“Mary, I thought I was clear - we were pushing it with six people,” Mortimer said, shining white light through his eyelids. He did that more and more recently.

“Come one, he lost his party in your fight! Don't you think you owe him this much?”

“It's not about what is owed, it's about what the Academy will allow! There is no mention of any party of seven in the recorded history.”

“But everyone said that this limitation was only customary!”

“It doesn't matter, as long as the dean's office demands it.”

Stephen tried to step in at that point. “Listen, guys, it's not a problem, rea-”

“Anyone asked you?” Mary asked. “No? Then shut it. We're talking here.”

“You may go take a walk,” Mortimer said to the poor boy. “Getting Mary to understand how stuff works usually takes a while.”

“But-” Stephen tried voicing his irrational objections again. Finally, he backed down after a solid dosage of stares from Mary and her party leader.

Paolo sighed. He was cleaning his blade in the corner of the white room they were currently requisitioning from the Academy for party purposes. Younger kids were busy outside, playing with the puppies. Once they've found the magic to deal with the less pleasant aspects of these creatures, the little sloths became far more interested in keeping them company. Figures.

“Trust me, this will take a while. Come back after dinner, and you may catch the final fireworks,” the pale hero said.

“You could contribute from time to time, you know?” Mortimer said.

“Yeah, it was your battle too, remember?” Mary added.

“Nah, I don't think so.” Paolo cut his hand on the blade and used the blood as a high-pressure jet to wash off a few particularly stubborn stains. “I'm chill with whatever you guys decide. Have fun.”

Yeah, right...

“Just what's your problem, really? You've won against them already, so you can just do it again. Just pull out some ancient rule or whatever, and go with it.”

Mortimer's face darkened. “You think I just don't want to do it? Really? Fine. How about this.”

He raised his hands to chest-level and started twisting them in strange, flowy motions. His fingers poured from one form into the other, leaving trails of light or shadow in the air. It was obviously some kind of higher-level magic. A few seconds later, a grey ball of unidentified material was resting on his palm. It had a glossy surface covering a storm of grey sand raging restlessly without a single sound.

“Hey, hey, hey, Muchmighty preserve us... hold up, guys. Let's-” Paolo's objections fell on temporarily deaf teenagers' ears.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“If you think it's that easy, maybe you should lead this party.”

“Well, maybe I should.”

“Great. Take it, squeeze it, and Author's will be done.”

Mary reached for the strange artefact but hesitated inches before grabbing it. She looked at Mortimer's closed eyes, glimpsing pure darkness shining through his ever closed eyelids. Was she really going to do this? Then, a thought about poor Stephen reentered her head - the boy was busy pretending to be a marble column at the time. Unfortunately, as far as Mary could tell, he had no camouflage or shapeshifting powers, and the effect was... well, he tried, ok?

Mary snatched the ball, feeling the smooth surface under her skin. It was cold in an unpleasant way. The heroine looked straight at her former leader's closed eyes and tightened her fist.

She almost yelped as the thing melted, pouring over her fingers and up her arm as if she'd plunged it through the broken ice into the endless, cold void. Mary gasped as the threads of liquid metal crawled towards her heart. Instinctively, she tried to pull herself away, but she was entirely locked in place. Her eyes darted to Paolo in a silent cry for help, but the boy simply stared back at her.

And then it ended. The liquid soaked in through her skin, and the necklace's illusion covered it as if nothing had ever happened.

“Is... that it?”

“It is done,” Mortimer smirked, and Mary didn't like the implications. “Good luck.”

Paolo just kept shaking his head.

----------------------------------------

By now, Mary was pretty familiar with the dean's office procedures - her naivety died hours after stepping through the Academy's gate. She was fully prepared to combat everything they could have thrown at her.

Doubly so, since despite their previous... misunderstanding, Mortimer proved very helpful in the paperwork proceedings. He explained all the minutiae and catches she could encounter, and twice as much of those she couldn't. No paper, rule or regulations could stand in her way.

Or, so she thought.

Four days. It took four days of constant study, visits to the dean's office and Mortimer's spying to only arrive with perfect timing, when all the most traditionalist clerks were somehow occupied, but they did it.

Funnily, they got the last paper at the “Information” from Anna - the one actually nice person Mary met on her first day in the Academy.

“Congratulations!” the brunette said, handing Mary the confirmation. “I think you're the only team that managed to reach seven heroes in years. Maybe even since the Odysseus himself!”

“Odysseus?” Mary asked. “Like, the Greek one?”

“Oh, yes, he was a wonderful boy. I remember handing him his first permit for that ridiculous bow of his. He was never satisfied with how rigid the standard Academy weapons were. Eh, I miss having him around here.”

“Just get the paper and leave,” Stephen whispered to her through clenched teeth.

They had just spent four freaking days on those, and now he couldn't wait for one more conversation? How could he have so little patience? Mary turned to face him, to... wait. That wasn't anger painted on his face. Was he... scared?

“Anyway,” Anna continued unperturbed. “It is such a lovely day. You surely want to get out already - and I'm not going to stop you. Good luck on your journey, heroes!”

“Thank you,” Mary managed to say, before being half-dragged away by a trembling-legs Stephen. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“That woman knew Odysseus. The Odysseus.” Stephen said.

“Yeah. So? He's probably one of the local heroes who managed to sell his story as a book. My mentor told me that's pretty common around here.”

“Mary.” Stephen stopped before the dean's office door. “I know many people do this, and that he did it wasn't the big deal here. But - it was over three thousand years ago. That guy is literally dead for millennia.”