𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
It's the beginning of a new age when Jaylah Imperatrix seemingly returns from the dead to reclaim her throne. And in perfect timing.
In her absence, evil has be...
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Act 3 Chapter 51 JAYLAH
Because the University of Kilhoste was a public place for students, especially this time of afternoon when most classes were likely letting out, it was easy to get onto the premises even with swords strapped to my back. Between neatly-groomed hedges and trees cut into points, there were several identical buildings with tall spires and extremely angled rooftops. I had no idea where to start. So I picked a building at random and entered it, not bothering to acknowledge the lingering students who watched us curiously.
We passed long empty classrooms and ones in session, filled with green chalkboards and tables in pairs. There were so many books stacked in shiny brown bookshelves this may as well have been a library in itself. From the sheer amount of gilded trinkets on most of the side tables, I suspected this may have been a sector relating to science. I could not be sure. Besides the basics, I did not know much of science, like what made the sky cerulean or what wind was. It made me feel foolish and I did not like it.
If the former Queen was still alive and if my father did not get so paranoid just before the Royal Massacre, would I have gone to a university in Naxaros to finish my studies past what tutors could teach? It was not possible. Not only due to the aforementioned issues, but also because there was no longer a university in Naxaros. My father shut it down soon after the war, believing it was a breeding house for harmful propaganda to be spread to young, impressionable students about him and the royal line. Tax funds were redirected into our military instead.
But even if it were possible... I turned my nose up at the thought. Myself surrounded by normal citizens? Not only would it be improper, it would be uncomfortable for all parties involved. My classmates and professors would be put in a power imbalance and likely fear me, while I would be stooping to embarrassing lows.
We climbed a few wide flights of stairs. Out the arched windows periodically placed to the right, the city spread to the horizon. Smoke plumes from factories in the distance created textured clouds that looked as though they would feel of cotton.
The higher we got, the more professors' offices we passed, their names helpfully written on gold placards on the heavy wooden doors. As I aptly predicted, classes were being let out as we went through the center of the hall. Most of them ogled at me. I knew I was striking to look at, but I also knew the majority of these students were men. I was likely one of the only women they had seen in their entire time within these university walls, which made a pit of anger simmer in my stomach.
There was the nameplate in question: Djeferson Théophile Nicollier. The door was open, but a man I suspected was him neared us, surrounded by male students as they conversed amongst themselves. He made a few backward steps to the door to alert his students he was breaking off from their group.
"Look at the face on that beard," Alexander said, referencing Nicollier's facial hair that was so long it nearly brushed his belt.
