If one were to fly east from Antham’s port, most likely on one of the dozen airships that docked and departed the city, in three days, would find themselves obstructed by the Arcadian Empire. Conceived before the outbreak of the Great War, the Arcadian Empire was experiencing something of a renaissance – its arts and sciences flourishing, technology advancing, and its citizens feeling a sense of pride in their country.

The renaissance was misplaced, considering the Empire lost the War.

From the port of the capital city, Eagleshaw, north up Stuyvesant Drive deposited goods, and people, into Howlvale County, one of the largest incorporated neighborhoods in the city.

Howlvale County was immaculate – a place of true beauty. Its streets lined with perfect, white, stone-cut building with wrought iron detailing, and its sidewalks dotted with formally cut trees, Howlvale County retained its status as a summer colony.

In the center, perfectly situated from the shoreline and the original city limits was the Towne Square, a large, open space surrounded on four sides by more aged buildings, where national celebrations were commonly held. It was also the seat of the government, the place where the Governor lived with his or her respected family.

The Whitebells, unlike those in the other counties, neighborhoods, and provinces in the Arcadian Empire, had ascended to power through the King. Having ruled over Howlvale County for the past nineteen years, they maintained a sense of civility, but while the public found the family distant and unresponsive.

Governor Tomas Whitebell was the patriarch of the family – a man with streaked-white hair and a face that could intimidate an army general. Standing at nearly six feet tall, he was imposing and daunting, his networking powers allowed him access into almost everything within the city.

Mrs. Agatha Whitebell was an uninteresting woman who was very comfortable standing in her husband’s shadow. A petite and quiet woman, Mrs. Whitebell stood at almost five feet tall, her round face and long, brown hair made her look more youthful than her real age.

The Whitebells had two sons, Oliver and Aiden, whom they showered with gifts and privileges. Oliver, who had aged almost twenty years, prospered in his political studies, ultimately gaining the attention and praise of his parents. Not realizing his neglect, Aiden compensated with lofty ideals about his future to garner attention.

Both were raised with the belief that they could obtain anything they wanted; it was reflected more so in Aiden’s personality, his brown eyes lit with fire when the boy became cross when he didn’t get his way. His blonde hair made him appear like his father when he was around his age – the “impressionable” age of sixteen. Despite the teenager's round face, Aiden maintained an unhappy and serious expression at almost all times.

He didn’t see his parents very often, as was the standard for the time, where privileged children normally didn’t see their parents but only on weekends and holidays. The prestigious boarding school near the southern tip of the Arcadian Empire was in fashion, where all the wealthy youth in the empire attended school. Originally a stately manor, which controlled the nearby town of Ashgate, the estate was abandoned and then donated to the empire’s educational system. After a lengthy reconstruction, building extension, and thorough renovation, the school prospered on the edge of the Protyr Channel.

Uniforms were issued, and, when congregated into the Central Hall, one of the two large theaters on the school grounds, onlookers saw a sea of unnamable students clad in grey outlined in thin gold threads.

~ ~ ~

After the bells had struck three times past the hour, the students moved in waves towards the Chapel. Many students still had books and papers in hand.

It had been a grey, cloudy day, with the scent of rainfall in the air. Indeed, the horizon had threatened with lightning pops and thunder’s soft booms. But the day had dragged on like any other, students going to and fro between the various buildings with umbrellas in hand in case of sudden weather changes.

Aiden and his five acquaintances crossed over towards the building, speaking about their morning mathematics and sciences classes. “Does Professor Addams even know how to pronounce the planets names?” asked one boy enthusiastically, as he shrugged his book bag over his shoulder.

“Does he even know all of them?” asked another.

Another boy beside Aiden shook his head. “I hate uranology.”

“Good thing there isn’t a lot to learn,” replied Aiden under his breath. Being in its infancy meant that the field had only a limited quantity to what the professors could actually teach. This also meant that there was almost always speculation about what else there was in the night sky.

But the boys agreed to Aiden’s comment. Tired of talking about their studies, Aiden began, “Did you see Adelaide in class today?” No one responded; the change of subject didn’t surprise his acquaintances. “She looked like she had been dropped into the inner city and drawn on by the inbreeds there.” Three boys enthusiastically agreed with his comments while two remained quiet, and Aiden continued, “Honestly, did her parents even try in making – ”

The disapproving eyes of Dean Wenster met Aiden Whitebell’s gaze as he walked through the chapel doors. The Dean of Faith and Fraternity was dressed in his ceremonial robes – deep blue lined in braided gold with the school’s crest on the lapel – that were the official attire for the empire’s religion. But the man’s harsh eyes watched Aiden intently, his long face lined with wrinkles and liver spots saying the exact same thing every time they interacted.

“If you speak during the service…” Dean Wenster began, purposefully not finishing. Aiden dropped his gaze; he was almost always in the man’s office because of his constant violation of the school’s strict code of conduct.

“It’s unfair,” Aiden lamented, as the boy’s around him took their seats in the pews. “It’s not my fault the Code of Conduct is strict.”

“Maybe Dean Wenster just doesn’t like you,” suggested one.

Aiden shook his head and looked down thoughtfully. He was on “good terms” with every other Dean in school, yet the deeply religious man continued to frown on him, almost like he had made up his mind to not like the boy.

As Aiden looked up slowly, a toothy grin erupted from his previously serious grimace.