(Dylan)
“And this one—this bad girl,” Ni’ot held up a black shell with her signature smirk, “is called a reaper-round.” She carefully slid it into one loop on the stock sleeve. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Officially, it doesn’t exist, but I’ve been working on a round that sets off a secondary explosion after punching through armor.
“If you run into a tough target, give the reaper-round a shot and let me know how it performs.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Just make sure you’re not too close when it goes off.”
“Noted,” Dylan said, nodding slowly. He adjusted his grip on the shotgun, feeling a bit more cautious now after hearing the warning.
Ni’ot finished loading the pouch with ammo. “You’ve got five light-shots, fifteen mid-shots, and twenty heartstoppers.” She counted them out with a quick tap on her fingers. “Now, which shells do you want for the open slots on your sleeve?”
Dylan took the pouch and slung it over his shoulder, adjusting the strap until it rested comfortably across his chest. The weight of the shells settled against him like a reassuring presence, grounding him in the reality of the coming trial.
“You got any more of those reaper-rounds?” His curiosity piqued as he glanced at the black shell already slotted in the sleeve.
“No, but I like the way you think.” Ni’ot winked, leaning in slightly as her voice carried a playful edge. She gave him an approving nod.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to focus on the task at hand. “I’ll take heartstoppers.” Curiosity about the reaper-round lingered in the back of his mind.
“A man after my own heart,” Ni’ot teased, scooping up four more red shells with a sly grin. She handed them to him, her fingers brushing lightly against his as they made the exchange.
“Anything else I can help you with before the trials tomorrow?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, as if challenging him to think of something else.
“I’ve got to get my hand fixed.” Dylan frowned as he held up his bruised hand, the dark purple mark spreading across the back of it.
She winced at the sight of his fractured hand before flashing him a sympathetic smile. “Ouch, that’s gonna need more than a kiss to fix.”
“Got any tips for me?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to sound casual despite his nervousness.
Ni’ot’s eyes widened in surprise before she let out a low chuckle. “For a second, I thought we were having a very different conversation…” Her tail swished behind her.
She cleared her throat, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Obviously, you’re asking about the trial.”
Ni’ot leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll tell you a secret about the trial. The quest you’re going on is a distraction.” Her voice dropped even lower. “The actual trial will come after you get back.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” he said.
“That’s alright, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She stood up straight, stretching her shoulders. Dylan frowned, still confused but unwilling to press further.
He hadn’t realized how close they had gotten until she pulled back. Her scent reminded him of the sun. The air was cooler now that she wasn’t as close. It wasn’t just his imagination. The heat from her body was real.
The pain in his hand was becoming hard to ignore, a dull throb with each heartbeat. “I think I should get this taken care of. Thanks for the shells.” He patted the pouch on his chest with his good hand.
“Be sure to come back to me in one piece, handsome. The quest might be a distraction, but that doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.” Her playful smile fading just slightly as she spoke.
Auto-manners kicked in, and Dylan said, “Yes, sir,” followed by a curt nod.
“Sir?” Ni’ot raised her eyebrows and placed a hand over her chest. “Oh, I like that.
Those hungry eyes were staring at him again. “Go get your hand fixed before you start something that I’m going to have to finish.” She didn’t wait for a reply and took off toward the crafting studios, her boots echoing lightly in the hallway.
Dylan cradled his throbbing hand. He didn’t know where Nathan was, but the infirmary might have someone who could help, and he had a general idea of where the room was… somewhere in the guildhall.
He found a familiar hallway and followed it to the infirmary. The clinking of vials was his first greeting as he stepped inside, accompanied by the faint scent of herbs and the sterile tang of medicinal salves. He’d been too out of it last time to notice.
A slender Okamijin was restocking the cabinet Nathan had raided the other night, her coat black with white markings on her face and down her neck. She moved with precise, practiced efficiency. As she closed the cabinet door, she acknowledged him with piercing blue eyes, reminding him of a husky.
“Do you need help?” Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I’m looking for Nathan,” Dylan said.
She quickly looked him up and down, resting for a moment on his bruised hand. “You must be the new pup Nathan took in.”
“Yeah, I’m Dylan,” he said.
“An expensive pup at that.” She clicked the cabinet door closed. “We don’t have any alchemists with the ability to conjure healing or mana potions. They have to be made the old-fashioned way, with hard-to-find reagents.
Dylan shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
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“I’m Runemist. Let me see your hand.”
Dylan took a step back. “What are you going to do to it?
“I’m the mender for team Tome & Key. Your hand looks injured, perhaps even broken.” She placed a clawed hand on her hip. “Do you want it healed?”
“Oh good. You’re both here.” Nathan said, appearing in the doorway.
Dylan hadn’t heard him approach and jumped. “Gah! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He placed a hand over his pounding heart.
“Sorry, I heard that Dorian’s team had returned.” Nathan stepped into the room, glancing at Tome & Key’s mender. “Runemist is an excellent mender with the ability to heal your hand.”
She strolled up to Dylan, taking his hand. “Is it just a fracture?” She turned it over, examining it.
“Yes,” Nathan confirmed.
Her eyes lit up with a golden glow, casting faint shadows across her face, and the pain vanished instantly, leaving only a strange warmth behind.
“You still don’t have any abilities that actually heal?” she asked Nathan.
He avoided her gaze, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “No.”
“What good is a mender who can’t do their most basic task?” She dropped Dylan’s hand, folding her arms. “Your brother is right. It’s time to stop dragging your feet. Our teams have to either wait their turn for a mender or risk going without one. Stop being so selfish, glyph up and get out there.”
Nathan quietly nodded; his blue eyes replaced with black.
“If you’ll excuse me. I’ve got to get ready for tomorrow.” She cast a quick glance at both of them. “Guildmaster K’hab recalled my team because they needed a mender to pup-sit for this trial.”
She pushed past them, leaving behind an awkward silence. Dylan was pretty sure black meant Nathan wasn’t in a good place mentally. What Runemist said must have hit him hard.
“Hey, are you okay?” Dylan reached out and placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder.
Nathan looked up and gave him a false smile. “I will be.”
The rest of the day involved Dylan and Nathan figuring out how to put on and take off the padded armor Wedge had picked out for him. The armor’s stiff fabric creaked with each movement, fitting snugly around his chest. Nathan agreed it was probably the best choice, given the short notice. They had both wished Charles had been around to see if he could have resized metal armor. Nathan didn’t think so, though, since outfitting and smithing were usually two separate abilities with minimal overlap.
Nathan went to dinner while Dylan stayed out of trouble. The prismatic elf had given him a book, The Basics of Magic. His curiosity took over as soon as Nathan handed it to him. Hyperfocus set in, and he didn’t realize when his friend had left or that he had moved from his chair to his bed.
The book slipped out of his hands and smacked him in the face when his eyes grew too tired to stay awake. That little maneuver bought him a few more minutes each time it happened, until he was too tired that it failed to wake him. He fell asleep dreaming of the ten categories of magic: alignment, attribute, combat, creature, element, spectrum, mineral, order, profession, and reality.
> Dream 3 - Answers
>
> Dylan sat at his desk in the middle of the classroom, surrounded by his fellow students. The teacher paced at the front, the sharp tap of their shoes echoing in the room as they drilled the students with questions. Each of the other students raised their hand confidently, response at the ready. Every time the teacher called on someone, they had a suitable answer.
>
> His stomach churned. He stared down at the blank piece of paper in front of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with a single right answer. His hand trembled as he gripped his pencil tighter. It was only a matter of time before he’d get picked.
>
> The teacher’s questions continued, never ending. More hands shot up, all except his. He shrank in his seat, not knowing any of these either. Why didn’t he know? He’d been studying, but new questions kept coming up, and never the same one twice. There was so much he didn’t know.
>
> Noticing his discomfort and lack of response, his peers turned to stare. Their eyes narrowed, whispering to each other. He tried to look away, but the weight of their gaze pinned him down. His throat tightened as the teacher turned their attention to him.
>
> “What’s the answer, Dylan?” the teacher’s voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and expectant.
>
> All eyes were on him now. The buzzing whispers stopped, their silence deafening. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His chest tightened, and his fingers gripped the edge of his desk anxiously, knuckles white.
>
> He looked around, desperate for help. Every other student had the answer scribbled on their paper. They knew. They all knew. Why didn’t he?
>
> “I—” His voice cracked, barely audible.
>
> The teacher’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing as they leaned closer, looming over his desk. The air around him felt colder, tighter. “What’s the answer, Dylan?”
>
> His heart pounded in his ears. His skin felt hot, cheeks burning under the weight of the stares. The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls closing in, trapping him in his silence.
>
> “He doesn’t know,” one student whispered. The murmurs spread, soft at first, but quickly rising to a chorus of judgment. “What’s wrong with him?” “Is he stupid?” “He doesn’t belong here.” “It’s a simple question.”
>
> Dylan swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he gripped the desk tighter. His mouth moved, trying to form words, but afraid to get it wrong. He was frozen, unable to speak, to explain, or even to think.
>
> The teacher loomed even closer. “Well, Dylan?”
>
> “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. The teacher gripped his desk, and his entire world was upended as Wedge flipped his mattress to dump him unceremoniously on the floor of his quarters.
Dylan was now awake, sprawled out on the floor. The book had broken his fall and was now jabbing into his back as he laid on it.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Dylan said.
“You did not respond when I called out to you. Get dressed.” Wedge adjusted the strap of his gear. “I will return after breakfast, and we will go to the staging area to assist.”
Nathan had helped him pack for his trip. Everything he needed was in three duffle bags: his quilted armor filled one, while flak, The Basics of Magic, his toothbrush, a tin of toothpaste, and another tin of deodorant occupied the second. The third held three outfits for the trip. The weight of the bags was manageable, but awkward to haul all at once.
Wedge had kept his promise and left Dylan with a belt to stow his mace. The lithkai even found a strap to attach to the shotgun’s stock and barrel. It allowed him to sling it over his shoulder for hands free carrying, similar to how Charles stowed his bow.
Nathan mentioned that there would normally be someone on the team with a storage ability, so Dylan wouldn’t have to limit himself to so few items. But he didn’t mind; this was almost everything he owned, anyway. It was enough.
After Wedge returned, they left for the staging area, an open field directly in front of the guildhall. The sun was already warming the ground beneath their feet. Wedge pointed to some empty pallets where Dylan could place his duffle bags. A tent had been pitched away from the piles of gear, offering a welcome spot of shade under the bright sky.
The big guy picked up two large barrels, one under each arm, while Dylan struggled to lift a sack he assumed was cement. The weight dragged at his arms, making each step awkward. After he moved all five sacks onto a pallet, Wedge informed him it was flour made from razor wheat.
Besides him, there were three other initiates. Most elves looked youthful to Dylan, but Eury appeared especially young. Her shoulder-length rose gold hair caught the sunlight as she stood off to the side. Then came the identical twins, W’itney and Hay’len, both slender violet-scaled draconi.
He recognized them as the pair of violet draconi he’d seen the first day he’d arrived at Dartmouth. They shared the same crest, eyes, and scales, and the only way he could tell them apart was by their outfits. The older sibling, W’itney, was wearing a loose, revealing tunic, while Hay’len wore a conservative buttoned vest.
Team Tome & Key would be the adventurers handling the quest part of the trial. That was the last thing Wedge told Dylan before the lithkai took his place next to Guildmaster K’hab. Now, Dylan was alone with the other recruits, people he’d never met before. His anxiety built, sweat collecting in unfortunate places. He stood with his group to the left of Guildmaster K’hab, while Tome & Key stood on the right. The guildmaster began addressing them.