I must be hallucinating. I must have drunk one too many tequins while meandering around the night market, and now I’m lying in a ditch drunk on acid, dreaming about having all my money back.
I pinched myself. It hurt.
Half dazed and half shocked, I took the pouch by the mouth and picked it up. It appeared almost the same as the last time I’d held it, albeit slightly more scratched and perhaps… I weighed it in my hand. It was quite a bit lighter.
I spent a while longer staring at the thing in my hand, turning it over and listening to its soft clinking.
But how…?
I scanned my room: wardrobe, shut; en suite door, closed; bed, a little rumpled; window, half open; the door behind me was locked when I entered. The window, then. It was left open from when I decided to let some air in, this afternoon.
I examined it closer: it had a simple windup opener, and was open about one hand width. An intruder could reasonably reach in and wind the spinner until it was wide enough to allow entry. However, below the window was 15 metres of flat concrete. There was no way anyone could scale that wall, not to mention hold on while using one hand to wind open the window.
There was a small window above the lavatory, but a mesh covered the opening. The rest of the bedroom also yielded nothing.
I turned to the coin pouch, and glared at it, as if glaring hard enough would reveal the answers.
I sighed. It did not reveal the answers.
I slumped onto the bed. I supposed I should be happy, since I had gotten my money back, but the elation was counterbalanced by the possibility of someone breaking into my room.
I took the pouch and laid the coins out. Aubers and agems, with a few cunis and sinks I’d gotten with my purchases. They were all hexagonal, about two centimetres wide, with small circular holes in the centre. I ran my thumb over the flowered imprint, six petals an auber, five an agem and so on.
I was suddenly brought back to building coin towers as a child. I would stack them up into walls and fortresses, hundreds of them, loving how they fit together so snugly. Holding my little wooden sword, even though my lack of talent for swordsmanship always dismayed father.
I shook my head. Why was I thinking such things?
I… was tired.
Am tired. I don’t know where I found the energy to pull out my diary and write, except maybe from a need to record these things…
These once-in-a-lifetime moments…
Father always talked about his army days. He had this fiery glint in his eyes whenever he did.
…What will I feel when I reminisce about these times?
10/2/3 Sunday Rainy
I spent Saturday morning examining my room and the hotel. Did they disguise as a cleaner to get in? Did the thieves return the money out of good conscience? But it was no use. I never did get anywhere. I had a million possibilities running through my head–still do, but none of them are believable enough to write.
So I put it out of my head, uneasily.
I am not stupid. If pondering gets me nowhere, then I won’t waste my time with it.
I did split my money into three separate bags and keep one hidden under my bed at all times though.
I spent the better half of Saturday lazing around and reading The Sister Cities of Commerce, Van Wiederbelt. I wasnt being lazy, it’s just my catboy nature! Just look at my fluffy ears and swishy tail. The laziness is purely genetic.
And yes I can hear and see better than any average human. And yes I hate that light magic also sears my eyeballs every time I use it.
…What was I saying?
I visited Riyem Academy on Sunday, but they were closed. There were three metre tall brick and hedge walls, so I couldn’t see anything either. I did manage to find a small gap between the branches and peeked inside. There was a lush green campus with criss crossing stone paths, plenty of shade and many benches with tables around. The open space made me want to transform and zoom across campus…
Then I tried on my uniform. There was a white shirt, a grey blazer jacket, shorts and strappy black boots. I admired myself in the mirror. The boots made me look punk, and the blazer was fitted nicely. The charcoal grey matched my lighter grey hair, sort of making me look like a photograph, save my emerald green eyes and the subtle blue trims.
Taking a closer look, I found runes of protection scribed artfully over the blazer, both the active runes, with their two concentric outer rings and passive runes, with their two overlapping ones. Runes are one of the mandatory subjects of the Academy, and would come in very useful in combat.
Most of the other students probably didn’t know what the circles with erratic symbols meant, but father, being the military man he was,drilled all the essential runes into me. Maybe it would finally be put to use, here at the academy.
I also found lead weights in the boots. I had no clue why any sane mage would add weights to their boots. I removed them and replaced them with the sugar packets I stole from the train.
That was twenty minutes ago. I’m going to take a nap and wake up around dinnertime.
10/2/4 Monday Clouds!
I’d intended to sleep about two hours, but I slept 15 hours to wake up 7 AM today…
Catboys with their cattributes, I suppose.
I had about two hours until the ceremony began, so I rolled around in bed for an hour and a half and was almost late.
At campus, I was directed by staff into the gymnasium, where a speech was being held. There were grandstands set up against three walls and crammed full of students. I had to stand by the doorway to listen.
“I would like to welcome every student in this hall to another year at Riyem Military Academy,” a sonorous voice stated.
“To the students returning, I hope this year proves even better than your last, and to those who join us for the first time today, I am certain the Academy will not disappoint.”
He continued to speak for a while, before allowing the students to make their way to their forms. Our student cards had our class number in the bottom corner. A number for our year level, followed by a symbol or letter. According to some theories, the school organised its forms to create very specific alignment balances, and your symbol represented the way the form is organised.
I had a 1 followed by a stylised d. I wondered what it meant, if anything at all.
I looked around as he spoke. The students seemed to be grouped by year level, with each year level taking one grand stand. The first years wore identical blazers to mine. Looking over, I didn’t see many students with muted blue trimmings, at most fifteen, out of perhaps three hundred first years. Shame. The colour of the trimmings represented a mages alignment, and mute blue was for light mages.
Beyond that, there are innate magical signatures marked into a person’s equipment, which can also be a sign of alignment. A build-up of excessive magic power, which can sometimes cause side effects. One reason why borrowed equipment isn’t preferred. I’ll need to keep that in mind if I ever lose something.
The second years had knee length coats and darker undershirts, which looked extremely badass, while the third years had floor length cloaks that looked extremely nice to curl up in.
After the speech ended, we were rounded up and directed to our classrooms to ‘bond with our classmates’, which, for a cat like me, is the most terrifying thing ever. My classroom was somewhere on the second level, and I simply knew I would get distracted by all the birds flitting about the treetops. Like that robin there. Staaaaare…
The classroom was clean and bright, but very bare. Chalkboard at the front, a stage and lectern for the teacher and wooden desks arranged neatly, facing forward. A very militaristic setup.
Students were filing into the room and chattering nervously. There was an air of apprehension, about the form mentor, each other and simply starting at a new school in general. I took a seat by the windows, backrow. It’s very important to claim your seat early, and as much as I would have liked to take the windowsill, I doubted the Academy would appreciate it.
“Form one delta, calm down, take a seat,” a sonorous voice called out.
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A tall, imposing fox woman stalked into the room, metal hands clasped a clipboard and heels clicked against the linoleum floor. She walked straight backed, steps measured, like a soldier.
Students hurriedly took their seats and quieted down. Our mentor scanned the room, brown eyes bore into me, as if she could sniff my deepest secrets with a well measured look.
“Form one delta, I am Major General Zecir-” she began.
“Please do hurry up, Soph! We’re going to be late for our first class!” Someone from outside whined.
“Oh relax, our mentor probably isn’t here yet,” drawled a second, lazy voice.
A tall, ponytailed girl with eyes like hawks pushed the door open.
To find General Zecir glaring at them: the two students who had interrupted her speech. Because hiding behind the ponytailed one was a short girl with cyan coloured hair.
A moment passed where they all glared at each other, each daring the other to speak first.
“Oh my God, please just hurry up and take a seat,” muttered the cyan haired one, basically dragging the taller girl over to a chair and shoving her into it.
The taller one, presumably ‘Soph’, simply chuckled and leant back in her chair.
"As I was saying, I am Major General Zecir of the 8th magic brigade. I will be your mentor for the next three years at Riyem Military Academy. I am your first point of contact with the Academy and should you have any issues, approach me,” she said, looking, to me, very intimidating and unapproachable.
The Major laid down some ground rules and basic expectations, then told us that we would be attending a demonstrative spar between the third years, followed by a meeting with our primary magic instructors, and an early finish. The whole thing felt like a briefing. Brisk and to the point.
So form one delta filed out into the hallway and to an open field, where the sun shone gently and there were no trees nearby. There were seats set up in rows on one side, and that’s where we were led.
“Form, line up in front of the seats. I will conduct a uniform check,” announced the Major.
I found myself at the very end of the line, looking right as she moved, ticking items off a clipboard–where’d she get that from?--and adjusting blazers and skirt lengths.
When she got to me, she asked, “Félis Allariste?”
“Yes Major,” I replied quietly.
She looked me over, “your collar’s crooked. And do something about your hair. It’s too messy.”
I cocked my head, because her tone sounded different from earlier and I couldn’t figure out why.
“Félis, stop looking at me funny and fix your collar.”
I hurriedly straightened it out, then tried, uselessly, to tidy up my forever messy hair. I sighed. When I was in cat form, my fur would always be perfectly pruned and fluffy, but for some reason, when I reverted to human form, it would lose its orderliness.
At least it was still fluffy, I guess.
Then we sat down. We were the first ones there, so I had some time to go over the Major’s speech. But I found my thoughts turning to the dark haired girl, Soph. I had been preoccupied earlier, but the delinquent girl seemed familiar. Had I met her before?
Glancing discreetly at her hunched form, I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.
Other students had arrived and were filing into the rows behind us. Before long, all the first years were sat at the edge of the padded area, and the air was brimming with excitement.
Finally, an white robed instructor walked to the centre of the stage, and a magically enhanced voice boomed out, “please quiet down, first years.” Despite his bent back and grey hair, he stood confidently, with the composure of a hawk, squinty brown eyes lively and attentive. This was someone important.
The crowd went silent, and he continued, “first years, welcome to this demonstrative sparring match between third year duos. This will be your introduction to magical combat, so watch attentively. Additionally, these four will be involved in some of your assignments in the first semester, and during the field expedition, second term.”
Four figures entered from behind us, waving and smiling, full length cloaks draped over their shoulders like waterfalls of silk. They must be the ones who would be sparring. From a glance, one pair was a dragon and an angel - I could tell from the shape of their wings, and the other a petite little elf and a human. I couldn’t help but feel a little excited at what I was about to witness.
They took their positions on either side of the field, two on each side, and the old instructor stood in the middle, right arm raised. Both sides bowed, and took their positions. The instructor brought his arm down with a bang and a flash, beginning the battle.
I winced and covered my ears. Never sitting at the front again…
The dragon and angel spread their broad wings with a fwump, legs tensed to take flight, but across the field, Shorty stomped the ground, sending a storm of stones hurling across the space,
The icy angel blonde shouted, “bulwark of frost!” and swept an arm across, creating a jagged wall of icicles, deflecting the stones, even as splinters fragmented across the ice.
The dragon boy raised their arm, muttering, “let three streams converge!”, summoning three intricate rings of blue, and pressurised water geysered out, following impossibly straight lines.
Angel froze the water, transforming drops into numerous shards of ice, dangerously tipped and travelling ridiculously fast. I watched in horror as the lanky lamppost of a human was about to get sliced up, but a wall of stone rose up, catching the icicles. If I squinted, I could see the silvery shards had slammed into it so hard, they’d jammed into the stone. So they’re both Earth mages?
My theory was proven wrong when Lamppost moved around the Earthen barricade with two green, shimmering circles floating before their outstretched hands, revealing that he was a Life mage. The two circles flashed, but I couldn’t see his spell, until two thick, grasping vines burst from the ground underneath Dragon and Angel. Angel chanted something incoherently fast, shredding the vine reaching for Dragon with an ice spike, but the second vine caught him, ensnaring his arm.
Dragon managed to take flight, and immediately began casting some higher tier spell, raising her arms and manifesting a comically huge spell circle above her head. Her wings beat against the air, red tail curled in concentration–looking like a giant shrimp sticking out her ass–and the magic circle grew brighter and more defined. It spun above her, looking like a giant shield against the greying clouds overhead.
…
Clouds? There weren't any clouds earlier.
Then I realised. Dragon over here was summoning an entire storm, and if what I saw earlier was any indication, Angel would be turning every droplet into cruel, jagged splinters of ice, raining down from above. There was no way anyone could defend against such a move.
But summoning an entire thunderstorm had to take an immense amount of time and mana. Angel would have to be protecting Dragon the entire time.
And considering the mana he must be consuming… If either Shorty or Lamppost managed to interrupt his casting, he would probably be out of the fight, leaving an unwinnable two on one situation.
Shorty must have known this, because she began casting a spell of her own. Suddenly, thick pillars of stone rose out of the ground, quickly forming a huge staircase where one could potentially leapfrog up to Dragon, hovering almost a hundred metres in the air. But she needed a lot of pillars. I had no idea how, with their Earth and Life magic, the two were going to reach her.
Apparently they didn’t care, because Lamppost started clambering up the pillar staircase, using his long legs to leap between the spaces. By this time, Angel had wrestled free of the vine, and was flying straight for Lamppost. Of course, Shorty wasn’t going to allow this, and a pillar erupted into Angel’s path, sending her spinning off course.
She opted to blast magic at him, yelling, “Winterblitz!” and shooting a zippy crystal of ice.
He raised vines from the Earth pillars to defend himself, slowing the advance. By now Dragon was probably halfway done activating her spell, but he was already halfway between the ground and the top pillar, where he was within range to strike, and ascending far quicker than she could cast. Angel would have to do something quick to stop him from reaching her.
But it was difficult. She was trying to level another clear shot at him, to knock him off the pillars, but at the same time, having to avoid the stones Shorty was pelting with magic. She returned fire, aiming her icicles at Shorty. Shorty fired right back, smashing most icicles apart with a barrage of stones and dodging the rest.
They were evenly matched, but Angel also had to keep an eye on Lamppost, and the lack of concentration was costing her. She grunted as a well aimed stone clipped her right wing. Lamppost was almost within range. She had to do something.
She yelled, and summoned a dome of ice, which landed over Shorty, and flew, with powerful pumps of her wings, towards Lamppost, who was already readying his spell, vines growing from the Earth beneath him.
“Winterblitz!” She shouted, firing a single, rotating crystal of ice at him.
“Springsurge!” He screamed, turning his spell at her instead.
Green vines whipped forth, knocking her spell apart, and went straight for her rapidly approaching figure.
To make matters worse, Shorty had managed to escape and fire a spell. A jagged stone flew through the air, aimed right where she was headed.
It’s over. She won't be able to dodge both of them.
She used precious moments to weave a new spell. Snow sprayed from her boots, accelerating her just a little bit faster, and she adjusted her course–just slightly.
With that, she barely managed to avoid the vine, but the stone found its mark. Right where she’d been hit earlier, shooting through and drawing a spray of blood.
The students around me gasped.
She wouldn’t be able to reach him. Not with a broken wing, and about four metres of distance to cover, even with the speed she was going. She’d slam straight into the unyielding pillar of rock below.
She cried out in pain, but with her left arm, grasped the vine that’d shot past her, and pulled. Somehow, with that pull, and the additional boost from the snow spray, she managed to reach him, colliding into him in a tangle of feathers and blood.
“Evan!” yelled Shorty.
The two fell, screaming and scrabbling at each other.
Lamppost, or Evan was his actual name, managed to do something, and a giant mushroom sprouted beneath them, cushioning their landing. They immediately broke apart, and eyed each other warily.
A drop of water landed on my nose, making me look up.
Dragon stood in the sky, hair whipping in the wind, silhouetted against the dark, roiling clouds above her.
Angel had bought her all the time she needed. The spell was complete. That little drop of water became a drizzle, and then a rain, and then a heavy downpour that drenched everything.
I gasped. My ears will get wet! They flattened against my head, and I tried to cover them with my hands.
Before me, Dragon had flown down, and was wrestling Shorty against the ground.
On the other side, Angel had begun incantating, “O mighty god of frozen rains–”
“We forfeit!” yelled Evan, against the raging storm and Angel’s incantation.
The grey haired instructor suddenly appeared out of nowhere, announcing, “stop! This sparring match is now over!”
Angel sunk to her knees, and Evan slumped onto the giant mushroom, while Dragon and Shorty struggled to disengage arm from wing from tail.
I sat there silently, watching everyone get up and bow, before hi-fives went up all around and Evan began healing Angel’s broken wing.
…That’s what they call a sparring match?
We were led back into the main building, most of us equal measures impressed and scared.
A few others and I entered a classroom, and found the old instructor waiting for us, with that same hawkish composure.