Apricity | (noun)
the warmth of the sun in winter
If you smile at the sky before bed, the moon will give you good dreams. It was a folk belief that his sister, Yusa, overheard from one of the gamblers in her favorite den.
Where he grew up, he assumed his restless nights were because he did not have anything to call a 'bed'. He had to find the hard way that dreams had nothing to do with materiality and everything to do with how stained one's hands were.
"Han Man, stop teasing and bind him already. The Jeju shoe sale waits for no one!" Reve shouted from a spiral branch high above, chewing on a pale nyra that was faintly glowing in his hands.
Haynes sent one of his shurikens flying Reve's way, a swift, perfect move that whispered past his ear as it pinned Reve's dark woollen hood to the spirewood bark. "Play hangman with my name again. I dare you," Haynes said sweetly as he dodged the dagger of the Scavenger King with ease. He was a notorious man disrupting the life of the inhabitants of the White planet – famous for their cotton-filled lanes and endless span of lace cake mountains – with his rebel companions whom Reves and Arvad had cornered earlier. They dealt with stolen tech, smuggled resources, and quiet uprisings, but Zyran strategically seized their caches while Haynes dismantled their network piece by piece.
"Shadowguards," the older man hissed through his yellow teeth as if they were a cauldron of cobra eggs. He lunged again with all the force of his muscular body, adorned with only a fur wrap. Reckless and very desperate. Zyran stepped in and slashed his sword forward, the blade clanging with the Scavenger King's crystal dagger. It was muscle memory at this point. Haynes knew if Zyran was pressuring forward, then he would be sealing the exits and putting him in restraints. Haynes' shurikens hummed low, and when the Scavenger King was about to thrust again, but with a sloppier stance, he set his shurikens free, calibrated to stun.
Instead of going forward with his attack, the Scavenger King froze minutely and turned, hearing the crackle of energy from Haynes' weapon. It sank beneath the man's ribs, instead of the light tease Haynes had directed at him, and the shuriken flared light once before being swallowed into a geyser of thick, bubbling red. If anything, the Scavenger King looked more dazed than wounded. His confused, jade eyes dropped to the shuriken, and Haynes realized that his dart was wildly spreading the toxin he'd immersed them in throughout his veins. His knees buckled, hitting the scraped earth with a heavy thud. Before he could cry out, scarlet drool sizzled from his mouth, spilling like sacrilege across polished marble.
"Oopsie daisy," Haynes said sheepishly.
Rage ignited in the Scavenger King's jade eyes, molten and raw, like fire clawing from hands that no longer held life. "You—" he spat, blood spraying across the dirt like shattered rubies under the faint night glow. His chest heaved painfully, warm metallic liquid dripping from his nose and slicking over cracked lips.
"At your... highest breath..." he rasped, jade eyes darting wildly, glassy and unseeing, red veins spidering across the whites. "The ground..." His fingers clawed at the earth, another hiss of blood pooling at his lips, "...will cast... You away..."
Pain twisted his features as his body shuddered in agony, a final scream caught in his throat. Then, with one last ragged inhale, he slumped forward with a sickening thud, lifeless, the jade fire in his eyes extinguished.
Zyran rolled his eyes at Haynes and headlocked him. "Not cool, man. That guy just cursed you."
Haynes smirked at him. "I'll trust you to have my back then."
Arvad let out an exasperated sigh. "Seriously, Haynes? The whole point of our mission today was to bring this numbskull back with us. You know—the one you just killed."
Reve dropped from the high tree top, landing on his feet elegantly as he tossed the nyra's fragrant core away. "Look on the bright side, Aves," he said with a grin, "now we don't have to carry this monstrous-sized being with us. Saves us from back pain, foot twinge, tooth pain, and—"
Arvad's green eyes darkened imperceptibly. "And Zyran getting an earful from Counselor Jaes?" He waved his hand articulately at the said person. "And please, for the nth time, Reve, my name is Arvad. A-R-V-A-D."
Yes, Reve had a knack for killing everybody's name.
Haynes glanced at Zyran. As their team leader, Zyran is supposed to hand over their report to Counselor Jaes, who would assess their situation fairly. But that's as far as his support would extend. When their status quo is brought in front of the grand council, it will be promptly resolved that Haynes had killed the Scavenger King either for spite or his insatiable anger issues. They would be determined to have Haynes—since he "murdered an informative person for his playtime"—and Zyran—who is "responsible for his mad hat dog he refused to remove from his team"—on probation from further missions till given the green flag.
As if reading his thoughts, Zyran tilted his head away from the argument, his eyes two pits of dark honey under low light, and gave him a reproachful look. "I will ruffle your hair if you're thinking of leaving my team. No one will believe you're that selfless anyway," he threatened seriously.
Haynes recoiled from him in exaggerated horror, wrenching free of the headlock and running a hand through his hair to comfort its mortal wound. "Xaves forbid," he muttered, faking a shiver.
Zyran smirked and swatted his arm, earning a grin in return. "I'm serious. If you're not there with me, then I promise you I—"
"Careful," Haynes cut in, tone light but edged. "Promises don't survive long in the world we live in. You can't be expected to keep them." He shrugged. "Besides. I killed our captive."
"I really advise against learning anything from Reve, but you could try borrowing his pessimism for once. Probation means we get a break, Haynes." Zyran beamed. "Let's go hit that race we saw the other day."
Haynes did not respond. Contradicting Zyran now would only rankle him. As he knelt to the ground, loose pale strands fell in uneven curves across his brow, catching the night light in a soft, unkempt sheen. Zyran loosened the slightest breath and closed the crusted eyes that once held life. "Ad astra per aspera," he whispered.
To the stars through difficulties.
Haynes stilled for a second, his relaxed posture fading as he gazed past the spirewood trees—tall and attention-seeking—and over the bend in the ravine. Boots shifted, scraping against the stone arch beyond the spiked, towering gates that led into the city. Laughter, a clink of goblets, and three different voices.
"We have company," Haynes said. "City guards, likely. There are three of them."
"Do we have to fight them, or are we safe to retreat?" Arvad asked, straightening up.
"Less than two minutes till they spot us."
Zyran assembled to his feet with the stealth of a cat. "Reve, open the portal." He nodded at the corpse. "This will likely start another round of rumors about the dead hunting the living."
‧˚₊‧ ┈┈┈ ⟡ ┈┈┈ ‧₊˚⊹
Portals left Haynes nauseous and irritable, a brewing headache blooming behind his eyes like blunt needles grazing his veins. He blamed the tear in space itself—the way it made his insides feel loose, as if gravity had briefly forgotten him and he had the absurd urge to grab hold of himself to stay put.
The double doors slid apart at their approach, panels of glass folding into the walls with a quiet hiss. For a prestigious academy tucked away in a top-secret location and warded against intruders, this one carried the illusion of effortless security—a beautiful trap if their IQ was as low as their feet. Cool, filtered air swept over them at the threshold, carrying a hint of polish and the scent of jasmine air freshener. A narrow checkpoint waited: a slim pillar of brushed metal with a pale beam of light suspended between two uprights.
One by one, they passed their wrists through the scanner, each chime a quiet note of approval. Etched beneath the skin in thin, geometric lines, the marks declared them students of Velora Academy—delicate patterns that molded authority, and Haynes suspected, were partially tracking mechanisms.
Once inside, shadowguards moved everywhere, murmuring strategies, clashing metal echoing through corridors, or the brief burn of energy from sparring matches. Younger trainees either gawked in awe or ducked near alcoves, wide-eyed at the chaos. Most never lasted—the training was exacting—but those who persevered learned the ways of the galaxy's protectors: the Intergalactic Fleet, tasked with keeping order and safety across countless worlds. Classes rarely exceeded twelve students, and the academy housed selected combatants from ages ranging from eleven to nineteen, with the final assignment determining who would earn the honor of defending the galaxy as part of the warrior force.
Honestly, Haynes performed well. But making it past that assignment was not in his cards. Then again, he supposed this year would be different, even though it was his final year.
All the noise grated on Haynes. He tugged his headphones over his ears, muting the clamor. Hyper-sensitive hearing was a gift in the field: it let him detect movements before a strike, sense if there were more threats than counted, and always stay ahead. But here, surrounded by relentless sound, it was a curse. Noise invaded his head rent-free, grinding against him like sand in machinery.
He drew a slow breath, forcing the nausea to ebb, though his temples protested stubbornly. He nearly choked on his breath when he found Arvad assessing him—an infuriating habit of his, intended to rile Haynes whenever he wasn't in his better form.
"Someone better be kept out of the eyes of the higher-ups," Reve teased, noticing Arvad.
Haynes scowled. "I hope you don't mean me. Otherwise, I'll have to keep a disfigured corpse out of their sight."
Arvad frowned. "We might need to fix that attitude of yours before anyone notices."
Zyran stole a glimpse of Haynes as he brought out his report slate that was tucked in the pouch strapped to his thigh. "You can smash in for the day, Haynes. We'll take care of Vaes."
"Are you saying that because I'm snappish now? I swear I'll rein it in—where are you going?" Haynes sighed, ruffling his dark hair in angst, barely limiting himself from heaving a chunk of his hair. Zyran had stepped away from their little cluster mid-talk; he walked to the recessed alcove where the coffee dispenser waited and tapped in a few commands. A lidded cup hissed into existence, steam curling up lazily. Haynes almost groaned when Zyran approached. "Erekar, kun pe yan kor an?" he mumbled, lapsing into his mother tongue. Fool, why do you always do this?
Reve raised an eyebrow. "There he goes, blundering in that foreign language again."
Arvad looked intrigued. "What did you say?"
Haynes glared at the perfect bliss in Zyran's hand. The sharp, grounding aroma made him lose his curb. "Just wondered aloud since when Zyran fussed over coffee."
Zyran's lips tilted. "Since now. But turns out I forgot the sugar," he said with theatrical sadness and held it out for Haynes. "I'll forgive that coffee isn't going to help with your headache, but since it's strong, bitter, and utterly to your taste, why don't you do me a favor and empty this cup?"
Haynes protested his grin as he let warmth seep into his numb hands. "Is this a universal sign I should start my 101 on accepting more of your favors?" Haynes took a slow sip, trying to look nonchalant, though the first taste stole any pretense of toughness.
His smirk deepened. "Whatever helps you keep up the act, mate."
They slipped into one of the main corridors, a wide carpeted path with glass walls that looked into the various recreation rooms. A few more turns, and a long winding route would unfold the academy's hidden world: cafés and bakeries, theaters and museums, pubs and bowling alleys, even small markets and pharmacies. Soft skylights lit winding streets and quiet fountains, all watched over by discreet citizens trusted by the Magister of their academy. The residents were mostly exiles or people fleeing their homes, keeping the conservatory alive as a substitute for a city would be. Velora Academy necessitated them from every angle, in return for severed ties with the outside world. To outsiders, it might seem a bleak fate—but here, each orphaned student, with no one waiting for them beyond these walls, had been chosen for their strength, and given a place to forge who they could become.
Reve shot ahead the moment the doors slid open, springing upward to smack the top of the doorway with his palm as he passed through. It was a habit he'd caught when they first came into this recreation room as a crew. Reve had been the shortest of them at eleven years old, but his growth spurt had hit, and he had only surpassed Arvad so far by a mere half-inch.
A communal scope, but since they often chose the room with sleek bowling lanes, it had silently become a claim without meaning to. Zyran was already leaning against the stretching bronze counter, shrugging his black leather jacket off and draping it on the high stool. The report slate was out, and its surface glowed as lines of text scrolled past. His brows knit together as he worked with an adept affluence—rewriting events, recounting the briefest exchanges, and softening phrases enough to make it look respectable.
Arvad smirked as he read a line from it: "The primary target was left behind as he had cracked his head open by tripping over his own feet; thus, leading to his tragically simple death."
"Even Reve would make better excuses, dude," Haynes said, amused. He sipped more of his coffee; his headache had fleetingly resided.
"Yes, we could say he died from an uncontrollable sneezing fit," Reve supplied, motioning the ventilator on. Haynes gulped his laughter down, and Zyran seemed to be making funny faces to break himself from partaking in the act.
Arvad let out an indignant noise. "We are not blaming respiratory issues—" his eyes, that reflected winter skies in ice shards, widened momentarily as one of them twitched disturbingly, and he turned to them with a scowl. Oh no, Haynes thought as his friend scrunched his straight nose, and he tried to swallow the incoming—T'ACHHOOOO
Reve winced. "Ah. New air freshener," he said innocently, switching the ventilator off—but the damage was done.
Arvad did not tolerate citrus. His sneezes were legendary—loud enough to have compromised at least three stealth operations. Haynes, already grateful for his headphones tuning out his hyperacusis, turned away just in time as Arvad buried his face in a star-patterned napkin and unleashed another volley.
"Achhoo!—achhhooo—aaa—chooo—"
Haynes briefly wondered if Arvad might sneeze a lung out, but he still smirked, fist-bumping Reve in silent solidarity.
"Charming."
Haynes twisted in surprise. Counselor Elowyn stood at the entrance of their makeshift hideout, tilting against the glass frame wall with one hip cocked just enough to draw attention, curves framed in the velvet fitted top and tapered trousers. Cold, blue eyes like steel dipped in shadow, were lined similarly to a predator's, lips a dangerous slash of thin red. Entirely enticing, if it wasn't for the slender baton strapped in a holster at her side, recapping the countless methods she had taught them to torment their targets.
"The Magister asked for Zyran and Haynes," she added, "now."
Zyran perked an eyebrow. "Oh? We still have a report to submit—"
"I hope I didn't give you the impression that he was requesting anything of you, little blond thing," Counselor Elowyn said with a saccharine smile. She had always unsettled Haynes with the uncanny aura around her. Her gaze slid to Haynes in equal measure as if she could read the discomfort oozing in his nerves. The barest smiles. "The two of you are to be present in his office, right now."
Zyran shot Haynes a nervous glance. This couldn't be about the hassle regarding the Scavenger King—the Magister did not take on such flimsy matters.