5 : 269 : 12 : 30 : 12

Every day, you learn something new. No matter how old you grow, things happen that make you question your base beliefs, the principles of reality you thought were set in stone, constant, never changing. For instance, going by our dealings over the past few years, I was already sure there was nothing in the world that could make Master Endol blow his top.

Even were a meteor to drop in our own backyard, he would just stand and watch it happen with that stoic look frozen on his face and say it was the will of the universe. He’s just a vulcan like that. Even back when I accidentally poured hot cocoa over this old book he lent me, and I rinsed it clean and tried to dry it with a rune, only to set the book on fire and incinerate a handful of fairly vital pages, he received the tome back the next day without lifting a brow. Though the course of the disaster had to be clear to him by the state of the book.

He could forgive that. He could forgive anything.

I’ve been pretty bad at hiding my frustration with his outdated, non-inclusive teaching methods and often talked to him in ways a student shouldn’t talk to her teacher, and called him and his people in less than respectful names, but he never let that come between us. He could tell it was an immature, overemotional girl going through a difficult time, and let it slide without a fuss. Really, I wouldn’t ever say it to his face, but I kind of admired that unwavering composure of his—at the same time as I wondered if his folks hadn’t, in fact, done a lobotomy on the guy in his youth.

Well, it turns out they didn’t. And today, I learn even this eons-old Sage can actually lose his temper.

Because I’ve really done it this time.

“Zero. Rule number three,” Master Endol presses me as he paces restlessly back and forth on the guest room floor, the wrath in his voice barely suppressed. It’s not the kind of tone you can argue with.

I sit cross-legged on the hard floor, leaning on my knees, and answer with a sigh,

“If you use up all the TP, take out the old tube from the holder before you start a new roll.”

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!”

Alright, alright! Just a joke to lighten the mood! Don’t get your grandpa knickers in a twist!

I give up and recite the correct answer like a proper girl scout,

“‘The Order doesn’t take sides.’”

“Precisely!” he stops to boom. “We are a neutral party, politically unaligned! We help the people of the world help themselves! We fight, yes, when necessary, to save lives! To minimize collateral damage! Only ever for the good of the many, with no regard for the borders of nations, racial differences, or economic interests! We do not fight the wars of others, for causes that are not our own! Do you understand what this means?”

“I do, I do!”

“And yet, you’ve gone and pledged yourself to Osgonnoth, with all the Central Command as your witness! It is an oath that cannot be unmade! Over the course of one Tuesday morning, you’ve made a jest of our entire creed!”

“Well, what the hell did you expect me to do?” I argue back.

“I expected you to read off a paper! A task for a child!”

“Easy for you to say! You don’t exactly say no to somebody like that! You could’ve warned me! I had no idea what was coming!”

“Truly, I did not think your heart was so feeble. Did you not swear your love to Lady Irifan not a day past? Did you not embark on this mission for her sake, to answer her faith in you? Was this the extent of your commitment? To be swayed by another woman at first sight?”

“Hey, that’s low,” I tell him. “That’s super low. Under the belt. And I’m giving you the yellow card.”

I conjure an illusory yellow card and hand it to him. Master Endol brushes it out of existence.

“How else should I view your shift in loyalties then?” he asks. “If not an outright betrayal of your allies and teachers?”

“I’m not ‘shifting,’ or betraying anybody!” I yell back. “You’re blowing things out of proportion! It’s not like I’m getting m-m-married here, or anything, geez! There’s nothing stopping me from helping both sides. I mean, that’s what we do—we help people. Isn’t that right? I don’t get why this is such a big deal for you!”

“Yes, I can see full well that you don’t ‘get it’,” the old guy spitefully answers. “You are about to receive a hands-on lesson on what it means to have a ‘conflict of interests’. And much sooner than you think.”

I frown at his cryptic words. “Whassat?”

A grim look on his face, he tells me, “You’re being deployed. Tomorrow.”

“Deployed?” I repeat, none the wiser. “Sorry, I’m not so familiar with geek jargon, what does that mean?”

“It is military jargon,” Master Endol corrects me. “They are sending you to Wanr Aysoth, as part of a special task force. The squad is being assembled and outfitted as we speak.”

I can only blink at the announcement.

“Uhhh, what? Where? Why?”

“Wanr Aysoth is an ancient, uncharted woodland by the east coast, where beast tribe guerrillas, remnants of the past war, continue to harass emiri colonists to this day.”

“And they’re sending me there? Why?”

“’To uphold peace’,” he tells me with a thick dressing of irony. “In the Common Speech: to search and destroy!”

Well, that doesn’t sound so nice.

“It so happens Osgonnoth has a shortage of combat mages,” Master Endol continues. “Most of us view using the gift of magic for battle a violation against the natural order and heavenly intent—as do I, incidentally. But for Lord Commander, all such things are but tools to be wielded for the results she desires. She recognized your innate potential, which is undoubtedly what inspired her to make that absurd proposal. And you simply couldn’t help yourself!”

“Er, any idea for how long I’d be warring there?” I ask.

He gives me another non-answer: “For as long as is necessary.”

“Which is?”

“Until the fey guerrillas surrender…Or you are killed in action. Considering how blood has been spilled in Wanr Aysoth for more than two hundred years now and the beast tribes have yet to submit, my expectations for a success within your lifetime are not high.”

Well, shit. That may be a little more than I signed up for, alright. Then again, I didn’t think much about what I was agreeing to in the first place. I was confident I could handle anything they'd throw at me.

Still, what I had in mind was something closer in the vein of a casual office internship. Like, making coffee, delivering internal mail, kicking the copy machine, printing brochures, ordering cakes and bouqets when it's somebody's birthday. You know, the kind of shit you normally make an inexperienced bimbo do. Hell, I was prepared for sexual favors too, but looks like that’s not happening.

The elves don’t make much distinction between “boys’ work” and “girls’ work”, do they? So progressive!

“Um, Master?” I crawl to the Sage and cling to his robe hems, donning my most obedient, amiable disciple face. “Remember when you said you’d have my back and be with me all the way—would now be a good time? I think I could use a hand right about now.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

See? I’m willing to admit my mistakes. I’m capable of reflection, and not above asking for help.

But Master Endol looks less than supportive at the moment.

“I can help you,” he leans over to say, and I fail to detect any trace of empathy in his eyes or voice. “I can help you—pen a letter for your friends across the ocean, to explain why they will likely never see you again. I may also offer a few choice words of apology on your behalf. After I return from the Heaven’s Pillar in Ukulu, by some time next year. Provided you’re still alive as I do.”

Having said so, he pivots a sharp ninety degrees and strides out of the room, apparently unable to endure the sight of me for another moment.

Man, I always knew he was a dick.

5 : 268 : 03 : 51 : 08

Fast forward to yours truly strapped inside a flying death tube.

Turbulence rocks the shuttle. Orange lights in the ceiling paint the passenger cabin’s interior and my companions’ hard faces with their warmly revolting hue. The helmet is too big for me and heavy. It’s hard to breathe too. The tactical vest weighs a ton. It’s stuffed with sheets of orichalcum, not Kevlar. But I’m not a Mandalorian.

Are we there yet?

To distract myself from what's to come, I turn to my band of brothers. The Air Force's Special Response Unit 201, dispatched to the colony of Qliphoth on the southern border of Wanr Aysoth. Eleven of the most hardass motherfuckers I’ve ever met in my life. But they're not that bad, once you get to know them.

“Hey, have you heard this one?” I talk to forget my overpowering fear of death. “What do you get when you cross a bull and a rhino?”

Edhuan shrugs. “Sounds like a crulean to me.”

“Oh. You’ve heard this before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t tell me that was the joke?” he asks in disbelief.

“Uh-huh.”

Yanon lets out a chuckle. “That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, I know one that’s a lot worse,” I tell them. “It’s called, ‘my life’—”

——!

Then something very hard, very heavy, and extremely hot pierces through the shuttle from below. The unknown projectile passes clean through the reinforced hull and exits through the ceiling. The seats of Yanon and two other guys close to him are gone before I know it. Everything around the entry and exit points burst into livid flames, including the troopers seated close by.

There’s barely time for anyone to scream.

The harsh impact flips the shuttle sideways. Air resistance gets a firm grip of the ruptured sides and tears the entire back half of the craft apart from the front side. Among the ripped components happens to be the tube connecting the fuel tank to the engine. Our shuttle doesn’t fly on hot air, that's for sure.

Now, let me quiz the class: what do you think happens when refined and compressed cheruleum gas comes into contact with a fire raging in the passenger cabin? You'll ring a friend? Well, as that friend, I'd tip you that the related chemistry is exceptionally volatile.

The flames follow the spray of fuel into the tank below the cockpit. A blink later, a nice, spicy explosion shreds the whole shit apart like we're inside a goddamn piñata and it's Cinco de Mayo.

I reflexively cover myself with the Shield of Ice, which spares me from the quick, merciful death that takes most of the squad in flash. Their incinerated remains are aired out and sprayed all over the neighborhood. I'm very sorry about this, buds, but my shield has the maximum diameter of 141 centimeters. You'll have to get your own.

Looks like giving them names didn’t help much. I did say it was a three times better chance, not total plot armor.

My seat is detached from the shuttle alongside a fairly large portion of the hull, and I find myself spinning wildly through the sky above a nightly woodland. Solemn treetops whirl in my eyes, bathed in the cozy glow of fire. I’m starting to think airships aren’t all they’re made out to be. Balloons have their upsides too. For one thing, they don't go down so fucking fast!

By what I can tell from all the spinning, the floor is indeed speedily approaching.

Earlier, I was afraid I’d slip through the harness before my time, but now that I'd like to leave it, it doesn’t want to let me go. Come on! Open up! I’d rather not touch down with a ton of metal strapped to my back!

The buckle is jammed. But I have a knife in my boot. Here I realize I should’ve put the knife in my vest instead of copying Sephram, but with a bit of trouble, I reach it and hurry to cut the binds. The harness open, the shuttle wall wastes no time parting ways with my lightweight ass. I’ve shed a lot of mass, but am still coming down much too quick. I’m not even sure which way is down. Everything is a dark, blurry, rapidly revolving mess.

I’ll either hit my dumb head on a rock, or be cut to ribbons by branches already on the way down. Neither really strikes me as the ideal way to go. If I could take my pick, I’d prefer to die peacefully in my sleep, surrounded by loving children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—produced by IPS-technology without a papa. They could play Rolling Stones at the funeral. “Paint It, Black”. Not “Satisfaction”. And I’d be like the Genkhis Khan of lesbian protagonists, having made eighty percent of future humankind related to me. Yeah. I might be able to call that a satisfactory ending to my legend.

Fell randomly to her death not ten chapters into part two just doesn’t get the same feeling across.

I swallow the panic, hold out my arms and legs and try to steady myself. Instead of my eyes, I look with my mind. The earth is actually behind my back. Making the most of friction and my thin limbs, I reorient myself into a better skydiving pose, summon as much mana as I can, swing my hands down, and scream,

“SHOCKWAAAAAAAAAVE—!”

In theory, the rebound of air pressure will buffer my landing, the tactical vest will keep my guts from ripping apart, and I won't shatter too many important bones. To play it safe, I conjure the Shield in front of me, squeeze my eyes shut, and make myself small and tight; chin to the chest, arms and legs tightly together. I hope it doesn't hurt too much and if I have to die no matter what, it'll happen fast.

“...?”

The landing is far gentler than I even dared to fantasize.

It’s like you expect a sledgehammer to the face, but get a feather pillow instead. Stupefying.

Turns out, it wasn’t solid ground below me, but a forest pond, or a lake. It’s still a heavy hit, but not murderously heavy. The Shockwave doesn’t buffer my fall by much, the water absorbs the brunt of it, but the spell does disrupt the lethal surface tension. The newtons shatter my barrier, but the magic does slow me down a bit before I plunge deep, deep into the icy water.

My throttled figure is then squeezed from every direction by a chilling pressure, air in my lungs forced out. I don’t fight it but keep limp, fighting the urge to inhale, hoping my natural buoyancy will bring me up eventually. Then, when the shock and confusion of the collision wear off, I realize I'm not floating at all. How could I? The armoring weighs too much. It drags me steadily on towards the bottom like boots of concrete. The helmet isn't waterproof either, already flooding. I’m going to fucking die.

No, stay calm. You have to always stay calm.

Remember your training! Don't stop thinking! Prioritize!

Okay. First the vest.

I can’t see shit underwater and the skill to perceive formless information is worth less than nothing for precise handiwork like this. I feel along the tactical vest with my numb fingers only and find and loosen the rachet buckle, pull the belt loose. I’m still sinking. Just how deep is this fucking lake? I can't get the vest off. It's tight around the chest. Really? Will these molehills be the death of me? I have to open the sides too. I only have time for one. I unfasten the straps on the left between the back plate and the chest part, wring them as wide apart as I can.

Great, now I’m ready. I pop off the helmet and let it go and then tear the vest off over my head. My lungs hurt. My ribs hurt. My face hurts. The water is so fucking cold. My cells scream for oxygen. Good thing I tied up my hair beforehand. What if it got stuck somewhere on the vest and I died because I cared too much about my looks and didn't want to shave a bald? What a way to go. A personal fuck you from fate.

Freed of the extra baggage, I’m finally going up. I’m rising like a bird. I'm flying. The upside of being a shrimp—having excellent lift. But am I rising fast enough? I scoop the water with my hands and kick frantically to speed it up. God damn it hurts. My senses are starting to leave me. Things are going dark. Will I pass out and drown before I reach air? Will I? Will I? This is how Selia died. This is the last thing she saw in her life. Don’t think about it. It’s too horrible, don’t think about it now. Oh god, oh god.

“——GAAAH!”

I break through the surface and am reunited with my friend oxygen again. I devour air with greedy breaths and float on my back, cursing myself for ever agreeing to any of this.

But I’m not out of the woods yet, in either sense of the saying.

I can’t stay in the water, or hypothermia will get me. I've lost too much body warmth already. As lucidity gradually returns to me, I start scooping towards the direction of the distant fires, the burning remains of my transport scattered between the trees. Bless Liselot for teaching me how to swim. But I’m still far from an expert and fast exhausted. I still splash and claw on even as my heart feels like bursting, until I suddenly hit my fingers on solid rock.

Land ahoy.

I drag myself out of the water, up onto a gravel shore.

My figure feels unbearably heavy, even without armor. I can’t stand up, much less walk. But I drag myself on with my elbows and knees, until I’m mostly on the dry. That’s the best I can do today. Thoroughly spent, my consciousness leaves me as soon as I relax, and I lay my head down upon the rocks.

Goodnight.