Elyas was more excited and intrigued by the Crimson System than he dared to show.
'I mean, of course I would, Goddammit!'
Matters regarding the Celestial Realm and the Coherents have always been kept under tight wraps ever since the Celestial Realm declared itself seventy years ago, so being from the select few who had this exclusive privilege...
Elyas was ecstatic beyond words!
The Crimson System was the only asset Humanity had to be able to compete in the Celestial Realm... okay, all the other realms had it too, but it kept things fair.
And though it was publicly revered and honoured, its specifics and peculiarities were a well-maintained secret amongst those who carry Coherent Blood.
It was to the extent that even though his father had an exceptionally loose tongue, he'd never talked to him about any of that stuff, so Elyas knew not to pry.
But now, on his four-hour, cramped flight to Rosendale City, and when he wasn't busy fighting with the mother behind him letting her kid kick his seat relentlessly, contemplating the System was all he'd been doing.
Name: [ Elyas ]
Coherency: [ ... ]
Coherency Level: [ ... ]
Anchors: [ Brass Mask, ... ]
Blood Potency: [ 40/1000 ]
Elyas readjusted his feet in the frustratingly small leg space and rubbed his hairless chin in deep thought.
'Hm. Forty out of a thousand. A counter, but what is it for? Could it be how far off I am to Imitation? If so, how do I raise my potency?'
But he already had 40, so what bothered him the most was where he got that number from.
He tried recalling his life as much as he could, but nothing popped up.
'I never killed anyone, have I? Right?!'
No, he couldn't have.
So where the hell did he get that forty from?!
He could just wait until he's handed the answer at the Academy, but that's sort of ruining the fun.
'Eh, oh well. It is what it is, I guess.'
He returned his focus to the Brass Mask and sighed.
'Is there a way to hallucinate it, at least?'
That would be something.
Elyas gripped the armrest tightly, tormented by the heavy turbulence, PTSD kicking in, then scratched his head in frustration.
'Goddammit! Why do I know nothing?!'
Then, he perked up at an idea.
'Maybe... Maybe, maybe, maybe. Wouldn't hurt to try.'
He sat up straight and took a deep breath.
He nicked his finger ever so slightly, barely enough for a tiny drop of blood, and shut his eyes tightly.
He summoned the system and focused on the Brass Mask, then...
< ... Inspecting Anchor: 'Brass Mask' ... >
'Oh goodness!'
Elyas reeled back in disbelief, snapped his eyes open, and stared uneasily at the air before him, seeming like a lunatic to the other passengers.
Floating mystically in mid-air was an extremely unsettling Brass Mask, spinning about itself as if on display.
The mask was indeed made entirely of brass.
Rivets connected many small, moulded plates into an unsettling human face.
The face bore no mouth, but for a crude imitation of an upper lip.
A small triangular protrusion formed a sorry excuse for a nose, and the eyes... the eyes were the most unsettling of all.
They were like two beady holes with hollow, dark insides, rimmed with organic-looking cogwheels for the lashes and brows.
But what really made his skin shiver was that they looked... remorseful? Like a face mourning a life it took, but was also accepting of it.
The mask stared at him with some indifferent, regretful malice.
It was deadpan yet threatening, which was a strange thing considering that it hardly looked like the face of a human... well, perhaps only conceptually.
From small protrusions at the side of the mask, thin, flaccid pipes sprawled everywhere. Some rounded the head, some crawled along the cheekbones, and some would even dip to the wearer's neck like a coiling snake. They were all connected to the mask at random points on the face.
Elyas also noticed that the more he stared at the mask, the more it stared back.
The little boy beside him reeled back and complained to his mother in distress when he saw Elyas's hand reach out before him and groping at thin air like a perverted, delirious old man.
But Elyas was too astounded to care.
He wanted to gain a feel for the unnerving thing. To feel the smooth, matte surface of the mask. To know that it's real.
But to his dismay, his hand passed through it as if it didn't exist.
And after a few more attempts, Elyas finally considered how he seemed to others, pursed his lips in embarrassment, and sagged back into his seat.
He dismissed the system, but it never left his mind.
***
The landing was...
'A much better experience than my last,' Elyas thought bitterly.
But Rosendale City!
Oh, what a city it was!
'Serious, grey, and grand.'
Those were Elyas's first impressions setting foot outside the airport.
The weather was, as his father pointed out during their most recent execution, grey.
The buildings were beyond his expectations; they were grand and 'serious'. Some were reddish brown, embellished with elaborately artistic facades, and some were a solemn grey with gargoyle statues growling down at him. But two things that remained consistent were their majesty and the consistency of their facade.
'It all feels so... gothic. Goodness, it's overwhelming.
Posh cars drove by frequently near the airport at soothing speeds since all the streets were cobblestone and threatened speeding maniacs.
'Like pops, he he.'
What also surprised Elyas was the poshness of really everything.
From the people, to the storefronts, and the vehicles.
And though wealth seemed to be plentiful here, people preferred to use public transport, so the streets were quieter than in Castilla City.
And there were no nauseatingly tall buildings or disparity in neighbourhoods, it was all...
'How do I say... confined? Yeah, I'm sure they don't allow just anyone to live here.'
The whole city itself breathed the air of academia; it seemed as if it existed because of Rosendale Academy.
'Hm... I think Pops said it did.'
Elyas continued down one of the elaborately paved streets, gawking all over like an overwhelmed tourist.
And after an hour or so of walking, he finally realised that he truly had no clue where to go.
To his right, cosy book stores and cafes were frequented more than fashion stores and Pubs, although the latter two were a bit scarce.
To his left was the cobblestone street on which he felt like he could walk on comfortably without worrying if a car would hit him.
Oh, and the parks.
There were too many of them, but growing up in the Anarchist desert, Elyas had absolutely no complaints.
Couples in cardigans lounged there, watching the swaying willow trees hushing from the persistent whispering breeze. Elyas liked the breeze, but he thought he'd like it more if his shirt weren't so ventilating.
'Brrr. Goodness, it's cold.'
Soft conversation, delivered in posh accents, crushed his confidence in his own voice.
And even the people themselves, they all seemed so...
'Fine! Goddamit, why is everyone good-looking!'
Elyas had thought that, yes, even though he was in terrible, emaciated and concerning shape, he'd at least stand out a little.
But oh well, farewell to that notion.
'Maybe I am a wrinkled date in comparison, huh?'
After another three hours of walking towards the city centre, he still encountered no clues.
He was a bit anxious to ask since he assumed he'd just get sneered at or receive a couple of indirect posh insults, so he kept to himself and luck.
It was nearing a beautiful sunset when Elyas finally saw it.
Banners fluttering from lamp posts, ceremonious and dignified, glorifying Rosendale's induction day.
Elyas paused, moved aside lest he disrupt the passerby, and took a deep, nervous breath.
Now it felt too real.
Too imminent.
He was too nervous that despite the travel weariness, he felt restless.
There was a cosy cafe to his right, with a brick interior, soft lighting, and a bunch of bookshelves.
'They seem nice. Let's get it over with.'
Elyas walked in tentatively and...
'Oh, how nice.'
Warm, crispy air caressed him, and the soothing scent of coffee wriggled his insides.
There was a backdrop of springy piano jazz and soft, eloquent conversation.
There weren't many customers inside, so that was a plus.
Elyas walked to the counter, gaining a few curious and cold stares as he did, which Elyas easily concluded was because of his improper attire, and the Barista-
'Oh... dear me...'
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and on her apron, a badge of Rosendale's logo glinted.