KENNEN JARMEZ wants to see a world where the sky is not made of ice. After a friend failed to return from a foraging trip, Kennen takes it upon himself to bring them home. Then, he is shoved into a world of cruelty, greed, and illegal trade after be...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
2404 Tull 20, Velpa
"No, I'm not giving you permission to enter," the Grand Marshal brought her hands together atop the table made of ice. The walls of the war room in the two hundred and second floor felt like they're converging upon Kennen as soon as the words left her mouth.
He stepped forward. "But, Mom—"
"Please refer to me as the Grand Marshal while I'm working," she said, stopping him effectively with a stern glare. "No amount of cajoling would sway me to grant you access. Why would you even want to go there? Are the archives not to your liking anymore?"
He would lose a challenge with his own tutor, most likely, but he couldn't say that aloud. In the end, he clasped his hands in front of him and bounced on the balls of his feet. He had never felt so silly standing alone with his mother inside an empty war room.
"If you don't have anything more to say, you can go," the Grand Marshal waved her hand in the air—a clear sign of dismissal. "And do tell your father about my decision if you are planning on asking his permission. We are of equal office, after all."
Kennen's gut sank as he ducked out of the two hundred and second floor. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the Grand Marshal held a greater influence in the grand scheme of things compared to the Chieftain. He should have gone to his father first. What use was being their son if he couldn't even freely roam around his own home?
It just didn't make sense. Just like how Kennen didn't know much about the world above them, he didn't even know a lot about the only place he grew up in. It was the worst feeling to have, if he was to be asked. But then again, with his parents too caught up in their own work, there was no one who would.
Conceding to Lydin would sure suck.
His walk back to the upper levels was muted, like the world was joining him in his mourning. He didn't like one bit of it—the silence creeping into the dim corridors leading to the stairs curving higher and higher. It was expected when one visited the lowest floors but he still couldn't stomach it.
If there was anything he would want to have forever with him, it was the chatter, the bustle, and the background noise of people. It proved he wasn't entirely alone in this vast, lonely world and provided a distraction from his thoughts.
By the time he reached the fifty-second floor where Merko would usually wait for him, he felt at least a little bit better. Perhaps, Lydin was right. There might be something in the Hall of Symbols that wasn't meant for his eyes and knowledge. But...what was it? Just what kind of secrets did the Hall of Symbols contain?
Maybe he was too curious for his own sake. That's what's wrong with him. He would have been perfectly happy if he wasn't dying to know how trees could grow the interestingly-shaped and colored fruits he only saw in baskets down here. If he learned to swallow his outlandish questions and just attended his lectures as intended or helped his father run the capital, he wouldn't be in this mess.
