School of the Prestige - Sicarius #1

The train had been on the tracks for quite a while. And that did not include the time during the journey moving from coach to coach before. Silkthorn had managed to sleep through much of the long and uneventful escort, though the introduction of more passengers had made the experience more and more restless and much less soundless. Though it was not as if Alastair was unable to doze off through sudden uproars; in fact, quite the opposite. But because, along with the increased number of complete strangers within breathing distance of him, he was also traveling deeper and deeper into territory utterly alien to him, and therefore dangerous. As such, every instinct he had told him to stay as wide awake as possible and be ready for anything. Which was less than ideal because Alastair liked to sleep. He liked it very much.

As the time dragged on, in complete contrast to the scenery outside the compartment, Alastair Silkthorn observed his fellow soon-to-be-enrolled students with interest. Some were as silent as he was. Others were causing a ruckus, and many were chatting, seemingly utterly carefree. Many spoke with the formal delivery expected from those within prominent households, but many more spoke with accents as distinctive as their complexions. There were five coaches attached to the train, each filled with young teens, and they were all, excluding the staff who had been serving them with snacks and refreshments, supposedly the latest batch of the best and brightest in Britannia and beyond. The youth selected to be worthy to become future leaders of the country.

Alastair pondered what other criteria his apparent equals were measured by. Because if it had been only the entrance exam, then those waiting to arrive at their new home would not be so diverse behaviour-wise. Perhaps they did research into family background and past record prior to the exam. If so, what was determined as desirable and as not, and how? Perhaps the examiners were making note of visible personality traits.

My own certainty had a watchful gaze.

Moreover, why would they allow students to possess said diversity? Would the Nationalists want their next generation to be from a strict inner circle and follow a strict form of conformity?

A puzzle to contemplate later. When more data becomes available.

Because, finally, the train was on its final leg of their journey and began the gradual decline in speed. The views from the windows swiftly blurred from the bright green of the countryside to the dark grey of the urban sprawl. The other students noticed, and their chatter amplified with excitement. No doubt this was the first time most, if not all, of them had caught a glimpse of London.

The Capital City of Britannia had experienced countless struggles throughout history, from the Great Fire to the Blitz Bombings of World War Two and the most recent tragedy, which reshaped the realm itself. And every single time, the city had recovered and rebuilt. In the far distance, they were able to see the heart of London. The Tower of Albion, the Trafalgar Monument, and the one eclipsing them all among the many, many flagpoles. The Westminster Citadel. A vast superstructure of both ancient-inspired and modern architecture, the centrepiece of power, and the primary residence of one of the most powerful men in the world.

Alastair knew for a fact that the view from the coaches which they were experiencing was a deliberate feature of their journey. The designers wanted new students to witness to the latest achievements of the era, to see for themselves the kind of future within reach if they worked hard enough, and to inspire them to go on to forge their own contributions. And from what he could see, it did.

As the train continued to slow down, the tracks curved away, and the view faded into the background once again. The students returned to their seats, disappointed. But they did not wait for much longer until they finally stopped and arrived at their destination.

The Prometheus School of Advanced Learning and Excellence. The most elite of the elite schools in the country. Where the most prestigious youth in the country and beyond, starting from the age of thirteen, would reside on the grounds separate from the outside world until graduation. What made Prometheus School earn its extraordinary status in education was its proclaimed revolutionary teaching methods.

After the passing of the first of their laws, the Nationalist Party pushed through Parliament; they declared to the British people their decades-long plan to not only catch up with the rest of the world, but eventually overtake them as the new superpower. To embrace change, and to push the limits of their children as well as to seek out and nurture their most gifted. Despite the controversy around said methods in the beginning, they proved to work. One hundred percent of graduates enter the best universities or the highest areas of employment in government or the private sector.

However, the elite school remained a constant target of criticism from both dissidents and radicals, as well as parts of whatever remained from the previous establishment. The latter voiced opposition to institutions like Prometheus merely due to their lack of standing as a result. The former, on the other hand, used the school as a prime example of the “oppression and exploitation from the regime”, and detailed it in their message of “all men are created equal." Even though that was evidently not the case.

Hierarchy and civilisation are as intertwined and as interconnected as the systems within a single human body. With every ruling echelon throughout history, there was also a lower workforce to sustain itself, and vice versa. This was as fundamental and as undeniable as gravity. And yet, many still maintained the idea that “true equality” could be accomplished. Although if such a society could come into existence, it would ironically be unfair to the select who possessed exceptional talent and will to pursue it.

Of course, the leaders of those groups would never admit to such a concept aloud. Assuming they were indeed capable of that kind of reflection. If they were to do so, they would have to let go of their absurd fantasy where there is only one solution.

The school grounds were located on one of the further outskirts of London. Too far from most, if not all, common residents, but not so far as to be considered outside of the sprawling metropolis. Where the urban grey and the rural green collided. The campus covered hundreds of thousands of square metres of ground, and from what Alastair could see, consisted of several buildings in the immediate vicinity which were clearly meant for classrooms and administration, and several others as faint silhouettes whose function was not as obvious from where he stood after exiting the train station with his bag.

The flagpole at the entrance flew two distinct flags. Both as iconic as each other. The first was the red, white and blue of the Union Jack. And the second bore the midnight blue, with the golden torch at the centre and a crown below the hilt, symbolising the ruling faction of Britannia.

The weather that day was neither particularly cloudy nor cloudless. Sunbeams sliced downwards from the sky like pillars in an instant, then disappearing and reappearing just as quickly. Which was expected regarding the current season.

The scenery and surroundings became briefly hazed as Alastair collected himself and directed his focus inward. As of that moment, he was a blank slate among a sea of blank slates in a place where first impressions will in all likelihood mark one until graduation. Which was why it was vital he recalled his previous training. First, start small.

Alastair moved his eyelids closer and closer together until he could only see blackness. Then he cracked them open, and willed them further and further apart.

Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open.

It did not feel natural to him. Until recently, Alastair Silkthorn never attempted to get in the habit of blinking. He simply did not see the point in doing so. It did not make sense to close his eyes if not for the means of rest. But since it was considered normal to blink regularly and within half a second, he had no choice but to get into the habit; not least, he wanted to avoid attracting unwanted attention before his first year officially started.

As he began to redirect his attention back outwards, next came the more taxing aspect of the training. He marched through the massive archway and into the elitest of the elite schools. Alastair had learned some time ago that the average person was nowhere close to possessing a fraction of his own observation. But the Prometheus School of Advanced Learning and Excellence was not the home of the average. Therefore, it was paramount that he took every precaution to project an aura of normalcy to reinforce his story.

A prime example of those precautions was how he moved his body while walking. If Alastair were to do so as he had done in the past, he was informed that he would become the target of both ridicule and suspicion. Which was why he was walking formally, yet not rigidly. Calm, yet not laid back.

Sweet spot - for wanting of a better term.

Once, it appeared like he was successfully blending into the background of the sea of new students in the midday light; Alastair allowed his mind to drift to a question which he had been scratching at him since the train. The name of his new home.

According to the mythology of Ancient Greece, Prometheus defied the gods by stealing the gift of fire and giving it to the mortals. While he was met with eternal punishment, his deed was not undone. Ensuring their survival and, whether it was intentional or not, triggering the birth of Western civilisation.

In view of what the Nationalist Party aimed to do through their school, as well as their narrative of Britannia against the powers that be, it made sense that they would choose the name. However, it did not fit into their narrative of British superiority. Instead of selecting an option from their own ancient history, the architects of Prometheus School voted to select a word from the history of one of their rivals.

Perhaps, after much consideration, they decided to go with a name which was more globally recognised? If so, they must have thought that some of the more zealous Nationalists would take notice and see it as an offence. Or maybe said zealots did not hold nearly enough deciding power in the Party to reverse such a decision?

Nevertheless, it is somewhat amusing for them to give the impression that some countries were better than them at some things from the get-go of the era they sought to cultivate.