Midas's memory of what happened when they arrived back in town was muddy; he was barely able to remember milky images of him talking to the club and Graf before having parted ways to be transported back to the university. The only reason for his lack of memory he was able to find was his mana—potentially drained enough by the fight and the activation of the hidden door to tire his body enough for him to be forced to sleep.
Blankly staring at the sheet of paper as their teacher walked through the rows of seats, he was able to feel his hand hold onto his forehead. The feather held in the left, as he was forced to write with the only usable hand he had, Midas continued to translate words from the water kingdom's vocabulary into northern desert script. Eventually glancing up from his nearly filled-out paper to glance through the long windows of the room, until he noticed the stare of his teacher.
Not only were the characters used by the northerners different, but the pronunciation of these words also differed greatly—instead of the harsher sounds used in the northern desert tongue, many of the words were spoken with a fluid tone, pronounced much lighter. Midas quickly got used to it, having heard it spoken to him by all of his teachers. Additionally, he was also teaching himself after his classes had ended, repeating words and writing them onto paper he was able to borrow from the library repeatedly until he was confident enough to use them.
Without noticing much of his surroundings as Midas continued to write, he eventually froze—able to feel the presence of his teacher right in front of him, he hesitantly glanced up at the woman with orangey-brown hair, dimly watching as her pupils were set on his paper.
"I see, you are able to write in northern desert runes as well..."
Midas nodded in silence, his hand slightly retracting as he still grasped his feather, revealing more of the paper to her. Her slight surprise at the sight most likely originated from the fact that most children from the desert don't learn to write—unable to afford schools or forced to flee instead of having the chance to learn it. The realization of that fact made him think about the young girl that traveled with them through the desert again, having never spoken a word—basically forced to come with them, as she had no other place to go.
Even though she spoke in a northern tongue, Midas had no trouble understanding her—able to connect her words loosely to form a vague sentence in his head. This seemingly was enough for now, as he still had plenty of time to learn more about this language.
"It... helps to keep the words in mind."
Midas tapped his finger against his forehead as he spoke to the teacher. Javelin turned slightly towards the two of them, risking a glance, as his expression was surprised by the rapid progress his classmate had made over the spare amount of sun cycles they had spent here. Trying his best to not draw the attention of his teacher, who stood right in front of him, Javelin risked a glance at Midas's paper, saving no time to copy its contents.
Unsure if she understood his words or not, Midas watched her nod agreeingly—their teacher eventually stepped towards her pulpit, inspecting the hourglass that stood lonely on the top of it before stepping behind it to announce to the class.
"Instructi'concluir."
Her held-up hand and the almost dismissive undertone in her light voice made it clear for the class to leave—some already sprinted out of the door with their friends, all of them familiar with the phrase as they heard it at the end of every lesson. Midas sat up as well, stashing the paper in the same bag Javelin used, as he was the only one with a bundle large enough for storing papers—something Midas still lacked completely.
"Where's the pink-haired girl...?"
Midas already dreaded the question he now had heard Jevaila utter; her glance was calm yet piercing to some degree—at least it felt like it, since he was unable to save her from being dragged out of campus. His eyes shortly glanced over the empty seat next to her. Patriq now stood up as he waited behind him for the group to finally walk out of the room.
"It's complicated..."
"Oh? We have time; why don't you tell me while we eat lunch...?"
Unable to wiggle his way out of the situation, Midas agreed, dimly faced—able to feel her gaze darken as she mustered him a last time before turning to leave. Eventually, the four of them managed to squeeze out of the classroom, joined by Jakal in the halls shortly after, bringing another child from the desert with him. Loosely remembering him from the first time they visited the library—a quiet boy with a tired expression, his longer hair bound up.
"What's up with your uniform anyway..."
Javelin remarked at Midas in a dimly confused manner, making the others turn slightly to muster the somewhat muddied color of his clothing in quiet. Midas looked at himself; the blue color of his clothing was much darker than their uniforms—most likely due to the water that covered the entirety of the deeper layers of the ruin he found Graf in.
"I didn't pay attention and got it dirty..."
"You don't seem to be the carefree type, though."
Jevaila spoke to him while mustering his somewhat darkened expression, not halting her walk as they headed down a row of stairs—their group soon approached a long hallway that led through the right wing of the building, at its end an open set of doors that led to the dining hall. After taking the corner, Midas's eyes locked onto the distant double doors—reminded by Graf just at the sight of them.
Midas was sure the dagger he held onto while they traveled the desert was important to him, yet risking going inside of a ruin for just only a present wasn't plausible for him. Was the reason that Graf possibly hadn't seen her for a long while really justification for putting his life on the line for an ancient weapon? A sword with unremarkable features but intricate golden details forged on a dim silver grip, similar to the dagger Graf wielded?
Having zoned out while his classmates around him exchanged information about their different club activities, Midas was forced to resurface from his thoughts by Patriq—feeling his wooden tablet burrowing into his back. At the front of the line, Midas watched as an assistant filled his wooden tablet with food, placing a soup, pieces of fruit, and some bread on the side with almost the same monotone movements the student before him had stared onto.
The dining hall was larger than he initially had thought, made up of two floors and an elongated free space in its middle. Stairs led up onto a higher floor from two sides—in between them a circular balcony on which one would have a great overview of the entire hall. Wooden railings curved along it, giving whoever stood there some sense of security. Picking up the low, waving of Patriq's hand, Midas and Patriq joined their table, seating themselves.
From right above him, Midas was able to hear the soft squeaking of the wooden upper floor—students that roamed the room to find a relatively free table or their friends, whom they most likely met only a few days ago. Despite grave language barriers between most of them, the youth listened to the distant squabbles as his empty gaze looked down onto the stew, letting the steam that came up from it hit his dim expression.
"Do you feel like telling me now...? I'm concerned about her—she helped me out a lot... Did something happen to her while you two went to your club?"
"No, I don't think so; at least we saw them climb up the same set of stairs together with us..."
Jakal and Jevaila turned towards Midas again, not having enough things to talk about to waste more of their time. Looking up to her made it clear she had no intention of ignoring Skye's sudden disappearance. Sinking his gaze again, as Midas wasn't sure what would happen to her in the grasp of the boy that dragged her away, he hesitatingly spoke up.
"Shortly after we had left the library to wait for the head of our second club to pick us up, we were both approached by what seemed to be students that were older than us... they wanted her, so they made haste to get her. I tried my best to free her, but I was unable to really do anything about it. I was only able to watch as she was dragged out of the plaza before I got picked up by the club head..."
Jevaila's lips opened, but she wasn't able to speak any word—her expression formed a concerned frown at the news Midas hesitantly shared with them at the table. Javelin mustered Midas's sunken gaze in a quiet moment, not speaking up as he had always been wary of Skye. The group of six mustered the hall with tired gazes. Patriq was the only one that ate now, dipping a loaf of spongy bread into the soup, making the pieces of herbs on top of it glide over its surface.
"It's not like we have to wait for her to come back on her own, though; the head of the ruin and guild club is fortunately able to speak desert tongue as well... She told me that she was eager to get her back. I'm sure she is willing to use force too."
"Sounds like a lot of trouble just for one girl—one that can't even speak..."
Javelin jumped slightly at the pain of Jevaila elbowing him in his hip—his remark made her flash her teeth dimly in frustration, making him raise a brow dramatically at his own sister. Just as Midas announced good news, his eyes looked at a formation of students wearing chainmail and shoulder protections—his gaze joined by Patriq as he turned his gaze up from his soup to watch whoever stood in the middle of the human line.
Glancing at their armor alone made Midas connect the dots inside of his head: the club of knights was posted up right in front of the only exit that led out of the dining hall—their broadened stance clearly making no sign of letting anyone come through. The broad space in the middle of the ground floor was stepped onto by a muscularly built student, extending his arms out at whoever tried to enjoy their meal, making the talking stop.
"I have come here because I was tasked to retrieve one of my members. Their absence gravely weakened our ability to do our routine work—a stab in the back, if you will. However, we as the knighthood will not stand for such behavior and have come to collect the one that abandoned our flock. Hereby, I call out for the one called Patriq... Patriq, show yourself...!"
Without a doubt, the shirtless student that loudly announced the absence of the person that currently dined right next to him clearly had some sort of authority over the club. Whoever he was, his speech quickly shut down any conversation left in the hall—his firm tone originating from the helmet that covered his face, his visor hiding any of the features that might shine through from under the metal.