In which the story will be told by Mehdi Lucrece

The worst part about being a responsible, mature individual, was that no one ever gave him credit for not making mistakes.

This was all Mehdi Lucrece could dwell on, as he stared at the walls of his house, while his family frantically got ready for his Adreday. He didn’t mind waiting, there was something comforting about being able to stand in an empty room, while nothing happened, and he could get lost in the waves of existence--

But he had been told to be ready by six. And here it was, nearly seven, and no one else was ready but him. His father, very annoyingly, had waltzed in, still in yesterday’s suspenders, to scold Mehdi for not being ready because he didn’t have his shoes on.

His shoes could go on last, when they left the cursed house.

Perhaps he was anxious, but such an emotion didn’t really become him. Maybe he darted his eyes a bit quicker than normal, from the clock to the door where his sister’s occasional yelps could be heard, maybe he was just more easily annoyed today.

He had no real way of knowing, and there was no point in figuring such things out. If he didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t ruminate.

He was, after all, the Good kid. Quiet, polite, able to sit still during sermon.

Danette finally left the room, indicating that whatever strange hair problems being dealt with her finished, and Mehdi made his way downstairs, taking care to not make a sound. There was a particular stair that creaked something fierce, and it hurt his ears every time. Danette, his mother, his father, Ceyda, they all stepped on it without care. It bothered him deeply.

They all took up far too much space for Mehdi’s liking.

“Ah, Mehdi, still not ready?” his father said, walking in as he loosely shoved on his long, yellow jacket, before looking outside, shaking his head, and leaving to change.

Father. Such a problematic man. Father was by far the only sane man in this family, and Mehdi respected him deeply, but for the past few years had gone from being a competent parent to insufferable, constantly bugging Mehdi, and repeating the same jokes over and over again.

Mehdi grabbed his hat, and put on his shoes, idly humming to himself in the silent hall of his home.

“Aren’t you fancy?” Father said suddenly. “If you become a Gaslamp, like your father, you don’t ever have to wear a hat again.”

Mehdi looked up to see the rest of his family had already entered the hall while he had been enjoying his time alone.

“I am going to become a Spearhead,” Mehdi said, trying not to show embarrassment. He hadn’t wanted to be a Gaslamp since he was five. “And then I’m going to get my own fishing fleet, and sail the ocean.”

“Ah, you’ve got your mother’s spirit,” his father said.

“No I don’t,” Mehdi narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you certainly don’t get it from me,” his father replied. “Shall I get the car?”

“Yes I do...” Mehdi said, but could already feel his will to fight back leaving him. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Darn darn darn darn--” his sister started whispering under her breath when she walked through the door.

Mehdi rolled his eyes. His damn sister. Ceyda Lucrece was a special girl, that much was for sure. She was easily the stupidest child Mehdi had the misfortune to be related to. She was two years older than him, not that anyone could tell. Mehdi was already taller than her, and he was going to keep growing.

The doctor said he could be as tall as five feet and eight inches, which would make him the tallest person in the family. While standing out mortified Mehdi, he had to admit, he didn’t mind the idea of growing tall. Just not too tall. If Mehdi cracked six feet he would die of humiliation.

This was, in part, what fueled his desire to be a Spearhead. A Gaslamp spent time indoors, alone, but they had to stay home all day, with children.

But to go out to sea meant no one could bother you. No one would even find you.

Mehdi stepped outside and into the automobile, holding the wish in his heart for just a brief moment. If he thought it, it would be true, he just needed to not let it overcome him.

He settled in, and stared at the starry sky. For a moment, everything was peaceful, and he smiled. The next moment, the car sputtered to a start, like it always did, and Ceyda pretended to be scared and screamed. Like she did. Every time. They got in the car.

Expending mental energy to conceptualize how annoying his sister was, was an act in futility. No matter how annoyed he got, she found a way to make it more his problem than before. So for now he did the mature thing and just ignored her.

He would just have to ignore a lot of things today.

---

The Blanche manor was, in two words, overwhelmingly gaudy. Even the waiting room, where himself and two others waited, was an abundance of luxury. The curtains were lined with gold, and there were platinum leafs on the wallpaper, constantly shining, even when the sun did not shine on it.

Each wall had a unique, detailed decoration, of strange, baby faced creatures dancing across forests, all sickeningly adorable. They also, for some reason, had tiny, exposed, baby-sized genitalia, which apparently was just a thing everyone was okay with, suddenly, for no reason. He was fairly certain that if he pointed it out, he would get in trouble.

Thank the skies and the Crown Ceyda had crappy eyesight. If she paid attention for even a moment, he would spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment.

One of his companions was familiar--Padgett Montilyet. He was a squirmy boy, one whom Mehdi considered a friend, but not a good one. If Padgett got his wish, he’d become a Tower, and go on to be a doctor. Mehdi could not help but worry he was better suited to be a Gaslamp. Gaslamps could be a doctor, but it wasn’t the same.

The other was a girl that Mehdi only knew from inference. Amber Blanche, the only other person with the same Adreday as them. She had a tight smile, and eyes that glazed past Mehdi without even acknowledging his existence.

Optimistically, she was staving off ruminations. Realistically, she was a stuck up female dog. One or the other.

Women were, in a small amount of words, a problem. Marrying one was the only thing Mehdi truly dreaded about his future, but he never dared speak it, lest he sound like his sister. He wasn’t a very charismatic or funny person, but he drew the line at appearing whiny.

Ritesgiver Tomas walked in, and ushered Amber into the private chambers.

“Are you nervous?” Padgett asked.

“No.”

“Are you excited?”

Mehdi frowned. Was he excited? Well, that he just didn’t know. Maybe he was nervous, actually. But he had already said he wasn’t nervous, so if he backtracked then he’d be a liar.

“Uh, I guess,” Mehdi said, averting his gaze. “Are you excited?”

“Nervous as shit!” Padgett mumbled.

“Don’t curse, what are you, five?” Mehdi rolled his eyes.

“That’s how nervous I am! I keep ruminating and I had the worst dream last night,” Padgett sputtered. “I think--I think I’m going to end up coreless, Mehdi.”

“What would that even look like?” Mehdi asked, shifting uncomfortably. It was a silly concept and now it was worming his way into his brain. Padgett’s miasma was becoming a problem.

“I dunno. Like. You fail the test and then--” Padgett paused, swallowing dryly. “Well I don’t know what would happen but I have guesses--”

Mehdi stared at Padgett. Padgett was going to say something false now, and Mehdi would say it was false, and it was going to sit in his stomach causing him pain until it was actually proven wrong.

“They’d probably castrate you right? So you can’t have kids? Just the entire thing--schwoop!” Padgett mimed a knife following onto his own groin.

“You’re an idiot,” Mehdi said, idly crossing his shins just a bit more tightly than normal.

“Haha, yeah, probably,” Padgett said, his eyes brightening.

The acid boiled in his stomach. Now he would be thinking about that all throughout his test. The ruminations would be the death of him yet. Why did Padgett have to be such a thorn in his side? Padgett would be best as a Gaslamp, far, far away from Mehdi.

He shut his eyes, and let time pass. Unfortunately, the stomach ache proved it difficult, but by the luck of the crown, he was called next.

Tomas called Mehdi in. He passed Amber Blanche, who was unable to contain the broad smile across her face. Someone had gotten a good core.

Even the testing room was large, with windows overlooking the grassy lawn, dotted with lanterns and fountains. There was even a horse, idly gnawing on the grass. What a waste of a horse--had they put that there just to look fancy?

Mehdi didn’t know if he despised the Blanches or wanted to be them.

“Are you well, Mehdi?” Tomas asked.

“Yes. Padgett says if we fail we will be castrated, is that true?” Mehdi asked.

There was a momentary snicker--Mehdi whipped his head behind him and saw a mage, clad in the standard eye-numbing black and white uniform they all wore, covering his mouth in amusement.

“Uh--that was supposed to be a confession,” Mehdi sputtered. How had he not noticed the other guy was there?

The mage put his hands up, and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“Has it filled you with ruminations, Mehdi?” Tomas asked sympathetically.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Mehdi nodded.

“Well, I’m glad you told me. Your honesty, as always, is your shining trait,” Tomas said.

Mehdi smiled, and his heart fluttered. The terrible thoughts dissipated like the parting clouds.

“Our mage friend is just here for security, assume he is not here, correct?” Tomas asked.

The mage nodded. “F Volterra. At your service.”

Mehdi turned his attention back to Tomas. The Ritesgiver withdrew a set of cards, all with strange, inky splotches.

“Now, tell me, Mehdi, what do you see?”

“An ink blotch with a--”

“No--no tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. The absolute first thing. We are digging into your core.”

Mehdi stared at Tomas blankly. Now that was just impossible.

“Uh--uh--” The ink splotch looked--well it looked like islands he supposed. “Islands?”

Tomas replaced it with a new image. “Quicker, if you can. First thing to come to your mind.”

“Island?” Mehdi repeated, weakly, unable to think of literally anything else.

And no sooner did he say that, another one was in his place. At this moment, Mehdi felt a deeply unsettling discomfort he had never experienced in his life. Were these papers perhaps--magical? In some way? Was he doing something wrong?

“Mehdi?” Tomas prompted. “Quickly, please.”

It was a sort of squiggly little ink image, sort of like a really fat, lumpy snake, with three heads and two tails.

That was probably a terrible answer. Surely he was missing something.

“Snake,” Mehdi mumbled.

There were a few more rounds of random images, each one distressing Mehdi more than the last. At a certain point he just came up with ten random words, and said them in order, without regard for what the image was, because it seemed far easier than whatever he was supposed to do here.

The images were replaced with questions, where Mehdi had to rank how likely a statement applied to him, on a scale of one to five, five being incredibly so, and one being not at all.

“I am a good person,” Tomas said.

“Five,” Mehdi said.

“I am well organized.”

“Three.”

“My friends comment on how competent I am.”

“--two?” Mehdi bit his lip.

“The world will often reveal itself to me in time.”

Mehdi’s jaw loosened. “Uh--three?”

“Many try to keep secrets from me.”

“One?” Mehdi shifted. He briefly remembered Ceyda complaining about this section of the test to their parents.

The door opened, causing Mehdi to jolt.

“This is private!” Tomas barked.

The one who opened the door was a Tower--a woman.

“Yes, sorry, I was told to tell a mage--there’s a random women here, and no one knows who she is. Could you escort her out?” the Tower asked, her face red.

“Tower--know your place. Are you sure you’re not so drunk you have forgotten your townspeople?” Tomas snapped.

The Tower sighed. “I’m serious--sir, will you not help me?”

F Volterra sighed. “All right, show me the strange woman, ma’am.”

The mage left, leaving the two alone.

Tomas rolled his eyes. “Absolute depravity at these parties. I am deeply sorry, Mehdi, how are you feeling?”

“Deeply baffled, predominantly,” Mehdi admitted.

“Well, I do think I’ve actually gained all the information I need for the unveiling of your core,” Tomas said, smiling.

Mehdi breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, that quickly?”

“Well, these tests take as long as I need it to. There is no point in beating around a bush, unless it would pay you peace of mind to go with the full test.”

“Whatever you think best,” Mehdi said stiffly. Crowns and skies above, let the test end now, please.

“Perhaps, one last question,” Tomas said.

Mehdi nodded.

“Loyalty is more important to me than honesty,” Tomas said.

Mehdi stared at Tomas blankly. What a question. What did he value more? Loyalty--what did that represent? Perhaps marriage? And honesty, well, that was most likely related to piety.

Or was he misinterpreting? He didn’t know what to answer. And what if he gave the wrong one?

His father was awfully honest, all the time. It was annoying, always nitpicking him. Padgett had been far too honest as well.

But what even was loyalty, anyway? Loyalty to whom? The Crown? Was there even any question about that?

“Three.” Mehdi said, staring at Tomas with glassy eyes.

Tomas smiled softly. “Congratulations, Mehdi Lucrece, your core is revealed.”

Mehdi hitched a deep breath. “Do I get to know now or--later?”

“You are a Mage.”

For a split moment, all of time stopped. All his life, Mehdi had known his three options. Tower. Gaslamp. Spearhead. Mage had never been a real option, that had been for those who fought in the playground, unruly and ready to fight for the country.

It was certainly not Mehdi.

“You will, of course, need to leave within the month for training, the Volterra who was here--I was hoping he would be able to inform you of the relevant information, but alas, it seems that he was taken from me,” Tomas frowned.

The Volterra? Was that not just his last name? Or had Mehdi misheard?

“Your subconscious deliveries are top notch, you have quite a powerful core,” Tomas continued. “You will make a fine mage.”

“Subconscious-- deliveries,” Mehdi repeated slowly.

“Yes, the imagery based rhetoric, the first part of the test. I had my suspicions then, and your questions solidified it greatly,” Tomas replied.

Oh shiiiiiiiiirt.

Mehdi rubbed his face. He had just. Made things up. Oh he had fooled everyone. Oh this was terrible. They were going to castrate him. Padgett and his damn miasmic worries.

“There might have been a mistake--” Mehdi sputtered, barely able to stop himself from tripping over his own words. “With the images I--I didn’t know what I Was doing, I just said random things--”

“Yes, that is how it works--”

“--no, like, actually random, really random--”

Tomas clasped his hand on Mehdi’s shoulder. “It is not your conscious thinking that unveiled your core to me, but what you spoke without thinking. That is what matters. You can obscure yourself in society, but not from me. That is the lesson of Rites.”

Mehdi swallowed dryly, but nodded all the same. The word ‘mistake’ kept blaring in his head, like a foghorn.

He should be happy. He should be incredibly joyous. If he wanted prestige, surely this was it.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. Wasn’t what he planned for. He hadn’t wanted prestige as a mage. He dreamt of fishing boats, of long voyages, of journeys and the sea.

Not this.

Was there anyone unluckier than him, in this moment?

Why was this his core? What secrets had Tomas seen? He so deeply respected Tomas, but this just didn’t feel correct. It felt--

Like Mehdi had accidentally lied. Somehow.

The miasmic panic swirled around him, and he sat in the corner, away from Amber, while Padgett was called in. He didn’t want her catching how distraught he was.

Padgett’s test was also quick, too quick for Mehdi’s liking. The three were guided out, and Amber was revealed to be a Lighthouse, and Padgett, a Gaslamp.

And then, Tomas gripped Mehdi’s shoulder, proudly, and spoke to the audience. Mehdi took a deep breath, trying not to cry. This would be fine. Everything would be fine.

“I must say, it is very, very rarely I get to say this, but I am proud to announce we have a new Mage in Bricketfriar!” Tomas said to the crowd of aristocrats.

“That’s my son!” his father cried out in pride. He was clapping gleefully, while his mother was whispering in his ear. He momentarily glanced over at Ceyda. She was, as suspected, looking royally angered. Ceyda, the fool, had been thinking him a Gaslamp.

Well, he certainly stepped out of her shadow and embarrassment now, hadn’t he? Which was, admittedly, everything he had ever wanted before this.

He had just hoped it had been as a Spearhead, not a Mage.

His parents made their way to him, exclaiming his praises.

“Oh! Oh Mehdi! You’re the first Mage in our family--” his mother expressed. “I had never thought--”

“What? He’s not the first Mage,” his father responded.

“Really?” Mehdi asked.

“Yeah, everyone gets their ‘mage up on the fireplace eventually,” his father responded proudly.

“Aloysius!” his mother yelled, glaring at his father.

“Because, image, as opposed to Mage, eh?” his father continued, getting even more joy over explaining the joke than merely letting it lie.

How utterly embarrassing. Mehdi wished to be stricken by lightning in this very moment. Far too many people were staring at him, or waiting to shake his hand after his parents let him go, and he despised such a situation.

A Mage walked up to them. He wasn’t the one who had been guarding the test, this one had a streak of brilliant white hair. Funnily, Mehdi had never paid much attention to Mages, he never had to do. They were more of fancy ornaments than people.

But now he had to.

“R Regent, at your service,” the mage said, dressed in the usual blacks and whites, a spellbook in sling.

“R--Regent,” Mehdi repeated.

“Heh, between you and me, regent is just my mage core,” R Regent said, grinning. “You’ll get one of those when you finish your mage training.”

“You get a second core?” his father said. “Do you get two hearts too?"

R Regent waved at his father in amusement. “Perhaps! It is more accurate to say that in our field, we need to define what kind of Mages we are. It also works well for keeping some privacy. We go all over Kesterline, it’s better if no one knows our names, you see.”

“Oh my, is it dangerous?” his mother asked.

“Ah--well, it can be. But nothing a young man can’t handle, he’s got a strong core, after all,” the Mage said, grinning.

Mehdi smiled back. “Can you answer some questions--about what it means to be a Mage?”

“Sure,” R Regent said. “When do you plan on leaving?”

Mehdi stared at his parents expectantly.

“Perhaps next year,” his mother replied.

“Next year?” R Regent nearly laughed.

“Well, we don’t want to be too hasty.”

“The Mage is a man now--I’ll be returning to Nevan this week. Perhaps that would be a better time for it,” R Regent said.

“Next week?” his mother balked. Even his father frowned, shaking his head slightly. “That’s abhorrently soon.”

“Training starts soon, if you wait, his core will rot, and he will, at best, rank Balustrade,” R Regent said. “Nothing wrong with that, of course, but that is up to you to decide if you want to risk his potential.”

“Well, Mehdi,” his father said. “You’re an adult now, what do you think?”

“I’d like to talk to the Mage in private,” Mehdi stated. “And learn more. Before I make a decision."

R Regent grinned. “Sure, anything to help you--”

His words were cut off by a sudden, subtle shaking. Mehdi didn’t even hear what caused it, but suddenly the surrounding aristocrats were yelling and pointing to the doors leading to the right wing of the mansion.

“Hey--Regent!” the Mage who had been guarding Tomas said. “We gotta problem!”

Mehdi blinked. What?

R Regent sighed. “All right, I think we will need to do this another time. For now, I’m going to need everyone to evacuate.”

“Regent--” the Mage called, as several others gathered. There was a strange, brilliant white light, emanating from the hallway.

“I could come with you,” Mehdi said.

“Ah--no. This could be dangerous,” R Regent said.

“Hey Rembrandt!” the mage snapped.

“Coming, Fontaine! Skies above!” Rembrandt snapped, walking down the hallway.

Mehdi blinked. Everyone started muttering, and mumbling. What was a quiet, scattered yelling, turned into more rhythmic. His lips twisted in stress. He had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t like it.

“Come along, Mehdi,” his father hissed, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Wait--where’s Ceyda?” his mother cried out.

“Probably dead,” Mehdi said automatically.

“Mehdi!” his mother stared at him in horror. “How could you say such a thing?”

Mehdi and his father made it out of the manor, and the brilliant white light from the right wing of the manor faded.

He looked down at his own hands, and then back at the manor.

“I… don’t know,” Mehdi answered honestly. Why had he said such a thing? He certainly wouldn’t say it now. The feeling had been--brief. Almost indescribable. Perhaps a moment of intense, uncontrollable, miasma.

Was that what magic did? Or it had just been a coincidence. Mehdi shook his head in frustration. He was awfully stressed. Mehdi and his mother walked towards the car, while his father went to search for Ceyda.

He watched the dark Blanche Manor, occasionally light up with flashes of spells, curses, and inhuman sounds. Windows shattered, and in the light of the moon, a single, pale, fuzzy figure, leaped out, before disappearing in a flash of vibrant green.

As Mehdi was placed in the automobile, a blanket draped over him, he watched, wide-eyed, in a cold sweat, and only one thought rang in his head.

Sacred skies, please, let that never be him.