First Halo,

City of Atera,

Runic Mead

Val found herself on the cusp of formidable change, albeit majorly for the better. The idea of needing a social media specialist for an online presence that, in the words of Sura Brooks, was bound to happen in the coming years, scared her a little whenever the thought crossed her mind. Not to talk of soon training amongst the best Novices in the country, she officially ditched her low ASC in all respects. Safe to say it was a big summer, and that didn’t appear to stop it from becoming even bigger for her, because in front of her stood yet a different change.

She’d already scanned the I.D. hanging off her lanyard in Runic Mead’s lobby, had already crossed the Pen—briefly petting the playful dogs she discovered roaming the hall, naturally—and had already walked past the stained-glass tiles of the inner corridors. With the unprecedented meeting with Brooks fast becoming a thing of the past, the distant fear she’d put to bay clawed its way to the foreground.

Grandmaster sent word to the Scribal Hall, implying she should visit his office as fast as possible. She’d been somewhat avoiding the incoming talk, blaming on her busy adventurer schedule. Since Magus Kane put that excuse on indefinite hiatus, though, she was left with no choice except to “face the spell,” as her old teacher, Miss Peppers, would say. Sure, it might displace her right out of the comfort zone she’d scarcely settled into. At the end of the day, she realized, it remained only beneficial, and it was with an unsettling force that Caro’s words came to mind.

Be brave for yourself.

And if there had ever been a better time to cling onto them than standing in front of a receptionist desk who’d “buzzed the Grandmaster” and “let him know the young guest he’d been expecting has arrived,” Val wouldn’t ever know.

Not up to three beats later, the receptionist led her through the aesthetic makeup of the hall to an area hosting countless study rooms. The walls consisted of adjustable glass, discernible by the vast spectrum of settings the occupants applied. Some kept it wholly see-through and allowed passersby to take a peak into their study sessions, the ridges of their faces alight with the glow of their desktops visible for all.

Most, however, set it on an opaque shade, leaving the faintest silhouettes perceptible past the dark glass. The receptionist stopped in front of a said shaded room and the two forms inside stilled at their outside presence. She took the receptionist's cue to rap her knuckles on the hard material, and the screen promptly slid away.

Contrary to the rest of the crafting hall, inside sat the most basic of designs, home to two foldable chairs and a single, solid-coloured desk. The occupants, though, quickly stole her attention. On the side nearest to her, Grandmaster Reign twisted in his seat to take her in, clad in his signature apron and casual clothes.

The other end held his direct counter, a man Val thought she wouldn’t see in this kind of setting for a long while. Master Winsford beamed at her, his bone-white hair tied to a sophisticated tail behind his back and his slate-grey suit considerably obscured by the desk in front of him.

“Valory, welcome.”

With two higher-ranked crafters in her midst, she resorted to an enchanter’s salute. “Good after—good evening, Grandmaster Reign and Master Winsford!”

“Enough of that,” Winsford chuckled. “We’re all associates here.”

“I always appreciate the good practice of rank. You’ll need it for the uptight professors you’ll be learning under very soon,” Grandmaster said. “For now, Valory, you’ll be receiving instruction from Master Winsford every Friday here, in a signed-out space at the Runic Mead. He wasn’t quite ready to give up his star pupil. That pushes the chance for you to acquaint yourself with the older enchanters for another time, however.”

“That part was supposed to remain between us,” Winsford remarked.

“Was it, now?” he grinned at his colleague, and it was met with a resigned sigh. “Anyhow, it’s convenient that today is a Friday. From what I hear, this lesson’s inexpensive, so feel free to use the room in my absence.”

Val needn’t ask the esteemed metalsmith about his so-called absence. He simply rose to his feet, smiled warmly at the new addition to his crafting hall in passing, and led the receptionist out of the study room.

If Kenneth caught wind of how frightened she’d been to have such a simple conversation, he’d outright laugh in her face and then some more for the following week. She was hardpressed to reel in the blush making its way to her ears in embarrassment. I made a big deal out of absolutely nothing. Caro would never let me live it down.

The thought came with an ache, swiftly shoved to the side as Winsford pointed to the foldable chair on the opposite side of the bare, thinly-built table. “I believe it’s time I finally let you in on intention and rank you up from Initiate to Apprentice.”

Val didn’t dare delay—not after he continued to offer his tutelage outside of his jurisdiction—and scooted her seat closer. It was hard to suppress the wince at him calling her out. Truly, the rank Apprentice was only bestowed to those who’d, at the very least, inscribed a working, capable rune. As an enchanter who was yet to achieve even a semblance of such a feat, indeed the title Initiate suited her far better. There existed only one method in alleviating this problem…

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Oh, there’s no way. Her frown flipped into the smallest smile, and she bit into her lips to block it from growing any larger. Am I finally gonna enchant?

“In all honesty, you assumably have an idea of what intention is,” Winsford said, confirming her suspicions. Val studied the language behind enchantry, she possessed a decent handle on emission, and—pardon her excited language—kicked ass at detection. That left one primary skill for her to learn—the last piece to solidify her standing as an enchanter, and hopefully in the near future, a Tinkerer.

“It is vastly similar to another word you are familiar with. Will.” The Master enchanter searched her gaze for confirmation, nodding at what he saw. “Whenever this word is mentioned regarding spellcraft, we think of determination—unseen tenacity and determination. However, there’s another facet of the word, one that’s used commonly. If I say that your sitting is against my will, it is not opposing my resolve but my…”

“Desire,” Val finished.

“Precisely.” Winsford's lips curled upwards. “It’s against my wishes and against my intent. We use that facet of will when spellcasting, and the same can be said for enchanting. That is how we form things in the image catered to our disposition.”

She rubbed the back of neck. “How do you transfer that into words without, you know, saying the incantation out loud?”

“That’s the hard part of any craftsmanship,” Winsford supplied. “Getting the material you’re working with to cooperate alongside your will and expressing that through our hands and intentions. It only becomes more difficult when we realize exactly what material we’re working with.”

“The neutral essence,” Val said, thinking back on her time in the Aether Chambers.

“Which is precisely why an enchanter must have a high PAST,” Winsford said. “Things are complex right from the start. To pile on the unsatisfying news…” In a smooth manner that’d put the best magicians to shame, he summoned forth a blank parchment and rolled the material flat on the desk. “I can’t teach it to you. This part is all trial and error. No training tools from the outside can help you with your inward problems.”

Val swallowed a lump of apprehension down her throat. “How long are we looking at?”

“Could be a month, could be a year, and quite possibly could never be,” he listed. “Finding it takes time. More importantly, it takes a little bit of destiny.”

The lump morphed into a sinking feeling, the kind she wouldn’t shake for days to come. “And what am I going to do if I can’t inscribe a G1 enchantment by the first day of university?”

“No need to think of that now,” he waved the notion away, pointing at the paper. “Try it out first and foremost.”

Try what out? She had the sense to ask, but she managed to nip it before the desire fully bloomed. “Thanks,” she muttered, accepting the scribal pen the Master enchanter slid across and spinning it around in grasp as she struggled to come to grips with the task requested of her.

In simple terms, he wanted her to wrap a speechless spell under the guise of a rune and… inscribe it? Or would he rather she thought of the process as an isolated practice, and solely think of it as adding oomph to the characters she spent months studying? Maybe, in truth, it was—

Val’s nose crinkled as she caught herself, glimpsing the accursed cycle most rookie enchanters like her fell into. Where to begin, and where to end?

She opted to pursue it with an open mindset and tipped over her Aetherial Vessel, allowing five aether strands to depart from her sternum and make their way to the pads of her fingers. As it did in the Rookie Competition, the energy leaped into the tool, and she went ahead and placed it on the parchment. Her wrist moved with practiced ease, drawing a certain rune-based character she felt was a little underrated.

Firm.

In the single engraving, there was a feeling of unyielding resoluteness that she believed would lend itself nicely to cloth-based outfits, metal armours, and weapons all the same. It’d be her first bid to embark on her path as a Tinkerer, an enchanter who focused on improving a vast spectrum of equipment. The three dashes came effortlessly, and she poured her entire thought process into the action in hopes it’d come across as intent.

She held her breath, watching the glowing rune pulse steadily.

Winsford reclined into his chair, idly combing his beard. “Try again.”

His experience shone through in the half-second Val glanced towards him, visibly perplexed. When her gaze returned, she discovered the aether disassembling into formless particles, fizzling away altogether within moments.

Val quelled the welling frustration rising in her core and, instead, steadied her mind using the timed breaths of her meditative technique. Once her muscles loosened by their lonesome and her focus sharpened to a point keener than the tip of a blade, she gave it another go.

“Again.”

And another…

“Keep going, Valory.”

The third attempt gave her cruel hope by sticking around for a beat longer, scattering into dimming motes like the dying embers of a campfire the instance she fell for its deception.

“It’s trial and error,” Winsford reminded his student, giving the writing utensil in her hand a comforting pat. “You have more than two months before September. It’ll come to you by then.”

“I really hope you’re right, Master Winsford.” The material showed signs of her repeated marks—her repeated failures. Val wasn’t one to chase perfection, no one needed to tell her how futile that pursuit became.

Thing was, she earned a heavy scholarship based on her talents as an enchanter. To show up on Thales’ sprawling campus as anything except what was expected of her was the best way to start on the wrong foot. She just escaped the mark of a borderline-typic. Here she was, on her way to walking into another position partial to contempt. Yeah, that is so not happening.

And that belief appeared to be a splendid motivator, because before she even gave herself the chance to doubt herself, she bowed her head and put pen to paper.