On no occasion did Val believe there to exist a teacher more demanding than Miss Peppers. She sure found out today.
Piercing shards grew with every breath as she pushed her pair of lungs past its former limits. Focus on the person in front of you, she told herself, gaze fixed on Caro’s path ahead. Positioned halfway within the trail of midborn, she went along with the tempo and forged onwards.
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Instructor Hawke barked, her command falling on deaf ears. Val’s heartbeat pulsed along the length of her skull, stretching her wits thin. Air leaving in uncontrolled huffs, she carried a pack twice her back’s measurement around the EC-room.
Shuddering threads of red rope fanned out on the tiles ahead, bringing a dreadful grimace to her face. The magical training tool doubled a mage’s perceived gravity at a touch, scaling in effect at every scratch against it.
She reined in her pace, taking the time to survey the motion of the ten wiry strings. Beads of sweat burned her blinking eyes, the safe lines of passage blurring the more speed the ropes gained.
“Is this how slow you’re going to be when a beast is running after your ass?” Instructor Hawke took an interest in her struggles, strolling so close her inquiry splashed spittle across Val’s face. “Trust your strengthened instincts and move Novice Efron. Move!”
A pathway opened up in the blur of obstacles and she took off. Her feet danced through the five meters of danger—hopping above the lower lines, darting past the ones that tried to attack and bounding over the last few.
The landing snapped knives of pain in her joints and she tumbled onto all fours. Saints.
“Pick it up, Novice. Up!”
She grunted and shoved the pack, detaching the onerous weight and heaving herself to her feet. Val shot a glance to the side and caught a glimpse of the instructor clad in a guild-inspired tracksuit. Still there.
Clicking her teeth at the lost opportunity to take a breather, she shouldered her load and, once again, set on her path. Caro jogged on the spot up ahead and shot a hand out begging to be high-fived. Holy shit, she mouthed as Val gave in and slapped her palm. You’re crazy.
Val’s lips quirked up. She couldn’t tell before, engrossed in moving across the country, but awakening as a mage boosted her entire body. Things moved slower, her body responded faster, and she could run for longer.
In that slight moment, her brain had operated in ways impossible a few weeks prior. A distracting disparity between old and new limits held her growth hostage, only to be resolved the day she became one with her altered body.
Heads turned as a cavity slid open in the EC-room’s wall, presenting a bespectacled youth.
“Larry, you’re five minutes late!” Instructor Hawke yelled.
“My replacement was running behind things,” he replied, dodging her glare by bowing to the active trainees. “Greetings, everyone. I was asked to explain a few things so you all can plan accordingly.”
“Oh thank the saints,” Caro wheezed, screeching to a halt. “A break!”
“When did I say that?” Instructor Hawke asked, her voice enough to spur the group of seventy into pristine movement. Her eyes took on a glow and hazy fog formed a canopy above. The substance fanned out, concentrating into white swallows that sped at the jogging recruits.
Val’s grip on her pack tightened. “Oh no.”
A trail of smog tailed each ivory bird, one swooping in for its first target. The trainee crouched low, dodging the attack yet dragged to the floor by his pack.
“The last thing you do when an avian creature attacks you is duck!”
Puzzled at her lack of presence beside Larry, Val’s head whipped in the direction of the instructor’s voice.
“Alfred.” Instructor Hawke adjusted her sunglasses from the opposite side of the room, kicking the trainee’s legs out from under him. “Give me ten for your disgraceful form.”
How did she get there so fast? Teleportation wasn’t said to be common to those beneath a Magister’s level, though Val was having a hard time believing the answer was anything else. An army of cloud-made birds remained stationed above, awaiting their summoner's next order.
“Lateral dodges exist people!" Hands pocketed, the instructor nudged Novice Alfred using the tip of her slippers. "Try to focus on your targets, not on dodging them.”
“When it comes to flying things, the majority of newbies zero in a single target. That is dangerous. Small aerial creatures like these come in droves within copper rifts. I lose my students to them each year.”
Val took another look at the summons flapping in a fixed position.
“Keep your head up, keep shuffling your feet,” the instructor said, dismissing the trainee once he finished his set of pushups. “And when the time gets to it, trust the mages behind you.”
“But Miss,” an Auricean trainee frowned. The picture-perfect hair-do initially worn slumped to the side in a sad arc, ruined in the hours spent training. “It's a fair assumption that I'm going to be one of those mages in the backlines. Can’t I just, I don’t know, sit out?”
“I don't know, do you want to die instead?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Then Flamesworth, you'd better get running.” Instructor Hawke whistled and her summons broke out of their shared trance, racing for the wide-eyed recruits. “Let’s move Novices, and listen to Larry while you’re at it!”
“Shit,” Caro cursed. “That girl doesn’t know when to shut it, does she?”
Val exhaled the lingering anxiety residing in her gut, fumbling for the straps of her gear. Hawke didn’t say surviving sans pack was out of the rules, did she? Embracing the fatigue, welcoming it even, Val let the bag free and hopped on her toes. “Have my six?”
“I’m insulted you had to ask.”
Feet wide and back against Caro, she fell into a combat stance as the first bird came near. In a near-vertical dive, it sped in, frame ill-defined at its momentum. Don’t run. Val held back, sidestepping its attack in a smooth manner. It crashed against the shiny floor and dissipated in a tide of mist.
“As recruits.” Larry cleared his throat, continuing at the instructor's go-ahead. “You are adventurers of Age of Atera only in part. We haven’t given you a badge carrying your adventurer rank. No badge means no DP, no registration and no rift diving.”
“And by DP, ” a trainee said in between desperate breaths, “you mean?”
“Diving Points—a system of metrics I just won’t get into today. Once official, you become one of two things: assigned or sponsored.”
A trio of birds circled, forming a floating halo up high. One broke formation and Val twisted to the side to dodge. Another summon edged closer and Caro veered towards it, fist raised, teeth bared.
“Assigned members are regular guildmates. They are simply registered. Contrarily, for sponsored adventurers, we act like patrons.”
Tired of the standoff and worried about the possible incoming backup, the two glanced at each other. Something had to give.
Ripping a flashlight off the pack’s velcro pocket, Caro threw it at a bird, a scary amount of strength behind the action. The summon blew up into cloudy particles as the tool passed through it, no resistance visible. Wait… could I do that using my body?
Caro’s grinned. “Gotcha.”
“The sponsored claim training free of charge and in turn, we ask for assistance when clearing dangerous quests. We advertise them under our franchise and in turn, we ask them to advertise our colours. It’s give and take.”
A swallow took one girl each. Val’s bird zigzagged, oscillating like a recently used swing. She swayed backwards at its horizontal approach, catching its torso with a tight-fisted punch.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Look, I understand. Being sponsored is amazing, but there are prereqs. You have to earn the position by becoming a pivotal member; or enroll in one of the top ten schools and join our sponsored-student teams.”
Condensed droplets formed a slimy coat on her hand and she flicked it off. Turning to see how her friend fared, Caro shot her a swift thumbs-up, attention up ahead.
Birds dealt with, Val braced for the next wave. Bring it on.
~
“Woah, slow down there, Efron.”
“Chug, chug, chug, chug!”
“What number is she on now?”
“Five, I think.”
Val emptied her water bottle, showcasing the plastic hollow shell. “All done.”
The first to brave the insurmountable task of approaching Caro, Novice Alfred lounged on the floor and swiped back his chestnut hair. “Didn’t think she was being honest when she said she could down that many in a minute.”
“You think that’s crazy?” Caro looked at him and his fellow companions, leaning in at her statement. “One time back in prep, she…”
Her words fizzled out as Val found a home in the ice-cold tiles. Collapsing onto the ground, her limbs sprawled out like a starfish washed onto the Portsidian beaches. So. Tired.
The details provided by the attendant streamed through her empty head, the information a bit splotchy. Busy trying to maintain her pace during training, the attendant’s words barely registered to her.
Thankfully she managed to catch the important pieces, able to string one to the next and decipher the primary purpose of his speech.
Becoming sponsored was a must.
Holding no connections in a world where relations were a prerequisite to excel, she was doomed to fall behind. What little opportunities were offered she needed to snatch, pride be damned. Convictions straightened out, she placed her sights on the top three universities in Ciazel, the other schools left as a background plan.
University of Reynor
Thales Academy
University of Atera
Will any accept her?
A finger tapped her forehead. Caro smiled down at her. "You okay?"
“Yeah,” she answered. "Just need some rest."
Alfred sat straight. “Practice was that bad for you?”
“Like you’re one to talk.” Caro snorted. “I passed you how many times in training today?
His cheeks reddened. “It’s not my fault the instructor picks on me.”
Spotting the last pair of sunglasses she wanted to see behind the blushing recruit, Val’s smile froze in place . Again—how did she get here?
Alfred glanced between their group of five, rivaling the stillness of a statue. “Guys? What's wrong?”
“Good to know I was picking on you, Novice Alfred.”
The colour in Alfred’s face vanished and he whirled around. “T-that was not what I meant, instructor.”
“No, I think I comprehended it perfectly. I’ll be sure to pick on you more.” Alfred’s face paled as Instructor Hawke patted his shoulder in faux care, a menacing smile on her face. “In the coming weeks, we’ll be learning cultivation and casting. Prepare yourselves. Dismissed.”
“Yes, ma’am!” came the simultaneous answer. Scurrying out of the EC-room in a single-file line, the Val couldn't help glance behind. Was she still there?
Alfred appeared as if he was about to cry. “A little warning next time, please?”
“That was all you.” Caro’s laughter echoed down the vacant halls. “I’m gonna grab my diving license after I hit the showers. Anyone wanna come with?”
“Sorry.” Val grimaced, remembering her promise to Master Winsford. “I’ve got somewhere else to be.”
----------------------------------------
Val fiddled with the ends of her damp hair, freshly showered. She settled for a white sweatshirt and a pair of washed jeans, hoping nothing extravagant was required to meet a Master of enchantments.
Riding the elevator past ringed floors, hovering motes of warm light swerved about. A couple settled into her skin, bursts of rejuvenation mending her weary body. She hardly noticed when the shaft doors opened, absorbed in the cocoon of refreshment.
She stepped into a circular foyer lined by bookshelves overflowing with texts of all kinds. Eight broad pathways snuck in between the indigo cabinets. Membranes of fluctuating energy restricted the majority of them, leaving one open for passage. Walking through exposed her to clamour akin to the ground floor, the sudden change bringing about a disorientating whiplash. I need to get used to all this magitech hardware.
Adventurers chatted among one another as they contemplated scrolls in hand. The rest joined the queue for a chance to talk to any blue-robed clerk manning one of the desks. One clerk's eyes lit up in unfounded recognition and she rushed to Val’s side, exiting her station through a swaying door. “Miss Efron?”
“Yes?”
The Kidraan clerk beamed, blue eyes disappearing at her smile. She waved over her shoulder and the ends of her robes billowed. “Follow me.”
Reentering the floor’s entrance, Val’s gaze wandered back to the shop, the clamour muted as she passed an invisible threshold. “Charlee, what was that place back there?”
“How did you—oh.” Charlee glanced at her nametag, a hand vanishing behind her pretty afro as she scratched her head in embarrassment. “Silly me.”
A card slipped out of her deceiving sleeves and she tapped it on a bookshelf. A string of words burned the thin film, whittling it away,
“Master Winsford would go on and on about the history, telling you the second the scribal branch began its construction.” Charlee shot her a wry smile, leading her down a hallway dyed in black, luminescent runes lighting the way. “In short, it’s an indoor hub to buy staple scrolls, talismans and anything enchantment-related. Every order has one inside the guildhall—the smithery and the alchemy branches are consistently full.”
The hallway opened up and, in the span of a short second, Val felt at home. A commodious atelier greeted her, corner-shaped desks filled by young scholars bending over books in earnest.
Centered at the core was a pair of long couches, split by a coffee table with a glass top and metal legs. A bar carrying everything from coffee to soft drinks sat at the head of the room. Enchanters hurled a slew of expressions, concentrating on the ongoing card game as if it were an auction.
As they noticed the pair’s entrance, fewer decks were dropped and more heads were raised. Val fidgeted from foot to foot. Irises blazed. Her feeble ASC was out of the bag. Here it comes.
“We got a newcomer!”
“Woo!”
“Welcome to the scribal common room.”
“Please come and put Charles in her place. That girl is a demon at Battle.”
Val blinked, at a loss. Did they not see right?
Charlee cackled. “Maybe next time folks, this one's got a meeting to head to.”
Stumped at the warm reception, she barely remembered to follow after Charlee, chasing her heels.
The corridor ahead carried a series of unnamed doors. Yet, in some way, her guide determined the one they stood outside the correct one. “Here you are, Miss Efron.”
“Call me Val.” She gripped the handle. “And wish me luck.”
“With your keen eyes, you won’t need any,” Charlee said as a way of farewell, leaving her alone in the quiet corridor.
“Master Winsford, I’m entering,” she announced, turning the knob. A floor-to-ceiling window bathed the office in light, rendering his quartz table a luminous lapis-blue. Everything from the carpet to the walls was a light beige, etchings marked across the entirety of the room.
Master Winsford looked up from his desk and smiled. "How was training?"
"I can't feel my legs."
"To be young." He chuckled, gesturing to the wooden bench opposite him. "I hope you're still up for the lesson."
“Of course,” Val said, stiffly taking a seat against her muscles' wishes.
“Great. We’ll start small," he said. "Can you tell me what an enchantment is?”
Val resisted the urge to shrug. “The definitions outside the Laws are very… abstract, to say the least.”
“Quite true.” He gestured to the marks across his walls. Were those runes? “Enchantments can be said to be a more reliable medium of spellcraft. We dictate how it forms and can correct mistakes in the comfort of our desks,” he supplied. “It requires a close connection to aether and it’s because of this attribute that the ends of its capability have yet to be seen.”
Soaking in the unexpectedly sophisticated answer, she nodded to signal that she understood.
“Before I go on another tangent, let me explain a key aspect.” He unfurled a sheet of paper and spread it across his desk. Refracted light bled through, turning the sheet translucent.
“All enchantments can be fitted into one of three categories and very rarely do they overlap.” He dipped a quill in his glass ink reservoir and, flamboyantly, he painted a lit candle. “The first kindles—it bring things forth. Generative enchantments, as they are normally called, spawn an element into existence at the expense of the user’s aether.”
He drew a large ‘X’ adjacent to the candle. “Restrictive type enchantments are the antithesis to generative-type enchantments. They limit an element, instead of allowing it to flourish. Silenced rooms are the prime example of this type in action.”
“Lastly,” he added a bolded plus sign. “Operative type enchantments utilize the five Aetherial Arts to create and change characteristics of the desired material. How to go about this…" he wondered aloud. "Aetherial Reinforcement, have you heard of it?
“Briefly,” she muttered. Collins and Williams hinted at it during the Tripartite Trial, mentioning that it was used to strengthen the body.
“We can emulate its effect on materials using operative characters. A great example of this is in chip-resistant enchantments.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “It is done merely by strengthening a specific attribute. There are no drawbacks. At all.”
“That sounds too good to be true,” she mused.
“It is, which is why being an enchanter is both ludicrous and difficult,” he stressed the last word. “Our class carries the hardest cutoff line for those equipped to create and those who are not. Very soon, we will see where on the line you tread.”