The thump of her heartbeat was all-pervading, felt in the tips of her fingers, heard in the cavity of her eardrums. It was an ordeal to comprehend the host's dutiful explanation through the jitters, the poor man exhausting lungfuls of oxygen to spell out the makings of the end result. The afternoon forecasted as many shoo-ins as there were dark horses, and a justification worked to impede the complaints well on the horizon.
According to him, two aspects were required to pull ahead of the crowd: a substantial placement, and—more importantly—an outstanding score. When it came down to the judges, it wasn’t the titles of ‘first’ or ‘second’ that mattered, it was the difference that set the two competitors apart. If the gap was one percent, the two stood no differently against their appraising gaze—if it was many times over?
Then it would play a part.
It’d be a great shame if her emission and knowledge tests blocked her chances at top ten, despite exceeding in detection. I guess we’ll just have to see.
The host went on regardless of her mullings, his words wrenching her back into the present. “At sixth place, we have John O’Conner!”
A wave of velvety colours arose, reflecting the crack of dawn. “Yeah, John!”
With a face as pale as his ivory pants, the Auricean from Morning’s Honour—John, apparently—marched to the front to claim his ribbon, nerves dripping off his stiff movements.
“Fifth place belongs to Noah Fore!”
Dissimilar to their equivalents, the Fore House existed as four distinct families, set apart in areas of focus. Noah Fore possessed features strikingly akin to Hillary—golden brown eyes, chestnut-coloured hair—indicating he was of the artificer bloodline.
“Just short of the podium, Jin Tianyu takes fourth place!”
A tide of suppressed surprise rolled through the crowd, whispers trailing the broad-shouldered enchanter, his head hung low. If a scion of the most highly-regarded clans placed fourth, Val didn’t have a hope in hell she’d clear the top three.
“Now, for the bronze.” The host looked down, as if double-checking the script written on his notes. Val’s thoughts slowed to the stillness of a tundra, sliced by a deafening ring as she strained her hearing to catch every syllable.
“From what I hear, this enchanter was a blast to watch in the last round.”
Val clutched onto her ink-formed artifact.
“Give it up for… Age of Atera’s very own Vaaalory Efron!”
In what felt like slow-motion, the audience shifted to her location—arms yawning apart in preparation for applause, knees jerking upwards to stand, lips agape in shock. Okay, perhaps it was just her jaw hanging, but that didn’t lessen the absurdity to any extent. I couldn’t have heard that right.
“What are you waiting for?”
A question cut through the picture with such force, her head snapped backwards. She found Hillary, knitted eyebrows at war with her lopsided grin. Val had forgotten all about the company she met on her way in. An unhealthy obsession loomed over her senses the millisecond she’d step foot inside the gymnasium.
“To translate my friend’s terse words,” Primus began, his expression mirroring the artisan’s. “That bronze medal isn’t going to wait for long.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Val chuckled, giving herself a much-needed jolt and shuffling her way into the aisles. Stares burned a hole through the tree stitched onto her back, hastening her pace. The high pedestal she’d set the host on took a shocking three strides to breach, and in what must’ve been a blink, she was a step away from the man.
After casting a mage’s bow in her direction, the item she’d trained so, so hard for appeared in his grasp. He draped the medal—compact brass wires woven into an art piece—over her bowed head, and the cool material balanced inside the slit of her coat.
“And for the silverrrr!” the host continued. “All the way from the corners of the country, tucked away in a village within the Third Halo, is Simon Hoffman!”
Her attempt to survey the enchanter able to steal away second place was thwarted by a group of staff. Chaperoned to the corner of the stage—that, till this minute, she had no dimensions for—she startled at the onslaught of rapid-firing cameras.
“Smile!”
“Over here, Miss Efron!”
“Give the Pondering Page your best look!”
By the saints. She tried to hide more than one wince. I swear might leave this place blind, she thought, taking her position among the top of lined runescribes. She acknowledged the lowborn prodigy with a bob of the head as his golden irises, alongside the gazes of the entire crowd this chilly afternoon, made their way to the host for the final report.
“Onto the announcement we’ve been waiting for,” the host said, bringing about a hush of silence, and a thankful reprieve from the flashing cameras. “This victory comes with no questions, resounding performances in every round. First place is taken by someone’s who’s talent outshines them all, by a dragon among men—folks, please join me in congratulating the Jin Clan as they bring home gold, won by none other than Xiandra Clementine!”
“Clementine, not Jin?” John’s murmur was faintly heard against the deafening cheers. As curious as her family name appeared, her existence alone warranted attention. Unbridled arrogance oozed out of her relaxed gait, her ceremonial robes obscuring the slender frame beneath.
The gold medalist paid no mind to the tumultuous ovation, grabbing her award by the hand and strolling past the row of winners. Her almond-brown eyes latched onto Val’s figure, pupils stretching to goading slits. What seemed to be a living, breathing serpentine beast curled under the girl’s armpits, vertical slashes eerily in sync with the scion. Soon though, the aura-induced image faded away, and she fell into position beside Simon, leaving Val to interpret the message.
I’ve got my sights on you.
“City of Atera!” the host roared, snapping Val back into reality. “These are your top enchanters of the Rookie Competition!”
Medal gripped inside her clenched fist, she sequestered the subtle threat to the rear corner of her mind and inhaled a sweet, earned breath.
----------------------------------------
To have one’s name on the Pondering Page’s foremost article garnered the country’s intrigue. By no stroke of fortune except diligence, Valory wound up on the banner extending to the boundaries of the screen, alongside the finalists of every order.
Taking a trip down the website, the first portrait and bio belonged to the bronze enchanter. Winsford's student nearly spat out her coffee in shock, to Miss Hayes’ eternal amusement. A sight to behold indeed.
“Hell yeah!” Miss Hayes leaned back into her seat—an office chair stolen from the common room. “No more clips, no more online interviews, no more essays.” Groaning, she stretched her long limbs to the sky. “Which means no more university applications. Life is great, wouldn’t you say, Val?”
Exiting the distracting tab, Winsford refocused on the university files open on his device. With a crafter’s competition victory under Valory’s belt, and a mountain of clips to assuage Miss Hayes' often-horrendous battle charges, he felt safe to send their files to the necessary schools.
“Val?” She repeated into the silence, whirling onto her friend. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I don’t know…” Valory fidgeted with her earrings. “I’ve been doing some research on my own, and it’s just been going nowhere.”
“Is this about your moth—” the magma mage cast him a glance“—I mean your older relative?”
“Not quite,” she sighed. “I’ve been confused on a lot of things, like a lot. But with my awakening, I can’t shake off the feeling that it’s… abnormal. And yes, I have no way of verifying what actually is normal, but…” Valory heaved a great deal of air, massaging the wrinkles on her forehead. “I’ve just got to ask. Is there a way to clear up any kind of confusion surrounding an awakening—to make sure what happened, happened for a good reason?”
The insides of one’s awakening spoke to the truest version of self. It cut deeper than telling a therapist your innermost fears, revealing facets of a person most would rather not put into words. Winsford and Rhodes relied on that aspect, hoping the girl sitting at his table would forgo the answers and let the mystery rest.
Curiosity had a way of ruining things.
“The beginning of magic is frequently vague, which in turn, is quite frustrating. More so for Novices, who are unaware of the magical arts. For this reason, universities have end-of-year checks to verify a number of things—aptitudes, artistry, affinities,” he answered, lacing his fingers.
“You’d be surprised to hear that currently, out of the newly-awakened mage identifying as mono-bound, one in every twenty is dual-bound. I know telling you doesn’t work, but I’ll inform you once more,” he let his student’s doubting gaze rest on his face. “Do not worry. December brings answers, more than you know."
Far more, he added internally. While eight months might seem like forever for a youngster, Winsford knew just how fleeting the days often were. In eight months, the girl before him needed the backing of two major players in the country, to be a familiar presence to the right people, all to soften the reveal of one—or, even two—extraordinary elements.
There was a deadline incoming for the girl, one with consequences she couldn’t dare to afford.
----------------------------------------
The First Halo of Ciazel,
Atera,
East Lily Drive
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
-One week later-
Val’s stilted progress on Life’s Hymn irked her to the bone, and even a hot shower couldn’t scrub it off.
The leaps she’d traversed to arrive at the information strained Val on her best days—it simply was never good news. Restlessness bubbled in her chest, at odds with the pen in her hands. As a long-winded sigh left her in a hurry, she slumped on the chair and shook her head. These thoughts aren’t fair to Mom.
Unable to think of any excuse to refute her internal claim, she printed her final words on the unfurled paper and folded it threefold. Penning the recipient's name on the outermost flap, she slipped it inside an envelope. A swish stretched across the room as she pried open the furniture’s attached cupboard, a stockpile of unopened letters shifting at the sudden movement.
Addressed to a single person, the letters spoke of events on a wide-ranging spectrum, from memorable treks through Thunderstone, to celebrating Andy losing his first tooth. Indeed, one person in the world deemed the varied creatures of a rift as important as preschool milestones, one incredible, ever-positive person.
Mom.
And she will read these letters, using her own fully-functioning hands, and feel as though she was there every step of the way. That’s the goal.
Val dumped her work-in-progress to the pool and whisked on a set of active-wear. If a shower wouldn’t do it, perhaps a nightly jog would have a better chance. It was counterintuitive in a sense, to work up a sweat after washing up, but an easy pace would feel no different than a walk for an experienced adventurer.
“It’s a bit late for a run, don’t you think?” Caro called from the couch, the T.V. remote pointed to the near-black sky visible through the curtains.
“It’s more sightseeing, technically.”
“It’s late for that too,” she countered. “Just text me your location so I know what to tell the police if you get kidnapped.”
“I won’t be kidnapped, Caro.”
She snorted. “Girl, we both know you have a better chance finding a date than avoiding trouble. Which, to be honest, would be great odds for most people—but you, Valory Efron, are not most people.”
“I’m busy,” Val threw over the shoulder, lacing the strings of her sneakers. “Too busy to care about that stuff.”
“I call bull,” Caro said. “I know for a fact you’ve left one or two not-so-discreet people on read.”
Val shrugged on her pastel windbreaker, zipping it up just to allow the grey hoodie to peek through. Opening the door, she raised an eyebrow at her friend. Is there anyone this girl doesn’t know?
“See,” Caro spoke into the prolonged quiet. “A truth by omission is still a truth.”
“I think you got that one backwards,” Val chuckled.
“Don’t you try to change the topic.”
“Just hold down the fort for me, will you?”
The metal mage parried her friend’s glare with a grateful wave and disappeared down the hallways. Technicalities aside, Val truly was en route to a tourist attraction. Spare time was as rare as diamonds to a crafter, evoking a desire to make the most of the free time, vexed or otherwise. Dozens upon dozens of sites littered the country, all dedicated to the Elemental Saints.
The scope spanned anything between a center and a fountain, or a statue and themed amusement arcade. While such an abundant array of choices were sometimes hurtful, the Elemental Saint of Astrum’s park reported as the prettiest overnight, making the nocturnal enchanter’s choice quite obvious.
An hour-long jog later, grass edged into the concrete jungle, rivers of starbugs streaking the murky air in glowing purple-blue. A squirrel skittered next to her even pace, and Val could’ve sworn she saw the creature wink before depixelating into an incandescent mist.
Unlike her initial thoughts, the pixels didn’t simply fade out of existence. Swirling about her head, her run came to a halt as the particles raced to position themselves ahead. A buzz filled her ears as they flitted into formation, arranging into legible script.
Welcome to Astero’s Abode!
No, the Astral Saint herself did not deign Val a warm welcome. Akin to the coding embedded into animation, the lightshow was the elaborate work of a team of talented artificers—mechanics and enchanters, specifically. The awed tourists nearby gasped, probing fingers poking at nothing. Chuckling, she set about through one of the well-trodden trails and encountered the ideal spot to let her stowed frustration simply… ebb away.
Candle-like butterflies camped inside the canopy of a grand lamptree, splashing rings of radiance onto the midnight bark. A grey carpet of grass rolled beneath the plant, and the neutral colour absorbed the array of hues shining from above. Val’s breathing came unhindered, and she moved to sit cross-legged under the lamptree’s watch.
As the soothing ambience of her surroundings softened her bitterness, it left behind a clear mind. Breathing in the chilly, mid-spring air, she reoriented herself away from Life’s Hymn-focused troubles and hunkered down on a topic long overdue.
Spellcraft.
As the months stretched on, Caro’s spur-of-the-moment decision to blow off steam within a duelist center paid off in more ways than one. Each fight in the ring sharpened her battle instincts, smoothening her ability to weave magma and sand as a single force. To top that off, her franchise offered spells like they were free candy, giving their up-and-comer an extensive amount of resources.
Not one to fall behind, Val journeyed downtown and visited the Commodity Branch. As much as it physically hurt, Val refrained from exploring the ageless building and instead parked inside the Novice segments, searching for any useful—or usable—metal spells.
Techniques for a metal Striker were scarcely seen, as most among her kind tread the Bulwark’s Path. Luckily enough, Shard Bomb and Metal Puppeteer caught her eye and, with a subtle command to Aster, she snapped a quick shot of their spellsheets.
{Invocation} [Metal] Tier 2 «RUDIMENTARY»: Metal Puppeteer
Type: Combative — Offensively-skewed, Utility
→ Enact your needs through marked metal (material that is, in some way, bound to the user). Metal Puppeteer differs from Metallic Reformation—extreme change in form is not possible, solely movement.
Core Hex Criterion
Offence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Defence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Agility:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Malleability:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Health:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Special Effects:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Minor Hex Criterion
Radius: Dependant on the mage
Incantation Tempo: Dependant on the mage
Energy Required: 30 AS
That is one steep price to pay. In fact, the cost topped her current ASC entirely. The jump to Tier 2 brought about several changes, including greater aether expenses, as well as additional mechanics.
Evidently, higher tiers allowed a broader range of dynamics, which in turn called for tighter identification. As such, tiers were forced into two discernable levels: rudimentary and advanced. The distinguishing traits were straightforward—spells containing four or more notches in any metric were classified as advanced, and techniques failing to hit the quota, were rudimentary.
Metal Puppeteer had its restraints—for one, the metal utilized must be marked by her soul signature, limiting it against conjured materials preemptively summoned. Furthermore, its sole job was to move metal, leaving much of the responsibility to the mage. As a Striker reliant on spells like Metal Spike, it erred on the side of too much agency.
In the short term, a world of strained casting lay ahead, but in the long term? This could be the most important step in her elemental career. As the rite of specialization drew closer, she wanted to actively shy away from conjuration, or at the very least, limit it. The act might save her from the grief of losing a significant part of her arsenal.
Besides, as her spell cache grew, the list of possible combinations multiplied. The blend of Metallic Reformation and Metal Puppeteer expanded her options far beyond her wildest dreams, and she couldn’t wait to execute it to its fullest. Val’s growing smile at her future as a Striker froze as a shout echoed in the silence of the park.
“I’m warning you for your own good, Pete. If you don’t leave me alone right at this moment, you’ll regret it nine times over!”
“Dude… just take a second to look around. It’s six to one and—news flash—you aren’t a part of the six.”
Butterflies flapped away as Val slipped through the dark trees, beholding a group of kids parked inside a major intersection. Bystanders lingered on the edges, phones out in various ways. A few held the device at a distance to record, and others squashed them between ear and shoulder in what had to be a call to the authorities.
A copper-haired girl seemed tired of the standstill and edged in, breaking loose from the wobbly encirclement surrounding the young victim. “Teachers go on and on about your oh-so-awesome technique,” she drawled, teeth bared. “Let’s see how it fares in the real world.”
Val slinked past the growing mass of bodies with a couple of deft maneuvers. “Hey!”
The kids—no older than thirteen—seized up, flipping toward the crowd in search of the intruding voice. Their fright visibly lessened as their sights panned Val’s frame, her outfit painting an outwards picture of a passing jogger.
“Leave him be,” Val added.
“Oh yeah?” another said, giving her a blatant lookover. “I don’t think two against six is any better.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me correctly.” She unveiled her Aetherial Vessel, submerging the vicinity in the unconstrained aura of a Novice. Billows of vaporous clouds snuck out of the ends of her closed lips as she hissed her final demand. “Leave. Him. Be.”
The nearby watchers retreated several paces, and the bullies traded fleeting glances.
“This ain’t worth the hassle,” the leader said and spat on the grass. “Let’s get out of here guys.”
The flock of onlookers split, relinquishing the grumbling pack from the questioning stares. Val’s narrowed eyes trailed their backs, and she released a handful of relieved air at their quiet departure. Cutting ties to the beckoning ensign within, she deactivated the art in full and concealed her AV under its natural cover.
Aura manipulation thrived in niche moments, usually to drive a point home. She’d never heard about it until she let her awakening slip to Master Winsford a week ago. It opened the opportunity to grill the wise enchanter on the topics she’d come across amid her searches; he volunteered to teach her the beginnings of aura manipulation afterwards. Sure came in handy.
“You doing okay?” Val asked.
“Thanks to you.” He dusted off his crimson flannel, and tied his midnight strands into a tail behind his shoulder. “Pete and his friends over here invited me ‘cause they wanted my help on sparring. Didn’t know it was a trap ‘til Bea showed up—and Bea hates my guts,” he shook his head. “I knew it was a little weird to train at eleven o’clock, though, so I chose this place. It’s never empty.”
“Good thinking.” Val eyed the surroundings, frowning toward branching roads. “Look, I don’t feel safe letting you walk out here on your own. My guts saying your little friends are camping out somewhere.”
She rummaged through her pocket and retrieved a laminated card. “Take a photo of my I.D. That way, if I do anything to you, then you’ve got some sort of protection.”
His grin shoved his cheeks to the corner of his face, accented by dimples. Although a smile never graced Kenneth’s face, Val detected an uncanny resemblance in the Zingese boy in front of her. Probably why I jumped in so fast.
“Thanks again, miss!”
Without a moment’s notice, Val’s thoughts were washed away by a grimace. What was she—an old lady? “Val works just fine.”
“Rowan for me,” he supplied.
“Alright Rowan,” she flashed him the smallest of smiles. “Lead the way.”