Page 62 of Cerulean Truth
“You see this green corridor, connecting this side of the building to the other?” She pointed.
I nodded. "Yeah, going through here takes us to the Spring Palace, right?"
"That’s right," she said, her tone a tad more patient than the day before. "It houses the Scola, the educational section for children under sixteen. At first, it might be easier for you to go through the Grand Hall, back in the Fall Palace where we metyesterday morning, so you can use the Touchstone to figure out where you need to go."
I must have appeared puzzled. "Touchstone?"
"Yeah, the giant clock-like monument you saw in the center," she explained.
"Ah, the 'find your way' clock thing," I replied, finally grasping it. She gave me a short nod.
"Speaking of clocks," she remarked, leading the way through the brightly greenish corridor to the other side, "you'll notice how they are quite a popular theme for our in-house architects."
We reached the Scola and came to a stop in a vast circular space, encircled by twelve lengthy hallways, each emanating its own unique vibe.
"Right now, we're standing in the Epicenter. Each level of the Spring Palace is divided into twelve hallways, all converging to this point. Each hallway corresponds to an hour in a day, representing where the students reside. For instance, this is the Hallway of the Fourth Hour," she explained as we strolled through it, "where the kids delve into the history of our culture. Each level symbolizes a stage of personal growth. As you advance in your learning and skills, you ascend through the levels."
As Enya and I stepped into the Hallway of the Fourth Hour, the atmosphere shifted subtly, hinting at the essence of history woven into its very fabric. The walls bore witness to the passage of time, decorated with intricate murals depicting both familiar human moments and mystical scenes that sparked my imagination. Rich hues of sepia and gold enveloped the corridor, evoking the antiquity of scrolls and aged manuscripts, while a faint scent of ancient parchment mingled with the air. Not unlike any other university or library I'd ever visited.
"This is the first level of the Scola, so these kids are very young," Enya explained.
As we strolled towards the next hallway, I could hear the distant sounds of classrooms alive with typical children-like energy.
Enya's voice broke through the background noise, pointing out the Hallway of the Fifth Hour. "Let's see if there are some practical classes going on," she suggested.
"Ah," she halted, "here are some children projecting; this might be interesting for you to see."
We walked silently into a classroom, keeping our backs against the wall. Children around the age of four were sitting in a group, their eyes closed. I observed a girl projecting a green, cloud-like "substance," akin to the haze I had seen Stephen project, but in a different color.
"Translation," I mumbled under my breath, earning myself an approving nod from Enya. It felt as if the Queen of England herself had decided to knight me for exceptional performance.
"Normally, we can't see the haze inside a Collective, like Cyclos. We can never see it inside any Metasphere; we can only see it in the Human World. But for educational purposes, the Heads allow visible magic in the Universitas. But only here," she emphasized.
As we climbed the swirling staircase, Enya pointed out a small group of people. "Over there, you'll notice a group of teenagers training their translation. Though with those hormones, they’re more likely to conjure up awkward moments than actual magic."
I chuckled at her deadpan delivery.
"Now, let's move on. I'll show you where the male Offensives keep their enchanted rubbers that transform smaller objects into bigger ones."
I laughed out loud this time; this tour was turning out to be a lot more fun than I had expected.
"Do you know what interface is?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject, and I shook my head.
"Whenever you feel your emotion or summon it, the clock starts running. As soon as you've converted the emotion into something tangible, the clock stops. The time it took you to get from the emotion to the result of your translation, that’s the interface. For example, you’re cold. You want a jacket. The time between feeling cold and holding your jacket is the interface."
"Okay…" I frowned.
"Now, the shorter the timeframe, the more powerful you are. You should know this because everyone here keeps score. So should you."
"Everyone keeps score on how fast they translate?"
Enya nodded. "Normally, it shouldn’t matter in Scola how fast you project; it only starts to count when you’re sixteen. But everyone remembers the children who had the shortest timeframes from the start. "
I snorted. "So, magi or human, egos, self-doubt, and competition are pretty much universal."
That comment earned me a smirk. “Exactly."
We smiled at each other, as if we understood each other for the first time. Maybe she was a kindred spirit after all.
