Mark and Angela stared at the entrance to the Mage’s College.

“This is it?” Angela said, making no attempt to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“Uh, yeah. It is a bit…plain, isn’t it?” Mark said.

He had expected the building to occupy some sort of incredible, set-aside space in the Temple District—a shining testament to the awesomeness of magic. Instead, they got a single dull building plunked in the middle of all the spectacular cathedrals to the various gods of Arenia. It didn’t even get top billing! Just one building in a row of four, alongside the cathedrals dedicated to the gods of Death, Time, and…Physics? Force? Momentum? Whatever a box with an arrow sticking out of it meant. Not that it mattered. It could have been venerating the god of spackle and still shown a greater degree of grandeur than the Mage’s College.

“Just plain?” Angela said, responding to Mark’s comment. “This place looks like it was designed by Mussolini.”

To call it utilitarian was a disservice. It consisted of nothing more than a simple grey cube, maybe three stories tall, with no windows and a single door in the centre of the building at street level. The only decorations were a narrow bas relief of mystic symbols that framed the doorway and a pair of statues sitting to either side of the entrance. Both statues were of women in robes—as in literal clothing—and lacked faces. One was carved of white stone and held a staff, while the other was black stone and held her palm pointed out as though telling someone to stop.

“I guess we go in?” Mark asked.

“It is what we came for,” Angela noted. “I just wish the place was a little more Hogwarts and a little less DMV.” Waving her hand at the door, she said, “Lead away, bro.”

With a shrug, he reached for the handle, pausing for the barest of moments to see if some sort of magical barrier would spring into being and block their entry…

Nope.

With a sigh, he pulled the door open without incident.

“Seriously?” Angela said as she followed him in. “This is so disappointing. I at least expected a talking face in the door. Maybe even a riddle. But nooo. This place is as magical as my underwear drawer after a night of—fuuuuucking hell!”

Mark’s sister froze as the words came out of her mouth, halting beside him in an identical stance of awestruck wonder.

A wide and spacious room stretched out before them. Dark wood panelling and a vaulted ceiling with frescoes of distant constellations and seas of stellar nebula literally twinkled over their heads in a panorama of colour and light. Artwork was on liberal display around the room, seamless weavings of magic and medium that made the Louvre look like a family fridge. Yet despite all of this, it was the wall of floor-to-ceiling glass opposite the door and the wonders beyond that transparent pane that caused Angela’s outburst and Mark’s frozen state.

“Holy shit,” Mark said. He walked up to the glass wall until his face was almost pressed against it, staring outside in shock.

The Mage’s College wasn’t just a building. It was an estate. An enormous rectangle, 200 metres wide and nearly the same long, with brilliant, manicured lawns bounded on all sides by large hedges. A pair of 10-metre-wide paths of crushed rock bisected the grounds at the halfway point on each side, forming a cross that met in the middle at an ornate fountain. To either side of the fountain, halfway to the hedges, stood a pair of two-storey gothic-style buildings that were mirror images of each other.

But above that fountain…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mark said, craning his neck.

High above the fountain, at least a couple hundred metres up, there hovered a building. Its foundation looked like it had been torn from the earth, the broken rock hanging in a ragged inverted pyramid that shed water like a sponge being squeezed, the rivulets converging at the nadir before dropping in a waterfall to the fountain below. At least, it looked like the water was falling down. Upon closer inspection, Mark realized the water was flowing up from the fountain, not down from the rock.

“A floating Mage’s College,” Angela said quietly. “Yep. Definitely living on a magical fantasy planet now.”

“Understatement of the year,” Mark said. The scope of the place was insane. There had to be some serious dimension magic at play, given how large the College was on the inside compared to the outside. Hell, the floating building wasn’t even visible from the city. For all he knew, they weren’t even in Palmyre anymore.

It took a while before Mark realized someone was shouting at them.

“Hey! Tourists!”

Looking to his left, he discovered a desk on the far side of the room that was made of the same dark wood as the walls. A staircase to the left went up a few steps before turning, rising behind the desk and disappearing into an upper floor. A woman sat behind the counter, leaning on her left elbow with her chin resting on her hand, looking at them over a pair of glasses.

Mark’s brain seized up.

The woman appeared to be in her early 20s like Mark and Angela, with warm brown skin and a black afro pulled up in a high puff. Despite them being in the Mage’s College, there was nothing robey about her attire. Instead, she wore a short-sleeved businesslike outfit that was layered like a sari but with a high collar and a more form-fitting style. Her right hand rested on a glowing white hemisphere on the desk, silver lines etched on her arm in sharp contrast to her dark skin.

Angela leaned over to Mark and whispered, “Holy shit, what’s her Charisma?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I can hear you.”

Angela’s eyes went wide. “Um, that is not something I thought you could do from way over there. Please don’t smite me?”

Mark cringed. In any other situation his sister would absolutely have inserted some sort of innuendo about the context of that smiting, but fortunately even she wasn’t dumb enough to do so here. As a result, the woman simply shook her head and waved them off.

“I probably should, but I see from your Renown that cleaning up the mess would be more trouble than throwing you out,” the woman said.

“Mess?” Mark squeaked out. The woman looked at him, and he somehow had the presence of mind to trigger an Inspection.

Name: Unknown

Species: Unconfirmed (Human suspected)

Renown: Level 27 (class/profession unknown)

Base Stat Average: 28.9

His eyes went wide. How were those Base Stats even possible? And as an average? That meant some of her stats had to be well into the 30s!

“A Deduction Trait?” Angela said with confusion. Mark looked over and saw that she was holding a small sheet of slate. “‘Non-human humanoid?’ What’s this all about?”

“Quiet,” Mark said in a low hiss. His sister had started scratching her head and staring at the woman, but she didn’t say anything further.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Um, hi?” Mark said, trying to keep his composure.

“Keep goin, bro. You’re killin’ it,” Angela muttered.

Before Mark could say anything further, a thumping sounded as a man descended from the stairs behind the front desk. As far as Mark could tell, he was human. Tall and thin, with grey hair and a more sun-weathered complexion than one would expect on a man who had chosen an academic path. There was an air about him; the patina of someone confident in their place at the top of their field. He was accompanied by a younger, bearded man in his late 40s who, in stark contrast to his elder, this man possessed a bearing that practically screamed “sycophant.”

The older man noticed Mark and Angela. In a bright voice, he said, “What have we here, Naomi? Some visitors for once?”

“Hello, Archmage Orrick,” the woman behind the counter said pleasantly. “They only just walked in.”

The middle-aged mage, presumably Orrick’s assistant, raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I can deal with them?” He looked at Naomi. “You know I would be more than happy to assist with any of your needs.” The woman at the desk cringed visibly at the thinly veiled double entendre but composed herself before the man got far enough down the stairs to see her expression.

Mark turned to his sister, willing her to stay silent. This was the exact kind of thing she would lose her mind over on Earth, but would probably get them killed on Arenia. Hell, complimenting the woman at the counter had nearly gotten them killed.

Somehow, Angela managed to stay silent. Unfortunately, her visible strain did not go unnoticed.

“Do you have something to say?” the assistant asked.

Angela looked anywhere but at the mage. “Nope, nothing at all.”

“Really? Because you look as though you have something you’d like to add to the conversation.”

Angela kept her mouth shut.

“Speak,” the man commanded, his face twisting into a scowl.

“Um, it’s just, uh…” Angela struggled, looking at the man pleadingly, but he offered her no respite.

“So, maybe it’s a regional difference,” she said, accepting her fate, “but where we grew up there was kind of a thing about hitting on women at work? It was, y’know, frowned upon, especially when you were in a position of power, and so, uh…yeah.” Her voice trailed off. She looked like she wanted to throw up.

Mark looked anxiously at the people in the room. The old guy, Orrick, looked curious. The woman behind the desk, Naomi, looked like she was trying not to laugh. And the guy Angela had spoken to, well…he looked murderous.

Angela gave him a weak smile. “Would it help if I added that I’m a moron, the ideas of my entire society are moronic, and words are a thing I should stop using? Pretty much in general, actually?”

“No, it will not,” he said. “I would happily destroy you, but you carry the patina of Ennàd, so I will refrain. However,” he turned to Mark, “your companion does not possess the same protections as you.”

Angela spun towards Mark, her eyes wide. Mark, meanwhile, was busy panicking.

“Wait, hold on….” he said, raising his hands.

The man shrugged. “My apologies, but it is the natural order of things that when something is pushed, that object pushes back. Let us hope that this teaches your companion to stop pushing.”

The man’s arm raised.

And another hand raised as well.

“Leave it be, Ulrick,” Orrick said in a patient voice, his hand coming down on his assistant’s shoulder. “You’re the one who insisted she speak, after all. If she hadn’t spoken the truth, you’d be furious at her for lying. Save your mana for something more important than a simple rune caster and a…” he looked at Mark, “what are you, some kind of acrobat?”

Mark looked down at his clothes. After destroying his original pants, the only other ones in the bag were so large that he’d needed to take the rope from the drawstring to use as a makeshift belt. That still left him with enormously long pantlegs, though, so he’d stuffed them into his socks to avoid tripping on them. The awkward dressing concessions and bright-gold fabric left him looking like a backup dancer in an MC Hammer video from the ’90s.

Mark sighed and looked at the man. “I just wanted to ask some questions, that’s all.”

To his surprise, the Archmage shrugged indifferently. “Fine. Speak with Naomi, but make it brief. Her true talents are wasted in this asinine posting at the front desk. Time spent dealing with the public is time taken away from more fruitful pursuits.”

He turned back to Naomi. “My apologies for the distraction.” Then he looked pointedly at Ulrick. “All of the distractions. Come along, Uli.”

Uli didn’t look pleased to have been denied his smiting, but he allowed himself to be led away by Orrick and towards the glass wall at the back of the room.

Mark expected some sort of portal to open, so he was surprised when the older mage simply walked through the glass and onto the grounds of the Mage’s College, leaving no more than a ripple in his wake. His colleague, on the other hand, was forced to carry out a series of arcane gestures before chasing after his employer, pausing to throw one last glare over his shoulder at Mark and Angela.

Mark sighed. The last thing they needed was enemies, and it looked like his sister had found them one.

Walking up to the woman at the counter, he gave a small wave. “So, I’m Mark. I was hoping—”

“What is wrong with you two?” Naomi said, putting her head in her hands.

“I didn’t do anything!” Mark said, pointing at Angela. “She’s the lunatic.”

“How am I a lunatic?” Angela asked incredulously. “The guy basically ordered me to say something he didn’t want to hear. I should get some credit for not immediately making it clear that this nice lady shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of shit at work. Also, Orrick and Ulrick? What are they, muppets?”

“By the gods, you have no concept of how lucky you are that Orrick was here,” Naomi said. “If it was just Ulrick, your friend would be paste right now.”

“Not lucky enough to grab another Luck point though, amiright,” Mark said, trying to forcibly change the topic of conversation. “Sounds like we could use a few more of those.”

Naomi stared at him. “Why would you ever get a Luck point for that? Your Luck would need to be so low that—” her eyes widened. “Your base average is 17.1? How is that even possible?” She looked at Angela. “And 19.0? As a druid?”

“It’s just a number,” Angela said weakly.

Naomi reacted like she’d been slapped.

“Just a number?” She looked at Mark. “And you want to join the college? Your outfit alone is proof that your Intelligence is too low to qualify. Are those gardening gloves?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to join,” he muttered. “And the gloves are, uh, cultural.”

She gave him a look that said, I’m not an idiot.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “but my Intelligence isn’t that bad.”

Naomi cocked one eyebrow. A Tome appeared in front of her. It was an ornate, gold embossed affair, bound in black leather with a simple line-drawn rendering of a cube on the front. Placing her hand on it, she closed her eyes and uttered something under her breath.

Then she burst out laughing.

“You have 14 Charisma? And…” she closed her eyes again, “…12 Luck? How have you not been run over by a wagon yet?”

She looked at Angela. “And you? Your Luck isn’t much better. Which explains how someone of your Intelligence couldn’t avoid antagonizing one of the most powerful mages in the city.” She closed her eyes again for a moment. “It also explains why your Constitution is so high. I suspect you’ve had to do your fair share of self-healing if this is typical of how you act around people who can annihilate you.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Angela muttered.

“How can you see our individual stats instead of just our averages?” Mark asked. The ease with which Naomi was picking up information from their Tomes had him growing concerned.

The mage grimaced. “That ability is what the Archmage meant when he said this post wastes my talents. I am not stuck out here as a receptionist because I’m a bad mage; I am here because the old men like my Charisma stats. If you know what I mean.”

Mark could feel his face go red. “Oh. Uh, I hadn’t noticed.”

Angela and Naomi looked at each other. His sister shrugged and jerked her thumb in his direction. “14 Charisma, amiright?”

Naomi nodded sagely in response.

Smooth.

“Regardless,” Naomi continued, “if you were hoping to join the college, I won’t sugarcoat things for you. You are both at least a dozen points off in Intelligence and Willpower, and Angela obviously couldn’t join anyway—she is a druid, after all. As for you, Mark, even if you had the stats, I don’t know if your class—”

She stopped, her eyebrows pursing. Closing her eyes, she refocused on her Tome…then her head jerked up and she stared wide-eyed at Mark.

“What class is this?” she said in a hiss. Her eyes darted about like she was worried someone might be eavesdropping. “I have never seen something like this. I’ve never even heard of something like this.”

Mark’s stomach twisted at the woman’s reaction. It was one thing to go to the Mage’s College to seek advice about how magic worked. It had never occurred to him that one of them could simply look at him and know about his broken class. If they viewed chaos as evil and worked out where he’d gotten the class from…

He looked at Angela, trying to hide his panic. “We should go.”

Thank god that for once in his life, his sister agreed with his concern.

With a lighthearted air, Angela said, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Lots of wagons to dodge if we’re going to make it home safely. Bye, Naomi!”

She grabbed Mark and the two of them beat as hasty a retreat as they could manage without outright running.

Unfortunately, Naomi didn’t share their level of decorum.

“Wait!” she called out, getting up from behind the desk and running after them. Even with their huge head start, the woman caught up to them just before they made it through the door. Grabbing Mark’s shoulder, her voice dropped to a hiss. “If you are a spellcaster, you’re not one of us. The college will not tolerate—”

“Good thing I’m leaving then bye!” Mark said, ducking out from under her hand and darting into the street. Once outside, they really did start running, putting as much space as possible between themselves and the college. Their flight continued down the road, out of the Temple District and towards the Cirque du Chânce, their mad dash only ending when Mark did, in fact, get hit by a wagon. After that, they slowed down, deciding it was best to show more care given Naomi’s comments about their Luck scores.

By the time they reached the bridge over the river Casúron, Mark was exhausted in both body and spirit. He walked over to the railing and leaned against it, his chest raw and heaving.

“Angie?” he panted.

“Yeah?” she said, clutching her side as she leaned on the railing next to him.

“Did we just make things worse?” he asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “Without question.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”