“Nothing?!” The Lupinor and Vunerian pair parroted.
“Yup! You heard me right — nothing!” I acknowledged through a cheeky grin, and a tone of voice that dripped with goofy excitement. “It’s your time to shine after all!”
“You spit in the face of what little remains of the pride and dignity of this peer group, earthrealmer.” Ilunor rebutted, his sooty breaths quickly escalating to small bouts of flame-broiled anger.
“I understand the noble intent behind restraint and stoicism, Emma. However I cannot see how your plan to do nothing will address the core issue we face. It’d be tantamount to simply abstaining at this point, which is decidedly a better alternative if your plan is to simply remain on the sidelines whilst we demonstrate our abilities.” Thalmin quickly added, before quickly shifting gears to a more concerned tone of voice. “If this is about making a point to sacrifice your image of strength for our sake, then I must make it clear to you that I will not accept an exchange of face.”
However, before I could respond to both of the pair’s concerns, it was the silent and contemplative Thacea who managed to immediately decipher my cryptic intent, as she turned towards me with a raised brow.
“By ‘doing nothing’, you are alluding to the passive abilities of your armor, aren’t you, Emma?” The princess deduced.
“Precisely, princess.” I grinned widely, and with a soft cackle that almost immediately brought Thalmin over to my side.
“Your suit’s mana resistance… is, in the eyes of the rules, a form of magic in and of itself.” The lupinor spoke with a wide toothy grin, his tune completely shifting upon that realization.
“I’d hardly consider mana resistance as a display of magical prowess.” Ilunor huffed out, before going quiet, his eyes widening at a certain revelation. “Unless…”
“It’s paired with equally impressive displays of magic.” Thalmin offered, the pair locking eyes right at that moment of clarity.
“The higher the forms of magic that are resisted or nullified, the more points the mage behind said resistance will earn.” Ilunor concluded, more or less lending credence to what was at first a far-fetched, half-baked idea born out of me reaching.
“Sooooo, I’m guessing this checks out then?” I asked, prompting the Vunerian to go deep into thought, his brows furrowing in a seriousness that I didn’t often see from him.
“Make no mistake, Cadet Emma Booker, this… will serve as the bare minimum towards participation. Though given the previous option of being disqualified or gaining practically no points whatsoever… this will have to do.”
“Hey, if I’m able to push you guys over the barrier to entry — to at least contribute something towards participation points — then that’s a win in my book.” I acknowledged with a beaming smile, a fact that the Vunerian seemed to be both annoyed by yet begrudgingly accepting of.
“Be that as it may be, we are still woefully behind in preparations for the House Choosing Ceremony.” Thacea countered. “Given our prior intent to abstain, we lack the meticulous planning towards what other peer groups would have undoubtedly already—”
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
THWACK!
A leather-bound binder brimming full of loose papers slammed against the coffee table in front of us, the Vunerian proudly displaying his signature cocksure grin, as if waiting for this precise moment.
“Correction, my dear princess. We are, for all intents and purposes, more than adequately prepared for this very eventuality.” The smugness on the Vunerian’s face could only be challenged by sheer pride and self-satisfaction underlying every syllable of his voice.
“So… you’ve been planning for this all along?” I asked, cocking my head in abject confusion.
“Yes. Have you not been following, earthrealmer? LIfe is a game of theater, and what greater theater is there than these calls to public performance? Of course I’d have been thoroughly prepared for this very eventuality!”
“You literally just said you gave up because of me.” I countered bluntly, causing the Vunerian’s features to waver somewhat.
“Well I—, you see—”
“Ilunor… have you been choreographing and composing for a show that you never intended to join?” Thalmin doubled down, cocking his head in the process as he began rummaging through the folder, revealing pieces of what I could only describe as storyboards, all of which prominently featured a certain Vunerian taking the lead, with a familiar-looking avinor and lupinor present by his side.
I didn’t know where to start.
Especially as Thalmin began flipping through page after page of genuinely well-sketched out storyboards.
Though the further he flipped through them, the more intricate they seemed to become… at least when it came to Ilunor.
This was because the roughly drawn avinor and lupinor eventually stopped appearing on the sketches entirely, replaced instead by vague stick-figure looking silhouettes, with seemingly all artistic effort drained and redirected towards the star of the show — Ilunor.
The disparity between Ilunor and the rest of the drawn figures was striking, with the Vunerian’s features greatly exaggerated, and his feats of magic drawn to such a degree that left whatever stick figures were in the background to become mere specks on the page.
Moreover, he even went into the effort of coloring and animating a few of these pieces, though both the color and animation was entirely reserved for himself and his feats of magic.
These explorations into the Vunerian’s artistic endeavors were eventually cut short by the noble in question snatching the pages right out of the lupinor’s hands, his face puffing with incredulity.
“I will have you know that there was a period of time, prior to the loss of all hope, where I had assumed the earthrealmer was in fact not truly manaless. It was within that short span of time that I had taken it upon myself to begin planning for the House Choosing Ceremony.” The Vunerian clarified, though this explanation brought up more questions than it did answers.
“But there’s gotta be at least two hundred or so pages there, Ilunor. How the heck did you have the time, in between running errands for Mal’tory, to actually sketch all of this out?” I countered, half out of disbelief, and half due to confusion as to the sudden and unexpected appearance of this more artistically inclined side of the noble.
Though given his track record and stated interests… I should’ve honestly seen this coming.
“That’s because I only sketched five of those pages at the Academy, earthrealmer.” Ilunor responded with a sigh.
That answer was more than enough to clue me into what was going on, as a cheeky grin formed across my face.
“That explains why Thacea and Thalmin only appear in a few of these.” I began.
“Exactly.” Ilunor nodded.
“The rest of these works were sketched prior to the Academy then.” I stifled a giggle. “Ilunor… were these your screenplay manuscripts? Your pitch pages? Featuring you as the main self-inser— er, I mean, protagonist?”
The Vunerian cocked his head in genuine confusion at the first two questions, so much so that he seemed to have ignored the soft jab of that last question. His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to decipher the not-too-insignificant cultural barrier that existed behind the intent of the first two questions, as I doubted a clear and direct parallel existed in the Nexus for them.
…
Or so I thought.
“I am… flattered that you would liken my magical choreography to the concept sketches of a learned artist, earthrealmer.” The Vunerian managed out under a visibly confused expression. “I did not know you were capable of such adulation.” The Vunerian paused, before shifting directions once more. “This is not to say I seek your approval, of course. Far from it. I am merely surprised it took you this long to shower me with my rightful praise.”
My expression took a drastic dip back into annoyance at the easily-inflated ego of the Vunerian.
As such, I immediately reached for my newfound weapon against this very eventuality, rummaging through one of the shopping bags… and pulling out a certain orb-like facsimile of the puffed up noble in front of me.
I promptly squeezed it.
‘Your worship pleases me!’
Landing on the perfect voiceline.
“Careful Ilunor, you’re starting to become so much like your cousin over here.” I chuckled out, eliciting another flame-broiled pout from the Vunerian.
“Ahem.” Thacea suddenly butted in, stifling Thalmin’s growing amusement at the situation, and Ilunor’s outburst. “If I may, even with these admittedly well planned displays of magical choreography, we still have less than half a day before the start of the house choosing ceremony.”
“I fail to see the problem, princess.” Ilunor responded bluntly.
“We lack the practice and coordination, not to mention the time to properly address issues which may arise from an unproven performance. Moreover, we still need to find a means of introducing Emma into any one of these… drafts.”
“I for one think that’s relatively simple!” I offered with a cheery smile. “Just end the show off with a bang. Preferably not a literal bang of course, but a magical one. Aim pure mana spells at me, and just watch as the highest level spells you muster fizzle out on contact with my armor. I think that’d be a hell of an ending.”
Everyone paused, turning to one another before nodding in agreement.
“I’ll make you a deal, earthrealmer. Your little display will be the second to last sequence in the final act so as to not put you in the limelight — as you requested.” He reiterated, really pushing for his time in the limelight.
“I have no objections to that.” I nodded nonchalantly. “It’s the least I can do after messing this up for everyone. Besides, I’m only there to fulfill the bare minimum, the rest really is up to you guys.”
An excitable Ilunor eagerly took over the conversation following that point, as the entire group descended into an intense discussion that reminded me a lot of a cross between band, cheerleading, and theater practice back in high school… not that I participated in any of those extracurriculars.
Though the ordering-in of late-dinner — courtesy of Ilunor — definitely put me in mind of group project all-nighters.
Regardless, I couldn’t help but to feel a certain sense of weird… separation during the whole thing.
And it wasn’t for any lack of participation.
Because throughout it all, the same sense of group participation remained strong. So strong in fact that Ilunor and Thalmin, literal polar opposites, began vibing in a way I hadn’t seen them do before. Combining their strengths, they pooled together ideas from their respective specialties, coalescing the former’s artistic flair with the latter’s martial inclinations — creating a spectacle worthy of Acela’s Broadway and Venus’ Cloud Nine. I even managed to pitch several key scenes from the aforementioned theatres, Ilunor gladly accepting many of them, whilst rejecting just as many.
All in all, the whole brainstorming and workshopping process was just plain fun.
However, in spite of many of my suggestions making it through, and my own act being set in stone, the lack of being able to actually participate due to the lack of magic… was just a little bit disappointing.
Despite that though, and to Ilunor’s credit, the workshopping was completed in a little under two hours.
Following which, we each gladly retired to our rooms.
With the lupinor and vunerian duo looking much more excited than me and the princess.
“So it is settled then? We will pick as late a time slot as we can so as to ensure we have ample time for the memorization of our respective roles.” Ilunor announced, prompting a final nod of approval before we went our own ways off to bed.
Or at least, the boys probably did.
As what might have been the end to the night was merely the beginning of another chapter for me and the princess.
The latter wordlessly entered the bathroom.
Whilst I began busying myself with the laundry list of minor activities with varying degrees of mission-relevance.
The first being homework.
A brief review through tired half-lidded eyes was all I needed to approve most of it, as the EVI more or less hit the nail on the head for both Vanavan and Articord’s classes.
The second time-consuming task was the continuation of the long term nutritional viability testing of local foodstuffs.
Or to put it simply… shoving magic dinner into the anti-magic microwave.
The task was completed in seconds, but it’d be hours before I’d reap the rewards of a hard day’s work — cold, flavorless leftovers.
I should actually try grabbing some of that ‘commoner food’ from the markets later… I thought to myself.
The third, and perhaps the task which would become the bane of the EVI’s existence, was the planning and design of a housing unit for the wand.
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“EVI?”
“Yes, Cadet Booker?”
“Designate new operational objective — Project Wand Step for Mankind.”
“Acknowledged.”
The back and forths into the specific parameters of potential housing units were tossed around following that, occupying my mind as my body went on autopilot for the fourth and probably least important task of the night — unpacking the spoils of shopping.
Glassware, alchemy sets, pens, stationeries, and a whole host of random knick-knacks were quickly arranged by my tent.
With the most important item out of all of them, Kobold King, being placed atop of a large cushiony throne atop of one of the crates.
The sight of him ruling from on high tickled the goober deep inside of me.
And by the end of it, the EVI and I had come to a solid enough first prototype for the wand’s housing unit — what amounted to a spherical metal orb capable of multi-axial rotation with a full six degrees of freedom mounted on a pole attached to the suit’s ‘backpack’.
It honestly reminded me of one of those old mast mounted sights on helicopters and rotor-based craft.
And it would’ve probably looked more akin to that, if it was mounted on my head rather than my backpack.
Printing it out would require the sacrifice of a modest amount of metals, which the wealth cube provided in spades.
Though the estimated time to print and calibrate it… probably meant I wouldn’t be able to use it tomorrow.
Regardless, the EVI now had its work cut out for it, as the printers within the tent got to work, and I finally managed to just rest.
…
“Emma?” A familiar voice jolted me back to reality. “Are you feeling well?” Thacea asked, prompting me to snap my eyes towards the time on my HUD. “I couldn’t tell if you were busy with your… internal meditations, or if you were asleep inside of your armor.”
I let out a skittish yawn in response, stretching in the process. “I-it’s the latter, princess.” I managed out awkwardly. “That probably wasn’t becoming of me, sorry.”
“That’s quite alright.” The princess responded reassuringly, sitting opposite of me as we just took in the silence together.
“You seem… preoccupied with something, Thacea.” I finally broke the silence. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?”
“I was actually meaning to broach a similar sentiment, Emma.” The princess offered with a polite smile.
“It’s about the House Choosing Ceremony, isn’t it?” We spoke at literally the same time, talking over one another, causing both of our eyes to grow wide with mutual amusement, and lightening both our spirits.
“You read my mind, princess.” I chuckled.
“If only it were so easy…” Thacea politely reciprocated with a teasing giggle of her own.
“The armor sorta gets in the way of the fun of that, huh?” I shot back with a sly smirk and a cock of my head.
“Indeed… and so much more if I may add.” The princess began with a playful breath, eliciting a small chuckle from my end, before promptly and nervously jumping back into her concerned tone of voice. “Moreover, if I were to be so brazen, I assume that the armor is likewise the cause of your less than enthusiastic spirits about the ceremony?”
“Yeah… well… it’s in the same vein, really. But it’s just a dumb silly concern; nothing serious.” I answered truthfully.
“A concern is still a concern, Emma.” Thacea replied succinctly, urging me to spill the beans.
“Well… it’s just… I don’t know. It’s just a bit disappointing that I don’t get to be part of the ‘action’ as it were. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to ogle at magic. You’ve seen what I’m capable of, so it’s nothing about lacking confidence to match it or anything. It’s just… I don’t know, I guess I sorta just wish I could join in on the fun. It’s just a stupid thought, really.” I shrugged.
“I imagine most would be rejoicing at having the least amount of work in a collaborative effort, Emma.” Thacea countered with a sly chirp.
This prompted me to reach the back of my head awkwardly. “Well erm… heh, I guess I get a bit fidgety with nothing to do.”
“The adherence to personal responsibility is commendable.” Thacea acknowledged. “And your concern is one that I can both sympathize and empathize with.”
That answer gave me the on-ramp I needed to address my own concerns, as I directed this impromptu therapy session right back at the princess.
“I imagine that’s probably because of your self-admitted reluctance to the House Choosing Ceremony from the onset, right?”
“Indeed.” The princess nodded, going silent, before letting out a sigh in acknowledgement. “I am… not very enthusiastic about displaying my magical capabilities. For as I stated previously, my… affliction is one which is directly affected by my emotional state. And despite my learned self-control, the risk of overexertion leading to the exposure of even a hint of miasma, is a scenario which constantly hangs over my head.”
I immediately leaned forward following that self-admission, attempting to bridge the gap, despite the layers of composalite in the way.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Thacea.” I offered earnestly.
“You misunderstand me, Emma. I can manage myself. I… merely have concerns which only I must come to terms with.” The princess responded immediately. “I am not one to pull away from my obligations. This is something we likely have in common, yes?”
“Yeah… I guess you’re right on the money in that regard, princess.” I acknowledged with a nod. “But I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this, alright? Like I said on that very first day, I couldn’t give less of a crap about taint, miasma, or what-have-you. It’s all top-down Nexian bigotry to me.” I took a moment to let out a breath, as a smile slowly formed over my next few words. “I’m with you all the way, Thacea.”
The princess’ eyes widened at that, her typically composed gaze wavered if only for a moment, before she managed to recompose herself with a simple yet still-as-articulate response. “As am I, Emma.”
----------------------------------------
Dragon’s Heart Tower en route to the Hall of Champions. Local time: 0845.
Emma
I managed to sleep in.
Or at least, that’s what waking up at 8:30 felt like now given my schedule…
The opposite could be said for Ilunor however, as I met the blue thing in the living room jittering all about the place, a chalice of some brown-red liquid held tightly in one hand, and the scripts to his performance in the other.
A brief back and forth with the amused-looking Thalmin told me all that I needed to know.
Not that it needed much pointing out.
“Our Vunerian comrade has been downing rejuvenation spritzes and elixirs all night, Emma.” The prince chuckled.
“HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM SO AS TO REGARD THIS GREATEST OF OPPORTUNITIES WITH SUCH NONCHALANCE, PRINCE THALMIN?!” The Vunerian shrieked out, his hand furiously working on the ‘final touches’ of the choreography for the show.
The prince shrugged the nexian noble off as he responded simply. “Nothing truly catches you off guard once you’ve been ambushed in your breeches.”
That response didn’t seem to sit well with the Vunerian, even as we made our way out of the room and back into the halls, en route to the House Choosing Ceremony.
“You know, there’s a quote from someone famous back home, Ilunor.” I began. “I think it goes something along the lines of: ‘To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time.’”
“THAT’S BECAUSE YOUR PEOPLE ARE OUT OF THEIR MINDS, CADET EMMA BOOKER!” The Vunerian shouted through a jittery breath, as I turned to the rest of the gang with a shrug, accepting the Vunerian’s excitements as an irreconcilable part of today’s happenings.
A few back and forths were had between the gang, with Thalmin seeming the most confident out of all of us, especially as we arrived back into the Victorian-esque gymnasium proper.
It was here, after walking through the front door dressing room, and back into the space of my greatest public victory yet, where we were ushered up towards the bleachers, filled to the brim with faces which the EVI did not recognize.
Though a quick glance at their school robes made it clear exactly who they were.
Upper yearsmen.
Indeed, about half of the stadium was currently packed with upper yearsmen, all of whom were seated beneath banners, giving off the vibes of a cross between the European Federation’s intense soccer culture, and a medieval-style tournament in the typical fantasy sense.
Though the former vibe was strong with this crowd, as some amongst the upper years went so far as to dress up in house colors, waving flags and banners of their houses as we arrived.
The mileage between the fervor of house pride did seem to decrease with each house though, as the maroon and orange house on the very left of the stadium seemed to be the most invested in displaying their pride, whilst the gray and white house on the very right seemed almost silent by comparison.
It was the middle of the stadium however that seemed to be the most dressed up for the occasion, as a massive stand rising up a good two-three stories rose up from the field, with a row of professors sitting behind the same banquet table as the one seen in the grand dining hall.
Though this time, the white cloth of the table was once again replaced by the intertwining colors of all four houses.
“First-years of the Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts! Welcome! Welcome to the House Choosing Ceremony!” The dean proclaimed from the middle seat, standing up as he did so, prompting everyone in the stadium to follow suit.
“It is on this day that each peer group will have the chance to prove themselves in the eyes of the faculty. As your magical potential, and the means by which you wield it, will be ascertained and scrutinized; such that an objective score can be assigned to each peer group. Following which, the privilege of choosing your peer group’s house will be bestowed in order of most points, to the least points.” The Dean explained, more or less clearing up any confusions I had on exactly why this magical talent show was so important.
This system… more or less fostered a de-facto state of hierarchical stratification.
There was no way the highest scoring peer group would choose a house composed of lesser-scoring groups from the previous years.
And sure, there might have been a time where people acted in good faith, choosing houses based on their personalities or whatever.
But when was good faith ever the case with the Nexus?
“To these ends, I will allow the Protectors of each House to declare themselves. Following which, we will be accepting applications for the day’s demonstration timeslots.” The dean concluded, handing off the floor to four professors who stood up in rapid succession.
The first, being Vanavan, sporting a wizard’s hat dressed up in maroon and orange colors. “I represent House Shiqath, a proud house bearing the name of His Eternal Majesty’s first adventuring compatriot, Shiqath of Sanguine Ichor, Slayer of the Old Gods, First Inquisitor of the Realm.”
The maroon and orange house began cheering and hollering at that, drawing the attention of everyone in the stands.
The second to speak up was Professor Articord, sporting a cravat consisting of silver and bronze embroidery, matching the colors of the second house’s banners. “I represent House Finthorun, a storied house named in honor of His Eternal Majesty’s second adventuring compatriot, whose legacy built the very foundations of the Academy we stand upon — Gilded-Gleaming Finthorun. The man who slew the deep myths of old.”
A similar, yet not as pronounced series of cheers quickly followed from the house in question.
Following this, the third to address the crowd would be Professor Chiska, who sported a large and almost comically long scarf, bearing earthy green and glistening blue colors that looked almost like flowing water. “I represent House Thun'Yundaris, the bold and brave house bearing the name of Fortressfell Thun'Yundaris. His Eternal Majesty’s third adventuring compatriot, the living citadel whose mountainous bravery and initiative tore the heavens asunder.”
A series of soft golf claps followed Chiska’s announcement, earning a sharp glare from her, forcing out a series of begrudging hoots and hollers from her house.
The end of these proclamations was marked by Belnor’s unenthused announcement, as she stood up and quickly adjusted her stone gray and luminous white shawl. “I represent House Vikzhura, of Garn Vikzhura, His Eternal Majesty’s fourth compatriot.”
Belnor seemed to stop there, garnering the perplexed look of the rest of the faculty, which prompted her to sigh as she quickly added. “The pathfinder who brought forth the light of truth to the deepest and darkest depths of evil, paving the way for righteous triumph.”
A series of slow claps followed this, which transitioned right into the more laborious part of the morning’s activities.
Roll call.
Or more specifically — time slot management.
This went on for forever, or precisely thirty minutes, but at least Ilunor got what he wanted from it.
“And to Lord Rularia’s peer group, goes the final time slot of the day!”
The last time slot.
Following which, the dean finally stood up once more.
“Thank you to all professors for representing your houses, and to Professor Chiska, for your excellent management of time.” The feline professor bowed in response, just as the dean turned back to the gathered students. “You will all have precisely one hour before the first magical pageantry commences. May you all use this time wisely.”
That announcement was quickly followed up by the departure of the entire year group, as it was clear everyone was going back to make their final preparations.
The same could be said for the rest of the gang, save for me, as I promptly approached Chiska in the midst of the crowd.
“Do you have a moment, professor?”
“Yes, Cadet Emma Booker?” The professor nodded, deploying a privacy spell in the process.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
“If you’ll allow me to be blunt, professor, I have a very important question I need to ask.”
“By all means.” Chiska responded warily, as if waiting for a bombshell to drop, heightening up my concerns over some malicious involvement in Rila’s well being.
“Where’s Rila?”
…
“Oh! Is that what you were worried about?” The professor’s features lightened up almost immediately. “I’d assumed this had something to do with today’s activities or something of that nature.” She clarified, before returning back to her jovial self. “I am a mage of my vows, Cadet Emma Booker. I not only know where Rila is, but I can take you to her, if you so desire.”
My heart skipped a beat at that, as I couldn’t believe I finally hit a breakthrough moment.
And it didn’t even require jury-rigging a drone, or even grappling like a goober, to accomplish.
“I’d like that very much, actually.”
----------------------------------------
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. En Route to the Healing Wing. Local Time: 0910 Hours.
Emma
In the spirit of cosmic balance, it would seem that the expediting of one questline meant the complications of another. I could only hope that the gang wouldn’t be too mad at my momentary absence.
The first part of our walk towards the healing wing was strangely silent.
However, this eventually changed as the crowds cleared the closer we got to the healing wing.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
But only after the application of a cone of silence.
“I am certain you may have some questions, Cadet Emma Booker.” She began, her tone of voice mixed somewhere between her usual upbeat demeanor, and a sense of serious apprehension. “I am giving you the opportunity to ask, though please do keep your questions within reason. I can only answer so much, after all.”
“Of course, professor.” I acknowledged. “First off, if everything with Rila is as I’d expect it to be, then I just wanted to give you my preemptive thanks for keeping your promise.”
The professor perked up a brow at this, as she leveled a sly yet calculating gaze my way. “I wouldn’t be too quick to dispense gratitudes just yet.”
“Wha—?”
“Which is to say, I can neither confirm nor dismiss your concerns, since I am without knowledge of what it is you are expecting.” The professor promptly interjected with a polite and reassuring smile.
“Oh, right, sorry. I… well… I expect her to be in decent health for one. As in, being provided the best care that’s available.”
“As one might expect, yes.” The professor acknowledged with a nod.
“Secondly, I expect that she’d be… well… how do I say this politely…” I took a moment to pause, thinking my words through carefully. “I expect her to be the exact same when she’s discharged, as she was when she was being admitted.”
“‘The same’ in regards to…?” Chiska insisted.
“Well, to be blunt professor — with regards to any binding spells or contracts or what-have-you.” I stated plainly. “Let’s just say that out of the many good things I have to say about the wonderful world of magic, that these two topics have come close to spoiling the whole experience for me.” I added in as diplomatic of an approach as I could.
Chiska regarded those words with a contemplative nod, breaking my gaze for just a moment to admire the view outside — most notably, the fields surrounding the gymnasium currently brimming with magical activity.
“Speaking frankly, Cadet Emma Booker, I believe that is a sentiment shared between both you and I.” The professor spoke with a level of earnesty I hadn’t yet seen from anyone but Sorecar… though perhaps a bit more restrained and composed than the aforementioned armorer. “To those ends, I can assure you that there has been nothing of the sort done to Trade Apprentice Lartia-Siv-Rel. For so long as she is in my care, I have assured that all will be ‘as expected’ from our promise.”
My eyes narrowed at one specific detail, despite the initial sense of elation from Chiska’s rather altruistic views. “Lartia-Siv-Rel, professor?” I attempted to clarify in as few words as I could, garnering a cock of the feline.
“Perceptive.” The professor nodded with respect. “Either you’ve had prior contact with the girl, or perhaps you’ve simply picked up quite a bit of knowledge on Nexian class-nomenclature.” Chiska allowed that to hang in the air for a moment, a sly grin painted across her face, before moving forward. “Regardless of which it is, I am afraid I cannot divulge anything more as it pertains to that topic. It would be rude of me to tackle such a sensitive matter firmly within the realm of personal affairs. However, I am certain that your perceptiveness will lead you to discerning an answer one way or another.” The professor added with a wink, finishing off her end of the conversation just as we arrived in the healing wing proper.
This was probably the first time I’d entered the healing wing’s wards without risking disciplinary action.
It felt almost weird to be entering its halls, instead of being told off by some apprentice.
It felt even weirder to be let through with just a nod from the attending apprentice, and to be let into the bowels of the tower which I’d just scaled a week ago.
Just as expected… things felt far bigger on the inside than they had any business of being.
Though thankfully, this bigness only applied to two axes, as the long walk up more or less confirmed that verticality was at least still within the realm of euclidean normality.
“We’re here.” The professor announced, gesturing towards one of the many identical doors in the sterile whitestone and granite tile halls.
I felt a bit of apprehension as the professor pushed the door open, my whole body tensing as despite the promises and reassurances, there was still that latent fear that this could be a trap… or worse.
Though perhaps a part of me, the part of me expecting normality, was also concerned about the more grounded issues — namely her state of health.
All of these concerns eventually came to a head as we finally entered the room, my eyes and sensors darting towards a lone figure on a lofty bed made of dark, aged wood encrusted in socketed crystals.
“Rila?” I managed out, taking several tentative strides forwards towards her bedside.
[TARGET IFF CONFIRMED: RILA (LARTIA-SIV-REL)]
That single word managed to stir the scrub-wearing elf from her malaise, her eyes practically lighting up as soon as they locked on my helmet.
“Emma Booker?” She spoke meekly.