The Sky at the Azuris

I woke on Thursday to a muted gray light peeking through the small window beside my bed. My bones felt heavy, a lingering weariness from the previous day's chores and errands. This was supposed to be a class day at the guild—another round of reading and writing lessons. I felt neither dread nor excitement. I'd realized by now that even though these lessons were vital, they often dragged on, especially for kids who would rather learn swordplay or archery.

I went about my morning routine quietly. My sister Myrina hadn't returned from her mission yet, so the house remained eerily still. Despite missing her usual bustling presence, I swallowed down a quick bite of stale bread, then headed outside. The chill in the early air helped rouse me somewhat. Pulling my coat closer, I began the short walk to the Adventurers' Guild building, where Nanda, our instructor, held the pre-adventurer classes twice a week—Monday and Thursday.

A few older adventurers passed me on the way, their footsteps confident on the cobblestone streets. Some offered a nod or friendly wave. Others seemed too lost in their own thoughts to notice a quiet kid like me. Part of me wished I could skip the classroom and leap straight into real quests, but Myrina and Nerissa both insisted I needed more foundational skills first.

By the time I reached the guild hall, the usual morning rush was winding down. Several counters hummed with activity—receptionists stamping papers, adventurers gathering in small groups to discuss quests. I took a side hallway toward a simpler room we called the "junior classroom." A battered wooden sign read: Pre-Adventurer Class in neatly painted letters.

I pushed the door open to see the familiar setup—desks arranged in rows, a chalkboard at the front, and Nanda flipping through a set of notes. She was a former D-rank adventurer who had switched tracks to teach. Despite her rather ordinary rank history, she always carried herself with a quiet pride. There were only seven other students in the class besides me: Mya, Lyan, Bruen, Finn, Arlo, Milo, and Lina. We all sat scattered around the small room.

I found my usual seat near the middle. Lyan, a boy a year older than me, had already settled at the desk next to mine, arms folded, an impatient scowl on his face. Bruen, a strong-looking kid with a serious air, perched behind us. Mya offered me a small wave from a desk a few rows back, her shy smile lighting up her features. I gave a tiny nod in return. She, along with Bruen, was one of the few who seemed genuinely attentive in class.

Nanda cleared her throat, her voice bright. "Morning, everyone. Let's jump right in today. We'll continue our reading and writing exercises for the first half. After that, I've planned a special teamwork lesson to break the monotony."

A few kids let out relieved sighs at the mention of something beyond endless reading. Even I felt a pang of gratitude. But first, we had to endure the academic portion. Nanda walked us through more advanced sentence structure, showing us examples on the chalkboard. She spoke with real enthusiasm, driving home how critical it was to understand words and grammar for deciphering quest scrolls or warning signs in dungeons. "Even the strongest adventurer can stumble if they misread a crucial instruction," she reminded us.

I scribbled down notes, trying not to let my mind wander. A quick glance around showed me a room full of kids trying to stay awake—Finn slouched in his seat, half-heartedly doodling. Lina twirled her pencil, obviously bored. Lyan, for all his talk about wanting to be the best, looked like he was mentally somewhere else, occasionally rolling his eyes each time Nanda wrote another grammar rule.

An hour or more drifted by with Nanda lecturing on basic punctuation and the structure of run-on sentences. My eyelids felt heavy, and more than once I caught myself wondering if delivering items or forging swords would truly require all this detail. But Nanda pressed on, a smile never leaving her face, determined to show us the value of these lessons. "The world is dangerous enough," she said at one point. "Never let simple literacy be the difference between success and failure."

Eventually, sensing our collective fatigue, Nanda clapped her hands and declared, "All right, enough about grammar. Let's move on to our practical exercise—the Mirror Maze!"

Her announcement drew a ripple of curiosity. Mya straightened in her seat, while Lyan perked up, presumably seeing an opportunity to show off. I felt a surge of anticipation myself. The last time we'd done a practical teamwork exercise, it involved basic survival tasks. A mirror maze sounded intriguing, if a little puzzling.

Nanda explained: "We'll set up a small maze here in the classroom using chairs and tables as walls. Each team will have two people: one is blindfolded, and the other gives verbal instructions to guide them through the maze. Then we'll swap roles after we rearrange it."

She paused to let that sink in. Some kids exchanged glances, probably imagining how tricky it would be to rely solely on someone else's words. "It's meant to teach communication, trust, and clarity," Nanda said, her gaze sweeping across our row of desks. "All crucial for adventuring."

She read out the pairs: "Trey with Lyan, Mya with Bruen, Finn with Lina, and Arlo with Milo."

I felt my stomach flip at hearing I'd be paired with Lyan. We didn't exactly get along badly, but his competitive edge had always put me on edge. He was the type who insisted on winning, or at least doing better than everyone else. I turned in my seat to see him crack his knuckles, a grin that looked more like a challenge tugging at his mouth.

"All right, then," he muttered to me. "Let's make sure we come out on top."

I swallowed, nodding hesitantly. Mya caught my eye from across the room, sending me a tiny smile as if to say good luck. I tried to return it, but my nerves got the better of me.

Nanda spent a moment directing us on how to set up the chairs and tables in a rough maze shape. We formed winding corridors that left narrow paths for a blindfolded person to navigate. It took a bit of rearranging, scraping furniture across the classroom floor, but soon we had a passable labyrinth.

"All right," Nanda said, arms folded as she surveyed our handiwork. "We'll start with you four teams in turns. Trey, Lyan, do you want to go first?"

Lyan jumped on the offer before I could even open my mouth. "Yes, let's do it." He snagged the blindfold from Nanda's hand and thrust it in my direction. "I'll navigate first. You get to be the blindfolded guinea pig."

"Uh… sure," I mumbled, not relishing the role but not wanting to argue. He impatiently tied the cloth around my eyes, plunging my world into darkness. I heard him guide me to what was presumably the entrance of the maze.

Despite my mild dread, I took a deep breath and tried to stand tall. If Lyan gave clear instructions, maybe we could do this smoothly. "Ready when you are," I said, voice shaky with forced confidence.

Lyan wasted no time. "Walk forward three steps, turn left, walk forward two steps, turn right, then forward three more steps," he rattled off in one quick breath.

I froze. "W-wait," I stammered. "That's… that's a lot. Can you break it down?"

He sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. "We're racing the clock here. Just do it." His tone brooked no argument. The rest of the class stayed silent, likely curious to see how it went.

I tried to follow, stepping forward—but I misjudged the distance. I banged my shin on something solid, probably a chair. I hissed at the sharp pain.

"Trey, come on," Lyan muttered, annoyance evident. "I said three steps, not one and a half."

"Sorry," I mumbled, fumbling blindly. "I can't see anything, you know."

"Okay, from that spot, take two more steps forward," he said, speaking rapidly. "Then turn left, two steps, turn right, three steps. It's not complicated."

I attempted to interpret his barrage of directions, but each time he spat them out, I missed a detail or confused my left with the direction of the corridors. It didn't help that I didn't know exactly where the chairs were. Every time I turned a corner, my foot caught on another table leg. If I tried to correct it, Lyan would hiss at me to hurry up.

The class watched in a mix of amusement and sympathy. I heard Finn let out a snicker, and Lina quietly giggled. Mya must have been watching tensely, because I heard her gasp at one point when I nearly toppled over a chair.

By the time I stumbled for the third or fourth time, Lyan's patience wore paper-thin. "You're too slow," he bit out, the volume of his voice rising. "This was supposed to be easy."

I felt heat prick my cheeks. "Well… sorry I'm not a mind reader," I shot back, though my tone was still timid. The truth was I felt humiliated, but I had no idea how to handle it other than to keep trying.

Nanda's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Let's pause. Trey, come on out."

Relief washed over me as I fumbled away from the makeshift maze. Lyan let out an exasperated groan behind me. I tugged off the blindfold and blinked at the sudden brightness. My arms and legs bore small bruises from the repeated collisions with furniture. The rest of the class looked a bit uneasy. Mya in particular shot me a look that was half pity, half encouragement.

Nanda cleared her throat. "Perhaps it's better to swap. Lyan, you try being blindfolded, and let Trey guide you. Sometimes a different approach helps."

Lyan grunted, clearly displeased. But he grabbed the blindfold without protest. We spent a few minutes rearranging the maze, creating new twists and turns so no one could memorize the path in advance. Then we set up again, Lyan standing at the entrance, eyes covered, arms crossed over his chest.

I stood behind him, trying to figure out the best way to direct him. I recalled how too much information at once had caused me to stumble, so I planned to give instructions one or two steps at a time. But then I worried Lyan would see that as too slow. My heart pounded. I felt the rest of the class's eyes boring into me.

"Okay," I began, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Take a step forward… just one."

Lyan huffed. "Fine," he said, moving a step. "Now what?"

I peered around the first turn. "Uh, you'll need to turn left, but not yet. Take another step forward first—actually two steps, carefully—"

He tried to comply but moved too soon. His shin knocked against a chair leg. "Ow," he snapped, stumbling. "You said one step, then changed it to two. Make up your mind!"

"S-sorry," I muttered. "I realized the corner was further than I thought." I realized I'd repeated the same kind of rushed instructions Lyan had given me. But the panic of messing up forced me to correct myself mid-sentence. "Let's try this again. One step forward… then a left turn."

He let out a frustrated exhale and tried again, only to bump into another chair. The entire structure rattled. "Which left? Yours or mine?" he demanded, voice rising. "You're so vague!"

Tension built in my chest. I glanced back at Nanda, who watched us with a concerned expression. "I'm sorry," I repeated, feeling like a broken record. "Your left. Carefully."

"That would've been nice to clarify," Lyan shot back.

I took a moment, breathing in, trying not to panic. "Okay. One step forward… yes, that's it. Now turn left, two steps."

He moved, but somehow ended up off-center, nearly hitting another table. "Is that a real left or are you changing directions again?" he growled, almost snarling.

"No, that's it, just—" I stopped, seeing that the next path required a slight right turn, but it was angled in a weird way. "Wait, maybe go forward again—just a tiny bit—then turn left?"

The confusion was too much. Lyan stepped in the wrong direction, got caught on the foot of a table, then lost his balance. He staggered, arms flailing, and crashed headfirst into a chair. A thud reverberated through the classroom. Several kids gasped. My heart lurched in my throat.

Lyan scrambled upright, ripping off the blindfold. A bruise already formed on his forehead, a purple patch near his hairline. For a second, I froze in shock, unsure if I should help him up. But the next moment, I saw his furious eyes lock on me.

I stumbled back. "L-Lyan? Are you okay?" I managed, voice trembling.

He didn't answer. Instead, he lunged forward, fist raised. Rage burned in his eyes as he shouted, "You complete idiot! You made me look like a fool!"

I barely had time to react. I flinched, bracing for the impact, but a firm hand clamped around Lyan's wrist. Bruen had rushed in and grabbed him mid-swing. "That's enough," Bruen said quietly, though his tone was layered with authority. Lyan strained against the hold, clearly wanting to land that punch on me.

"You ruined everything!" Lyan shouted, his anger raw. "I was supposed to show everyone I could be the best, and you can't even give proper instructions!"

I swallowed hard, cheeks burning. The entire class stood still as statues, tension thick in the air. A part of me wanted to argue that he had done no better in guiding me. But my voice stuck in my throat, and all I managed was a weak, "I-I'm sorry… I—"

"Shut up!" Lyan snapped. He finally stopped trying to wrestle free from Bruen, but the hatred in his stare didn't waver. "Just… stay away from me."

Nanda rushed over, positioning herself between us, voice gentle but firm. "Lyan, that's enough. Injuries happen. This exercise is about practice, not perfection."

He shook her off, not even looking at her, and stalked away to the far corner of the room. My heart hammered painfully, my gaze fixed on the floor. I felt a swirl of shame, fear, and confusion. No teacher or friend had ever looked at me with such venom. Bruen stepped back, crossing his arms in silent disapproval. Mya stood near the edge, eyes wide and worried, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest.

"All right," Nanda said, clearing her throat. "That's more than enough for one day. Everyone, let's settle down and return the classroom to normal."

Slowly, we all moved the furniture back. Nobody dared comment on the tension. Lyan remained sullen and distant, refusing to speak. My entire body trembled as I tried to push chairs into place. My thoughts churned: Am I really that incompetent? Did I ruin Lyan's day? Did I just prove how worthless I am at these tasks?

Once the room was restored to its usual desk arrangement, Nanda dismissed us. "We'll call it a day," she said, subdued. "Please reflect on what happened. This exercise is a reminder that communication is crucial in adventuring."

Her tone didn't carry the usual brightness. The class trickled out, most kids avoiding eye contact. Lyan marched out first, fists still clenched. Bruen followed after him, though I wasn't sure if he intended to keep him in check or just needed to leave. Finn and Lina whispered among themselves, probably gossiping about the fiasco. Milo and Arlo seemed relieved class was over.

I stood there, numb, staring at a spot on the floor. My legs felt like lead. I wanted to vanish. Nanda put a hand on my shoulder. "Trey," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not your fault. Mistakes happen. Don't let this shake your confidence."

I mustered a shallow nod, unable to form proper words. She gave me a sympathetic look and left, likely wanting to find Lyan or at least ensure no further conflict arose. That left me alone by the desks. My mind reeled, replaying every humiliating misstep. I couldn't even give directions without messing up. Lyan has every right to be furious, I thought, though part of me also bristled at his explosive reaction.

"Trey?" a soft voice said behind me.

I turned. Mya stood a few steps away, arms folded protectively across her chest. Concern filled her eyes. I realized how foolish I must appear, trembling like a leaf. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

I tried to shrug it off, but tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I hated how easily I showed weakness. "I… I'm fine," I lied. "Just… embarrassed."

She tilted her head sympathetically. "It's not your fault. Lyan got a bit too intense."

I let out a shaky laugh with zero humor. "Understatement. I just… I messed up so badly, Mya. We might've been fine if I wasn't so slow. Now he hates me."

Her brow furrowed. "Don't say that. He's upset, but we all saw how he rushed you when the roles were reversed. You're not the only one who struggled."

I sank into a nearby chair, burying my face in my hands for a moment. My voice sounded muffled when I finally spoke. "Why do I keep failing at stuff like this? Navigation, fighting, even basic tasks. I'm so far behind everyone."

She pulled out a chair next to me, sitting close, a gentle presence I desperately needed. "You're not behind," she insisted softly. "We're all learning. Bruen's good at focus, but not so great at subtlety. Finn is lazy, even if he's quick-witted. Lina daydreams too much to concentrate. Everyone has weaknesses. You just… had a tough partner." She smiled a little, but it was a rueful smile. "You didn't deserve to be yelled at."

I let her words wash over me. They helped, somewhat, but the ache in my chest persisted. "I wish my sister were here," I blurted, surprising even myself with how raw it sounded.

Mya's eyes lit with understanding. "She'd know how to cheer you up, right?"

I nodded, sniffing. "She's… unstoppable. When I was little, she'd just crack some ridiculous joke—like a dad joke, but so lame that I couldn't help laughing. She always turned things around."

"That must be nice," Mya said quietly. "You're lucky to have someone like that."

"Yeah," I whispered. "She's out on a long quest now. I don't even know when she's coming back." I tried to smile, but it felt shaky. "I just… I'd love her to say something corny right now, so I could roll my eyes but secretly feel better."

Mya offered a small laugh that had genuine warmth in it. "If you want corny, I could give it a try, but I doubt I'm as good as your sister."

A breathy chuckle escaped me, tension easing a fraction. "Thanks. But you being here is already enough."

She placed a hand lightly on my forearm, a gesture of support. Neither of us spoke for a moment, the classroom around us eerily quiet after the day's drama. Finally, I realized we should probably head out. "Class is over," I said, my voice subdued.

Mya stood, collecting her things. "I can walk you home, if that's okay. I'd rather not leave you alone when you look so down."

That gentle offer almost broke me. I blinked a few times, swallowing my surge of gratitude. "That'd… be nice," I managed.

We left the classroom, stepping into the now-empty corridor that led out of the guild's quieter wing. Occasionally, I saw other adventurers drift past the main hall with their own business, but none of them paid attention to two kids leaving a classroom. Our footsteps echoed, and I replayed the fiasco in my head. The stinging embarrassment wasn't going away anytime soon, but at least Mya's calm presence softened the blow.

She didn't bombard me with questions or force small talk. Instead, we found a comfortable silence as we exited the guild hall and ventured onto the city street. Late afternoon light slanted across the rooftops, bathing everything in a hazy golden glow. The bustle of daily life continued around us—merchants barking about wares, passersby rushing with errands, a stray cat weaving between barrels.

"How's your sister, by the way?" Mya asked softly after a while, perhaps sensing I needed a distraction.

I shrugged. "She's strong. I know she'll be all right, wherever she is. She's done harder quests before." I paused, biting my lip. "Still, I miss having her around."

Mya nodded in understanding. "I only have my mom, but I know how lonely it feels when she travels for alchemy supplies." She offered a small smile. "Maybe one day we'll be out there doing bigger quests together, not just missing people."

A flicker of hope stirred in me. "Yeah… I hope so. I want to be strong, like Myrina. Or at least… not a liability."

Mya raised an eyebrow. "You're not a liability, Trey. You helped me with that herbalist job, remember? We did fine."

I remembered that day—my first successful errand. "We did," I agreed, the memory bringing a faint smile to my lips. "But I still have a long way to go."

She patted my arm encouragingly. "We all do." Her voice carried a gentle firmness that made me feel less alone in my struggles.

Soon enough, we reached the quiet neighborhood where my home stood. The streets here were narrower, lined with modest houses. Myrina's and my place was on the smaller side, a single-story abode with a simple wooden door and a faintly creaking porch. I hesitated a moment in front of it, turning to Mya.

"Thanks for walking with me," I said, trying to inject gratitude into my words. "I appreciate it. Really."

She responded with a shy smile. "I'm here if you need to talk, or practice or… anything. Don't hesitate to ask."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "See you next time, okay?"

She gave a small wave, then turned to head back toward her own route, leaving me alone on the doorstep. A sigh leaked from my lips as I slipped inside. The house was silent—of course. Myrina wasn't back. Despite expecting that, a small pang of disappointment pulled at me.

I set my school things down, noticing how empty the living area felt without Myrina's boots or gear strewn around. Typically, she'd greet me with a teasing remark or a story of her day. Now, all that remained were the faint shadows cast by the setting sun. I realized how exhausted I felt, both physically from the day's tension and emotionally from the confrontation with Lyan.

After splashing some water on my face to clear away the grime and dried sweat, I trudged to my bedroom. I didn't bother with dinner, my appetite lost in the swirl of guilt and embarrassment over the failed exercise. The bed's thin blanket felt strangely welcoming as I slumped onto the mattress.

My thoughts spun: Lyan's furious glare, Bruen holding him back, Mya's supportive words. The memory of Mya's gentle assurance softened some of the day's edge, but my mind still zeroed in on how incompetent I must have looked in front of everyone. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the negativity to recede.

"I'll do better," I whispered into the quiet room, my voice hardly above a breath. "I have to."

If Myrina were here, she'd probably deliver another cringe-inducing joke about navigating chairs. I almost laughed at the idea, wondering what pun she'd craft. Something about chairs having "legs," too, or how "it was a walk in the dark." As silly as it sounded, the mere mental image of her grin warmed me from the inside.

Yawning, I pulled the blanket closer, letting my fatigue take over. I didn't know what tomorrow would hold—maybe more errands, more lessons, or another attempt at a group exercise. But I clung to the hope that eventually, I could redeem myself. I could become someone who didn't crumble under pressure, someone who navigated a maze or faced a quest with steady resolve. Someone like my sister.

I drifted off with that quiet resolve. The day had been painful, humiliating, and draining, yet it also revealed how fiercely some people believed in me—like Mya, or Nanda's gentle attempt to reassure me, or even Bruen for stepping in before Lyan could hurt me. Maybe, step by step, I'd find my footing. And maybe, just maybe, I'd learn to laugh at lame jokes and keep pushing forward in spite of every stumble.

For now, though, all I could do was sleep and hope that the next morning brought a little less stumbling and a little more confidence.