THE HOUNDS THE KINGS THE PACK WOLF'S CHOICE THE ROCKIN' ROLLAS THE VUCARI THE PRIDE

The biometric lock on the door clicks open and the hydraulics on the door of Kaz’s Safehouse (a condo unit on the 27th floor of a high-tech condo in QC which his grandfather may or may not own) swoosh open.

He dumps his bags onto the floor of the studio with a sigh, remembering the conversation he had with his parents in their study before they reluctantly let him walk out of the door.

“It’s a sabbatical, Ma, lots of kids take one.” he reasoned, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Yes, when they’re much older - not fifteen and have barely gotten their feet wet.” she replies, arms crossed, her blue Netsach coat gracefully draped over them.

Having an Inquisitor for a mother had never been an easy thing, and that was compounded by the fact that his grandmother, and, in fact, most of his extended family happened to be hunters affiliated with the major Conspiracies. It all made for very, very large shoes to fill - never mind the fact that also he happened to be a Zobel de Ayala of those Zobel de Ayalas.

Karlo Antonio Zobel de Ayala. It was the kind of name that opened doors, that got you what you wanted (something his older sister Nicolette knew very well.) His family being one of the many reasons he called himself Kaz.

“Kaz. Anak, why now? I’ve read reports about you in school - you’re doing well enough.”

His father has rarely ever questioned his decisions, accepting that the fact that his son had a mind of his own and that he rarely needed guidance. But he was here now, a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“I need the break, Pa.” is all he offers.

He doesn’t tell them that it’s hard to be a Zobel de Ayala at St. Quincy’s. It’s hard to be fifteen and not be exceptional at everything; to be third in one class, sixth in another. No, the distinction of number one never appealed to Kaz - but then, it did to everyone else - and by (the) God(dess) it was a pain in the neck to deal with. The fact that he was also aware that his mother kept regular tabs on him had begun to really rain on whatever parade he had going.

"I don't see what the fuss is about. You're my son. This shouldn't be a problem." His mother quips, looking quite pointedly at her pristine fingernails.

Kaz is on his feet before he realizes it, his voice raised in defiance.

"THERE! THAT'S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM, MA! I'M NOT AS GOOD AS YOU, I WORK AS HARD AS I CAN AND SOMEHOW, IT'S NEVER GOOD ENOUGH.

He's hardly paused for breath, and he knows he's pushing at a sore spot.

The only reason I'm at St. Quincy's is because of what my last name is. Being around all those elites... It doesn't work out so great all the time. I don't have Ate Nic's brains, or the twins' talent... I just... I'm so tired."

The silence of the study is deafening. It feels like an hour before anyone speaks.

"How long do you need?" His mother asks quietly.

"I... I do-"

"I need to know how long a sabbatical you need before you decide whether or not you want to continue at St. Quincy's, Kaz."

There's sadness and acceptance in Alexia's voice, and Kaz almost wants to take it all back when his father speaks up from his desk.

"Six months, Karlo Antonio. That's the maximum we can get you with St. Quincy's before they terminate you as their student."

Kaz looks at his dad questioningly, because rarely ever has he interfered on his son's behalf. Antonio only ever put his foot down when it came to Nicolette's lifestyle choices, and the use of both Kaz's names makes it perfectly clear that this is a serious matter. But there is only worry in his dad's voice and none of the dismissive cadence that his mother had employed.

"Well, I can see that a decision has been made. I suppose you’ll be staying here the entire time?”

The ice is replaced with resignation - though he’s very aware that his mother will want to push, want to make him go back, or worse. She’s already got door of the study open, striding out - presumably to head back to the Falner Estate.

“No. I’d like some time on my own, Ma.”

She turns around, shrugging her coat on as she does. The next thing she does - with a sigh - is lay down the rules that they’d long-ago discussed when any of them wanted time away.

“You will text us as soon as you get to your safehouse, then your grandparents; You will come home every Sunday for dinner at the very least; If you plan on going out at night, you will let us know where and with whom. Are we clear?”

She fixes him with the same stare that’s always clearly stated 'I love you' before leaving him with his father. He prays it doesn't turn into a fight between them later.

"That went well, I think." His dad quips, "Don't be so hard on your Ma, Karlo. She didn't say that you're her son to make you feel bad."

His dad gives him an affectionate hair ruffle and sends him off to pack, saying that he has to let his Mamita know what Kaz's plans are.

And that was how he ended up at his personal safehouse. All the children of Antonio and Alexia Zobel de Ayala had one - and his was the most secluded. He'd shot off texts to his family once he'd settled in, stripping out of his uniform and mucking about his favorite pair (read: really worn) jogging pants and a tank top that had seen better days.

'This is the right thing to do... Right?' He thinks, sprawled out on the couch.

It had gotten to be a little too much... Training, studying, competing, and living up to the expectations of the people around him. Kaz was well aware that the friends he had at school were only his friends because of his family, which stung, really - because the things they did weren't his style. But it was the only way to survive, until it wasn't anymore. He'd really just had enough of all of them, and those were his last thoughts as he drifted into sleep.

Kaz starts awake a little after ten in the evening, because it’s dark and his phone is ringing off the hook: it’s his big sister, probably calling to offer to take him out with her friends.

“Ate, it’s late” he snarks.

“On a Friday, little brother. Honestly, are you fifty? We should be enjoying ourselves. C’mon… I hear you’re on sabbatical from school, how’s about we hit the clubs and find you a boy to distract you from Ma?”

He almost says no.

He almost hangs up on her and stomps off to bed.

He almost doesn’t sigh and open his mouth to say “I could use a drink.”

Almost.

Nicolette swung by unaccompanied, because her brother should look the part if they plan on going out, and if he plans on getting a guy to notice him. Kaz is nicely built for fifteen, but the glasses and the general air of “nope, nope and nope” tend to diminish that.

“Oh God, do you not have ANY fashion sense at all? You’re gay for crying out loud. Dadi Dan is always so well-dressed and you look like a hobo.”

To be fair, he hadn’t expected she would be nearby, ready to swoop on him (and how the hell did she get access to his safehouse), and he’d just woken up - a fact that he informs her of.

“Excuse you, ate. Kakagising ko lang.”

He harrumphs and she smiles, sauntering over to the closet digging out the really skinny black jeans she’d bought for him out of the pile of jeans stored in his closet. How she does that, Kaz will never know. After some consideration, she also digs out a black shirt that has the words “Where Did the Party Go” written on it, and a cream colored cardigan, with red and blue bands on the cuffs. She nods and then whips around at her brother.

“You. Ligo na! Allie and Jacks are on their way here.”

She shoos him into the bathroom and tells him to scrub everywhere, and that he won’t be wearing his glasses tonight.

Relik has changed very little since it first opened half a century and some change ago. From what Kaz was told, it was pretty much the same, only smaller. Screens float around, matching visuals to the beat that the DJ is dropping; friends mill around each other, talking, drinking - bouncers flit around making sure things are okay - one of them is actually tiny, as opposed to her
colleagues - and Kaz wonders if she’s something.

Being a minor, he isn’t allowed alcohol, but that not stopping his sister (eighteen, supermodel sexy, and much to his horror, friends with the owner) from slipping him a cocktail or two across the table of their booth (there’s way less alcohol in it than normal anyway, but she’s not telling him that). The place is still quite mellow as far as most clubs are nowadays, but the beats are great, but… This really isn’t where he wants to be, he realizes. So that’s what he tells his sister, a few hours into the night, when he’s switched to milk to ward off the mild tingling of the alcohol in his system.

Kaz steps out into the streets alone, content to let his sister have her fun - though he reminds her that she’s got stuff to do tomorrow. It’s not all that warm, and there’s a light breeze blowing through the trees as he walks on, not quite intent on heading back to his current home just yet.

‘So now what?’ he thinks to himself, and he sighs, because he really has no idea what to do next. The contact lenses sting but maybe that’s because he isn’t used to it yet. The walk he takes is long and brings him further away from the clubs, into the quieter stretches of BGC - well, quieter at night. The first thing on his mind is how his mother had reacted to him asking to take a break from St. Quincy’s, how his father had interceded, and how he would probably be hearing from one - or all three of his grandparents - soon.

He’s flagging down a cab when he sees four motorcycles roaring down the street, their riders dressed in midnight blue coats flapping in the wind.

“Netsach hunters…” He mutters, not without a hint of curiosity in his voice. He smiles, because at one point, he imagined himself among their number, but now he’s not so sure. The taxi he finds is nice, and the driver amiable, so Kaz tips him nicely when he gets dropped off.

It’s four A.M., and he’s sent off text messages to his family stating that he’s home and he’s safe. He falls asleep sooner than expected, the TV set on low, just noise in the background.

Hikaru Shinta is an idiot. I learned his origins at his request and I accosted him in the Great Hall. The Weapon. The Wolf. I acted... Inapproprately. Oddly, I like Hikaru. Not like-like, but I do think of him as a friend - a friend who looks my age but is a couple of thousand years old, in reality. A friend who's actions have somehow brought me together with an Obrimos Mage, a Bladian, a Sin Eater, and a Changeling. My Blade.

I believe my Blademates are disappointed in me (except Brianna, but I don't quite know how to read that girl yet, and she wasn't around). They have every right to be, but at the same time, I think they might understand me more. I feel like I've been selfish - and immature, throwing a tantrum like I did. I knew what Hikaru was when he first spoke to me weeks ago. I knew he was dangerous. In spite of that, and I suppose because Balamb has changed me, I started to regard him as a friend. Right now, I wonder if that is a mistake.

I've been told that Hikaru never does things at random. There is a rhyme and reason to the things he does. Perhaps I need to talk to Mamita about Hikaru. Or perhaps... I need to let it lie. After all, I have a long way to go before I can ask El-Inquisitor Tagabigay if he'd be willing to teach me Lightning Song. Maybe I'll ask Alistair to teach me Seth's Storm when I'm ready. And when I can shoot a gun properly, because let's face it, I'm really bad with a gun.

I mention that Hikaru is an idiot. I say that with much affection, even though I should probably be more appropriate around him from now on. He is, after all, an Inquisitor. My boss. My better. Hmph. It'd be easier if he were a crochety old man and not twenty-one.

Now I wonder... and I know I shouldn't. How long does he have left in this lifetime?