If Flesh-Scribed excelled at anything other than physical aspects, it was perception. They listened intently, peered around carefully, and drank in their environment whenever possible. Of course, it had its practical reasons. A mistake in assuming safety could lead to a sudden and untimely death. The thought made her phantom eye itch uncomfortably. Following behind Harbinger in rigid step, Kayha scratched idly at the lower lid of her right eye. Prioritizing input mattered just as much. Deciding to tune out the voices of the students other than those following the path of the soldier, she kept her ears open, but focused on the architecture.
Six wings, but four paths. Curiosity gnawed at her. What lay down the other two? No time to find out just now. Her eyes briefly passed over the iconography of the other path wings. Blunderbuss, gear, half note, and flame. All things with an old essence, improved upon by time. Then again, monster hunting was equally as tied to that idea. Monster always had and always would hunt men, and men would always fight to their last breath to keep this world under their control. Blunderbuss to high-powered sniper rifle, simple gear to mighty tanks, wavering half note to sonic weaponry, crude flame to flamethrowers. Really, all quite apt.
Kayha's living eye gently passed over everyone, assigning them temporary values, her brain forcing rigid order into something as-of-yet nebulous and uncertain. Structure overlaid every part of her life up to this point, and having it all suddenly replaced with unknowns... unsettled her. She itched at the bottom of her false eye again and adjusted the way her swords lay on her back. Not having spoken to any of them herself, she tried to rate them purely on physical appearance, placing the cyborg somewhere near the top and the white-haired young man somewhere near the bottom. Her eyebrows twitched together ever so slightly. These first days... would be full of strange conflicts and showmanship.
The small caravan train of students and teacher came to an abrupt stop. The Flesh-Scribed came to almost as sudden a stop, crisply straightening up. Listening intently to Harbinger's words, she nodded internally. Of course, an orientation day. Smart. It gave time for preliminary hierarchies to form. Keeping beasts captive - most likely monsters - she didn't agree with. Not because Kayha felt bad for enslaved creatures, but simply because they belonged in the ground rather than on it.
A voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Both eyes turned to lock on the speaker before she turned. The cyborg. Blinking slowly, she willed her gem eye into activating. The strangeness of having binocular vision threw her off for a few seconds, and Kayha lifted her arms out ever so slightly to keep her balance under the assault. The pale blue of her aquamarine iris glowed with a soft inner light. Perhaps here, away from all the many, many mages of The Inquisition, its sensitivity to magical energy wouldn't bother her.
Reaching out, she took the cyborg's hand in one of her gloved ones and gave a single, incredibly firm shake. The leather of her glove squeaked a little as she did so. Patraeko's name bounced around in her head, refusing to sit well in her English-primary mind. For one of the first times, she was glad she didn't actually have to say it out loud. Her hands began in the familiar sign of her home, but she caught herself this time and re-started in the common sign. "I am Kayha Bladeguard. That's a good idea. Training facilities and sleeping quarters are probably most important to find first."
Anticipating possible difficulty, the warrior paused for a moment. Reaching into one of the pockets on her waist-length, dark jacket, she fumbled around for something she'd made just for this occasion. Grappling it while wearing gloves was harder than she expected, but after a moment she fished out a small white card. Printed in plain black text on the small piece of cardstock were the words, "I am Kayha Bladeguard. I am mute." She handed it over to Patraeko and awaited his response.