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There was a boy at Elsewhere and they called him Gear.
They called him such for he always wore a necklace, one with a single iron gear threaded onto simple leather string.
Gear had been at Elsewhere for a long time now, long enough to pass into common word and chatter. He was as much part of the institution as the lecture halls, or the library, or the forest. Word was that when you had troubles, no matter of what sort, you'd go to the garden and find Gear. It wasn't hard, he always sat on the bench beneath the oak tree, just behind the wall, facing the rest of the gardens. He was always reading or writing, always doing something related to the lectures.
You noticed, sometimes, when your mind was sharp and your sight fair, that Gear was sitting in your lectures. He was always looking down at his notes, and always sat all the way in the back row.
Eventually, you told someone. They looked at you, knowingly, and told you he sat in their lectures too. In fact, he sat in all lectures, even if they were at the same time. Gear was seemingly in every lecture at once as well as in the gardens, always helping someone out.
You knew that wasn't normal, but you knew that Gear, with his warm, earthen eyes, couldn't be one of the Gentry. He was too grounded, too normal, too human still.
You came to him a few times and observed others seek his aid often enough. Lecture Notes, directions through the gardens or the library, studying advice or advice on rules of the games, the important ones, those where you bet a part of yourself, or even help with getting a taken friend back, Gear knew it all and helped with all.
Yet he always rejected thanks. He always just smiled, touched the gear around his neck and said "I'm just doing my part".
One day, you offered him cookies. Freely given, of course, you knew he wouldn't accept them otherwise. He thanked you nonetheless and put them away, into his bag that seemingly held an endless supply of paper and lecture notes.
From then on, small things changed. Whenever he helped you, his notes seemed more detailed than what the professor had even said, his directions were clearer and easier to remember and he'd ask if you and your friends were alright. He had never asked questions before, just "done his part" as he had said so often.
One day, you had a different request from all before. "Guide me to you", you said, and he understood that somehow, you knew. For the first time, he closed his book and stood up from the bench. You went into the library, deeper and deeper, until you knew that the books there were forbidden and time was warped.
And then, finally, sitting at a desk you saw a boy, reading one of those same forbidden books without a care in the world, with a gear around his neck. He looked up at you. Warm, earthen eyes.
"Hello there" he said, in a soft voice. As you looked behind you, the Gear that led you here was gone. "You're the only one to have ever asked me to guide you here, you know?" he continued "You deserve to know my story, my secret." And he told you. All of his story, all of who he was, all he had helped before and all he knew he would help after you.
When you were done, he stood up and led you back outside, back to the oak tree. He smiled at you. "If you ever have need of me again, you know where to find me" he said, with a bit more life and laughter than ususal. "Until then, I just do my part."
You did seek him out after that too. Sometimes to seek help, often times to just talk or give something to him. When you eventually, finally graduated, you saw him stand there, waving at you. And then he was gone, but you knew he would always be there.
There was a boy at Elsewhere and they called him Gear.