A boarding school for two types of students exists within the 'perfect' metropolis of Acropolis.. The school hosts both human puppets and their puppeteers. Their wavelengths are connected through an invisible mix of energy and soul called Strings.
The story follows Noah Albrecht and his classmates as they encounter threats against both their metropolis of Acropolis, their school, and soon their lives...unaware of the danger their diligent headmaster gets them into...
001 | PARADISE isn't PARADISE
A young white haired boy walked through the cobblestone streets of a metropolis. He walked past bakeries, restaurants, unique little shops – every single building had its own unique style and je ne sais quoi to it. The windmills scattered in the rolling hills of both grass and farmlands fanned and cooled off the city on each sunny day. You could ask any resident of this city, and get the same, one word description: Paradise.
He continued to walk through, his monotonous expression only masked behind his fear of change; being the new person at school, to the city, and being alone. His blank expression broke into a smile when he saw a group of small children run by, laughing and smiling playfully. He began to walk through a beautiful park, the grass so perfect, the pathway clear of any debris, a beautiful fountain placed delicately in the middle, benches surrounding it for people to relax and bask in the beauty of a rainbow being reflected off the water. Beside him sat a middle-aged man, his eye wrapped up. He sat cross legged and cross armed, his other eye shut tightly while the wheat strand in his mouth blew delicately with the windmill’s gentle breeze.
The white haired boy sat and closed his eyes, sighing in disappointment. The man beside him slightly opened his eye, shifting it towards him and closing it again.
“Acropolis isn’t perfect enough for you, is it kid?” he said with a low, raspy voice. The boy looked over to him, his brief expression of shock shifting back to disappointment. He didn’t reply. The man spread his legs out, stretching and standing up, walking away. The young boy swung his feet up on the bench and lay down, watching the clouds roll by in a beautiful, cerulean sky.
“No,” the boy muttered to himself, getting up and continuing his walk, his bag dangling next to his waist, the strap around his shoulder, “Just too perfect…”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a letter, a stamp with windmills in a field of flowers was placed in the corner of the envelope, as he put the envelope back in his pocket. He unraveled the crumpled up paper in his hands and read over it. Smiling and crumpling it up into a ball, tossing it back in his pocket. He got to a large, cobblestone road embedded with trees on either side for as far as he could see. Leaves dangled and fell from the trees, darkening the ‘perfect sky’ above. For a moment, the young boy felt comfortable. He stepped into the darkened pathway with a grin across his face, laughing quietly under his breath. He continued walking on the path. Hidden within the veil of trees was an old building, sitting delicately within the summer wind.
Leaves brushed across the cobblestone pathway leading up to a medieval-styled building. The building itself, made completely of a brown stone, had moss growing up it, a deeper green than the grass below. The wind blew through the white hair of the young boy as he walked up the pathway daintily. Students on the campus ground stood and stared, whispering and muttering, gossiping about him. Soon enough, he caught the attention of somebody just itching for a fight, someone who seemed and acted tough – a bully.
The bully’s spiky hair only added to his tough exterior, along with the number of piercings lined on his lips, ears and eyebrows. He smirked, a smaller person stood in front of him, big thick glasses decked across his face. The smaller person was covered in a black cloak, only his face showing. His fingertips were poking out of the lengthened sleeves of the cloak. The pierced student stood his ground, crossing the sleeveless arms of his black school uniform.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in a condescending tone, cracking his knuckles with a grin on his face. The young boy stood, his face struck with a slight look of worry. He gulped and tried to walk past him, the bully holding his arms out.
“I just challenged you, punk!” he yelled in a cracked, nasally voice. Everyone in the courtyard turned to the two and crowded around them, chanting ‘Fight, Fight, Fight!’ and other things. It seemed to be a ritual for the new kid – to get beaten to a bloody pulp.
“Now, now Toppa,” the small, cloaked boy spoke softly, “Don’t be so hasty…”
The cloaked boy’s index finger glowed, Toppa smirking and raising his hand out quickly – almost involuntary. Blood spurted from the knuckles as spikes appeared on them. He grunted at the pain and held his fist out at the white haired boy in front of him.
“1st String!” the cloaked boy chanted, “PIERCING PUNCH!”
Toppa swung back involuntarily and aimed his punch at white haired boy, striking him and sending him onto the ground. The boy held his head, writhing in pain. He started quivering, scared of being hurt more. He heard running footsteps soon stop beside him, yelling to stop from the distance. He looked up to see a small girl who looked no more than ten. Her black hair had two streaks running down her bangs – one purple and one red. She stood firmly as another girl ran behind her with hazel brown hair parted to the sides. Both, in their school uniforms, stood firmly in front of the white haired boy.
“Eh?” Toppa stretched out a nasally groan, “What the hell do you two want?”
“Get away from him! He did nothing wrong!” chirped the smaller girl as she held her arms out. The other girl stood her ground and knelt down, offering her hand to the white haired boy, smiling sweetly and helping him up.
“Evelyn!” the smaller girl called on the girl behind her. Evelyn continued helping the white haired boy up, the crowd still chanting and cheering for Toppa. Toppa had a cocky smirk across his face. The white haired boy stood back, his nose and mouth dripping with blood.
“Right, Skye!” Evelyn responded, holding her two pinky fingers out. Skye’s hands soon had a distortion around them, wind to be exact. The wind that encompassed her hands blew her hair around. The white haired boy watched in amazement, thinking, wondering how such a small girl could have such power.
Skye started giggling, her giggling turning to laughter as she jumped up and aimed at Toppa, Toppa turning to the side. The two met eyes, Toppa scowling, Skye giggling, her tongue stuck out of her mouth. She used the wind distortion on her other hand to propel her small body around, kicking Toppa in the face. Toppa winced and flinched, bouncing back and opening his eyes. Skye whistled and let out another childish laugh, punching him in the face repeatedly. Toppa fell back onto the ground, grunting as she punched him in the stomach and face, one punch after another. Toppa grabbed her by the hair and held her up. Skye started flailing, tears formed from her eye as she tried to hit him, but failed.
“Be happy, Skye!” Evelyn yelled, “Be happy!”
“Heh, so you think you can get away with such atrocious actions?” he yelled, screeching at Skye, who wasn’t able to respond with anything but crying, “Well I guess it can’t be helped.”
Toppa held Skye high above his head. The crowd emanated with a large gasp, Evelyn’s face struck with worry. The white haired boy clenched his fist and wiped the blood from his mouth.
But I can’t…
But you have to…
“SHUT THE HELL UP!” the white haired boy screamed relentlessly, everyone quieted and stared at him as he dropped to the ground, pulling on his hair. Toppa smirked and with a jerk of his arm, tossed Skye high into the air. Everyone stood shocked, Evelyn screamed, the white haired boy’s face struck with anger.
“Bad move, buddy!” the white haired boy announced as his fingertips glowed with a bright green, “Bad move.”