The Niska Warp Portal Station is almost deserted when we arrive. The wide, brick building doesn’t see much traffic outside of rush hour. Besides some equinesques tethered by one of the entrances, Argin, Eris and I must be one of a dozen people come to use the Station’s modest four portals.

  “All right, down you go.”

  Argin crouches, and Eris dismounts from her piggyback ride. Her polished shoes clack against the tile.

  “Stay close by when we reach the city,” Argin says, leading us towards the ticketing booths. “I know you’re not babies anymore, but Irongate’s real easy to lose yourself in.” He chuckles. “Your mother and I lived there six years and we still get turned around.”

  We nod our understanding. Man… it’s probably because I’m growing, but the Niska Warp Portal Station feels smaller every visit.

  People don’t often travel farther out of town than they can go by mount. In the past twelve years, I’ve only used the Station six or seven times. Argin and Katria value road trips--so much as you can call an hour’s ride a ‘road trip’--as family outings. Eris and I usually sleep through them, though.

  The ticket booth attendants fawn over my sister and me, complimenting Eris’ pink bow and my smart white shirt. Argin grins. He picked them out before we left.

  ‘Your first Appraisal’s no small happening,’ he told me in the kitchen, while gathering Eris’ hair into a fluffy ponytail. ‘Wear your good shirt. The one your mother made you.’

  I don’t care about impressing the Appraiser, but my parents insist on dressing us up for city excursions. It’s an ex-adventurer thing. Most adventurers are -- pardon my language -- attention whores at the height of their careers. Few outgrow their hunger for admiration.

  One portal attendant crouches to Eris’ eye level with a smile. “What are you doing in the city, little Miss? Just a family outing?”

  “Nah. It’s irmán’s Appraisal day, so we have to go out.”  She tugs my hand for emphasis, beaming with second-hand pride. Ahh, she’s a good kid. Never change, Eris.

  “We’ll take a day pass.” Argin grins and pats her head. “Half price for kids under twelve on weekends, no?”

  “That’s right,” the attendant replies, and rises from her crouch.

  While she and Argin complete the purchase, Eris squeezes my fingers. “I’m excited for you,” she says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “If me and Papa aren’t let in the office while you’re being Appraised, tell me what happened later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply with a gentle smile.

  I admire my sister’s enthusiasm. Eris hasn’t shown interest in following our parents’ footsteps as dungeoneers, nor does she seem curious about studying magic, but I suspect she’s waiting until Appraisal before making plans. Her mature approach to life planning startles me sometimes.

  Once Argin’s got our tickets, we line up at Warp Gate A - Irongate. Eris looks up in wonderment. I stifle a yawn against the back of my hand.

  Like most warp portals installed within my parents’ generation, Niska’s are plain and practical. You’ll find no majestic stone arches nor overwrought iron doorways here. According to the warning signs by the ticket booth, each one stands ten feet tall and just as wide. Their simple, angular doorframes bring to mind the children’s ward at the hospital Arata resided in.

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  “Get your tickets ready.” Argin’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. Eris and I shuffle forwards at his bidding. “We’re up next.”

  The people ahead of us step into the portal, and are swallowed up by the whirlpool of light. The warp gate technician responsible for their transfer waits until the mana-charged air settles before turning to my family.

  “Where are we heading today, sir?”

  “Irongate. We have day passes.”

  Ever obedient, my sister and I offer our tickets for inspection. The technician nods and waves us through. My eyes linger on the creases of his smile for a moment, and I wonder how many years he studied to become a master of Spatial Magic.

  Sounds strange, no? Master spellcasters working the equivalent of subway stations?

  An observer from Arata’s day might consider a job minding the warp gates entry-level, blue collar work, but the technicians are tasked with more than getting people to their appointments on time. Warp gates require a consistent mana supply to stay running. Even small gates like these require hourly maintenance from two mages, lest they collapse and suck their passengers into oblivion.

  You put your life in the technician’s hands whenever you use a warp portal. Developing the capacity to store and manipulate so much mana takes decades of practice. Ha! To think Arata found long elevator rides frightening.

  We follow Argin past the portal frame and into the swirling light. The world spins around us, cold air whipping at our hair, and I shut my eyes tight. Eris grips my hand. My insides plummet like we’re in freefall, but only for a second.

  Then it’s over.

  The wind grows calm. The world solidifies underfoot. I wait for my stomach to settle, eyelids clamped shut, every nerve and fibre of my person tingling. The sound of a chattering crowd replaces the thump of my pulse in my ears. Warmth seeps back into my skin.

  The cheerful voice of an attendant says, “Welcome to Irongate. May I see your tickets?”

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

The minute we leave the station, up on Argin’s shoulders goes my little sister. Nine seems old for piggybacks, but Eris’ small frame weighs less than the average third-grader, enough for even I to lift her. She clings to Argin and ogles our surroundings. This is her second visit to the city.

  Although I’m growing familiar with Irongate, I admire it as well on our way to the Appraiser’s. Niska’s rustic charm is far removed from Irongate’s sophisticated aesthetic. Arata wasn’t keen on world history, but he knew enough that I can reasonably its features as ‘Victorianesque’.

  Tall, terraced houses with brick slate roofs and modest decoration. Small, flowering planters adding drops of colour to otherwise uniform streets. Carriages drawn by artificial horses trundle down the road, while ragged children peddle D-Class charms and talismans to apathetic passersby.

  Argin guides me close by the shoulder when a pack of youths riding a giant tigeresque barrel along the street, its metal paws splashing through puddles left by the morning rain. I jump aside to avoid wetting my best shirt.

  “Magitech run rampant,” Argin grumbles. He glares after them. “Those hooligans ‘ll break their necks someday.”

  “It looks fun,” says Eris, “But I guess it’s dumb too.”

  I just scowl at the riders’ antics. Irongate needs a bloody speed limit.

  We turn a corner, cross to a quieter block. The Appraiser’s office isn’t far ahead! Even for short children like myself, it’s hard to miss the emblem denoting government establishments when they’re painted large above every doorway.

  Excitement quickens my heartbeat. “There it is.”

  “Let’s go!” Eris cheers.

  “Now, now. I’m not a horse,” Argin says, and we siblings laugh at the comparison. If only for today, I’ll allow myself room for immaturity. Appraisal is a staple of Ursican childhood, and who’s to say a former 30-year-old man can’t appreciate his second youth?

  Grinning, I precede Eris and Argin down the block. Dawn or Dusk, average Attributes or genius level stats… It doesn’t matter how privileged I am. Once I know where I stand in this world, I can start planning my path to becoming a Great White Mage.

  Onward!