[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qSXKgkY.png[/img]
[sub][@Nanaya][/sub][/center]
Perhaps Wingram was a mistake.

That was the conclusion Otis fell upon as he shot a backward glance towards the boy and saw that a short sequence of simple questions was enough to cause his brain to short-out, reduced to a drooling buffoon that could hardly run in a straight line. And a race like this to the auditorium? That was more liable to benefit athletic idiots and violent barbarians than the scholarly and astute. Was this the true essence of Wingram Academy? Not a place of higher learning, not even a place where one could delve into the mysteries of the ‘talent’ called Ethos, but rather a breeding den of brainwashed goons who’d raise their blades for ideals not their own?

Well, soldiers had their place in society. The crown needed excess fat, hands that could dirty themselves in their place. Loyalty from a zealot was far more useful than the mercenary calculations of a disillusioned veteran.

Far more useful to Otis as well.

Davil of the Vaalin Union, who sought the conquest of Mirris. He possessed shoes that aided in the control of Ethos, something that Otis himself had never required or even considered before, while his ability itself was flight for 30 seconds every 24 hours. No data on speed, but control certainly needed to be improved for utility. Activation phrase is short, as far as phrases went. Linearic isn’t a word, and Liner referred to the fabric used to protect the inside of a garment. Perhaps it would improve after understanding one’s prime essence. Perhaps it wasn’t an Ethos meant for flight to begin with.

His mother believed in him. Optimistic, or perhaps just there to not hurt his feelings. He made it to Wingram as a [i]prospective[/i] student anyhow.

Alright.

[b]“I’m Otis Tan Arillo.”[/b] The wheels churned as he continued to skate forwards, down the next cluster of buildings in the distance. Cafeteria was mapped. Playground couldn’t be mapped, but it was unlikely that it would lead to a possible auditorium. The Strigidae bent his legs and leaned forwards, accelerating over the well-paved roads. [b]“And you’ll pass this test, so long as you keep up with me.”[/b]

If the dark-haired girl betrayed him, he could always [i]seek[/i] her out. The telepathic link, in the end, was simply a test of trust, the veneer of an alliance.

[b]“In return, Davil, give me one week with your shoes and your Ethos.”[/b]

It was just scientific curiousity. Nothing more.