“D’Histell, would you care to explain what Eternity is?” asked master Ayra, ruler in hand. She was a Tyrian of middling height with a more pleasant demeanor than Eleanor. More serene. More practiced. None of that complemented the large scar tagged up and around her ugly cheek.


    Leaning into his pillowing palm, he muttered, “The time it takes to get out of here?”


    The class laughed. For once, he didn’t feel like a dunce. How refreshing.


    Ayra’s lips quirked into a plastic smile. Rather than suffering his dull supplies, she broke into a swift stride, her Tyrian silver tresses bouncing with every step. Arriving at his desk, she spoke in a firm, venomous whisper that betrayed her placid emerald-blue gaze. “Need I remind you that this is Introduction to Sedd, D’Histell?”


    “Nah, the tome’s already heavy enough to do that part.”


    She squeezed the ruler—a blade in the guise of a classroom implement, really. Thin, unassuming, and judging by the subtle ornamentation that shone silver in the light, bloody expensive. The kind of thing a spoiled, bored noble with too much money would buy. More so itching for use than its alleged “decorational” status.


    It was mostly a rumor, but why else would she wave it around in front of kids she disliked? Teachers had a right to defend themselves here. What with Sedd being an active presence. Well, it would be a problem were it not for the inset pearls littered throughout the structure. Most of which were hidden. He wondered why She liked draining Sedd.


    “Eternity,” master Ayra announced as she sauntered back to her desk, the flat of the ruler slapping against her palm, “is the prime component of a Cycle. The blocks which dress the Firmament’s foundation.”


    “So…everything?” Taní guessed aloud.


    “No. Think the Firmament as the heavens and earth that encapsulate our immediate reality. Undoubtedly crucial, yet theirs is not the singular reason for our being. Eternity—that which leaked from beyond—is the residual will of our Lord. The one that thinks yet cannot act.”


    “God?”


    “Yes.” Master Ayra smacked the board with the flat of her ruler. A diagram of the Architect’s genius—six concentric circles drawn in a broken link with an elevated core—adorned the chalkboard. Each was labeled with a name, save two. “Beyond the Bend, the barrier that confines all five facets, is where God’s will resides. That which fuels thought and life. Their incognizance, however, oft results in profuse swellings. Answer me this, D’Histell: What think you of these swellings?”


    Taní cast a backwards glance at Innes. The prince, who had been staring at him up to that point, promptly averted his gaze. Brow furrowed. Assured that no humiliating jab awaited him, Taní answered.


    “…Eternity?”


    Master Ayra gave a slight, almost unamused inclination of her head. She smacked the board once more, the resounding thwack of wood making Taní jump in his seat.


    Eternity was… God, what was it? The Gaoler, Architect, and Desolator all claimed that title to some extent. He understood the reasoning for the Gaoler’s epithet, though.


    The Desolator was everything. Dusk, dawn. Nightmares, the haunter that swarmed the skies. Even uttering his name aloud invited misfortune. To be the Solanarium’s wrongs…


    “The swelling’s…birth. Or God’s crude Potential? Something that can exist here without dying. Because…?” Danza’s phantom voice struck him like a blunt waster over the head. “Because everything made as an afterthought expires. Never destined for an Iteration.”


    “Acceptable.” Master Ayra flourished her ruler with a looping twist. “Scholars believe swellings are intrinsically linked to the turning of an eon. What brings about these anomalies, we know naught, and yet they breathe anchors onto Eternity’s front. One such example is our destined Iteration. One influenced by Tygenna’s charity. Though we Juneac?o oft overlook our genesis, it is thanks to our connection with the Slumbering Maiden that we can wield Sedd. And in our ability to wield it, turn the limitless cistern that revives us.” She paused for effect. “Think of Eternity as God’s refined Potential. Something that can exist in a dual state. Those refined, such as ourselves, Tygenna, and Sedd, persist perpetually. And it is in the tide of these swellings that the Solanarium is reborn anew. Not through Iterations which occur at the end of our lives, but a fresh start. A new Cycle.”


    A student raised their hand.


    “Yes, de Rod?o?”


    “I know Iterations are one, but what are the others?”


    “Excellent question! Though Iterations are irrefutable evidence of these swellings, scholars theorize that the Fall, the Labyrinth, as well as the vanishing of Aistenstat happen to betray certain hall marks. The vanishing of memories as is customary among Iterations, the geometrical enormity of impossible structures, and the complete erasure of what once was.”


    “But how does that explain the Gaoler and the Desolator?”


    Master Ayra stiffened. She glanced out the window, and when darkness refused to show, her shoulders eased. “The Desolator,” she said, whispering the name with deliberate emphasis, “is Eternity incarnate. A shadow entirely composed of God’s wrath. His swelling predates ours. One can even suggest they came into being along with our realm. As is known with the Agent Tygenna and Her lesser known siblings.”


    “So…he’s not evil?”


    “Do not be mistaken, de Rod?o. Wrath is an odious specter that haunts all, yet wrath is not our primary driving force. We can deny it—as oft we fall prey to it—but a beast forged from it acts without reason and, therefore, cannot distinguish between hate and justice.” The flat of her ruler clapped against her palm, yet she didn’t wince. The chalky, calloused layered absorbed the impact. “As for the Gaoler, their relation to Eternity is more…metaphorical. Being of the first generation of Juneac?o, his task was to safeguard the Desolator’s still beating heart.”


    Taní yawned. “Then why is he still alive?”


    Master Ayra’s emerald-blue eyes flickered to him. Brow pinched, she released a thin, if somewhat exasperated, sigh. “It is a parable, D’Histell. The Desolator is well dead. His story illustrates the themes of duty, responsibility, and the will to not fall to the blinding visor of hate. Did you not learn this in Literature?”


    Taní had, in fact, learned it in literature. Or rather, re-learned it after Eleanor smacked him on the head with the tome. Suddenly, he realized something. “Wait…if things have Eternity, and only those things can Iterate, then doesn’t that mean the Desolator can be reborn, too?”


    Hushed whispers erupted throughout the classroom. Master Ayra, whose deathly glare now rivaled that of Eleanor’s, ordered their silence with an icy hiss. A nerve-biting silence ensued as she advanced towards Taní’s desk with short, furious strides. “D’Histell.” She pressed the tip of her ruler on his desk. “Do you have any sense?”


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    He turned to his neighbors for help, but they just looked away. “Uh…yes? I was just ask—”


    The piercing thwack of wood on metal exploded in his ears. “Never”—she slapped the ruler on his desk again—“dare utter those words again.”


    “But I was just—”


    “Enough!” Her deafening shout drowned out her ruler’s clubbing. “I will not tolerate your fearmongering whilst in a room of learning, much less my own.”


    “I’m not tryna scare anyone! Really.”


    “Your ‘innocence’ does not elude me, D’Histell. You’ve duped that dimwitted, musclebound dullard, but not I. She may tolerate your brash outbursts, stench, and even looks, but here we are Juneac?o. Not simpletons in the guise of warriors.”


    Taní shot up in his chair, a flame bursting in his breast. “Don’t say that about her! She’s probably done more than just smack a bunch of things with some stupid piece of wood! Things not even all your money could get you out of! And I know I’d hate working somewhere where all anyone did was complain about others just because they’re different. Including students. Like, I’m sor—ry I can’t walk around all prissy like you.”


    A suffocating silence filled the classroom. It was then, as his heart cooled, that Taní realized his grave mistake. Master Ayra, like every instructor in the school, was an acclaimed Juneac?o. A warrior with over a decade''s worth of live combat experience and connections that’d make his head spin. He was a simple squire that hadn’t even Awakened.


    The ruler whipped through the air, its abused tip pointed at the door. “Out of my class.”


    “I’m—”


    “Now!”


    ?


    The sting of a harpsichord resonated from the wavering light, matching Taní’s pace as he stomped through the hall. He ignored the shadows lurking in his peripheral, kicked at the silvery demons that dared cross his path (often receiving a shock in the process), and when he had nothing left to vent his frustrations on, he stuffed his hands in his uniform’s pockets.


    That’s when he spotted a stray can on the floor. Its contents emptied.


    Racing towards it, Taní punted the stray item and watched as it ricocheted off a door, a window, and then off someone’s head, knocking them out cold. He sped by, fingers scraping against the walls of his sticky, dragonpuff-stained pockets.


    So stupid. That’s all anyone was. Just thick, learned people that acted like they knew better because it’s what was expected. Well, that didn’t make them kinder or any more charitable than her. Just thin-blooded dolts who knew how to count and swing a sword.


    “Oi, Tan-Tan, what’s got you so grumpy?”


    Drawing a thin, long breath that quelled the heat and tightness of his chest, he turned to Jaster and muttered, “Nothing.”


    “Right red for nothing.”


    “I’m not red. Just angry everyone’s so stupid.”


    “Low scores again? C’mon, Tan-Tan. I already told you: If you’re going to ignore everything else, at least study for the tests.”


    Taní huffed. “I wish it was a test.”


    “Ah. Teachers. Tryna learn something new?”


    “Just Eternity.”


    The Nimmian’s brow furrowed. Probably thinking of a nap, most like. It was late in the day.


    After a contemplative silence, he snapped his fingers. “I got it.”


    ?


    The frosty gasp of a windborne Agent whipped Taní’s capes into a frenzy, their silky edges slapping him without remorse. A chill seeped through the cracks of his uniform, the unforgiving bite nibbling his skin. Moonrays, he should’ve snagged a cloak before coming here. The place was drearier than New Nimmin. Did that have something to do with being on the ocean?


    A dim expanse of lifeless clouds arched over the western horizon of the Short Sea. Not a ray of light pierced the gloomy veil. Yet the work of another nameless Agent. Perhaps one who had seen the Vanishing of the West.


    Taní scanned the superficially still ocean, curious if a ship from the Vanished West would ever break over it.


    They never did.


    Jaster approached the jutting cliff and, arriving at the edge, cast a striking finger towards the horizon. “There!”


    Taní came to a wary stop, sticking as close to the main island as possible. He didn’t want the edge to give out and send them plummeting hundreds of feet below. “What is?”


    “Eternity.”


    “You mean the ocean?”


    “No.” He thrust his finger again. “There!”


    Taní peered. Again, he saw only gray ocean. “I just see water. You talking about the sky?”


    “Nope.”


    “Then what are you talking about?”


    Jaster turned to meet his gaze, back facing the edge of the world. He never once flailed for balance. Then again, why would a Nimmian born on a mountainous island hurt for balance? This was as near the plummet into the abyss as they could get. Nothing laid beyond anymore. Just a terrible dip into nothingness. Or so sailors said.


    “When I was little, I used to ask my father the same thing. He’d take me out to our cliff and point over the ocean. Told me, ‘Then and there’s the single answer you need.’”


    Taní inclined his head. “Is Nimmian Eternity different than Coros?”


    “No. Eternity’s the same no matter where you go. Sailors’ll tell you the same. They’ve known Harusten’s who’d point to the west even after they held a knife to their throats. Don’t know why, though.”


    Master Ayra’s lecture echoed in his mind. Eternity was the swelling of God’s will. A burst of permanent creation. One whose fragile form will Iterate for all time. But the expanse of night was endless. Greater than the storms that rolled in from the west. And thus, Eternity transcended time and space. Or something like that.


    Just where did that leave Tygenna and the Desolator? And Cycles? Were they inexorably tied to Eternity simply because they were fragments of God? Or could they be different? Maybe even more and less.


    “Jaster?” Taní murmured.


    “Yeah?”


    “Thinking hurts my brain.”


    Jaster threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, thinking’s stupid. It’s in our nature to overcomplicate things, methinks. Helps pass the time.”


    “Then what’s it mean? Y’know…” Taní spun a finger. “Eternity.”


    “That?” The Nimmian cast a thumb at the sky. “Just possibilities. Food, quests, discovery… Eternity’s everything we hope it’ll be. Even when we don’t know what it’ll be, or when it’ll be.”


    A phantom pain resonated from Taní’s temple. Cradling his head in one hand, he groaned. “I’m just not gonna ask questions anymore…”


    “You’ll get used to it.”


    The distant crash of the ocean drew Taní’s gaze to the frothing depths. Eternity… “What does that say about the Desolator? Is he really evil?”


    “I don’t know. But he’s dead, so best we don’t go poking bears.”


    Taní folded his arms as a shiver arced down his spine. God, he really was dumb for going without his cloak. He sneezed, wiped his nose, then sneezed again. And yet…his legs itched to return to Hierrsé. Not for warmth, but because they desired to be there again.


    Or rather, belonged in there now.


    Casting the idea from his mind, he returned to the subject. More specifically, Iterations. “Jaster?”


    “Yeah?”


    “Do you—” his voice fell to a shy whisper. “Do you think this is our first Cycle together?”


    It wasn’t a forbidden question, technically. People were allowed to explore their past. Things, from what most holymen claimed, rarely deviated. And when they did, it was in the most innocuous of manners. A change that never amounted to much. That’s why every Cycle was identical, and yet…


    In his heart of hearts, he wanted to hear something meaningful. Something that’d defy the Cycles. An inane “Yeah, but this feels like our first” or even a “Maybe. Does it matter?”


    The Nimmian stroked his chin, a ghostly gasp tousling his hair. He never once shivered. He was probably used to the cold, probably used to everything because of the easy life he lived. Maybe he didn’t care about the answer, maybe he didn’t want to waste his time thinking, either.


    A third whipping wind howled. Forlorn, freezing. Jaster started for Hierrsé, his ambling gait undisturbed by the chill. Easy as always. He only stopped to jab Taní in the side, grinning. “Just gonna stand there? Buncha food waiting with your name on it.”