“Valory.”

Charlee’s words were little more than a whisper in the quiet halls. Her blue eyes were kind and yet no less unyielding as they bore into Val. “It’s like I can almost hear the gears turning in your head. It’s been a long few seconds, and you still haven’t answered my question. One problem at a time, right?”

Val buried another wince. “Right.”

Half to get this show on the road, and half to shy away from Charlee’s worry, Val pushed her way through to her office. She wasn’t at all surprised to find it occupied. Four heads turned to the doorway, each retaining their own measure of reaction. They sat in six chairs that Val grabbed from where she could, purposefully arranged in a circle. She hoped it might encourage conversation. Something told Val it sort of worked.

The least shocking reaction was that of her old-time acquaintance—Hillary, the competitive artisan she’d met in the Initiation. As per the go-getter's normal behaviour, she gazed upon the newest entry as though Charlee were a walking sheet of blank paper. That was to say, boring and useless, until Charlee proved otherwise. Dressed in a stylish, grey pantsuit bordering the line between office wear and everyday clothing, Hillary crossed her legs and simply blinked.

Matching his companion’s business-casual attire in a designer polo and dress pants was her partner in crime and craft. Primus, ever the polite mechanic, dipped his chin and gave Charlee a charming smile. He let his red hair fall on both sides in curly waves, showing off his many gadgets—watches, wristbands, rings—unknowingly as he waved hello.

Rubin, having been the first one here, long since made herself at home, with one ankle pulled over a knee. Unlike her peers, she forwent wearing clothing specifically enchanted against the heat, putting on a basic sleeveless top and ripped jeans. It left a tattooed sleeve on display, one Val sworn she hadn’t seen during the Summer Delight. Must’ve had some type of glamour going on.

Rubin clasped her hands underneath her chin and pitched forward in her seat. “I cannot express how much I adore your outfit.”

Charlee awarded the compliment with one of her winning smiles, her eyes disappearing into happy lines. “I believe you just did.”

Without further prompting, she grabbed the empty seat beside Rubin, slotting herself adjacent to Lowell and noticeably the direct opposite of Hilliary. Val shrugged internally and withheld a sigh. Nothing I can do about that.

Rather, she was hoping her cordial friend would take on the helm of dissolving the growing awkwardness between the two ladies. A glance at Lowell, and Val dashed the idea far away. In his typical stained t-shirt, cargo pants and smithing apron, the metalsmith sat frozen, as if trying—and failing—not to stare at the latest entry. Welp. I brought them here, I’d better start talking.

Val cleared her throat as she slipped past the circle and sank into a chair between Primus and Lowell. “Alright people, I do believe a short introduction is in order. Some of you guys know each other, heard of one another, or maybe not. Names, class of craft, and any interesting things you want—or don’t—want to add is all I ask.”

“Oh goody, icebreakers.” Rubin smacked her lips and reclined the back of her chair. “I’ll start just so we can get this train moving. Rubin. Alchemist. Love gossip. Seriously, if you need to talk, I’ve got an ear to listen.”

Lowell shook his head and snorted. “I can confirm.”

Rubin punched him in the shoulder.

“Oww.” Massaging his bruised muscle, Lowell’s eyes traced everyone in the circle. “Hi all, I’m Lowell, a metalsmith of Runic Mead. Something interesting about me is… that I find social media comforting.”

Val’s forehead furrowed unbidden.

“An idea to expand on another time,” he said, turning to Charlee. “You?”

“I’m an enchanter, same as this girl over here.” She jabbed a thumb in Val’s direction. “People call me Charlee. Friends call me Charles for whatever reason. I play cards like you’ve never seen.”

This time, it was Val’s turn to snort. “Can confirm.”

Charlee’s perpetual smile only widened. “As I say to those who dare to test it out: any time, anywhere.”

Lowell tilted to the side. “Mind if I take you up on that offer?”

“For you, it depends where.”

The two shared a secret smile that wasn’t all that secretive, and the pause that followed simply emphasized the point.

Val coughed into a closed fist. “Hillary, if you please.”

“Hillary Fore. Artisan.” Her lips pursed into a firm line. That, it seemed, was the end of her introduction.

Thankfully Primus spoke up not a second too late, undercutting the artisan’s brief introduction. “I’m Primus, a mechanic that may or may not spend a little too much time indoors. Fun fact: I cannot run for my life. It’s bad. Like, wouldn’t-survive-a-rift-rupture bad.”

He got a chuckle out of everyone, and even Hilary cracked a small smirk. Val leaned into the pleasant atmosphere he created, intertwining her fingers on her lap. “As you might’ve noticed, you each belong to a different order. That was on purpose. I’m struggling to cross a hurdle you all have jumped, in its many different forms. Some of you—” her gaze flickered to Lowell “—definitely know what I’m talking about.”

“Intent,” Lowell said. “Or, depending on the person, intention. The third main skill of any artificer.”

Primus grimaced. “Yeah… that skill trips the best of us.”

Val’s grip tightened, her knuckles going white. “And it’s been tripping me since day one.”

Charlee reached out, wrapping a warm hand on her woven ones. “Val…”

“What do you need from us?” Hillary cut in. “This seems like an individual problem.”

“It is, Hillary. I know that.” Val dared to look straight into the girl’s sharp, orange irises. “I was hoping to get your perspectives—both in how you overcame the particular obstacle and how it manifests in your class. In even simpler terms, I was wondering if you could help out.”

“Always,” Lowell said, his lips lifting upwards to reveal a small smile. “Metalsmiths are second only to enchanters when it comes to intention. Enchanting is the sole craft whereby absolute intentionality is a prerequisite for creation. For most others, it’s an additional segment.”

“Or hardly used at all,” Primus added. “I barely need it as a mechanic.”

Lowell nodded. “In my order, intent is what we call ‘heart.’ As we fashion an ore into our envisioned image, we infuse heart into our hammers and therefore into our work, into the metal, and into creations we make. It's less thinking and more intuitive. Less calculation, more of an art.”

“I’m following,” Val said, urging him to continue.

“I often compare it to an athlete’s drive for their chosen sport. Except, instead of a sport, it's a single project. That ambition, purpose and intent begin from scratch with every new piece. It fosters, grows and peaks at the end of the job. The result is what we call ‘traits,’ and you can’t miss ‘em.”

“Traits are unique attributes and characteristics bestowed by the metalsmith,” Rubin supplied. “Many are common. Air metalsmiths tend to create aerodynamic things, dark mages create tools that affect the mind. Lowell here manages to make weapons that flare up in flames when provided enough energy.”

“But like with all metalsmiths, my success rate isn’t one hundred. The best out there hope to achieve ninety,” he said. “Besides, I can make traits pertaining solely to my bound element, which is fire. To summarize though, our intentions aren’t as precise as enchanters. It’s a feeling we have rather than a tool to use.”

“Artisans come next in terms of the importance intent carries in our craft,” Hillary began. “We work with what we receive, from bone to wood, leaves to crystals and more. For us, we use the term coax, as each material requires a different tone, varying depending on what’s being made. Instead of imprinting our will, we harvest it in the manner required. We’re a companion, encouraging their friend to step out of their zone, or a farmer nourishing a field to grow.”

“That’s a wonderful approach,” Val said in a near-whisper. She didn't expect such a sharp-spoken person to take a gentle attitude toward crafting.

“I agree,” Hillary nodded. A contemplative lull swept over them, each taking their private moments to absorb the essence of what it was to craft. Thousands of different ways existed to account for the thousands of separate personalities and peoples seeking to shape, mould, and alter the world one object at a time. The five before her had taken steps onto that path.

Val had not.

As if that truth dawned on them all once again simultaneously, they turned to the remaining two.

“Sorry to break it to you Val. Alchemy is not going to help one bit.” Rubin heaved a sigh. “Just a bunch of memorization of ingredients and steps. Intention is merely one of the steps I’ve been forced to learn.”

“Same here. Mechanics is all about sequence. No feeling, no intuition. We have it down to a practical science.”

Val sifted a hand through her hair. “Damn. I really was praying that it’d click into place perfectly somewhere along this conversation. Now, all it did was make me appreciate the beauty in artificing, and despise myself for not being a part of it.”

“Val, you have got to stop,” Lowell said. “This pity party of yours has been going on for too long now.”

“It’s not anything like that, Lowe.” Val hoped the clarity in her gaze conveyed that she felt no remorse about herself. None. Just at the fact that she continued to be shut out from a magical avenue she’d love to travel. To journey, to explore. “I want to enchant.”

“That’s a wonderful goal to have—to fulfill.” Charlee grabbed Val by the shoulder, a steadying force in a storm of a million questioning thoughts. “However, as the single person who has not spoken and the more experienced enchanter, here’s my advice. I need you to see this issue in a different light. Treat it as a spellcraft problem instead. What would you do?”

“Cast until I can’t any longer, or until I’ve smoothened out the bump.”

“You’re on your way to becoming a seasoned mage. So you tell me. Has that always worked?”

“No.”

“What did you do when it didn't?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Sleep. Take a break. Try again.”

“Did that work?”

“No.”

Charlee was grinning now, and Val couldn’t tell why for the life of her. “So I ask again, Val. What did?”

Val’s eyes drifted upward in an effort to remember. “Usually something of some sort gives me a hint, and soon the epiphany follows. I know—it’s not a whole lot. But that’s seriously what happens.”

“Okay. So wait for that something and skip the repetitive training with no results. Go on your vacation. Observe the runes you may see, appreciate the enchantments at work and leave it at that. From now until you get to school, do not think of yourself as an enchanter except when you believe you found that something. Am I understood?”

Lowell gave her a two-fingered salute. “Yes ma’am.”

“Not you, metalsmith.”The steel in Charlee’s voice didn’t falter, yet she still fought a losing battle against the smirk tugging at her lips. “Valory. Am I understood?”

It began as a slow bob, and then Val jerked a solid nod. “You are.”

“Fabulous.” And just like that, Charlee sprung to her feet and pushed past her chair. “It’s late in the afternoon and I can use a meal.”

Following her lead, Hilary rose. “Finally. Something I can agree on.”

“Seconded,” Rubin echoed the sentiment.

Primus gestured to the three girls heading out. “After you, Valory.”

“I think maybe, seeing as you’re too slow to function, you should be on your way as well.” Lowell smirked at the mechanic. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch up.”

Primus muttered a few words under his breath, but took Lowell up on his advice. Val huffed a silent laugh, fast on the mechanic’s heels. She could use a meal, too. Worrying always had a way of eating at her energy. A step before she could leave, a hand grasped her elbow.

“Wait a sec.”

Val slowly panned around to meet Lowell. Dipping her head to confirm the hand on her arm, she then levelled her attention at the metalsmith and raised an eyebrow.

Receiving the message, he promptly let go, yet reached past her shoulder and shut the door to her office without warning.

“Lowe,” Val voiced. “You’re acting weird for the second time in like three days. Should I be scared? Concerned?”

Val waited for the awkward chuckle, or the regular pained palm on his chest when his jokes went over someone’s head. Instead, he struggled to speak, as if he wanted to deny her fears, and despised himself for being unable to do it.

“I’m half-expecting you to pull out another silencer,” Val muttered, trying for humour.

“No need,” Lowell grumbled. “Remember what I said about Zihao?”

“Didn’t say a whole lot.”

“I didn’t need to. The less you knew of him, the better.”

“Okay…” Val tilted her head. “I suppose that’s changed?”

“Yes. He was there, at the party. I didn’t think he’d show. He never shows. It’s usually beneath him. The craft competitions, working up the ranks—none of it applies to him.”

Val pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I should be worried because…?”

“Because you’re unknown territory, and he’s a relentless prick. He will get all kinds of information. He’ll string up plans to help him and his goals to cinch his seat at the head of the clan without care of where you, or anybody for that matter, lands.”

“I’d gathered that from what you already told me,” Val murmured. “Why tell me again? What changed, Lowell.”

“You are no longer shielded by obscurity. Worse yet, you’re a curiosity.”

She could admit she needed a few seconds to truly grasp what he was saying. The fact of the matter was—she was always one. Ever since her mother fell sick, she was the girl without two parents in the home. Odd, how it remained a norm even during modern times. Then she’d evolved into the girl without two parents quickly after.

Life laughed at her some more, and people thought her the daughter of one of the worst kinds of murderers—those who took up a sword against their friends. Sure, according to the masses, he led them to their demise for insurance money, but the way someone took your loved ones hardly mattered to those grieving.

And there was a whole guild full of grieving people.

Next, the ensemble revealed her as a borderline-typic, not truly belonging to any side. She possessed one aether strand too much to be mundane, and one aether strand too little to be worthy of becoming any sort of magic practitioner. Without the Hayes family, Val seldom knew where life would’ve led her, or if it would even last long enough for her to find out.

Being unknown territory was known territory to her; she never quite slotted in anywhere for a long while. So though she realized she walked an untreaded path yet again, she couldn’t recognize what she aimed to do for what it was.

A challenge.

She was challenging everything the country understood about optimal magic in combat. Until the recent century, metal was seen as an element for craftwork. The war demanded soldiers, however, and there existed no shortage of metal mages. Those who defended hundreds as Bulwarks burned a way forward for the next generation.

Gutsy mages who couldn’t bear to stand behind walls dared to be more—they dared to be Supports, and it worked. Conjuration and fortification were both evocative disciplines; the two stemmed from identical roots. The transition made sense.

Specializing for invocation didn’t stop at being odd, or new. It spat in the face of what many claimed advisable—possible, even. Of all people to do this, it was a no-name, almost-mundane, sixteen-year-old girl to do it. I’ll be seventeen this winter, she mused. That might change things.

Who was she kidding.

Massaging the back of her neck, Val sighed through her nose.

“He’s got tons of data on you. You must collect the same amount on him,” Lowell advised. “Once you’ve got the attention of an heir, you have the attention of the clan. You’re now in the orbit of both possible heirs. It’s only a matter of time before the rest come tumbling in.”

“Really. I have arguably the strongest clan—clan,” she repeated for emphasis, “of the Twenty looking for me. Me.”

If she were the type, Val would’ve thrown her head back and laughed. Rather she shook her head in mild disbelief and total resignation. “Fine. I’ll listen to your warning. I’ll do my homework. I don’t totally believe it, but I’d be stupid to just continue on with my life when I know that you know better.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.” Lowell looked visibly more relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that a grin slashed across his face. “So… you think I have a chance with Charlee?”

Val snorted, spinning to exit her office. “You sure move from one drama to another real quick.”

“That isn’t a no,” he said, in the process of stepping forward to open the door.

It seemed the door had other plans, as it swung open itself—narrowly avoiding taking Val’s nose clean off her face—to reveal three frustrated young ladies, and Primus far, far down the hall.

The two Runic Mead crafters didn’t give the ladies a chance to chew them out, speed-walking out the room in a hurry.

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

First Halo of Ciazel,

Reynor City,

Colosseum of Elpídes

-Ten days later-

Val was in the Colosseum of Elpídes, where hopes were made, crushed, and reforged. In the midst of tested skills, and harrowing trials held here for more than a century, legends have been born—both of old and modern times. As she peered out onto the sandy floor of the cage-like battlefield, in the stone seats historians and fighters were reluctant to renovate, with thousands seated in an arena made for a city's worth of people, Val thought she might be on the verge of witnessing a new legend.

Perhaps only witnessing, however, as hearing anything over the constant roar of the crowd was an impossibility.

“Crush her Holsten!”

“You got it in the bag!”

“Knock her out cold, Red Rock!”

“She’s a snake, take her out!”

Val winced even before she witnessed Caro cupping her hands over her mouth and sucking in a long, long breath. “TAKE HIM OUT SIL! TAKE HIM THE HELL OUT!”

“Yeah!” Anderson pumped two tiny fists in the air. “To hell!”

“Andy,” Val admonished, shooting a glare at her friend. Caro stuck her tongue out for an answer, quickly returning her attention to the field. Val could only follow suit as she took in the slim figure, firm as she battled it out against her last opponent.

The Gathering of the Guilds hosted too many events for one to count on their fingers: five-on-five tournament style, an “eradicate the aether creature the fastest” competition, or—as it currently stood—a free-for-all. They threw in fifteen contestants, mostly from different guilds this far in the season, and let them have at it. The funny thing was… If Val had entered three minutes after the round began, hoping to witness the good parts of the fight, she would’ve thought she had come to the wrong event.

Silann Haldar had wiped out ninety percent of the competition within the first two hundred seconds.

In such an unpredictable set-up, fortune favoured the quick, adjustable types. Supports faltered in the early rounds despite their firepower. Slow on their feet, they made easy pickings for speedy Hunters and Strikers. Silann threw a giant-sized fireball in that stereotype with ease.

Within three seconds of the match, she drew the bow on her back and fired non-magical arrows. In the craze of budding scuffles, three found their mark. Two contestants went down. Each in the Colosseum wore a protection brooch on their person. Carved of unknown metal, the two interlocking G’s flared into power the moment a life was threatened. A sphere of blue light burst from nowhere, immobilizing the wearer in a bubble of safety.

“AND MIDNIGHT BREEZE ADDS TWO TO HER COUNT IN A BREATH!” the caster had roared.

On the highest levels, perhaps two hundred rows above, watch boxes gazed from on high. They remained the few upgraded parts of the Coliseum, framed by dark glass. At stark noon, with the sun searing Reynor City from directly above, the boxes looked cut from the night itself. Val observed no reflection whatsoever. In one of those fifty boxes—very likely the middle one—a man held a magnifying crystal close to his lips, pouring his excitement in loudly strung sentences.

In the stadium, Sil played a cat-and-mouse game, buying herself time to build up a powerful spell. The move was signature to Supports, but she hadn’t Rick, Bo, or Aeron to defend her during the meantime. These were talented mages she played with, used to weathering glass cannons and shattering them well before a shot went off.

As the dual-bound mage she was, with both air and lightning in her pocket, she devised means to put her talents to use. In the same way Val requested armour suited to her skill kit and fighting style, Sil decided on elemental-aligned boots. She zipped around the field, her technique worthy of praise from Ekon himself. Val sat mesmerized, watching the Support weave her way in and out of battles. Mages gave chase, only to find themself in a fight orchestrated by the clever prey they sought to snuff out.

Then came Wind Saw, Air Arrows, and other spells that cut down the competition like still wheat. The only one to survive her onslaught was a gemstone Bulwark, who resorted to shielding himself with ruby-red barriers. It bought him sixty extra seconds.

Silann decided it was time to wrap it up in her usual fashion: a little said, a lot felt. She steepled her fingers, her lips moving to form two words.

Silent Vipers.

“Haldar resorts to what I believe is an advanced Tier Two spell!” the caster announced. “Is the Red Rock capable of bearing the onslaught from such a formidable force?”

“Red Rock,” Caro repeated, just one seat to the left of Val. She burst into a fit of laughter. “Ain’t that the saddest name I’ve heard yet.”

“I don’t think Crazy Caro reserves the right to speak,” Kenneth cut in from behind, one row above. Otis stifled his reaction beside the cheeky brat with a hand, sharing amused glances with Ekon nearby. Kylee's lips twitched against a grin and Jesal ducked his head on Caro's right.

"Val." Caro faced her, her expression serious. "Hide your brother while you can."

Val put a finger to her smiling lips. "After. Sil's about to win."

Black lightning lashed out in Sil’s hands, desperate to escape her grasp. Sil set her spell free. Val had one second to behold the snakes born of quiet, lightning somehow darker than the watch boxes above. They slithered out of her palm, swaying their bodies side to side so quickly, that Val hardly registered the lateral movement as the pack of four snakes rushed for Holsten.

The Bulwark paled, barking another spell. He weaved multiple shields into a geodesic dome, showcasing indisputable skill as a mage able to hold out against Novices of the highest caliber. It mattered little against the vipers. They focused on a singular point, coiled, and sprung forth. The shield collapsed like glass against a bullet, and the Red Rock’s hopes shattered with it. Blue soon burst around him, signalling the activation of the brooch, as well as his defeat.

“THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS!” Val could almost see the spit flying as the caster addressed the crowd. “Our first mage in the final round of eight presents herself! Please join me in congratulating SILAAAAN HALDARRR!”

The tens of thousands in the stands roared. The fervour shook Val's very bones, and chills rippled down her skin. Despite it being within the lowest possible bracket, despite there having been a good show in the previous match, and despite a very exciting one coming next, people cheered for the last-standing dual-bound Support.

She didn't simply win—she dominated, and the crowd let her know it. She offered the tiniest smirks, then plodded off into the underworkings of the stadium like it was just another Tuesday.

Val didn’t know what gave her such confidence, yet she held firm to the belief that she’d experience something similar to the woman below. She just hoped it was half as exhilarating.