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Scrollcrafters Scholars Grounds
Training Ground of Cessine City-Fortress
Aiven had always preferred the indoors, but the stuffy halls and rooms of the scholars made him decide to venture out, especially this morning. Sounds of activity were everywhere. Everyone was incredibly busy and the energy of it all was already draining him, afterall today was the start of a new season for the Training Grounds.
Slipping beyond the lecture halls, he found himself not long after at a neat space between two architectural nightmares that scribes and clockworkers called 'home'.
The buildings in the Scholars' Grounds were nothing more than a huge mass of rooms and balconies, weathered and appropriately hermit-like depressing. It was in a state as if added with no regards to design or gravity which was evidenced to its constant year-long renovations and construction done due to some unforeseen 'accidents'.
On some occasions, one would even see glowing orbs being shot out from any of these rooms, sinister artificial smokes and other more questionable substance seeping out.
Thankfully, none of these could reach the small sturdy bench Aiven had claimed for himself.
The simple unattended garden was originally a property of the Scrollcrafter's. However, with the rise of the Artificiers Block just beside the Scrollworks Press, this neat stretch of smoked cobblestones and trees in-between the opposing establishment was eventually eerily forgotten in time.
Just the way he wanted it.
Lounging his legs up, he lazily watched as the streams of warm light darted from the overgrown ivies that were creeping on the imposing red-bricked walls.
The book of 'Known History on the Known Surface of Frear' that rested snugly in his hand was neglected for a moment.
It would be his fifth year under the Training Ground's Novice Course, and after the season, he would be going through the Age of Ceremony and became a legitimate apprentice from whichever ground that'd take him. Be it the scholars' ground, the artisans', or crafters', it was still possible with his talent to land a job-based class.
Reaching for anything more would be pitifully too much work even for his standards. From a simple beginner levels to a novice. His performance has been not that bad, considering how weak he was at using magic.
Magic.
He actually doesn't ask much, as long as he could graduate and travel afterwards then he's good to go. With that thought, he succumbed to his much-needed nap.
But it was short-lived.
"Aiven of House Gallinthe!" the newcomer said in a high-pitched voice, breathless and ringing with annoyance. Heavy steps came from the pathwalk. There was a flurry of clothes brushing over the pavement and sharp heels clanked angrily with urgency.
He had sensed her presence before she even came within hearing distance, so the breach of personal space didn't surprised him at all.
When he continued feigning sleep, the girl closed the distance and Aiven felt her flicked his forehead, painfully, with her finger.
"Nada? No reaction at all? If you keep ignoring me..."
Aiven mutely opened his eyes, and instantly guarded his expression. The only reaction the girl saw was the small, flushed spot on his forehead, and his hands clenched, curling the pages of the book they held.
“Oh hoh, so you're angry now?” She teased, sensing his thoughts instantly even though he hadn’t even hint at his growing irritation for his interrupted nap.
The girl before him was Delica of House Sila-ir, a novice of First Circle of Sudrine Fire.
She wore the standardized habit of the Training Grounds for novices--a dull red mantle with coat of arms of the Cessine City's Regalia on her left vest. It was a softer variation of the militia-esque uniform he wore by virtue of the academe's role in the City-Fortress's defenses.
"What are you doing here? Simos already saved us a seat, so let's go before some dimwad decides to vulture on my brother-- ”
The idea that little girls would be mature enough to set their eyes on her brother, a kid younger than him, was so preposterous that he simply ignored Delica's tendencies for exaggerations and used this free time to bind his parchments as she rattled on.
In his defense, he was patient enough to let her fume out with more than the adequate amount of rants which included a full explanation (with footnotes) about the use of communication-link items or the simple task of leaving messages.
Satisfied, Aiven made a last minute inspection on his brushes, swiped his books inside his satchel, before he finally faced the one disturbing his peace.
“Delica,” he said under his breath, just audible enough for the girl to realize that 'that' was the only greeting he could offer her.
“Muuu, unbelievable,” Delica let out a deep exasperated sigh, showing how upset she was with the dark gloomy boy she considered her friend, “after almost a whole solstice of not seeing each other and you still couldn't greet a lady properly.”
Delica, you're thirteen. You are not even a woman yet, let alone a proper lady, Aiven wanted to retort but he stifled his answer, forgetting yet again that Delica was in all actuality of the word, a noble.
Her house was one of the rich and affluent families of the Higher Gold Banners, one of the purest in the Nobility Heraldry. Their ancestry could be even traced back from the Olden Four Kingdoms three millennia ago.
Unconsciously, Aiven made a quick assessment on Delica. Her strawberry, glamour-dyed curls bounced as if they had a life of their own. She had an easy smile, clumsily donned garb, and a bright sparkle on her eyes--in other words, the infamous bumbling klutz aura.
There wasn’t even a hint of nobility about her.
“Well, you've always been the shy, silent type, so it can't be helped. But if we don't hurry, we'll miss the examinations!"
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Since Delica already accepted his 'silent-shy' responses, he didn't bothered with a reply and continued to clean up his materials.
He had snuck away from all the chaos of the first day of Training Grounds for a reason---to relax with the trees, the bugs, and the all too sweet peace of solitude.
Completely ignored, Delica rummaged over her inventory bracelet and sifted through her items as a listing screen appeared before her. Hovering with a translucent window, it accurately showed what she had stored in her 'spatial packet'. Her finger lightly brushed the surface and its contents rearranged, showing a different set of rune that itemized her catalogue.
A mana contract.
Taking his eyes away from the phenomenon that many novices and mages took for granted, Aiven slipped his small possessions to his leather-bound pouch.
For some reason, Aiven had the feeling that someone was looking at him. When he caught the eyes of Delica brimming with lukewarm sympathy he couldn't help but be annoyed.
["What?"] What is it this time? Aiven motioned with their usual hand signals, not bothering to speak up.
Delica was momentarily caught off guard. Her gaze went to the lone bracelet hanging on Aiven's wrist. The metal circlet was embedded with a set of stones and engravings of the same design she was wearing. The jewelry was too fashionable for Aiven who hardly used any accessories and who normally preferred to carry plain, easy to use materials and items.
“I still think it would have been better to use data ores instead of maxing out your inventory bracelet with those books of yours,” said Delica.
[“Mana,”] another hand sign.
“Fine, I get it, mana efficiency. Just get moving before I end up picking wildflowers off your back,” Delica said.
Mana conservation had always been Aiven's decree. Since data ores cost mana to manipulate the information stored inside, he had declared them off limits---a practice that irritated Delica to no end.
Delica grumbled as she pulled out her fae-shade wand that was the regulated equipment for all novices, and a scroll out of her inventory which she laid it flat on the ground. The moment Aiven saw the familiar parchment, his whole body backed away.
But Delica was faster. She grabbed his arm, twisted, and aimed for a head lock. The fragile beauty clashed despairingly with the brute manhandling.
“Nee, you don't plan on missing out your little sister's Test of Affinity, right? Right, Aiven?” her hold with strength of a bear made him stay glued to his place.
Apparently, Delica had been hunting him from the Heraldry Magisterium and the Archives just so they could all watch his little sister's entrance exam.
Only a moon before her first decade, Leian had already passed the tenth level cap. It was the minimum requirement to move up from beginner levels and be accepted on the novice batch of the Training Grounds.
As a general rule, a budding novice’s innate affinity identification had always been done at the start of the Leaf Solstice, and it was something any responsible trainee would look forward to. But Aiven already knew his sister's stats and there was no doubt in his mind that Leian was going to pass.
So why do I need to watch it with a bunch of adrenaline-packed, hormone-induced, sword-headed brats? Aiven sighed inwardly, the choke hold still immovable as he gave up on the struggle.
Last year's examination--nineteen novices, twenty apprentices, some beginners, four mentors and a horse almost died. A statistic he doesn’t want to be added to.
Unfortunately, Delica's looming no-nonsense smile as she ruthlessly looked down on Aiven settled all arguments he could voice out.
“I know how you hate crowds so I'll protect you, okay?” Delica's face brightened.
Just after activating the magic scroll, her arms loosened and slipped past his shoulders. She easily rested her chin on his head and he felt some red locks tickling his cheek.
Any boy his age should have felt discomfort at the unprecedented show of affection. Aiven, however, just pass it off as one of her normal motherly tendencies towards him. His unease was more for the faint smell of inks and oil gear clinging to him like second skin, and of course, the blatant height difference.
“[Trace: Simos of Sila-ir, under the Banner of Canary Gold]” Delica completed the activation sequence and the mana pattern appeared above the parchment.
The fibers of the supple magical beasthide was sucked right at the middle as if a miniature vortex suddenly materialized at its center, leaving only the magic circle glowing on its place. Without any hesitation at all, Delica jumped right in while shouting something he could only describe as a battle cry, pushing Aiven with her.
But before the spell could wrap around them, Aiven's attention was seized by a red light that erupted on one of the upper glass panes of the Artificers. Despite the glare of the sun, the brightness could be seen from the distance.
Soon after, a smoking cauldron was sent flying and caught by a window unfortunately left open from the Scrollworks.
The curses that followed were crisp in his ears. Whether it was deliberate or plain error out of stupidity would probably never be known as the [Teleportation Scroll] swallowed them.
Hah, this world is really interesting, he thought. It took a few seconds before Aiven realized that he was smiling.
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