TOO many high expectations. Far too many classes.
This has always been Arya’s issue—or any kingdom’s, for that matter. Too much judgment.
They are beyond sympathy, beyond help. For years, Holders have espoused the nonsensical notion of perfection and nowadays, they’ve become solely concentrated on fixing themselves to fit in and conform to society’s condemnation. Arya loves to divide, they love to compare, creating strife in an already unforgiving world. To her, it is disheartening to see how the world has prioritized beauty, wealth, and power above all else, and not just because she’s been told countless times that she could never accomplish any of those things. It’s become a common phenomenon that when asked about their life goals, individuals immediately mention these superficial desires as if they hold the key to happiness and fulfillment. The obsession with Amulets only serves to perpetuate this toxic mindset.
She can very clearly recall being questioned about the number of times she had been let down in life and a direct response was never given. That number was far too high. Before, she blamed the individuals that disheartened her and often even cursed them in moments of bitterness and self-pity. Now, she understands she was always to blame for expecting too much from people that gave too little.
Even now, this is one aspect of her younger self that she despises. Her people always warned her that hope was futile in a wicked game of survival where only the Holders, wealthy, attractive, and men could win. They made it clear that everyone else was doomed to suffer and perish. Why then did she choose to trust the words of a woman she’d never met before, a woman that was most likely formed from her imagination? Why had she ever entertained the idea that some Holders might come to love those unlike them, accept their differences, and make an effort to comprehend their struggles?
But that was who she was then—Eun Calinao, diffident, fragile, hopeful. Much to her dismay, she still sees a fraction of that little girl inside who she is now—Ivy Pearls, scrupulous and single-minded.
The day Ivy Pearls learned just how much appearances matter was the day she witnessed a Holder getting ridiculed for the way she looked and the way she dressed. A Holder! The girl couldn’t believe her eyes at the time. She was only ten then, sitting at the very back of the classroom where every other Powerless sat when Clover Hermione walked in, repeatedly glancing over her shoulders, her steps slow, dragged. Several students, driven by disdain and hostility, were already waiting for her by the door and grabbed her long hair to yank her down the first opportunity they got. At the mere age of ten, Clover was told she was born with the ugliest face, that no one would ever be her friend and no man would dare marry her in the future. The incident was a clear indication of how shallow and cruel Holders could be towards those who did not fit into their narrow definition of beauty, even if it were their own people.
When they repeated this behavior the following day at the playing field, Ivy refused to stay quiet. She could have walked away—her tormentors hadn't noticed her yet. But watching someone, whether Holder or Powerless, get beaten especially for something beyond their control always had a way of causing sadness to thrum through her veins and rage to quicken her blood. The first thing she observed as she marched up to the students that would not leave Clover alone was that Clover’s once-waist-length hair could now barely reach her ears, revealing more of her slightly rectangular face and a small scar almost the shape of a half-moon on her neck. Could she have possibly cut it due to how easy it was to take hold of it? It was no wonder some of the pupils were screaming that she now had such a boyish appearance.
Unfortunately, bravery was insufficient to overcome the harassers. Ivy became the new target. Needless to say, she foresaw this. To these Holders, being a Powerless was a lot more intolerable than being repulsive in appearance. Clover was given the time to finally catch her breath and wipe the blood off her lower lip while all the beatings and insults shifted to her instead. But she didn't worry. At first, delight engulfed her. On the inside, she was smiling. It wouldn't be long before Clover came to her rescue just as she'd done for her. Yet when she lifted her head after more excruciating seconds had gone by, a fresh swell of despondency swept over her at the sight of Clover scurrying away. She did not look back. Not once. She did not care.
Attempting to push the abrupt memory to the back of her mind, Ivy concentrates on the tiny knife in her palm for a moment. However, her efforts prove futile as the memory of two individuals she dreads thinking about begins to consume her. Ivy sees nothing improper with recalling her past. They often remind her never to repeat her mistakes. Yet whenever two aching names begin to reverberate in her thoughts, she finds it quite impossible to focus on anything else.
Clover Hermione and her unfortunate choice to flee rather than help is not the only thing Ivy remembers from that day. She remembers the intense pain that grew the more breaths she took and the sensation of her body weakening with every hit she endured. She remembers feeling as though that day would be her last and how perhaps, that was for the best. And she remembers hoping when she glanced up from the ground that Clover would change her mind and return only to be met by the sight of two completely different girls running in her direction. Benecia Patel and Delyth Nguyen—two Powerless girls she later formed the closest of friendships with after they fought their way through the iniquitous Holders and managed to get them to leave her alone. Two girls with unwavering loyalty that never failed to bring a smile to her face despite their own difficult circumstances. Two girls that vowed to be her shield and kept their word day in and day out. Two girls that never let her down.
Two girls she one day found in Delyth's home upon visiting, lifeless on the blood-stained floor, eyes vacant, light ebbed from them. The eyes that lost the capability to express true and profound love, to be a getaway to their own souls, dead. She sees them everyday. The image of that harrowing moment continues to remain vivid in her head to this very second. The moment she left the house where their departed bodies lay—her two best and only friends—she was screaming. Screaming silently to herself and screaming at people to punish the one behind the immoral executions. She watched them get dragged to the Pits of Death, several deep holes in a desolate area of the kingdom filled with the remains of her deceased people, and when she inquired as to why such a heinous act had occurred, the guards claimed the girls had it coming their way when they chose to disobey one of the rules.
Ivy has been alive long enough to know that the Holders never need a reason to suddenly decide when to take a Powerless' life—not a proper one, anyway. There was nothing about rules that caused her friends’ deaths, nothing about misbehavior. No, it was simply that man—that awful justification of a living being. As the image of the killer takes shape in her head, she feels a surge of raw anger shoot through her and her grip on the knife tightens. She knows him well. Many people in Arya do. What sickens Ivy the most is how quickly word of him slaying her friends spread like wildfire yet Holders continue to greet him with kindness as if he hadn’t done it. Murder is still indecent in this kingdom, is it not? Ah, right. The crime is only deemed unacceptable when it’s a Holder who’s lost their life. She scoffs at the thought.
As her anger intensifies, so does her temper. Ivy slams the tip of her knife into one of the filthy kitchen walls of her dilapidated house and gradually drags it down, leaving a mark. But in her mind, she replaces the wall with the slayer’s neck, and the vivid image of it slit and bleeding brings a small smile to her face.
Gozar Agulto, I'm coming for you!
“Welcome to Day Zero of Amulet Academy!”
The announcer’s gravelly, booming voice brings the crowd of students to immediate silence. Normally, an announcer would be jovial and welcoming when greeting them but the man standing straight before the entrance of the new academy is neither of those things. Both of his large hands are behind his back, feet brought together, head raised slightly, and an austere expression planted on his oblong face. This isn't a test but the young schemer knows she must approach it as such. The students that are shivering at the mere sight of the announcer have already failed.
“I'm certain you already understand just how problematic the Outsiders have gotten,” the man carries on. “Arya needs additional Holders protecting it and that's where you come in. But right now, none of you are ready yet. However, don't worry. That's what this academy is for.”
He pauses to gaze around once again. “Are you ready to see what it looks like?”
After his words, there is a sudden feeling of jubilation in the crowd of students, as if they are both firmly on solid ground and levitating all at once. Despite the fact the academy hasn’t officially begun, she can’t miss the chance to make an unforgettable appearance. There is no such thing as commencing her plot too early—the quicker, the better, in fact.
“You must take your training very seriously,” the announcer calls out again in a warning tone. “The safety of Arya will soon be resting on your shoulders. Plus, the Royals worked hard to set up the academy. Each one of you must make sure to show your gratitude to them.”
The mere mention of the Royals elicits a deep sense of irritation in Ivy. Aside from Gozar Agulto, no Holder will ever be able to anger her as much as the Royals do. She holds the view that they, along with their predecessors, are the primary cause of the suffering that takes place in Arya. They hold the power to change the unforgiving rules and ensure equality in their kingdom yet they choose not to. It is evident that they relish their sovereignty and the control it affords them. The Powerless are free to starve and drown in the filth of the streets, free to meet their end in some freezing field with cold steel running through their intestines, so long as the Holders indulge in their lavish parties and fine foods. Then again, with ethereal faces and Amulets so powerful, of course, every Holder idolizes them.
But all this will change once it is revealed that one out of the three Royals has been deceiving Arya.
As the plotter glances around, in search of a familiar face in the crowd, her eyes come across a person she’s been dreading to see since she stepped foot inside Arya again three days ago. At the sight of the boy, her nostrils immediately flare and her face scrunches up in disgust.
Alvin!
It is not surprising that Alvin would be present in a place where he could garner attention. Ivy hates the effects he still has on her. Despite her efforts to move on, just the mere sight of him drags her back to the past—back to when he would enter her bedroom in the middle of the night and touch her in a way that would cause her to recoil, in a way she could never speak about because she knew no one would ever believe her words over a Holder’s. She mentally shudders at the memory. If only Adora gave her some guidance on how to not let such people get under her skin.
Ivy’s feelings whenever her thoughts wander to her adoptive brother are not exactly ones of terror. Undoubtedly repugnance. Anger. Maybe, even a bit of despair. Despite Adora warning her never to let her rage get the better of her, she can’t help but envision herself gradually running a knife across the boy’s neck, watching with a satisfied grin as he doubles over on the floor with agony.
And how was the rest of her adoptive family doing? Did they celebrate her departure?
On Day Zero, students are allowed an hour to explore and familiarize themselves with the academy, their teachers, and classmates. But none of that is on Ivy’s agenda. Her sole purpose is to make it clear that she’s back to seek retribution against her enemies and justice for her people. Anything else that does not align with her goal is irrelevant. She’s steadfast in her resolve to fulfill this aim and she’s prepared to go to any lengths to do so.
The office, a large chamber for the chosen headmaster located close to the main doors, is the first stop once inside the institution. There, students collect a piece of paper each consisting of information regarding where their classrooms and who their lecturers are.
“Hey! You over there!”
Ivy has only stepped inside her classroom when a voice behind her calls for her attention. A very dissatisfying classroom. There is nobody in here she knows, and although that's not entirely a bad thing, having a few familiar faces witness the hell she's about to break loose will go a long way. Ivy pauses in her tracks and turns, coming across a middle-aged guard approaching her with haste. The man scans her head to toe before giving a nod of what seems to be confirmation.
“Yes, you seem to match the description.”
She frowns. “Match the description for what? What's going on?”
“There's been a slight change,” the guard informs, leading her out of the room and toward another at the very end of the hallway. “For whatever reason, Athena Takao wants you in the same classroom as hers.”
“Athena?”
“Yes. What other Athena Takao do you know?” He rolls his eyes mockingly.
At first, Ivy feels conflicted regarding the situation at her fingertips. On one hand, she’s repelled by the fact that an adolescent child possesses such immense power that even the school guards are willing to behave like her loyal dogs and comply with her demands. On the other hand, Ivy feels a sense of renewed hope upon realizing that her encounter with Athena yesterday did not go in vain. There is just something so comforting and rewarding about being in the same classroom as someone she knows well—someone she was formerly good friends with and now despises to the core. Someone is going to be there to watch her scheme go down before spreading it around and she prefers it to be someone as narcissistic and boastful as Arya’s Golden Girl.
Before she steps inside, Ivy takes a moment to inspect the door. 108. Mr. Abalos. She’s never heard of the man before and wonders for a moment if that is a good thing or not.
She carefully examines her new classroom as her pulse flutters in her chest for a brief period, suppressing a shiver at the notion of Alvin being one of her classmates. Aware that Athena and her adoptive brother were previously romantically involved, Ivy believes the likelihood is high. Again, it’s not that she fears Alvin but the sheer sight of him seems to do well at stoking the fires of her animosity. With a certain degree of fear, she admits her uncertainty about her capacity to remain composed if she were to share a class with the aforementioned boy.
Fortunately, Alvin is nowhere to be seen. But another person whom she least expects comes into sight. In a moment, Ivy stops walking in response to the familiar girl. With her beautiful honey complexion, neatly groomed eyebrows, and heart-shaped lips, the girl hardly appears identifiable yet the pendants she’s wearing and the scar of a somewhat half-moon give her away immediately. Clover Hermione.
What is she doing here?
Clover remains fixated on her two necklaces to notice Ivy make her way to an empty seat at the very back, farthest to the right.
She can see Athena and Jade whispering among themselves, unable to take their eyes off of her but this time, Ivy is too preoccupied with someone else to care much about what they may be saying. The door swings open and a man, possibly in his early thirties, walks inside. Without a word, he picks up one of the writing materials at the front and neatly puts down a name on the board.
“Call me Mr. Abalos,” he announces, his voice sharp, almost strident. “For the first thirty minutes, you’ll be in here with me, getting to know one another and such. For the last thirty minutes, you’ll be given the opportunity to look around the academy, be familiarized with your surroundings, classmates, and future classrooms. Don’t hesitate to ask questions if you have any.”
Ivy slightly tugs on the strap of her dirty brown satchel bag as she examines the classroom for the second time. A fair-skinned boy has taken the seat next to hers, leaning against the black soft plastic, his long index finger playing with the pendant around his neck. He mutters something incoherent and scoffs as his hands suddenly clench. Ivy wonders for a second if someone is forcing him to be here.
Aside from Athena, Jade Lavender, Isagani Abadiano, a boy she’s not surprised to see in a place like this either, and Clover, a face she’s yet to get used to looking at, there’s no one in here she knows. But this is good enough for Ivy, especially with the way Athena and Jade still haven’t stopped peeking at her.
“I want to learn about each of you,” Mr. Abalos proceeds, his short portly body pacing back and forth as he speaks, “but who in the world cares about your favorite foods and such? Most certainly not me.”
His words earn a few cackles here and there. Ivy remains quiet and still, silently counting the seconds until the next step of her plot begins. To her, Mr. Abalos seems more like the type of man a mother would warn her children to steer clear of, someone who preys on the weak—although to be fair, that’s almost every Holder.
“I’m more intrigued to learn about the powers you possess. That is the reason this academy exists, in the first place, is it not? Let’s get right into it. Please, take out your Amulets, so we can begin.”
Exhilarated chatters fill the room as students shuffle about, either reaching into their pockets or bags to bring out the requested item. Most of them, however, are already wearing their Amulets. According to Holders, it's common sense to have your pendants with you wherever you go, preferably around your neck, so everyone knows what your status is. This often reminds Ivy of the time Athena accused her of seizing her Gray Amulet. It was the same day she decided enough was enough and fled Arya as soon as the opportunity came.
It’s not difficult to depart this kingdom. No, not at all. Arya has four gates yet only three of them are ever kept locked. Someone can always exit through the fourth gate whenever they desire. Before she fled, Ivy often wondered why this was so. Holders are so keen on keeping her people imprisoned—why then did they make it too simple to leave? She got her answer on the fourth day of her departure, the day she awoke from the ground of the wild, a patch of cold mire pasted to her pounding forehead, parched, starving, and worn-out with a wounded leg that mercilessly continued to throb with anguish every second. It wasn’t the longest she’d gone without food but it was easier to hope for some nourishment in a kingdom filled with barbaric bastards than a forest with nothing but trees, dead grass, and undergrowth.
They leave the gate open to mock her people—to make them believe even for just a second that they could have better luck outside, that all they need to flee from the torture is to simply walk through the exit. But surviving the wild is challenging—impossible, even. Perhaps, if a person planned to stay out there for merely a few days or a few months, they could endure it. A few months isn’t what the Powerless are in need of, however.
Arya is positioned in an area where the nearest habitable space is so far away. It’s surrounded by a greenwood where some Powerless are often taken out to work in and then a vast water known as the Ocean of Miren where a ship is to be taken to sail across. Yet before even getting to that point, paying good jewels to order a ship to await your arrival is a must—oh, and of course, you must be a Holder to aboard.
On that fourth day, Ivy was certain she’d die then. In fact, a large part of her began to regret everything—angering Athena which resulted in her getting framed for something she did not do, speaking back to her parents when she clearly understood that would land her in trouble, allowing her rage to get in control of her actions, suddenly growing brave and thinking she could live a better life elsewhere, and running away out of impulse. That is, until she met Adora, a woman who gave her a reason to continue living. Only through Adora was she able to manage three whole years in the wild, and that is purely because the woman had a certain powerful Amulet with her.
Still, the wild is no better than this kingdom, nor is any other kingdom out there as they are all the same. The Powerless have tried numerous times. Leaving Arya only kills them slower.
Mr. Abalos makes sure to take his time glancing from one student to another. In time, his hooded eyes land on the only student seated with a bare neck.
“Hey, you!” He points a finger at the indifferent girl, seething inwardly at the failure of everyone following his simple orders. “Are we going to have problems, young lady? I’ve dealt with disorderly people like you so don’t think for a second that I am intimidated by this unruly act of yours.”
All fifteen pairs of eyes goggle at Ivy in complete disbelief. She is now the center of attention as the educator makes his way to her seat. Ivy's invisible grin broadens. Having everyone—especially Athena since she is such a distinguished being now—believe she is, even now, the same vulnerable little girl as she was years ago is one of the most essential parts of her plot. Only then can she strike when least expected. And if she plays her cards right, even the queen is sure to get thrown into the equation somehow.
“I'm going to ask you this once and I expect an honest answer,” the man says again, now standing right in front of the silent girl. “Where is your Amulet? Everyone else has got theirs.”
It’s only been a few seconds and the man is already glaring. Ivy looks up, her surly eyes staring into his interrogating ones. “But what if I haven't got an Amulet, Mr. Abalos?”
Several gasps cram the room in an instant, her classmates and even the man himself taken back by her response. Regardless, Athena’s arrogant and contemptuous stare remains the same, as though she has been yearning for this exact moment and is elated with the results.
Although she urges herself not to look at her, Ivy’s attention skips over to Clover. Only a second goes by before Clover’s eyes expand. The realization must have hit her. They stare at each other for a moment, and Ivy can’t help but wonder if Clover is recalling the past where she practically left her for dead.
“Are you that dull-witted?” Mr. Abalos screams out, earning a loud chuckle from Athena. “This is an academy for Holders. Holders! Who told you you could be in here? Who?!”
Ivy doesn’t respond, bringing the man to sigh and quiver with frustration. “Oh, for crying out loud. This isn't the first time I've seen something like this occur. At the previous academy I taught at, a desperate Powerless snuck in and pretended to be one of us. He didn't get far. How could he? The Amulet he had around his neck looked faker than anything I'd ever seen. How utterly humiliating to do such a thing. But I have to say. . .” He sends Ivy a contemptuous glare. “You're a lot more foolish than he was.”
“What Mr. Abalos is implying. . . Is it true?” Isagani Abadiano questions. Ivy can see he’s trying not to burst into laughter at the thought of a Powerless sneaking inside a place she clearly doesn’t belong.
“Of course, it’s true!” Mr. Abalos cries out. “The Powerless will do anything to run away from their fate. Such cowards they are.”
“And such pig-ignorant people they are, as well,” Athena adds with a sneer.
Mr. Abalos lowers himself to Ivy’s height, raising the volume of his voice as if he isn’t already loud enough and speaking in such a mocking tone that makes it seem Ivy is nothing but a mere child. “You need to be in possession of an Amulet to be a student in this academy. It's mandatory. I’m very certain that was obvious from the very beginning.”
It was. I suppose I just like to stir up drama.
“What's your name, young lady?”
Upon hearing this question, Ivy straightens up while her uninterested face alters into a dour expression. “The name’s Ivy. Ivy Pearls!”
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