“Please follow me,” said Icy Eyes.

The maid stood in the corridor, waiting for me at the end of the staircase. I had no idea how she had found me.

Her impeccable timing creeped me out, and the composed manner in which she walked off seemed like everything had been planned from the start. It was really starting to get old, the whole "follow me", without an explanation. Not to say that I felt too passive these days, as if I had no choice in the matter.

I sighed.

However, there really was no time to get lost in the halls, looking for the meeting. Claire had said it was due in an hour, and I wouldn't be surprised if I was already running late.

So with that in mind, I reluctantly followed her.

We walked in silence as she led me through the maze-like layout of the palace. Portraits of a man and a woman loomed over us, followed by a grandiose painting of a family gathering. I could make out Ortonoff, sitting on a throne, along with what I presumed was his wife. Four other children stood beside them. Painted in fancy garb and golden silk, they seemed to drill a hole into my forehead with their judgemental eyes

“Exfuse me,” I said to the maid, when pain hit me in the jaw again.

Icy Eyes looked at me as I bent over and held my mouth with a grimace. I tried not to scream this time, opting for a long and auditable groan instead.

"Jaw," I took a shaky breath and pointed, trying not to move it too much, "Hurtsh."

For the first time since I met her, Icy Eyes looked concerned. She pursed her lips and looked me up and down, pondering. When I felt a second jolt and grunted, she seemed to make up her mind, and tenderly placed a hand on my cheek.

“Heal.”

With one simple word, the pain vanished. It was a strange sensation, as if my body suddenly weighed nothing. Her fingers didn’t glow or make a sound, but that was without a doubt magic.

She kept her hand on my cheek for a while, the last bits of discomfort fading away, and withdrew it upon noticing my flabbergasted face.

“Thank... you.” My words were a whisper, but enough for the servant to hear. Icy Eyes bowed, her forelocks obscuring a pair of blue eyes, and resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

I could hear the trees rustle behind the windows, their leaves frolicking in the mid-day breeze. A verdant garden bloomed from the other side, colorful petals surrounding an empty pavilion.

“That was magic, right?” A smile formed on my face. Moving it no longer hurt.

“Yes,” her gaze remained forward, but she would answer my questions it seemed.

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“Thinking.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

She walked decisively, her pace unchanging.

Should I keep questioning her? Icy Eyes didn’t seem to mind, and such an opportunity might not arise again.

“How many types are there?”

“Many.”

Of course.

“What type is your magic?”

The servant paused for a moment.

“Solace.”

Again, too vague.

“Does it cure injuries?”

“Some.”

We turned around the corner, a different section of stairs rising before us.

“What kind of magic do I have?”

“I don’t know.”

Icy Eyes climbed the stairs, me in tow. They didn’t seem to be the spiraling ones, and instead shot upwards, the ceiling barely visible.

“Domon,” a name I didn’t expect to hear, left the pink lips of Icy Eyes.

“What about him?”

“Clothes.”

I looked down at my uniform, its jet-black sleeves baggy on my hands. Domon had left me some clothes in the dressing room while I enjoyed my time in the bath. Although I wasn’t very comfortable walking around with a tailcoat, it was much better than the sweaty T-shirt.

“We met in the baths. He left me these.”

“I see.”

She didn’t say a word after that, and my new leather shoes squeaked as I stepped on another pair of stairs up front. I found it hard to keep my footing with only dim light trickling above. It gave the dark corridor an ominous hue, making me a little nervous.

An official meeting. Somehow, I didn’t like the sound of that. For what reason they needed us gathered, and what it had to do with me had bugged me from the start. It didn’t help when five minutes of walking later, the steps came to an end, giving way to a humongous doorway.

“We’ve arrived,” Icy Eyes announced.

My eyes widened. While everything below the stairs had been built with bricks and wood, the theme for the upper floors seemed to be marble and gold. A hall the size of three tennis courts spanned from the entrance, its sizable appearance lit up by a huge chandelier in the middle. It won’t fall off, right? I watched as the dozen candles above it fluttered with vigor, their flames unthreatened by the slight breeze.

There was only one entrance and it had a completely different feel to it. The wooden door sported a dark tone, foreign symbols engraved on its surface. Woodworkers would probably kill to get their hands on such a wonderful piece of art, though I couldn’t care less. What got my attention was the golden plate above it, or more particularly, the words written on it.

“Peace?” I read it out-loud. I thought I might have been seeing things.

“Lewis!” The energetic voice of an eighteen-year-old resounded through the hall, and I jumped in surprise. “Good to see you man!”

I looked over to the side to find Dean and Samuel climbing the stairs. They reached the last pair of steps when Dean waved his hand at me.

“Man, we searched everywhere for you,” he said, a wide grin plastered on his face, “You sure didn’t expect this stuff to happen, right? I mean, I was like, woah, too! Adventures! Heroes! Magic! It’s like one of those books you read, right?”

“Dean.”

“Not to mention the princess!" he continued, "Dude, you’ve gotta see her ass, the girls in our class don’t even come close--”

“Dean, can you read that?” I pointed at the golden plate above the door.

Dean ceased his rapid-fire babble and turned to look over his shoulder.

“Oh. It says ‘Peace’, huh.”

Yes. In English.

“Do you know what this means?”

“Well, they speak our language, so isn’t it normal that they can write it?” said Bushy Eyebrows as he drew near. Ruffling his short hair with leisure, he seemed more interested in the large portrait next to us.

“He sometimes says the weirdest things. Don’t mind him, Sam,” said Dean. Without giving me any space to interject, he continued, “Anyways, we should better hurry up now. They must be waiting for us.”

I had no idea who was waiting, or what this meeting was about, and I had no time to ask. Dean was already headed towards the entrance. Instead, I let out a sigh.

Peace.

Were there others like us, transported against their will into this land of madness? What if they were living their lives right now, the memories of their distant past fading away.

I glanced behind my back.

Icy Eyes was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t surprise me anymore. I wanted to believe that she used some magic to vanish out of thin air, although she probably just left the moment I stepped out of the doorway, having some other servant duty to perform.

As I wondered what was going on inside her mind, Dean gripped the doorknob and went in, me and Samuel shortly following.

"--But this has caused a lot of air pollution due to the carbon dioxide increase, which, sorry, you probably don't know what that means," said Claire as I closed the door behind me. She was still wearing the blue Victorian dress, though it didn't seem out of place this time. I watched as she fiddled with a silver cup in her hands, nervously running her fingers on the smooth edges. "It's just part of the harmful emissions I talked about earlier."

"Fascinating," said Ortonoff. He seemed to take it in for a moment, before adding, "I would like us to continue this discussion, albeit at a later time. For now, let us welcome our guests. Dean, Samuel, Lewis. I am glad we have finally gathered in full," the king gestured for us to take a seat.

The hall was enormous, which didn't say much when size seemed to be the key theme for this palace. But the room was as tall as it was wide, with a glass ceiling that let enough sunlight in to light up the whole interior. Armed guards stood left and right, watching us as servants hurried to guide us to the tables.

"First, thank you for coming to this gathering," Ortonoff said, watching as we took our seats, "I will not lie that your stay has been without difficulties, or that there haven't been incongruencies with what you have been used to in your homeland. Even so, I will continue to offer mine and my servants' full hospitality."

The three girls already sat at one of the tables. I took a seat next to Claire, who didn't even give me a sideways glance. Dean and Samuel sat next to Mary and Annie, who still paid rapt attention to Ortonoff. Both of them wore dresses similar to Claire’s, if only a different color.

"Before we continue, I feel that some introductions are in order," the king said, waiting for us to settle down. He motioned to a woman in an expensive-looking yellow gown, "The lady next to me is the rightful queen of Sinua, and the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Meet Ariamara, my wife."

The woman in question smiled, standing up to give us a brief curtsy. She looked young in fact, with no wrinkles or lines of stress on her face, the complete opposite of Ortonoff and Aldron. Still, there wasn't anything that made me think of her as a breathtaking beauty. She was pretty, don't get me wrong, but I had seen a lot of pretty girls on the internet, most of them photoshopped or caked up with makeup. I wondered if there was something irredeemably wrong with my mind, to judge a woman I have just met based on her looks.

Just as I completed that line of thought, the woman spoke, and my mind went blank.

"I am grateful for your kind words, Your Highness," Ariamara said, her words dripping honey into my ears, "I am also glad to meet our nation's new heroes, long may they live."

She gave us a warm smile, and I shuddered involuntarily.

I had no idea what was happening to my body. I felt happy and funny, as if the floodgates of my being had been opened, releasing a chemical concoction of endorphins and dopamine into my brain. I wanted to dance and sing and hug my friends, because they were such good people, and I wanted to show them how much I appreciated them, and what the fuck is wrong with me?

I bit my lip, hard, bringing back a bit of sanity that I desperately needed. My head cleared up immediately, the looney-tune thoughts of a crazy Lewis pushed back by my logical and calculating cerebral cortex. With it came the sharp pain of my bitten lip. I winced.

"Now I want our guests to meet the children," Ortonoff said, oblivious to my internal struggle. He used his large hand to pat a young man in the next seat, "This is our oldest boy and the future ruler of this land, Christopher--"

Was that magic? I thought to myself, I'm not going crazy, am I?

My head was still reeling with emotions. The lunatic thoughts of before washed over me in waves. I felt ecstatic and sad. Hopeful and angry. The emotions came and went. The more stubborn ones formed into strange ideas, before getting shut down by the rational part of my brain. No, maybe it wasn't a good idea to give the king the middle finger.

I grit my teeth and focused on what was happening in front of me. The king seemed to be praising his son. I then looked at the young man in question, who was more interested in the marble tiles of the floor than what his father was saying.

The guy looked younger than us by a year or two. He was well dressed, with dark trousers and a well-fitted black jacket, which was buttoned up to his neck. On someone else the outfit might have looked stifling, but he was slim enough to wear it comfortably.

"Can we talk with the guests now?" The boy cut off his father. He had a surprisingly deep voice, but his tone reeked of apathy and boredom.

"Just a moment, my lad," Ortonoff said. He had the face of a doting father as he ruffled the boy's hair, much to his chagrin, "Don't you want me to introduce your brothers and sisters?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows, unhappy with the current state of affairs. He seemed to mull over the king's words for a second. Then he pointed.

"The small pipsqueak there is my younger brother, Dallary," he said to our group.

I followed his finger to meet the eyes of a young boy, the complete opposite of his older brother.

Dallary had the ruffled hair equivalent of a cleaning mop, and wore an unbuttoned white shirt that desperately needed some ironing. Better yet, he had propped one of his unlaced leather boots on the seat, while In his hands he hugged a bare and bruised knee.

The two siblings looked at each other in silence. I thought for a moment that they would start arguing, but the boy just smiled, showing a bit too much teeth. Cristopher sighed, murmuring something to himself. He moved to point his finger in the other direction, towards the last pair of girls.

"It is rude to point at your sisters like that," Ariamara said. Her smile had dropped from her face, replaced by a stern and chiding look.

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

I fought back the instant flood of anger that hit me at that moment, making me want to jump off my chair and start a fight with a nearby guard.

"This is taking too long, Mother," the older brother complained. He glanced at his younger sibling, whose smile had devolved into a nasty smirk. That seemed to annoy him even more.

"It is important that you maintain proper decorum where it is necessary," Ortonoff said. He stroked his beard and watched as the two boys turned their heads in attention, "It will save you a lot of trouble, costing you nothing but humbleness."

"And time," Christopher added.

"Yes," the king said, "Time, which you have already wasted because of improper etiquette."

That seemed to give pause to the young man. He opened his mouth, then closed it, before letting out a long, dejected sigh that the whole audience could hear.

"The young ladies you see on my right are Sophia and Angelina Ariamara Ortonoff," Christopher said, injecting a bit of tone in his voice, "Sophia is a first tier magician and head council of the Royal College. She possesses exceptional affinity for both Vigor and Fertility magic, making her one of the top-ranking students of the academy."

He gestured at Sophia, who stood up to give us a quick curtsy. She looked small when she sat down again, as if the cushions of her seat could smother her in their red fluff. She had a round nose and an innocent face, with tiny shoulders that seemed even paler than my own ghastly complexion.

Her sister, on the other hand, seemed like the complete opposite. Rugged shoulders and a healthy tan, she sat comfortably in her chair while her eyes scanned the surroundings.

"Angelina, no less her equal, has taken the path of the sword," Christopher said, "She has won multiple competitions, demonstrating true bravery in the heat of battle. While having little affinity for any of the virtues, that hasn't stopped her from mastering her internal mana and aura manipulation--"

Angelina showed little reaction to her ongoing introduction. Instead, she stared at each of us in turn.

She looked at Dean, who smiled at her. Then at Samuel, who had an almost bored expression on his face. Mary, Annie and Claire, she gave a brief glance to.

Then she got to me.

A feral grin spread across her face, reminding me of those demon masks the Japanese used in summer festivals. I had no time to react when a tide of pressure crashed above me, making me almost double over. I gripped the edge of the table for support, my hand pushing against what seemed to be ten kilograms of invisible force.

"You okay?" Claire whispered without looking in my direction. In a more accusatory tone, she added, "You've been acting strange for a while."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Even better, I found out I couldn't breathe.

One, two, three, I started counting my seconds without oxygen, knowing that I would start to suffocate soon if I didn't do anything about it.

And what the fuck did I do this time? I thought.

"I hope that we all get along in the future and form strong bonds that will be in both of our interests," Christopher said in a mock tone, "I wish you all the luck in your future endeavours. May legends be written about your feats, and songs be sung long after. Glory to the heroes, and may they always protect our kingdom and the people."

Cristopher finished his speech and looked at his father questioningly.

Ortonoff gave him a nod in approval.

"You still have a lot to learn, but that was overall satisfactory," the king said. He brushed his graying beard as he looked at us again, "We will talk about your misconduct another time. For now, you have my permission to talk with the guests."

"Finally," Cristopher said, switching back to his more neutral demeanor, "I mean. Thank you, Father."

Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen...

I fought back the fight-or-flight instincts that had kicked into gear. I was getting more and more panicked. The drumming of my heart didn't seem to make the situation any better. In fact, I must have been using up even more oxygen than normal, because only twenty seconds had passed and my lungs were already desperate for air. My face must have turned red like a tomato, because my vision began to swim in a similar color.

"Wow, she really fucked you up there, didn't she," I heard a child’s voice to my left, and looked down to find an actual child sitting with his legs up on the seat next to me. Dark green eyes met mine as I faced Cristopher's younger brother—Dallary.

I swear you weren't there a moment ago, I thought.

I still didn't have any air in my lungs to say it.

"Now look at it this way," the boy said. He picked up a silver spoon from the table and held it between his eyes, "You've had the unfortunate fate of piquing a very nasty person's interest."

He turned the spoon around.

I could vaguely see the reflection of my own two bloodshot eyes.

"Twenty-seven," he said, "That's the number of matches Angelina has won. I've seen her break plate armor to impale a guy straight in the gut. Another poor competitor lost his fingers in a weak attempt to parry her swing. And I'm not counting the illegal pit fights she started frequenting lately. Don't tell anyone about that."

He gave me the I'll-cut-your-neck gesture, and I wondered if I'd already become delirious from the lack of oxygen.

"If that wasn't enough, Angelina is very protective of her little sister. It has gotten to the point where students in the college started avoiding her. Sophia has many admirers, but none of them have the balls to face the Scarlet Demon," his eyes locked onto mine, giving me a sadistic smile, "Imagine how surprised I was when I overheard them discussing you. You're in for a treat, I must say. No one insults Sophia and gets by with his limbs intact."

I raised my brows, trying to remember what the hell I had done wrong the day before. I woke up on a giant bed, in pain and in another world. I puked, then spoke to the king, before finally going to sleep. The events were blurry in my mind, but I didn't remember conversing with a blonde princess that just happened to have a bloodthirsty crazy person as her older sister.

The look of confusion must have been obvious on my face, because the boy sighed.

"Sophia has one guilty pleasure, and that is her sweet tooth," he offered me a hint, "She likes to have afternoon snacks in the East wing garden. I heard you woke up around that time as well. Perhaps you might have bumped into her there?"

Oh. So she's the girl from the pavilion that gave me a curtsy? I thought, recognition finally dawning on me, The one I completely ignored?

Shit.

"I see you remember what happened," Dallary said, nodding in satisfaction. He rubbed a purple ring on his index finger, adding, "That's good. Well, not really, but you get my point."

I gave Dallary an exasperated look. I pointed at my face, at which he laughed.

"Oh, I completely forgot about that,” he said, “You're just such a good listener, you know. Most people don't like what they hear when I talk."

He held up the spoon to me in an offering. After a second of pause, I took the end of it.

"Dallary Ganelezian Ortonoff," he said, as I finally took a breath again, "I know the snob already introduced me, but I wouldn't want to be remembered as ‘the little pipsqueak’." He looked at his brother with distaste.

I said nothing, too busy enjoying the relief that came from not dying of brain hypoxia. The blood from my head transferred to the rest of my body, making me feel lightheaded.

I took a few seconds to get my bearings again. Then I looked down at the spoon, wondering if that was the reason I could breathe again.

I let go of the spoon.

Instantly, the pressure returned. I strained my neck to keep my head from falling flat on the table.

I took the spoon again.

The pressure stopped.

"I am letting you hide under my aura," Dallary said, as he ruffled his hair with his free hand, "I did you a great favor, I hope you understand. I have just made a bigger enemy than I can handle on my own."

I looked at the crazy girl in question. Angelina was watching us both now. She had switched from the manic grin on her face, replacing it with a cold and calculating mask.

"What the fuck was that?" I said, still out of breath, "I didn't do anything to her, or her sister. Does she want to murder me?"

"Angelina wanted to embarrass you in front of the king," Dallary said, sighing, "Maybe she didn’t know that it would have killed you as well. I guess she didn't expect you to be so... weak."

“All of us are weak,” I said, furrowing my brows, “We’re high-schoolers, for fuck sake.”

“Are you sure?” Dallary said. He eyed the group behind me. “That short girl there seems pretty strong.”

I followed Dallary's gaze, turning around to find Claire, Mary, Dean and the others talking to Cristopher. They were deep in discussion, which meant that they hadn't paid us any attention. It made me wonder if we were somehow invisible.

"You said something about affinity and auras when you introduced the girls," Samuel said. He was sitting right in front of Christopher, who had taken the other side of the table. "Aldron said something similar once, but I don't think any of us understood what he meant."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that too," Dean said as he leaned towards the table, a wide smile on his face, "It has to do with what type of magic we have, right? Like, if we have an affinity for fire magic, we can shoot fireballs out of our fingers?"

That made Cristopher laugh.

"It's actually a lot more complicated," he said, lifting his cup in a toast. The others quickly followed suit, “The first and most important factor is affinity, as you already know. It separates the wheat from the chaff, more so than talent or anything else. It is also the hardest to quantify in magical terms, as one’s affinity changes through various circumstances.”

He paused to take a sip from his cup, which looked more like a goblet for religious ceremonies than anything else.

“Most people take an affinity appraisal when they reach adulthood. Father will most likely have you take one soon" he said, catching my interest, "To be honest, everyone is curious about it. It is not often that we have members of the Guard in our presence."

I was then interrupted by Dallary's next words to register anything more than that.

"Such a bore, isn’t he?” the boy spoke, bringing his feet up on the chair next to me, “Here’s a tip for you, since we’re partners in crime now: Don’t believe a word of what he says, nor do anything he asks of you.”

I thought he was joking with me, but his smile had dropped from his face completely.

“My brother might provide a civil impression at first, but trust me, I’ve seen what’s under the mask when no one is watching.”

I nodded, looking as Cristopher laughed at one of Dean’s jokes again. He still seemed like a good guy to me though.

“So what do we do now?” I said, scratching the back of my head with my free hand. The other one was still holding up the spoon. It was quite a bizarre sight, which I was surprised no one had spoken to us about.

“Pops should announce when the affinity appraisal is to be held, as well as his general plans for you, I guess,” Dallary said, “Apart from that, he thinks this may be a chance for us to make some valuable connections.”

Then he glanced at Angelina and Sophia, the two girls that haven’t moved from their seats since the start.

“As for them, pray that you won’t meet Angelina alone in the hallways. She won’t kill you, my sister is not that stupid. But trust me when I say you’ll need restoration magic to recover.”

Oh great.

I sighed and turned to look at the girl in question. Angelina had stopped staring at us, watching instead as Cristopher and the rest of the group talked about magic.

“Okay,” said Annie, prodding at her food with a fork. The table was full of steaming meats and fresh fruits, and servants were bringing in more and more, “So if I heard you right, there are about a dozen affinities that one can have, but they are also affected by the type of emotion a person is feeling?”

“That is correct,” Christopher said, taking a sip of his drink, “Although most people won't possess an affinity during their lives, some can nonetheless manifest one briefly through strong emotions. The type of emotion you are feeling is important as well. It can strengthen an affinity and weaken another."

"Right," said Annie, though she had furrowed her eyebrows. I wanted her to ask about that concept some more, but she didn't prod him any further.

No-one spoke up again, so the others must have exhausted their questions as well.

Christopher smiled, "Well then, I hope you won't mind if I acquaint myself with the fifth member of your party."

He used a hand to motion at the left-most side of the table, where Dallary and I sat at.

"Lewis Fallester," he said, "I see my brother has made himself comfortable around you.”

The rest of the group looked at Dallary, who had placed the spoon back on the table.

The pressure didn’t return.

“If his presence is ever bothering you," he continued, "I will personally see to it that he gets disciplined."

Dallary laughed, "I assure you that he is in good hands, my dear sibling.”

The boy stood up to give the group a mock bow.

“I am very pleased to meet you all, although I have been given a terrible introduction from my rude older brother."

His older brother sighed.

"It would have been an honor to speak with you all, but you were in such a deep and fruitful conversation, that we did not want to intrude."

Cristopher crossed his arms, "I believe I had been talking to our guest, who you so kindly interrupted. He can speak for himself, can he not?”

Dallary smiled.

“Of course he can," he said, eyes piercing through me, "Right, Lewis?”

I didn't like where this was going at all.

"Yeah," I said, fidgeting with my hands. God, I hated being put in the spotlight, "Don't worry, Chris. We were just talking."

Cristopher looked at us both. After a moment of pause, he nodded, "Is that so. I beg your pardon in that case."

He picked up his drink to give me a toast.

"Nevertheless, you have been rather quiet for being the main talk of the palace. Please, do tell us about yourself."

I groaned inside, trying to think of what to say to him, "There's nothing really worth mentioning about me. The same goes for the group as well. We were just about to graduate from a no-name high-school, and were probably never going to see each other again."

The others stared at me from my peripheral vision.

"Other than that, we've had some general education at school, but I don't think that has any relevance here."

Cristopher seemed to take that in, "That is quite surprising, actually. Past members of the Guard have always had feats of glory even in their home world."

I smiled, saying, "Well, I don't know about any of them, but we're as plain as you can get."

The whole group murmured. Claire elbowed me in the arm, while Samuel and Dean looked at me in disagreement.

"Speak for yourself," said Samuel, "I was gonna join the national judo team, had this stuff never happened."

"Yeah man, what the hell." Dean said, pointing at me accusingly, "You should stop with the self-deprecation, dude. It's not cool."

They both wore formal black suits, similar to mine, except that I had a butler's tailcoat. I could still see Samuel's bulging muscles through his clothes, while Dean had his previously messy hair slicked back and combed.

"You guys are seriously delusional if you think we're the right people for the job," I said, clenching my fists, "Chris, I'm sorry for saying it, but I think your father made a big mistake for bringing us to your world."

Cristopher said nothing. Instead, I yelped as Claire punched me in the ribs.

"Apologise," she said.

I gaped, "For what? For telling them the truth?"

"You not only embarrassed us and yourself, but you insulted the king."

I turned to see Ortonoff and his wife conversing between themselves. Only the two sisters had paid attention to our talk.

"Yeah, sure, I'm sorry for bruising your fragile ego and saying things that you don't want to hear," I said, raising my voice, "Can you stop guilt tripping me now? I don't want to join your cool heroic gang, so leave me the fuck out of it."

Claire glared at me through her glasses. Her shoulders convulsed up and down, and I honestly feared that she would strangle me at any moment.

She was about to open her mouth and speak, when something shattered on the table.

We all turned to see Mary, holding the remains of her glass, the missing parts of which had spread all over the table. Her face was obscured by long straight hair, but her eyes could still be seen, shifting over each of us in turn.

"Please," her voice was quiet, but crystal clear through the ghastly silence that had ensued, "We shouldn't fight between ourselves."

"Of, of course Mary," said Annie, before she snatched her hand from the glass, "Are you hurt? No, don't move. Let me look at it. You must have cut yourself on the—"

Mary opened her hand, which had no cuts whatsoever.

"Glass," Annie paused. She inspected her hand up close.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Mary shook her head, "I'm okay. I think I squeezed it too hard."

She then lowered her eyes as a maid hurried up to clean the shards.

"Sorry," she said to the servant.

"It is fine, my dear," the woman smiled. She picked up a large piece of glass with a handkerchief, saying "Thank Mesiv that you're alright."

The maid diligently cleaned the table with her hand and the cloth. When she finished brushing off the last of the pieces, Ortonoff spoke up.

"It appears we have a lot to thank Mesiv for," he said. His posture had seemed to relax, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He turned to look at his wife.

"You saw that too, Aria, did you not?" he said.

"I did," Ariamara smiled, "You were not wrong after all."

The others watched as the two conversed, a look of obvious confusion on their face. I didn't blame them, because the same applied to me.

"When I said that your group had potential, I was in no way exaggerating for effect," Ortonoff said.

He stood up and walked to our table, giving Cristopher a pat on the shoulder.

"Can you explain to our guests what we have just witnessed, my boy?"

The older brother hesitated. He looked at us—at Mary again, and this time there was a hint of respect in his eyes.

"Yes, Father. What the young lady displayed had been nothing short of a miracle. She transferred her internal aura to her hands and used it to crush the enchanted glass. She even used a portion of her mana to prevent herself from bodily harm."

The king nodded in approval.

"That is right, my boy. All of that, she had done without any private teachings from a magus, nor had she taken a single lesson from a magic academy."

He looked at Mary in the eyes.

"You are a natural, Miss Stewart. The talent you possess is something that many nations would beg for. Never forget that, nor place any doubt in yourself, for only great things await you."

Then he faced the rest of our group, his gaze pausing on Dallary and me.

"I have no doubts that each of you have exceptional abilities. Ones, which will make the townsfolk bate their breath as they hear stories of your adventures. With that in mind, tomorrow you will find exactly the kind of power you possess. I suggest you rest while you can. An affinity appraisal is not something to be taken on a tired mind."