In the history of The Cornucopia, there have been many students heralded as prodigies, each era containing a handful. The Pacelios Era, the current era, is no different, and its shining stars are Cian and Wukong. Both boys are exemplary in their academic studies, gifted musically, naturally skilled in martial arts, and show an aptitude for strategic thinking. They are complemented by their teachers, envied by some students, and loved by others, and they are like the sun and moon—complete opposites. Wukong is a sleep-deprived, no-nonsense, and respectful individual, while Cian is a rambunctious and charismatic jester. The latter lives to entertain and to be entertained. People will laugh at his antics or ridicule him for them, which will not matter to him as long as he is having a swell time. It makes sense why Cian tends to butt heads with Wukong—if anything, it should be the same for Cian and Keegan.

  Keegan does not receive the highest marks in his studies, nor does he consider himself the strongest fighter, but he still holds his own. He pushes himself in everything because when he is of age, he will walk alongside his father, learning from him to take over the title of patriarch of Heartsease. That is why, as he moves his pencil along the paper, he wonders how he gets caught in Cian’s punishments. He should be like Wukong, opposing his brother's idiotic ideas and washing his hands off any buffoonery. Somehow, he failed to do just that, and now his hand hurts from his continuous scribbling.

  Looking over at the chamber clock on the table, Keegan sees that he has been writing for an hour and a half. He sets his pencil down and pushes back his chair to allow himself room to stretch—an audible pop comes from his back. This was not how he had expected to spend their time off from classes.

  Their studies are continuous, but there are certain days and months when they are given breaks. Every seventh day is considered the Sabbath, and the children are free from attending any classes. In the spring, they are given two months to do as they please, although most students participate in informal classes to stay ahead. He wanted to be like the majority and had explicitly conveyed this to Cian. His brother, on the other hand, took advantage of their leisure time, mucking about. He would go fishing, capture wild Short-Footed Foxes (or Pygmy Foxes, as they are also called—they fit in a cupped hand) for races, and other times sail on Lake Kai. For any event, Cian would invite him to follow—somehow choosing bizarre moments that caught Keegan off guard, resulting in him tagging along. With this punishment, Keegan expects Cian to be hindered. They were not given a specific deadline, but the work could be completed within five hours, knowing his brother—Cian would procrastinate. He will be able to use the mention of the essay as a ward against his brother. Should Cian attempt to distract him from studying with an offer to go sailing, for example? He needs only to say the word essay, and Cian will scamper away to avoid working on it.

  Now that he is thinking about it, Keegan wonders if his buffoon counterpart is actually writing. The library has many long tables, each capable of seating eight people (four chairs on either side), and they are lined between the breaks of the bookshelves. The tables served as a way to segregate the books into sections, such as world history, arts, architecture, and culinary, among others. Before Grandmaster Edwin left, he sat each boy at his table with a table between them. Wukong was placed at the middle table and instructed to monitor Cian and Keegan as they were supposed to do two hours of writing. Since the start of their punishment, Keegan had not once looked up from his writing. When he did, he saw Wukong sleeping—the badger acting as his pillow and Cian nowhere in sight.

  “He would leave me, wouldn’t he?” Keegan muttered. Who knows how long Cian had been gone? The buffoon most definitely took off the moment the grandmaster left. He decided to forgo the rest of his essay, knowing he would complete it tomorrow, and go in search of his brother.

  —————

  “There is no yelling in the library!” Cian shouts when he hears Keegan calling out his name. He lifts his head slightly and sees Keegan stomping toward him, but he cannot hold back an amused smile. “All that writing about the rules, and you’ve broken rule number four.”

  His comment earns him an irritated glare, but it is not as effective due to the coloring of Keegan’s ears. “At least I was writing, unlike you,” Keegan says, his glare intensifying to cover up his embarrassment. “What are you doing anyway?”

  Keegan gestures at him. Currently, Cian sits cross-legged on the floor with an open book in his lap and a neat stack of papers to his left. He taps his book with one hand. “I’m reading,” Cian replies.

  “Did you even start your essay?” Keegan inquired.

  Cian then used his opposite hand to tap the stack of papers. “Not only did I start, but I finished mine.”

  “You finished five thousand words in under two hours?”

  “Yes,” Cian confirmed. What he is neglecting to tell Keegan is that the essay is one he had written at the beginning of last year. By then, Cian had been reprimanded enough for the grandmaster to reuse punishments. His favorite is essays about The Cornucopia’s rules. Cian assumes the grandmaster hopes that by writing about the rules, Cian will one day adhere to them. Not that Cian is a purposeful troublemaker; he just finds some rules ridiculous, like the rule that only allowed the cooks to use the kitchen. Cian believes that as long as he cleans up, he should be able to cook the fish he catches over a proper stove top with proper seasonings. To stay a step ahead of Grandmaster Edwin, Cian has pre-written many essays and hidden them amongst the books in the library.

  He can see a glint of suspicion in Keegan’s eyes, so he decides to distract him. “I’m glad I broke away from Miss Avery because otherwise, I wouldn’t have stumbled on this interesting book,” Cian said, directing Keegan’s attention back toward the book. The book had been covering one of the hidden essays, and Cian would not have given it a second glance had the title not caught his attention. The Voice of the Silent Mouth was such a contradictory title that Cian decided to read it. “It used to be someone’s diary.”

  Keegan took the book when Cian offered it to him.

  “The author speaks about a lost artifact that belonged to Matriarch Davar. Her quill. The one she used to defeat Shiloh. History taught us that the quill and Shiloh’s body were lost when Panthnos crumbled away and split into the four continents. It had fallen into a chasm, but the author says the chasm led to an underground river that fed into what we know today as Lake Kai. They say the river had carried the body to the lake's center.”

  “Doesn’t the patriarch of Davar have a council of authenticators?” Keegan asked after handing the book back. “Isn’t their sole purpose investigating rumors that will lead them to lost relics, artifacts, writings, and whatever they think is worthy of being in The Cornucopia?”

  “They do, and I don't see your point,” Cian replied. He earned himself an eye roll from Keegan.

  “The point is, if this book is here, it's already authenticated. Davar wouldn't keep it secret, finding Shiloh's body or what remained of it. They certainly would announce finding the quill that killed him and that belonged to their founding matriarch.”

  Keegan's words rang true. Davar may be a tribe of educators and studious bookworms, but they are also explorers. They see their duty as collecting the world's knowledge and safeguarding it for future generations to learn from. If there is a rumor, as fictitious as it may sound, regarding anything from prior history, Davar will send someone from the Council of Authenticators. The same people read through every book before it is placed in the library or the other lower levels, if that is a more fitting place.

  “You would only be wasting your time searching Lake Kai for an artifact that isn’t there.”

  “I never said anything about searching for the artifact,” Cian protested. Keegan raises an eyebrow, and Cian looks off to the side. “But if I were going to, there would be no harm in it.”

  “That’s a seven-day journey to the lake’s center and another seven to come back,” Keegan said in exasperation. “Are you really going to waste that much time?”

  Cian raises one hand, palm up. “Either I waste time doing whatever comes to mind here,” Cian says. He then raises his opposite hand in the same manner. “Or I waste it out there on Lake Kai.”

  He lifts the opposite hand higher and lowers the other. “I prefer searching for a lost artifact—even if I don’t find it.”

  Having decided, Cian shut the book and jumped to his feet. They began their punishment at quarter past nine in the morning, and Lake Kai was an hour’s walk away. He should start preparing for their journey if he does not want to waste more time. “Where are you heading off to?” Keegan asked when Cian bent down for his essay and began walking after. Cian ignored his brother as he continued between the bookshelves, heading toward the lift. “We still have thirty minutes left of our punishment!”

  “Grandmaster Edwin won’t know that we left early. Who’s going to tell him?” Cian says confidently. He was startled by the sudden appearance of Wukong standing before him, still holding the badger. By pure reflex—and not because he wanted to hit Wukong—Cian lashed out with his book in surprise. His attack was deflected. Wukong also managed to disarm him of the book and then use it against him, smacking him in the head with it. “I will be the one who tells my uncle,” Wukong said. He then punctuates his following words with a smack each. “So. Return. To. Writing.”

  Cian hits Wukong’s hand away and steals the book back. “I thought you were asleep?”

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  It is known around The Cornucopia that Wukong has one of the worst sleeping habits. He will stay up late into the night until the following day and further still. The dark half-moons under his eyes are from his lack of sleep. This is why when he does close his eyes, he can be caught napping during the oddest of hours. Cian had taken advantage of this when the grandmaster appointed Wukong as their overseer. Wukong had been allowed to keep the badger underground this one time, but would not be allowed to do so after. As Cian had hoped, once Wukong settled in with the ball of fur, he used it as a pillow and fell asleep soon after. Domesticated Mountain Badgers are even-tempered and playful, but they are known for their fur, which is softer than silk, unlike their feral counterparts, whose hair is coarse. With good intentions, he initially gave the badger as a napping friend for Wukong. It is merely a blessing if he benefited from it in any other way.

  “Your consistently loud talking woke me,” Wukong replied. Cian internally grumbled. Another known fact about Wukong is that he is naturally a deep sleeper, and loud noises never wake him. Although what is abnormal is what will. There is no telling when a simple cough or dropped pencil will cause him to open his eyes and have them become narrowing slits, which is why Cian had been careful with his movements. Unceremoniously waking Wukong puts him in a foul mood, and there is a chance his sleepwalking will be triggered. A sleepwalking Wukong is combative—well, at least with Cian. The last time they fought, and he was in such a state, the boy had been snoring as he tried to slice Cian with his nodachi.

  “Since you're up, would you like to join us on our outing?” Cian asked. He was not intimidated by Wukong’s threat and could see how much it annoyed the other.

  “Dead leads are named so for a reason. I also would not take the work done by the authenticators lightly.”

  Cian rolled his eyes as he put distance between them and stepped around him. “I’m not, but you never know. They could’ve missed something. The author never mentions the era—it’s possible they lived before diving pipes were invented. If that’s the case, they wouldn’t have been able to search the lake floor properly. Who knows? Maybe it’s the Lord’s will that I find something they didn’t.”

  A twitch of irritation was all Cian needed to see from Wukong to know he had riled up the other. Wukong was very proud of his people, and for Cian to suggest they had made a mistake was enough for the boy to forget the unfinished punishment. Discretely, Cian makes eye contact with Keegan, and he can see the beginnings of exasperation. He will have his adventure and has just recruited the second member for his party.

  “Alright. I will join the two of you, not because I think my people from the past erred in any way. I simply want to witness your foolish endeavor,” Wukong agreed. Cian lifted the hand, holding the book into the air in victory. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he said before turning to sprint down the line of bookshelves. “I’ll gather the food and water! Keegan, I trust you will pack for me! We’ll gather at the entrance after!”

  Cian moved so fast that he missed Wukong’s complaint about him breaking the rules again—there is no running or yelling in the library. He also missed Keegan's exhausted comment about how the trip would undoubtedly end with Wukong murdering the other.

  —————

  “I said to gather at the entrance! Where are you two headed?” Cian asked, shifting the hefty sack of provisions he was carrying from one shoulder to the other while he looked at Keegan and Wukong in confusion. He was passing the stairwell when he noticed the two of them going up instead of coming down.

  “I wanted to inform my elder brothers of our intentions before we left,” Wukong replied. “It would not do to worry them when they cannot find me, or the two of you, for that matter.”

  Cian had not thought of that. The tribe of Davar takes the well-being of its students seriously. They allow students to leave The Cornucopia freely, but they will take notice if a pupil goes missing for an abnormal number of hours, and they plan to be gone for days. He did not want to imagine the trouble they would have been in had they just left. The grandmaster would have barred him from graduating, no doubt.

  “Wait a moment. I’ll join you two,” Cian says, rushing forward to climb the steps.

  The students attend classes on the second floor of The Cornucopia. Each classroom is divided into two halves. The first half holds twelve rows of tables, with three tables in each row, and the second half is the teacher's study. Like the students, the teachers continue their work during the two-month reprieve. You can find them in their study during the day. Wukong’s elder brothers are both teachers.

  Barnabus and Prometheus—the Chiwa Twins of Davar—a title the people gave after witnessing the gentle harmony the twins brought through death. They were renowned for their valor in the Ethospar War and their maturity, given that they were the same age as Wukong (who is fifteen) when the war began. After five years of bloodshed, the twins became teachers, and the world entered the Pacelios Era.

  The twins are identical in appearance and share similarities with Wukong except for their groomed, full beards and sharper features, as well as their hair, a shade darker than Grandmaster Edwin’s. Where the two differ is in their personalities. Having emerged from the womb first, Barnabus is the eldest and a stoic man whose teaching technique relies on brutal honesty. His class is one for learning about combat—how to fight against one opponent or many at once. Teacher Barnabus will mold students using cutting words if a student's form is disorganized or weapon play is uncoordinated. That is not to say he is mean-spirited because when a student improves, he ensures that he informs them. His students appreciate his forwardness, as it helps them thrive in their endeavors. Where Barnabus is like a molten knife, Prometheus is seen as a tempered breeze. The younger twin had not always been described that way. During the war, both men were seen as frigid as steel—their faces were straight and never cracked by a smile. Then, Barnabus became milder, whereas Prometheus allowed himself to thaw and become like a sunflower—his disposition was one of mirth. Prometheus is as honest as his elder twin, but he does not cut the clay; instead, he takes his time to shape it with careful instruction. He is the teacher for war tactics, urging his students to think outside the neat boxes and bring forth creative solutions, no matter how far-fetched.

  Cian has an affinity for both teachers, although only Teacher Prometheus ever seems amused by his antics and will encourage him. He pays attention to how he behaves in Barnabus’s class, as the man is far more frightening than Grandmaster Edwin. It is a reminder of Barnabus’ temperament that Cian is respectful as they enter the classroom.

  The twins do not share a room, but often, they can be found in each other's classrooms, working alongside one another. This time is no different, and the children walk in on Barnabus sitting cross-legged at a low wooden table, its legs short and sturdy, and papers spread out across its top. Diagonal from him is Prometheus, seated in a chair, hunched over his desk as he frantically scribbles with his quill, a small Messenger Raven standing on his head. The raven, Angelina is its name, belongs to Prometheus and is the first to take notice of the children’s arrival. It gives a harsh caw, drawing the attention of both teachers.

  Whatever it was that Prometheus was writing was quickly forgotten as he dropped his quill and made a direct line toward Wukong. His robes, not dissimilar to Wukong’s, save for the golden sash around his waist that marked him as married, billowed behind him. Angelina let out an undignified squawk as she flapped her wings to maintain her balance on her master’s head. Her talons caused his white headband, which kept his long locks from covering his face, to go askew and muffle a section of his otherwise neat hair. “When did you acquire a Mountain Badger?” Prometheus inquired while moving in to squish the creature's face between his hands. The badger lets out a grumble but appears to enjoy the attention. The display causes Cian to puff air through his nose in amusement. Teacher Prometheus is well known for his fondness for animals; besides the Messenger Raven, he and his wife own a small pack of Feathered Green Wolves, a Thimble Squirrel, a Shepherd Lioness, and a set of war horses.

  “It was a gift from the sons of Patriarch Bomin,” Wukong replied—purposefully formal. Such formality meant Wukong appreciated Cian's gift. He could not help but look smugly toward Keegan, who ignored him. “I named it Skadi because its fur will change as it grows. She will be a pleasant snow color soon enough.”

  Prometheus had been nodding along as Wukong spoke, gently massaging the face of the animal. “She is fetching, and I would certainly purchase one myself if Prudence and I didn’t already have so many pets. Father has already made his complaints known.”

  “If you cannot own one, would you like to watch her for me as consolation?”

  Wukong extended the badger toward his elder brother, who took it graciously. “Going away, are you, Wukong?” Prometheus asked as he maneuvered the badger into a more comfortable hold. Angelina bent down to gently caw at the young badger, to which the badger sniffed at the raven in interest. “I’ve never known you to take advantage of your reprieve.”

  “We plan on traveling to Lake Kai and will be gone for over two weeks.”

  “What can you possibly do at Lake Kai for that many days?” Prometheus asked—his tone carried bewilderment. There is also something in the way he eyed the children. Cian supposed the man was trying to figure out why the three of them were traveling together in the first place. Despite Cian and Wukong holding the rivalry, Keegan can become exasperated with them and add fuel to the fire. They do not make for an ideal party.

  “Not involving yourself in trouble, I hope, youngest brother,” Barnabas says. Cian peered around Prometheus to look at Wukong's other elder brother. Barnabus had not looked up when the children’s presence was made aware; his posture still bent, his loose, long bangs veiling his face. The rest of his hair is straight, proper, with a single braid in the middle of the back of his head. He is an example of strict elegance, and even now, he does not acknowledge them as he writes a comment on one of the papers with his pencil—his sleeve held back with one hand to keep it from smudging the lead or becoming dirty.

  Before Wukong could speak, Cian decided to. “I found this interesting book in the library,” Cian says, withdrawing the book from his robes. It is almost comical how large Wukong's eyes become.

  “Rule three specifically states that no material shall be removed from the library or the levels below!” Wukong scolded. Cian winces at Wukong’s suddenly raised voice and pulls the book close to him to prevent Wukong from taking it and returning it to the library. “You saw me running away with it! Besides that, I will return it once our journey is finished. I plan to read over it again as we travel to ensure I didn’t miss anything important.”

  “Will you allow me to see the book, Cian?” Prometheus asked. Cian handed the book over without hesitation, and Wukong gave a scathing glare, possibly irritated that his brother was not as peeved as he was over the theft. Prometheus held the book in one hand, his crimson eyes reading the cover with an interested gleam before thumbing it open and giving it a swift read-through. “So the author claims there is a lost relic in the lake. I've never heard of it, and if you found this book in the library, it’s already been authenticated,” Prometheus said after returning it to Cian.

  “We are aware of this,” Cian says. “And still haven’t changed our minds.

  Prometheus shrugged but smiled at them nonetheless. “As long as you’re aware it’s a dead lead... It won’t be a bother, Wukong, to watch over your pet while you’re away. Please be careful, and may Christ keep guard over you.”

  The teacher cuddled the badger as he went back to his desk. Barnabus still did not look toward them, but he did voice the same sentiment as his younger twin. With Wukong’s brothers informed and their necessities packed, the children left The Cornucopia.