, tapping his desk every half second. He felt like a caged wild animal, trying every single way to get out of life behind bars.

He felt like pouncing on the person who put him in here, clawing out every inhumane part of this commander. Leon was quite sure that he never felt this violent in his life before.

Opening the small leather-bound book, he saw a detailed drawing of a mighty-looking man, his pair eyes gleam pure gold, and blazed a white fire in his irises. A spear with two ends in the man’s hand, one end holding a blade with jagged edge, and the other end equipped with something similar to a machine gun without the trigger part, a dark and sharp blade attached under the gun.

He flipped to the next page. The man was leading an entire army, as battle airships & hovercrafts bombed a city. He did not notice the man’s facial features until he was nearing the end of his vision. His face had a scar, running from his forehead, through his left eyebrow, up his nose, and under his chin. Leon was horrified to notice the similarity of the shape of a mask drawn to the look of the blood-curdling scar.

His vision flickered from black into white, back and forth with the images. Curiously, Leon flipped to the next page. Before, the man had covered his left eye in his mask, but now he was unmasked: a petrifying look, revealing an eyeball made from strange metal, with glowing red pupils, as complete horror washed over him.At the end of the page, he saw a few scribbled words, written messily and hastily.

THE EMPEROR

All Who Look At Him In Disgust Will Be Turned To Stone. Then He Shall Control The Winds And Blow The Ashes Into Nothingness. The Emperor’s Eyes Will Feast On Those Who Are A Threat To His Reign, Running On Them Like A Flame Burning On Fuel. He Weaves His Net To Capture His Enemies With Loss, Pain, And Hate: And In Return, Bring War, Revolution, And Destruction Under His Power.

With the final thought, Leon closed the book.

At mealtime in alma mater, he was given a clean tray filled with a ridiculous amount of small fibre-like dishes. In one dish, sat a lonely, circular chunk of substance with a soft, compressible texture dressed in a strikingly contrast condiment; in another, a starchy material laid flat on its platter, almost printed with a darker colour laid in patterns on top; a glutinous roll in viridescent shades, refusing to succumb to a fork and knife on the platter; and finally, a metallic coloured liquid, opaque in colour, reducing Leon’s appetite.

As the others ate with “proper etiquette,” he looked down at his peculiar plated food with detestation. He looked at the ceramic-like utensils, wishing it could be edible instead.

At the front of the classroom, was a similar looking eye he found on the door. It glanced around the cement walls, then stopped as it focused on him.

Throw it, a voice said in his ear.
But no one was close to him even just to whisper. With quick pondering, Leon guessed the source was to be in his ear, in the tile Edward had given to him. He ignored the vague instruction and started to prod his food curiously.

Throw the knife, the tile said in a clearer voice.

But why? There is no one to throw it at, and he contained no anger. In fact, he had no right to release any anger at anything.

Who took away your family? Who placed you here in this miserable, pathetic structure? Who left you here with nothing, with no chances of immersion?

Leon started seeing an almost holographic image of Edward. Then it shifted in a glitch to a gold masked man.

This man, took away your future, your dreams, your present, and your past. You have every right to be angry. You have every right to rage. So let’s start it all on a soft note: throw the knife.

As reluctant as he is, he cannot stop his hate from forming into a solid form. He started to abhor the Betas, for their carelessness to him as a family member. He started to loathe the mentor at alma mater, along with his dull classes talking about perspectives and whatnot. He felt a hatred for this odd place, and without further thinking, he picked the knife.

It was blunt, its edges rounded to a stop at the handle. Leon suddenly felt its pain and its usage strangely. Now, his target was in focus. That damned eye, the alarming scar forming the shape of an X, the bullseye.

He didn’t see his mentor approach the podium in time. He cannot stop himself from unleashing the knife.

The knife flung, tearing the layers in the air, landing itself hard into the board an inch left of the mentors head. The board stopped transferring handwriting into fonts, flashed a few times, and exploded, leaving a soot faced mentor and astonished students.

The knife fell to the ground. Then, it levitated and flew into the open hands of Leon.

Now he sincerely wished he had an appetite for his lunch.