Why is it sweet?

Val’s nose crinkled as the scent of overburnt charcoal invaded her nostrils. Lifting an armoured arm to shield her face, she kept a vigilant watch on the dark bushes crowding the vibrant glade. A sharp hiss tickled at her eardrums and she snapped to the left.

Slithering out into the open, a yellow-spotted snake set its slitted gaze on her. It stretched its ligaments far beyond what should be possible, opening a chasmal-like maw that spewed an abundance of orange venom.

A modest smirk unbalanced Val’s lips. Her vision sharpened, her figure loosened and her respiration tempo eased to a steady beat. Leaning into the balls of her feet, she pounced forward, weapon drawn and ready.

“Rock Rampart!”

Val didn’t waste energy dodging the creature’s attack. Aware of the watchful Bulwark at her rear, she knew a fortification spell would repel its attack. Earth protruded just high to foil the creature’s attempt, a squeal arising from the burning soil. She sidestepped the dirt curb to witness the reptile slink back into its cover. Oh no you don’t.

Orbiting the Metal Gate, her Glaze ensign burned within. “Metal Spike!”

A skewer of coldsteel pierced through the aether creature, hoisting it up as the beast squirmed in the air. She slashed off its head with a swift strike of her blade, barely batting an eye at the spray of crimson.

Perched near a snake of her own, Caro prodded at it using the hilt of her greataxe. “Mine’s dead.”

Walking over, a cover of energy gloved Silann’s hand and she harvested the beast’s core. “Not bad girls, not bad.”

Biased or not, Val had to agree.

The Strikers became additional cogs of the machine-like synergy at work in the squad. Before anyone directed her on where to be, she was there, fists out and spells at her lips. A chime would steal her attention on occasion, Aster’s helpful notification informing her about the enemy at hand.

“I like what I saw, Strikers.” Rick’s voice traveled the area. “You two persisted, and most importantly, you two adapted. You’ll do well in future dives if you continue like this. Great job.”

Scratching at her cheeks, Val dipped her chin. “Thanks.”

“Appreciate it, Cap.” Caro gave him a thumbs up.

He nodded, swirling a finger in a circular motion. “Alright folks, let's wrap it up and head home.”

Val whisked out a cloth, cleaning her blade as her mind flowed through the whirlwind of the past three days. More than once she’d knocked at death’s door, yet she couldn’t say with confidence that she was never going to enter another rift. Her advancements soared.

The way in which the arcane cowed at her words was electrifying. There was a feeling of growth that accompanied being on the edge, some changes intangible and others quite visible. Her ASC breached fifteen.

She never thought it possible.

Her weapon almost left her grasp as Bo brushed by her, casting a glare hardly seen underneath his unruly bangs. Tugging his mask into place, he trailed after Rick. Val’s gaze fixed onto his back, from his Hunter-inclined outfit—padded footwear, light gear, hooded cloak—right down to his wrapped knuckles. A sigh escaped her. Never heard a word from the guy.

A hand patted her shoulder, and she looked to catch Aeron at her side. “He’ll come around.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

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

Ivory-tipped street lights blurred past as Silann navigated the winding roads of Atera. It seemed bizarre for winter to exist after days spent next to fire-laden trees, like a fever dream awfully in tandem with reality. Gaze focused on the happenings outside their seven-seater, Val became stumped as the Vice-Captain drove right past Guildhall road.

“Um.” Caro thumbed the nearest window. “Are we not stopping at Age of Atera to hand in the herbs we collected?”

“We’re doing you two a little favour,” Aeron supplied, a mysterious tint tracing his smile.

Steering into the corporate sector of the city, structures escalated from thirty-floor apartments to glass establishments spearing the heavens. The main CAU building resided at the center of it all, a crimson skyscraper so high she couldn’t discern its top from within the car. Magic-induced plants flourished in squares sketched by civil mechanics, offering a pop of green where Silann parked.

“Here you are.” She gestured to the rear window, sight barred by the opening trunk. “You can go ahead and grab your things. It’s been, fun ladies. I will be looking forward to diving again.”

Halfway around the car, Caro paused mid-stride. “Wait, does that mean we’re not temporary fills anymore?”

Val leaned forward in her seat, eyes hopeful.

“I don’t know, is the sky blue if the sun’s out?”

“Woah, is that a page out of my book?” Aeron grinned. “My sense of humour is catching on, isn’t it?”

“Get out, Cote. Out.” Silann shoved the Anchor from the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him. Honking a fun tune as a farewell, she drove off into the steady stream of vehicles.

“You two fight a lot,” Val observed, the dark grey van vanishing behind a curve in seconds.

“It’s not fighting,” Caro intoned, voice as wise as a sage. “Don’t you see the sparks flying?”

“The sparks?”

Caro’s eyebrows wiggled. “The sparks.”

“That’s a cute effort to find something where there’s nothing.” Aeron chuckled and adjusted the duffle bag wrapped in his arms. “Time to show you the best part of rift diving.”

Red blinded Val as the refractive panels of the CAU building swerved open, allowing the three to pass through revolving doors. Sconces cast fancy shadows on the golden dividers, a gaudy shade of vermilion as the hardwood. Opposite the entrance, queues sprawled out of a multitude of stations. With the lines as blurred as it was, she’d call it a crowd, if anything.

“Move, move! Outta the way!”

The sea of adventurers split as if by the command of a mind mage. To the right, the wall spanning the room’s entire length split by the tiniest of cracks, a truck-sized sigil visible. A young mage power-walked out of the now-closing screen. Clad in jeans and a graphic tee, the massive presence she possessed seemed uncanny. Adventurers made an effort not to bump into her. Bloodstained and restless adventurers, to clarify.

She vanished on her next step, blue fluttering specks left in her absence. The roar of fast-moving air turned Val’s attention to the entrance. An enormous pair of wings sprouted on the fire mage’s back, made of the palest of flames.

“Holy shit, that’s Renee Fore,” Caro hissed as the lady took to the air behind the tinted glass. “How’d she disappear like that?”

“Aether Shift. Quite impressive, actually.” Aeron's eyebrows raised at the young Adept’s show. “Except for the top schools, only affiliations like the Twenty teach it. Doesn’t help that the Aetherial Art is too difficult to learn to be self-taught.”

The Anchor shoved his way past whispering adventurers and Val struggled to keep up. “Can’t believe she’s cleared enough to use the Spatial Stations.”

“Emergencies dictate the rules,” he answered, “and she’s a fourth-class adventurer.”

“Lies.” Caro shook her head in disbelief. “That’s a fourth-year in university you’re talking about.”

Aeron shrugged as they reached the forefront. On the other side of the aureate counter, the Auricean associate plastered an amiable expression and double-tapped his desk. A white ring formed, levitating a hair’s breadth. Unzipping the bag in his arms, Aeron spilled a mountain of energy cores on the floating disc.

The attendant blinked. “Quite the big haul, I see.”

“Hard work,” he responded. “Can we see how much this will be?”

“It’s calculating…” His eyes lit up and his finger pranced on his blank desk like it was an invisible keyboard. A translucent number popped into existence above the pile, the number ticking into the thousands.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“So, as detected, you have fifty-two energy cores and 1150 AS altogether. Oh, a Base Essence has been found in the two-starred Pyro-Wind Wolf and five flamedfinches—good for you! Do you want to keep any of them?”

“Why would I? 0.001% of a boost in fire affinity pales in comparison to the cash we’ll receive in relinquishing it.”

“It’s my duty to ask,” the attendant replied. “Total would be 11 small remnants and 8 infinitesimal remnants, along with five rednotes of change. If you would prefer it in rednotes the total is 635.”

“That’s it—six hundred bucks?” Caro grimaced. “That covers like half of my equipment.”

Aeron chuckled. “Welcome to a day in the life of a sixth-class adventurer. Energy cores don’t do much for mages on our levels. Quests are where it's at, or the pieces on the corpses.”

“So... you scammed us?” Val concluded.

“No, we provided a learning experience. This way it’ll stick in your head.” He nodded at the attendant. “We’ll take it in remnants, please. Also, how much DP do these two girls receive?”

“They both participated in every instance?”

“Yes. Else I wouldn’t be asking.”

“Calculations says it's under 1 DP,” he answered.

“Are you serious?” Caro slammed a palm on the scale. “You tell me what we can do with a single Diving Point? I’ll wait.”

“Cee,” Val whispered, tugging her friend back from the worker.

“If points were easy to achieve, adventurer classes would be redundant, wouldn’t it?” the attendant countered.

“You—!”

Aeron placed a hand on one of her metal shoulder pads. “What do you believe to be the smart way to attain points, Caro?”

The magma mage’s anger edged off at the inquiry. Focusing on his face, she gleaned the answer from his knowing placating smile. “It’s another quest, ain’t it?”

“Remember,” the attendant began before the Anchor could speak, “those DP can be used only to buy spells. It does not apply to your rank.”

Caro raised a sassy eyebrow at the unwanted information. Hurtling the remnants back into the duffle bag, she stormed away. “Thank you for your service!”

Val’s head whipped in her direction, too stunned to speak. “Where are you going?”

“I need to spar with somebody! Anybody!” she yelled in return. “We’ll split the loot at home!”

Emotions as bright as her hair, Caro made her way through the thick crowd. Like a spark, she was gone in a flash. Aeron covered his lips with a sleeve, failing to stifle his laughter. “She sure is something else.”

“Tell me about it,” Val muttered.

“Well….” He made satisfied noises as he stretched the kinks in his neck, a prolonged yawn finishing the routine. “I’m going to call a cab and head on home. You want a ride?”

“I think… I think I’m going to take a walk.”

…

Val roamed along the streets of Atera, content to be lost in the flux of rushing commuters. A tune hovered over the indistinct hum of chatter, faint and in the distance.

The classic song was one she could just hum along with, missing the years when she had the time to lose herself in music. Magic studies, unprepped parenthood, processing the grittiness of diving, enchantments—she sighed as the last idea came to mind. Let’s think about music, she told herself, straying away from a topic that was the core of her stress.

Music was a language paradoxically bound by rules and unrestricted by freedom all the same. A grip on guidelines of the auditory art made learning easier—individual notes overlaid could create chords, and chords underneath a melody brought about songs.

Yet, knowing how to break those rules was when musical artists transcended. Gone were the days when resonance between tunes was sought out for, safe in the major triads.

Nothing was wrong with that.

However, dissonance created jazzy, complex sounds begging to be unraveled. At a glance, these intricate chords seemed off, like a scratch you couldn’t reach. That’s where the fun begins.

What was tricking her brain? Why invert this chord here? How come she didn’t detect it at first? The route to untangling the supposed clashing of notes was always a delight and it never hurt to add skills to her personal repertoire.

“Wish enchantments worked that way,” she muttered, bumbling along on the street.

Could it? A faint thought flashed through her mind and she froze. For once, she ignored the nasty looks thrown her way.

“By the saints,” she whispered. She’d been tackling it at the wrong angle.

It wasn’t a problem that a rune acted as a consonant and vowel simultaneously—in fact, that was the key. Similar to notes, the interactions with one another generated different moods, both desired and unintentional results. In music, once there was context, most things could be justified if worked through.

The origin of an object was whole and at the same time, when rhythmically imputed amidst others of a similar kind, could become a piece in a bigger picture. All considered, runes shared more similarities with a note than a word.

Val grinned as things fell into place. Cracked it.

Pulling out her phone and dialing Master Winsford, she was surprised he picked up on the first beat. “Winsford, speaking.”

“Master Winsford. I think—no, I know I understand enchantments now. I can’t really explain it, but it makes sense—the simple ones, at least.”

“How soon can you come to my office?”

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

“Hey, it’s Val!”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“Hi Valory!”

“Welcome back.”

“You had better give me a hug.”

Embracing Charlee as requested, Val’s lips curled upward at the warm reception. Simple and ordinary to the vast majority, and still few and far in between for the metal mage.

Charlee shook her head. “It’s been years since I last saw you.”

“Ages, more like.” She pointed towards the corridor. “Master Winsford is in, right?”

“What for?” one asked.

“Good news. I’ve finally breached a threshold.”

In hopes her company could reinforce her doubts, she elaborated on the epiphany that visited her during a midafternoon stroll. It was less for reassurance and more to certify her breakthrough. How would she explain to a Master enchanter if it was a false alarm? Downright embarrassing. As the words trailed on, soberness crept into the expressions of those invested in the conversation.

“Scary,” someone whispered. “Took me an entire three months and yet you did it in what, three weeks?”

“Told ya there’s a reason she was picked,” another commented.

“A reason?” Val echoed, fighting off the unnerving sensation scraping at the nape of her neck.

“Ignore them.” Charlee gestured to the hallway. “Shouldn’t keep a Master waiting any longer.”

“Advice taken.” The Striker waved goodbye, heading down the corridor carrying a series of nameless doors.

One, two, three, four, five. This should be it. Counting the doors by the order, there was no doubt the knob she rotated was correct.

“Sit, sit.” Winsford’s lips tilted upwards at her arrival. Val took him up on his offer, lowering herself onto the bench lining his desk.

“You’ve surpassed my greatest expectations.” He rummaged through his desk, taking out a folded uniform set and passing it to her. “There’s a rookie-level artificer competition coming around the corner, and I know you'd do well in it. I and the entire scribal branch here in Age of Atera would like you to be one of our representatives.”

Val blinked, a faint wince warping her features. “Master Winsford… I don’t think I’m ready for anything too big. I’m always up to participate once submissions are in.”

Deadlines were coming up in a couple of months. At the bare minimum, she needed her statistics to resemble something normal if she wanted a chance at admissions. Being a silver wouldn’t do the trick.

“You're anxious,” he appraised.

I wonder what gave it away. Though she managed to keep the sarcasm to herself, her true feelings must’ve leaked through on her face.

“Thoughts on entering schools are dreadful, but not everything is lost. Scholarship allotments exist outside of exceptional mages,” Winsford said, as if reading her mind. “Upcoming, talented artificers are just as enticing to many institutes.”

“You mean… if I seem to be a good enough enchanter, I have a higher chance of getting in?”

“I wouldn’t say higher in itself. While scholarships range in the tens for normal students, thousands strive for them. In your case, yes, there are fewer scholarships saved for artificers specifically—but how many artificers, in actuality, are out there?” He offered a smile. “These few are covered in every course, regardless of which is taken, including…” He pointed to her ring. “Artifact training.”

“Aether Artifacts specifically?”

“It can be arranged once you’re accepted.”

Once, not if? His faith in her felt a sliver daunting.

Just a sliver.

The encouragement was needed for the obstacles stacked against her. She’d have to dig deep for resolve to fight her number one naysayer: herself.

“Competitions, similar to the ones I’m suggesting, are the easiest route to stardom,” Winsford continued. “It settles you on the rankings, which—in official and unofficial cases—you share no part in. No one knows of your existence. If you manage to appear in a manner that implores for attention, you'll be on the radar."

“In other words,” Winsford chipped in, “this is your shot into a top university.”

Could she add this to her mountain of troubles?

The same opportunity rarely comes twice, her mom would often teach, watering the countless windowsill-bound plants she hoarded in one go.

“You have two months, approximately,” he supplied. “It’s doable, but an important question begs to be answered. Will you do it?”

There’s no harm in declining, she liked to add the moment she set her watering kettle down. Just remember to ask yourself this one question: can you afford to say no?

Renee’s nonchalant display of the hardest Aetherial Arts popped into her mind as the reply. Aeron said it himself—chances to learn advanced techniques like Aether Shift remained behind the closed doors of the top universities. Accessibility was lying beyond those walls, which included possible routes to gain Life’s Hymn as a prestigious student. Alongside the characteristic of being a sponsored adventurer, admission into the ten schools were the be-all and end-all.

Then, the end-all and be-all it shall be.

“Sign me up.”