Val knew she wouldn’t begin to fathom the grandiosity of the Summer Delight the second the driver pulled in. Heck, the fountain decorating the forecourt must’ve had thousands of runes at work for it to merely function. Fishes born of the clearest water, hundreds of them, leapt from the top and crashed into the broad pool below, making crown-shaped splashes in their disappearing act.

Enveloped in the night's darkness, she expected lanterns or street lamps to illuminate the stone square. Nope, too plain. As opposed to traditional methods, sets of transfixing butterflies lit the way for the vehicles, flying about in curious and non-linear paths in the air. Bound by their wafer-thin wings, the bundles of purple light refracted in on themselves. Though she couldn’t exactly explain why, she lost herself in their dance. Individually, they made but a dent into the overwhelming shadows. Together? Rivers of them floated ahead, ridding the darkness with effortless ease. It made for a powerful show.

Commensurate with the fanciness of the event, there was no curb to separate the road from the walkway. Cars randomly decided to brake, and occupants left their rides behind to trod to the building still a decent walk away. As if sensing how averse she was to the idea, her driver pitched the car as close as one dared, paying mind to avoid the guests out and about.

Once parked, he planted a hand on the passenger’s seat and turned. “Here you are, Miss Efron. The young master told me to convey this message: have fun and remember—deep breaths go a long way.”

“Is that last part your words, or Jesal’s?”

“No comment.”

She chuckled. “Fair enough. Convey my thanks to him, and thank you.”

Sliding out the car, handbag tightly in her grasp, Val physically willed herself not to look around in sheer wonder. Appearances mattered more than a bulk of things tonight, which meant every action had to be a calculated move.

Therefore she didn’t gape at the towering glass structure in front of her, she soaked in how the paned walls edged outwards at the base to make a geometric wonder. She didn’t obsess over some of the dang coolest evening dresses and suits she’d ever seen, she appreciated it from afar and offered a subdued nod. She didn’t stop dead in her tracks after the doors slid away, she appraised her new environment with mild surprise.

Safe to say she was already tired and, according to the timer in the corner of her HUD, not up to ten minutes had passed. Fantastic.

A hallway extended bilaterally, alluding to different areas the invitees can explore and discover. The venue for the Summer Delight was big enough for multiple events to take place and not disturb one another. In fact, upon closer inspection, that was exactly today’s case as well, only the ongoing activities were linked to the same party.

However, a great deal of people crowded the doors and lobby-like space, some in large gatherings, many in small groups of three. Slowly, once their quotient of small talk was fulfilled, they streamed into the primary hall.

A quick look around confirmed she entered as unobtrusively as she’d wanted to, earning no more than a few glances. To her dismay, her relief lived a short life.

“The one and only Valory Efron! How kind of you to join us!” Lowell announced for everyone to hear, departing his previous conversation to walk over. His dark crimson suit fit snugly on his frame, the white dress shirt and cuffs a decidedly good choice on his part.

Eyes flowed towards their direction, plenty lingering as conversations petered out, and Val considered it enough attention to spur her into action. “Lowell,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I entered quietly for a reason.”

“Yeah I know, but you’re here to announce your new presence, not to hide in a corner.” He must’ve sensed her major discomfort, since he clasped her in a quick hug. “You need to do this without me, or else we’ll give the wrong impression.”

“Tell me you’re lying.”

“You’ve got this.” Lowell gave her one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulders. “Gotta bounce.”

Val resisted the strong urge to hold onto her friend. When it came down to the facts, one primarily being the location of where they were, he was correct. As she already noted, appearances were of utmost importance, and rumours would fly should her first showing be at his side.

She looked on as Lowell effortlessly re-entered into the conversation he left, patting a back on his way to the center and throwing his head back at a joke she couldn’t make out. The attention—acute and hidden—grew sharper in his absence and she stifled the frown crawling up her face.

“Do I have the honour of learning the pretty girl’s name?”

Oh saints, here we go…? Her train of thought screeched to a halt as her ears registered the tail end of the sentence spoken behind her. The idea that someone believed her pretty usually proved a little difficult. For better or for worse, years spent as a borderline-typic exposed the undeniable power a person’s ranks held in various societies, both in olden and new times.

In the face of her appalling ASC, several strangers and friends hardly saw anything else. On her way to capping 70 AS, the visage that so often received the brunt of contempt, and retrospectively a shield in unknown ways, faded away. Now gone, it revealed what people thought of her with societal norms reconciled.

And what a fine time it chose, she grumbled privately. Caro’s sarcasm was rubbing off on her, and yet Val was a bit too occupied to give it much care. Internally heaving a hefty sigh, she swivelled to face a young, Auricean man. He swept his brown hair to the sides, hazel irises attempting—and failing—to look down on her, as he was merely half an inch taller than her in heels.

Val lifted a hand. “Efron, Valory Efron.”

He took it and gave it a firm shake. “Jet. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Only… it wasn’t, and her brain churned to find a way to shift the conversation elsewhere. What was suitable for small talk in this company—the weather? Spellcraft? Or, as Kenneth once ridiculously put it long ago, the size of their coffers? The memory brought a minuscule smile to her face.

“Is something funny?” the guy asked, an unamused expression hardening his face.

“Oh, nothing at all.”

“Splendid. It'd make asking for a dance a little hard if that was the case.”

There’s a dance floor somewhere? That explained the soft music she heard coming from the main hall. “Well, it’s a bit early for that anyways.”

“True. You did just arrive,” he chuckled. “Drinks, then?”

Val masked a tiny wince. “I’m fine.”

“How about I introduce you to my mates. They’re right behind me.”

She peered over his shoulder to discover three dudes way too many winecups in. “I’m fine.”

“C’mon now, don’t be a downer.” The more he pushed, the more people took notice, and that reality bolstered his confidence. “Relax, they’re a delight to be around.”

Val inwardly groaned. Were she anywhere else, she’d politely withdraw and bide her time elsewhere. Problem solved. In this company, those actions gave the wrong impression. Should she back down in her first interaction, she’d also allow rampant permission for anyone to walk over her. That would go and make the whole point of this party worthless, wouldn’t it?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She drew on her knowledge about Aura Manipulation and unveiled her Aetherial Vessel. Her aura flared unbidden, and she silently marvelled at how refined it felt. Less like the ambiguous pressure that came from one’s ASC, and more like the subelement she was bound to. Heavy, unshaken, cool to the touch, firm in its position.

Her eyes took on a pale blue. “I’m fine.”

Scowling, Jet took heed and left her be. She was awarded a brief moment of peace inside a lobby only becoming busier—too brief.

“Looks like you don’t need my help after all,” a girl her age said to her by way of greeting. She was first in Val’s peripheral vision to step up into Jet’s outwardly premature exit. Gazes flickered between her and Jet in an obvious attempt to solve the mystery, stopping to observe the next guest broaching the uncertain air hanging around her.

“And you are?” Val grimaced milliseconds after the question left her lips in an admittedly callous package. She needed to get a grip, and fast. Taking a calming breath, she steadied her emotion and turned her attention outwards.

Despite how stunning the girl was—a bold, red-wine dress tastefully complimenting cinnamon-brown hair that fell down the length of her back in soft waves—Val couldn’t conjure up a name. Granted she withheld limited information on these matters, her preparation for The Initiation long ago should hold up.

The girl gave her a sly smile. “Rubin Barlowe. Lowell said you might be a fish out of water. Here you are though, looking to be more of a shark.”

“Am I… supposed to be flattered?”

“Sassy too.”

Val shook her head and moved to walk past her. She’d participated in two conversations—if she could call them that—and it couldn’t become her limit for the night, so she made due to leave this one promptly. “Thank you, but I’ll be okay.”

Rubin blocked her way. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, just allow me to show you around, kay?”

For a second time, Val paused to observe the lobby, the external greetings and stiff banter floating around, as well as the machinations brewing underneath it all. Odd. The plots and schemes underway tonight felt subtle and not so subtle at the same time.

They each understood that the individual reserved goals to achieve, just not what—so they fenced and prodded and plucked what little they could in the small talk.

This was so not her scene.

Mentally making a note to thank Lowell for his foresight, she dipped her chin a smidge. “That would be most welcome.”

“Awesome—and don't worry. You can drop the elegant talk with me.” Squaring her body to the left end of the hall, the girl looked over her shoulder. “Only people super out of touch with reality use it, and you’ll spot their kind from a ways away.”

Val stepped up beside her, then continued to walk at her guide’s prompting. “Alright. Then I appreciate it, Miss Barlowe.”

“Please, we’re barely adults. It's Rubin.”

The correction brought a small smile to her face. “Val.”

From that moment on, the minutes began to feel like actual minutes instead of dreadful hours and in the blur, a real hour had flown by. As soon as she escaped the rotten bits of the party, the good parts ironically gave heart to the name Summer Delight. There was much to see, much to do, and many to meet.

In one corner, an elaborate rune trivia gathered every person interested in enchantments and a couple who merely wanted to enjoy the show. Excited folks crammed a podium-like device, heads craning above to squint at sparkles of light. Coalescing into solid form, a rune took shape bit by bit and everyone began to shout out their guesses.

To the lucky soul able to name it before the rest of the crowd, the hovering display exploded in an iridescent shower and streamed in their direction. As the winner, they bathed in glowing particles and attention until the light converged once more, creating—or adding—to a tally over them. Val walked away with a count of five.

Another room had blacksmithing challenges set up, the majority daring the blacksmiths in attendance. The quests struck a common chord—who could form the required shape using the unwieldy tool provided? Shape a rod with a rod, a breastplate with a brick, and so on. If the ongoing attempts said anything, several can. At least, several of those invited to the Summer Delight.

It was clean fun, seeing as everyone in attendance wore outfits as expensive as a quarter-year’s rent. No actual metal or scorching forges were on the tables, merely moldable materials and things to help mould them.

Rubin continued to show her the ropes, introducing her to invitees not as a power move, companion, or show of resources, as most had done tonight. By ensuring Val represented herself, the connections she made—social media links and, for a good-natured group of artisans, interpersonal relations—carried no strings or promises.

Eventually and inevitably, finished exploring both sides of the hallways, the pair stepped into the main hall. The high-rise ceiling dangled a host of majestic chandeliers, the delicate light a perfect undertone to what Val could only recognize as a modern ball. Decorated tables, food served directly to you, musicians responsible for live music—it checked every box. Or it had, she amended, watching as the staff packed away the instruments.

They’d gone and turned the dancing floor into an arena, quickly calling upon a Meister enchanter to whip up the correct protections and sound-muffling equipment. Energy barriers stood strong at the center of the room, setting the border between the spectators on carpeted ground and the participants on wooden tiles.

Taking in the details, Val’s brow furrowed. “A match?”

Rubin bobbed her head. “They set up a Casting Circle every year.”

The wording sent Val’s brain for a loop. She hardly heard the formal title used throughout her life, even for the most official of Elemental Exchanges. The sole reason she stood to understand the term was because teachers loved putting it inside the vocabulary tests, and she always considered it a free mark.

Nevertheless, the name appeared to be most accurate in this case because, besides the fact that the arena was made into a literal circle, a match arbiter stood on the perimeter, keeping watch.

The two Novices going at it served as the main source of entertainment for the seated audience, quickly capturing the attention of those walking inside. The sight resparked the recent loss at Versetti’s hand, and the thought of a rematch sent a buzzing tingle down her spine.

One look inside the fighting area, however, and the thrill sputtered and died.

On the match arbiter’s right, a lightning Support raised his arm and voiced a spell. A teal whip lashed out directly at the wind Striker, clear as day. To Val’s bewilderment, the Striker chose not to push into the Support’s momentary lull, and instead sidestepped it in favour of throwing a long-distance wind blade.

In the time it took the wind mage to plant his feet and throw the strike, the lightning mage vaulted to the side, safe from harm. Of course, since neither gained an advantage as the fight fell into a cycle of cast and miss, she surveyed the beginnings of stalemate doomed to be unbroken.

No finesse, a scant few feints, a glaring habit to telegraph attacks. In short, the fight seemed… Pitiful to no end.

“You had better take that back.”

Val jumped at the comment, surprised to come across Jet beside her. Even weirder, his narrowed gaze bore a hole through her forehead, almost as if he directed his sentiments at her. One second passed, then two, and she realized that—surprise, surprise—it was aimed towards her. She tilted her head to the side, quickly facing her new friend. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Rubin whispered back.

“I won’t stand for someone calling my mates such a thing,” he spat.

Val turned back to the ring, recognizing the two faces flinging spells at one another as the 'mates' he wanted to introduce. An apology made its way up her throat and… stayed there. Even if she did so unwittingly, she spoke those words free of pressure. At the bare minimum, she should own them, more so when she believed them in every sense of the word.

The fight was bad—really bad. Sure, the two craft-inclined individuals might be lacking on the combat side of things. It didn’t change the fact that the underclassmen in Vexal High could trounce them. Maybe she could’ve said it nicer, if there was a way to say such things nicely. In the end, she had no reason to apologize—so why do it?

Caro and Jesal’s advice rang in her head, resounding. Backbone, right? Val cleared her throat, amazed at how steady her voice came out. “I meant no disrespect to either of you. But you have to admit. That—” she gestured to the Casting Circle “—isn’t the best fighting.”

Jet’s face darkened and his sneer upturned into a conniving grin. “If you’re so sure of yourself, prove it.”

“Sure.” Val returned her sights to the battle at hand. “The wind Striker holds the most faults in this stalemate. At any point in the last decade, he could’ve simply rushed—”

“I didn’t ask you to talk. I asked you to prove it.” Jet's derisive tone brought a frown to her face, and it deepened as he rounded the ongoing match to murmur into the arbiter’s ear. In seconds, the low hum of background chatter sparked to fervent levels and Val knew it had something to do with him.

Searching the room for any insights, her gaze crossed Lowell seated ten meters away from the Casting Circle, his eyes widened in confused concern.

What? She mouthed and, in response, he motioned above the ring. She followed his gesture, equally curious and—

Val froze, at a loss for what to think.

Rubin scowled, her head craned upwards at the digital banner spread wide over her head. “He can’t be serious.”

Next fight queued: Valory Efron vs. Jet Fischer.

Val had every right to believe he was.