It is quite intolerable how these reporters, in their relentless pursuit of the truth, often overstep the bounds of privacy and decency. Their ceaseless quest for sensational stories can and has fostered a culture of mistrust and fear, where the line between public interest and personal intrusion becomes perilously blurred. They are a menace to society, and they cannot be left unchecked.
Duchess Indiana Solaris
Sector 3, Ragnarok.
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Ten minutes later, Aodhán found himself seated before a dozen reporters and their crew. Daruk sat beside him, while Unrid and Synové stood behind, nervous but supportive.
Aodhán adjusted his clothes awkwardly. The academy hadn't prepared him for this, and although the principal had warned him that this would happen, he hadn't imagined it would be this overwhelming.
The initial excitement surrounding his familiar academy had faded after the first week of classes, and with the way the professors had treated him, Aodhán had almost forgotten that he'd accomplished the impossible.
Yet, only a few hours after returning home, he was already being faced with reporters. Not one, but dozens. Daruk had truly jinxed things.
As if aware of his thoughts, Daruk patted his hands and whispered. “Don't be nervous. Just pretend that they're ants, and you'll be just fine.”
Aodhán tried, but his imagination failed him. Deep breaths helped, though, and after a few more seconds to settle his nerves, he gestured for the reporters to begin.
A young woman stood up first. She had no bloodline manifestations, save for a few gill-like protrusions around her wrists, but she was strong, and from the feel of her core, Aodhán gauged her to be around the 35th and 40th tiers.
“I'm Michelle Covington,” she began. “I am a journalist with the Daily Herald, and I have a series of que—”
“Just one, please.” Aodhán cut her off. “I'm sure you all have other things to do; this way, we can move things along.”
“Okay.” Michelle replied with a tight smile. “Then I'll get right to the gist of it. My question is simple. How did you, a lowly evolved class, manage to bond with a familiar?”
Aodhán sighed and repeated the same thing he'd told Bethany and her posse. “Like I've said a dozen times to a dozen different people, I can't explain how it happened. One minute I was in the tower, and the next I found myself within the origin plane.”
“That is not an answer to my question, Mr. Brystion.” Michelle replied with a frown. “How you accessed your origin plane is of no importance to me. What I want to know is how you bound your familiar.”
“I—I don't know.” Aodhán stammered. “I couldn't exactly think within the plane.”
“So you claim this was an accident, then?” Michelle narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Do you truly expect us to believe that you bonded with your familiar by chance?”
“He said one question.” Synové cut in, her gaze nervous but unrelenting. “Let someone else ask.”
Michelle hesitated before sitting down, and Aodhán breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he'd feared that the reporter would take offense and react badly to a sleeper cutting her off.
Not all awakeneds disdained sleepers, but enough of them did that it wasn't unusual for some to kill or seriously maim a sleeper just for looking at them wrongly. Thankfully, such actions were thoroughly punished by the Ministry of Awakened Affairs, but Aodhán still apologized. “Forgive my mother's directness, but she's right. I would very much prefer if we kept our questions limited to one; that way, we can move on to other things.”
The reporters agreed, and the next person stood up. “My name is Hermes Scorchborn, a journalist with the Arcane Observer.” He gestured towards the first speaker and continued. “Like Ms. Covington said earlier, it's considered impossible for an evolved class to bond with a familiar without some sort of external assistance. So my question is, Did you have any magical items or rituals that made this possible?”
“No, there were no rituals or magical items that aided me.” Aodhán sighed. “In fact, the only magical item I have is my spatial necklace.”
“If you didn't have any magical items that made this possible, then were you assisted in any way or form during the tournament?” Another reporter asked, and Aodhán tensed but refused to let it show and simply replied. “Like I said earlier, I had no help whatsoever.”
“Can we have a look at this necklace of yours?” Another reporter asked, and others echoed their agreement, clamoring and asking to appraise the item until Aodhán grew frustrated with trying to placate them and snapped. “I am not giving out my spatial storage to be inspected by a bunch of strangers. I have given you my word, and if you do not believe it, you're free to leave.”
Perhaps it would have been much easier to tell the truth, but then he would have to give away the necklace, and it would be foolish of him to do so without having explored the extent of the necklace's capabilities.
An uncomfortable silence descended on the room, but the reprieve was brief as, the next moment, another reporter stood up. “I'm Edgarin Wright with the Magic Times, and I've received information from a trustworthy source that you were bestowed a different soul seed compared to the ones given to the other winners of the tournament. Do you mind telling us what grade it is?”
Aodhán sighed, thankful that the topic of his familiar had been put aside for now. Still, Edgarin's question wasn't an easy one either, so he took his time, thinking of the ramifications of spilling such information, before he replied.
“I was given a unique grade soul seed by the principal for my outstanding performance.”
Another clamor rose at his response, and another reporter asked. “A unique bloodline requires an opening into the spirit to function, which meant you not only gained a familiar from the origin plane but an opening too. Can you tell us what other things you 'miraculously’ gained from this unassisted excursion into your origin plane?”
Aodhán cursed his foolishness, and Synové tightened her grip on his shoulders. He hadn't thought of that, and now he'd inadvertently revealed to the world that he'd made an opening within his spirit. He needed to be more careful with his words.
“Aside from a few titles, I gained nothing else.” He replied after a moment of silence, and the reporter sat down, but before he could even breathe a sigh of relief for not fucking that up, another reporter stood up, and Aodhán tensed when he realized he couldn't sense the man's core.
Similar to the other reporters, the man was in the advanced class, but Aodhán suspected he was only a few tiers away from his Mythic advancement.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The man gave a warm smile and began. “I am Lucas Evermore, a journalist with the Vanguard newspaper, and I'm beginning to think you're an enigma of impossibility, Mr. Brystion, as it shouldn't be possible to gain a glimpse, a grasp, and an opening, all from a single excursion into the origin plane. Can it be assumed that this isn't your first excursion into the origin plane?”
This time, Aodhán was unable to control his expression, and he winced. Now, that was information he didn't want to get out, especially not in front of Synové and Unrid. Talking about the origin breach would eventually tie him to the Raventhorn accident, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.
He scrambled, thinking of a suitable answer that would reveal nothing more than he intended, and finally settled on the truth. “This is my first excursion into the origin plane of a storm."
The man waited, expecting him to say more, but Aodhán kept quiet, letting them assume and draw their own conclusions.
There were a few seconds of reprieve as Unrid handed him a cup of water before the interview continued and the next reporter asked. “My apologies for dragging us back, but I'm curious as to how your familiar has affected your skills and abilities; do you feel more powerful or different in any way since your bonding?”
The interview continued in this manner, and with the complicated questions now out of the way, Aodhán relaxed and answered the remaining questions as truthfully as he could.
Still, there were a few questions that he meticulously fielded, trying not to reveal more than he intended to the very perceptive journalists. He didn't always succeed, and at one point, Daruk had to step in and save him with his pseudo-noble skills.
The interview lasted for the next fifteen minutes, and when it was finally over, Aodhán breathed a sigh of relief while Daruk took over. “Thank you so much for coming, but that'll be all. We'll be taking no further questions.”
The reporters grumbled as they filed out, but Lucas stayed back and handed him his card. “Just in case you have anything else you would like to share.”
Aodhán doubted he would need it, but he accepted it anyway and threw it into his spatial storage.
Once the living room was finally cleared out, they all collapsed on the hideous blue couches, and
Synové groaned. “Is this what we'll have to deal with from now on?”
“Raol, have mercy.” Unrid frowned. “I cannot take anymore of those camera flashes.”
“It’s mentally and emotionally exhausting,” Aodhán muttered, sinking into the couch. “But I doubt we can get out of it; principal Zatya said it'll only get worse from here on out.”
“The reporters weren't satisfied with your responses.” Daruk sighed. “It's only a matter of time before they come back with the same question; only this time, it'll be phrased differently.”
“We need to find a way to manage it,” Synové said gently. “It can’t go on like this for the rest of the week.”
“I'm more concerned as to why it's such a big deal.” Unrid asked. “I know they said bonding a familiar in the evolved class is impossible, but if you did it, surely it can't be impossible.”
Aodhán shifted awkwardly, and Daruk grimaced. Aodhán had expected this question to pop up, but he hadn't expected it would be so soon, nor had he expected it to come from Unrid.
Synové's gaze darted from him to Daruk, her expression questioning, and when they failed to respond, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If there's something you're not telling us, I suggest you spit it out before we tear it out of your throats ourselves.”
Aodhán sighed. Trust Synové to go from 0 to 100 in seconds. Yet he squirmed under her intense gaze and glanced at Daruk, whose expression was once again a mask of neutrality. Aodhán had begun calling it his shutdown expression.
“Aodhán?” Unrid prompted, and Aodhán sank deeper into the couch.
“It's supposed to be impossible.” He confessed. “I did have an artifact that helped me.”
Synové and Unrid exchanged confused glances before Unrid asked. “So what you're saying is that the reporters were right?”
“What sort of artifact is this?” Synové asked instead, and Aodhán pulled out the chain to show them. “I have no idea either. I bought it at the Warren, and till now I've yet to understand its full capabilities.”
“Have you tried an appraiser?” Unrid asked, and he nodded, glancing once more at Daruk, who remained unhelpful in this conversation.
“We met an appraiser once in the 8th sector, but he only identified it as a slightly unique spatial storage, flavored with storm essence. It's capabilities, though, are far more than that, and revealing them to the reporters will mean losing it, and I can't afford to let that happen.”
There was a beat of silence as they took in his words until Synové asked. “What does it do, then?”
“It's basically a mind-fortification item.” Daruk finally spoke up, and Aodhán glared at him. Now that it was obvious that Synové and Unrid were more curious than intrigued, he'd finally found his voice.
After a guilty glance in Aodhán's direction, Daruk continued. “It's an extremely powerful one too, as it specifically wards against the chaos of the origin plane of the storm, which allowed Aodhán to concentrate on bonding with a familiar without losing himself to the insanity of the chaos planes.”
Synové gasped in shock while Unrid looked around cluelessly, trying to keep up with the conversation.
As Synové and Daruk began discussing the origin planes and the threat of losing oneself, Unrid cut in. “As fun as this conversation is, we need to find a way to deal with these reporters and whatever else Aodhán's new-found fame will cause.”
“You're right.” Synové nodded. “Before that, though, who else knows about the necklace?”
“Uhm, just you guys.” Aodhán muttered, but after a moment of thought, he added. “And principal Zatya, I think, but she's never mentioned anything about it.”
“I need to have a talk with that principal of yours.” Synové muttered and sighed. “Let's try and keep it that way. Also avoid the interviews from now on; those reporters are good at deducing new information regardless of how curt and direct your responses are.”
“What if they arrive unexpectedly?” Daruk asked, and Unrid responded. “Perhaps we could hire someone else to deal with the press in your stead, like a publicist.”
Aodhán sighed, rubbing his temples. “Thank you, Unrid; that's a good idea.”
Synové walked towards him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you never wanted this sort of attention, but you’ve achieved something incredible, and people are naturally curious. We just need to find a balance that allows you to live your life without feeling trapped.”
Unrid added, “And we’re all here to support you. We’ll figure it out together.”
“Thank you.” Aodhán smiled. He'd been so worried about them and how they would react to their newfound fame and the invasion of the press, but here he was, being comforted by the very people he'd been worried about.
It was nice, and his smile expanded into a grin, but his expression soured when Synové shook his shoulders excitedly and said, “Oh, I can't believe you guys will be attending a noble event.”
“Multiple.” Daruk corrected, and Aodhán groaned again. What had he been thinking about accepting those invites?
“I'm not sure I want to go anymore.” He muttered sourly. “I'm not ready for all that attention.”
Synové smiled reassuringly. “Oh, you’ll be fine. And you don't even need to bother about clothes, because I'll speak to Kieran. Remember him? the friendly neighbor I told you about in my letters? In fact, he should be dropping by soon to deliver a few clothes he's made for me. He can totally take care of you guys.”
“Kieran is a mad man.” Unrid snorted. “If you don't stand your ground, he'll have you wearing frills and silk like one of those empty-headed nobles we see in pictures.”
“I don't mind a few frills.” Daruk chuckled, and Synové smiled. “You see, Unrid, not everyone shares your distaste for modern fashion.”
Unrid scoffed, but before he could respond, another knock sounded on the door, and Aodhán froze.
"Oh, calm down.” Synové responded with a smile that wobbled with uncertainty. “Kieran's probably just earlier than expected.”
When no one stood up to open the door, though, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll go check.”
“If it's the reporters again, just send them away.” Aodhán called out, but when she opened the door and no cameras flashed, he followed her to find a tall man impeccably dressed in a black tailored suit.
His red hair was slicked back and riddled with silver streaks, and his pupilless eyes changed constantly, morphing from a metallic gray color to an ocean blue and then to a deep green that soon turned as black as night.
Aodhán felt like he could stare into the man's eyes forever, but his gaze was pulled away by a ghostly apparition of what seemed to be a cube that faded in and out of existence above the man's shoulder.
It was obviously a familiar, and even though it had no face, Aodhán could feel it staring at him. Varéc's emotions pulsed in response, and Aodhán shook his head, asserting control before things went, well, out of control.
The man smiled at them and asked. “May I come in?”
Synové glanced at Aodhán, and he nodded. How could he say no? Would it even matter if he did? The man walked in, his pupilless gaze turning to take in the disaster that was Synové's handwork, and although his aura was restrained, it still felt overwhelming, so much so that Synové gasped and had to move several feet backwards, her face almost blue.
The man grimaced, his expression apologetic, as he restrained his core more tightly. The man's core disappeared entirely from Aodhán's senses, and Synové gasped as all of a sudden the pressure disappeared and they could all breathe once more.
Daruk and Unrid stood behind them, their gaze locked on the Mythic, who smiled and said to them, “Do not fear; I have not come to do you harm.”