Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (145/?)

The Next Day

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Grand Dining Hall. Local Time: 1225 Hours

Thacea

There was a certain sense of… normalcy that came with the fourth day periods. 

It lacked the explosive rhetoric that tainted Professor Articord’s lessons. Yet it wasn’t as elementary and inoffensively bland as was the case with Professor Vanavan’s lectures. 

I couldn’t yet compare it to Professor Mal’tory’s classes… as Apprentice Larial — and now Professor Sorecar — were very much not representative of the elf’s proclivities. Or at least that’s what I assumed.

Physical Education was a frankly foregone conclusion. In that my opinions of such a blatantly arduous course was as self evident as any other self respecting highborn peer. 

All of this was to say — despite the banality of Potions as a subject — there was indeed something compelling to be found. 

… 

Which was much more than I could say for Ilunor’s inane tirades into the bizarre, as he plodded from conversation topic to conversation topic, unable to commit — or rather unable to understand — that I had little patience for trivial drivel when our interests simply did not align.

But an idiot the Vunerian was not.

Rather, he was simply… stubborn, to a fault.

Which meant I should have expected the non-sequiter that followed.

“Are you betrothed?” 

That question emerged with the same inexplicable nature as any one of Emma’s actions. 

My eyes narrowed as I shifted gently in my seat, setting both teaspoon and teacup down with a calculated poise that any noble worth their etiquette would interpret as a rude rebuff. 

“Excuse me?” I shot back sharply.

“I’m merely asking a question, Princess. Are you or are you not betrothed?” He stood his ground, wearing that signature Vunerian smirk that had not merely found home on his visage, but that had since claimed regency over his entire persona.

“You are being rather forward, Ilunor—”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Princess.” The Vunerian interjected, shaking his head as he did so. “Seeing as this conversation has grown rather one-sided, and owing to the ever encroaching march of time, I wished to introduce a topic that would undoubtedly garner your attention.” He spoke with words drenched in self-assured pride. “Judging by your fascination on all things unconventional, and seeing your rather visceral reaction to this matter, I would say my approach has succeeded, no?” 

I eyed the Vunerian down with a judgemental gaze, but eventually relented, deciding to tempt the fates. “Context clues would perhaps be enough for you to build a case against my—”

“Yes, yes, but I simply wished to—”

“The answer is, no, Ilunor.” I interrupted with a pointed response, before letting out a sigh. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silence speak for itself before continuing. “Was that all?” I shot out sharply.

“Not in the slightest.” Ilunor practically beamed out. And like an adventurer cornering his deadly prey, he wore a toothy grin as he pointed to the tables around us. 

But I couldn’t predict what would come next.

“Hmm… Auris and Ladona.” He gestured his eyes towards the table in question. “Would you say they are… courting?”

I blinked my eyes rapidly, in both mild surprise and a certain level of incredulity.

“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea—”

“Oh His Majesty you don’t!” Ilunor interjected, crossing his legs and raising his nose up at me. “Out of all of our peers I know you to be the most analytical. At least… in matters pertinent to the more… refined lifestyles led by highborns of our caliber, of course.” He insisted, and even went so far as to provide what felt less like a back-handed complement, and a genuine acknowledgement of competence.

My eyes widened, as I had to ask myself…

Where did this Ilunor come from?

“So please, humor me, princess.” He insisted, before simply shrugging and then looking the other way. “Or not. Though, you could consider this to be work of a sort.” He added slyly, as he began the tested but rather stale tactic of simply recontextualizing the request. “Consider this… a meeting of the minds. A spymaster’s circle, if only for the purposes of determining the web of connections which we may use to our advantage.”

I let out a frustrated breath, my eyes once more locking with the Vunerian over the modest spread of food in front of us.

Part of me wished not to even entertain those inflammatory words with the dignity of a response.

…

But my time with Emma, and perhaps my own boredom, had changed my tolerances in the entertainment of tripe and drivel.

“Lord Ping is impulsive.” I began plainly. “Lady Ladona… while more thoughtful, is still prone to acting brashly as far as social decorum allows. Their peer group? Consisting of the now-subdued Lorsi, and the ever-tepid Ciata, are neither obstacles nor impediments in the countering of whatever in-group norms either Ping or Ladona may wish to impose. This results in a lack of social reprimand, and a lack of any opposition — social or otherwise — should Ping… or even Ladona, wish to pursue… courtship.”

Ilunor’s eyes practically lit up throughout my analysis, as he leaned in closer, as if poised for a whisper despite the practically perpetual privacy screen we both had put up.

“That’s assessing context and external factors, princess. I’m asking what you think of their dynamics! Are they interested, do they seem… viable. Is there a spark there, or is this merely the de facto rule of a King and Queen in sight alone?” 

“You’re asking me for a definitive I simply do not have an answer for—”

“I’m asking for your personal take, princess. Do you pair them, or do you not pair them?” Ilunor grinned excitedly, as if this… whatever it was, constituted as a recreational activity for his ceaselessly rambunctious mind.

I took a moment to sip the tea in front of me, letting the Nexian stew in his own thoughts for a while, before once more locking eyes with his excited gaze.

“Yes. Yes I do… pair them, as you say.” 

“You speak with such hesitation about this princess… don’t tell me you haven’t partaken in the age-old discussions of pairing before!”

I blinked my eyes slowly in response, once again setting both teacup and silverware down with deliberate intent.

“I had neither the time nor the privilege and opportunity for such trivial discussions, Ilunor.”

“Ah.” The Vunerian paused, and unlike his previous attempts to relentlessly dig into what were obviously insecurities beneath the veil, he seemed to merely acknowledge the implications of my answer with a passing nod. 

Though this momentary lapse in excitement passed rather quickly, and if anything, the noble seemed even more emboldened to strike further because of it.

Though his target, rather surprisingly, was focused externally this time around.

“We’ll make up for lost time then, shall we?” He grinned, before gesturing his eyes at Qiv’s table. “Qiv and Airit. Now that’s a rather foregone conclusion, no?”

“One would imagine, yes.” I responded, before the Vunerian seemed poised for a counter… of his own proposition.

“Oh, oh! By His Eternal Wisdom, of course not! That’s an unimaginative fool’s response. How could I be so short-sighted?!” He rested the back of his hand against his head as he spoke. “How could I have forgotten the second, yet just as equally compelling possibility — Qiv and Rostario. That scheming, slimy, conniving and ladder-climbing pair are a match made in the abyssal flames.” The Vunerian cackled, before once again leveling his eyes on me. “Wouldn’t you agree, princess?”

I shot a sharp glance at the table in question, inexplicably meeting Airit’s gaze as she leveled what I could only describe as a death glare in my direction.

“From my understanding, neither realm seems to hold any reservations on such arrangements. So I do not see why not.” I answered plainly.

“Princess… please. I did say I wished for more daring observations, no? We are looking for interpersonal elements, not political discourse nor the constraints placed upon personal desire brought on by adjacent customs.” Ilunor paused, as if wishing to go back on one of those subjects. “On second thought, discussions on these matters do serve as the seasoning and spice to pairing dynamics.” He admitted with a sly grin. “Though the way you phrase it makes it feel less like a dynamic discussion and more like a spymaster’s briefing—”

“Isn’t that what you wished to frame this whole conversation, Ilunnor? A spymaster’s arrangement?”

“Ugh.” Came the Vunerian’s response. “That was a conceit, I admit, princess. But would you at the very least please entertain the possibility of conversation?”

“Alright.” I shrugged. “Let’s turn to Etholin’s group, shall we?”

Ilunor grinned widely. 

“That’s the spirit! Now… who do you think is paired with whom?”

I let out a tired sigh, my eyes leveling across the members of that group, if only discretely.

“If we were to—” I paused, shrugging, as I attempted to see things from Ilunor’s perspective this time around.

But even then, I had some strong reservations against the unhealthy pairings the Vunerian so desperately wished to be spelled out.

“We are not going to even entertain the prospects of Etholin and that demon — Ilphius.” I stood firm. “Though…” I paused, narrowing my gaze at the two remaining members of his group. “I could see Lord Teleos Lophime and Lady Ilphius Seleat as a… as you say — pair.”

“Oh do you now?” Ilunor responded radiantly. “Tell me, is it Teleos’ subdued stoicism? His quiet yet unassuming persona? His seemingly immovable will that could potentially stand up to Ilphius' unstoppable rage?” The Vunerian spoke with a rising vocal crescendo, inching towards a precipice that felt cruel to undermine. 

“Yes.” I acknowledged. “He is, seemingly, the only person in the group which would not fold under Ilphius. Etholin… well… we both understand why he would buckle and falter at the foot of Ilphius’ ceaseless rage. Kamil Lyonn? The man would just vanish and hide as is stereotypically expected given his kind’s inherent inclinations towards camouflage. This leaves the quiet yet stoic Teleos Lophime… though I cannot help but to wonder precisely what the man’s angle is. I find there to be something deeper to his story.” 

“Oh I’m sure there is, princess.” Ilunor responded in a genuinely friendly manner, ignoring his food and instead diving head first into conversation. “Now that leaves Etholin up in the air.” He pondered vocally. “Kamil Lyonn strikes me as the type to merely run from all things — both problems, and opportunities. So exactly who would…” The Vunerian paused, before letting out a devious cackle. “Emma Booker, perhaps?”

My eyes widened in confusion, then outright incredulity. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it princess, the Rontalisrealmer has already made his opening moves! First in the assembly in front of crowds a hundred-strong, wherein he openly requested for Emma’s audience? Then, in his bait and switch, as he first fulfilled the role of the opportunistic adversary for a position in the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom, before just as deftly pulled the rug from under Ping’s feet. The slippery weasel continues to twist and turn, merging right and wrong with slights and retributions. At the end of the day, the man’s a merchant, and he knows how to play at an unsuspecting damsel’s heartstrings.” 

I blinked once, then twice, as my eyes eventually caught the cocky Vunerian’s gaze with yet another Avinor glare. 

“And how did you come to these conclusions?” I asked plainly.

“See my last point, princess.” Ilunor rebuffed, not once flinching from my gaze. “The man’s a merchant. Whether or not these unspoken courtly advances are genuine or not is up in the air. What I do know is that he wishes for a newrealm’s riches. Or more accurately — he wishes to be what I myself had aimed for at the beginning of this adventure.”

“Overlordship?” I clarified.

“Correct. Though his aims at overlordship are very much limited to the mercantile variety, owing to the limits of his abilities as both an adjacent realmer and a rather pathetic and weak one at that.” He shrugged. 

“I see.” I acknowledged.

“The poor soul is in for a rude awakening once Emma inundates him with the truth.” Ilunor added, taking a sip of his tea in the process, clearly not wishing to come face to face with the implications of his own sentiments. 

I couldn’t help but to hmmph loudly at that angle of attack, as it very much implied a certain level of acknowledgement as to earthrealm’s capabilities.

“It is often the case that I find those most interested in others to be deeply… lacking in their own affairs, Ilunor.” I spoke, leading the momentum this time around. “Seeing as you are oh-so interested in the affairs of others, let us hear of your own exploits. Are you betrothed or courting someone?”

“Very forward of you to ask, princess—”

“Using my own responses against me is a moot point, and doing so is a tactic so far beneath the average Nexian nobility, no?”  

The Vunerian ha-rumphed at that rebuttal, before shifting to that cocky and confident smile he so often returned to. “No. No, I am not courting, princess. For I find such affairs to be… beneath me.”

I couldn’t help but to cock my head slightly at this, garnering but a dismissive wave from the Nexian.

“I don’t expect you, nor most others to understand. I am simply… uninterested in such matters. Because to be frank, I am already betrothed.” He spoke cryptically, as I merely raised a brow in suspicion, urging him to continue. “I have been, from the first day I opened my eyes to the world.” 

A… pre-arranged promised betrothal? I wished to posit. Though knowing Ilunor, I knew there was something else to this grand sweeping claim.

So I bided my time, and remained silent.

“Aren’t you going to ask—”

“Continue, Ilunor.” I responded with a sigh.

“As I was saying… I have already since been betrothed — nay, I am already married… to the arts.” He raised both hands up wide. “Where would I find time for another’s whinings, when I have the arts, music, poetry, and above all else — my own political ambitions to consider?” 

I knew it. I thought to myself, feeling rather vindicated in my silence.

“Is there nothing sweeter than a warm apple tart cut with a mellow eversong tea in the midst of four bardic troupes serenading you in the midst of the courtyard?” He offered. “I find that to be more powerful than any love.”

“Perhaps — and at the risk of speaking in empty platitudes — you have yet to find ‘the one to light the spark’, yet?” I offered.

Though Ilunor refused to respond, at least not immediately, as he simply let out yet another chuckle. “Believe me, princess. There was a reason why I wished for Overlordship as my path to prominence — I simply can’t stand the thought of committing to another. At least, not beyond the realm of the platonic and camradery.”

It was at this point, perhaps too far deep into our rapid back and forths, that Ilunor finally realized the extent to his… frankness. 

The Nexian quickly pulled back, clearing his throat, as he once more shoved a piece of cake into his gaping maw.

“So! With that out of the way, perhaps we should continue to look inwards, no?” He offered, sliding seamlessly back into that carefree persona.

“Go on?”

“Thalmin. Our dear mercenary prince. Do you believe him to be betrothed?”

We both stared at each other vacantly following this question, as something seemed to click without a word being exchanged.

The highborn’s handshake, as the Nexians called it.

“He is.”

“Oh he most certainly is.” 

The both of us spoke in unison.

“Now… for the most opaque among us. Cadet Emma Booker. Do you believe her to be betrothed?”

“I don’t believe so.” I responded curtly.

“You don’t believe so, or you don’t wish it to be so?” Ilunor jabbed with a smug and aggravating grin.

“I’m speaking based on objective truths, Ilunor. Considering everything we’ve learned of their society, and their egalitarian tendencies, I doubt family nor house could force individuals together in an arranged marriage.” 

“That’s betrothal by authority, princess. But that doesn’t discount betrothal by choice, or through courting. In which case… my question still stands.” 

I gave the question some thought. More thought than I had in most other instances.

A fact Ilunor was quick to notice, as he placed both sides of his snout between his hands. “What are you thinking about princess—”

“Based on what we know, I don’t believe she is Ilunor. But perhaps this is a good time to move on, yes?” I gestured at the room’s grand timekeeping artifice. “We are close to the end of lunch.”

“As you wish, princess~” Ilunor spoke in a sing-song voice, as we both turned to watch as the professors filed out of the room. 

However, in the midst of that, the both of us couldn’t help but to notice a certain… presence running down our spine. As if the gaze of a thousand burning suns was somehow focused on the both of us, or rather, me in particular.

We both turned to inexplicably meet the raging inferno behind Airit Airus’ eyes, whose glare was only stopped the instant she noticed our shifting attention.

I let out a sigh, ignoring it as the attendants began clearing our table plate by fine plate.

“And you’re certain you’ve never crossed paths with her before? Never slighted her personally, or in any official capacity?”

“Yes, Ilunor.” I reiterated.

“This… animosity, is far, far more extreme than what I would have expected—” He paused mid sentence, letting out a sharp sigh of realization as if something had finally settled into place in the infinite puzzle that was life. “—but that’s just what we wanted, didn’t we?” 

“Correct.” I acknowledged. “This seemingly ‘harmless’ sentiment spoken in jest, spoken in humor, and perpetuated in common vernacular by Nexian intent… has since sewn the seeds of animosity between Aetheronrealm and Shatorealmer where there should have naturally been none. All as a result of our superficial similarities, and the Nexus’ preference for our aesthetics over the Shatorealmers.”

“That, and carefully crafted seeds of distracting dissent.” Ilunor spoke darkly. “An artificial animosity, to distract from more pertinent issues.” The Vunerian acknowledged. “Also allowing for needless mediation to decorate the laurels of some self-proclaimed grand diplomat from the crownlands.” 

“A raging heart burns brighter than a thoughtful mind.” I reasoned. “Airit… perhaps isn’t inherently evil. She’s simply acting out of the offense inflicted on her people’s identity. A rather… understandable reaction, for an honor disgraced, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmmph.” Ilunor responded. “Regardless of what it is, we should keep a close eye on her. I wouldn’t worry if Qiv is around, but with Qiv currently indisposed…” 

“Airit may see this as an opportunity to find some form of misguided retribution.” I finished Ilunor’s sentence for him.

“Indeed.” He nodded.

However, no sooner did we come to that conclusion were the plates completely cleared.

Following which, we immediately left for the afternoon’s lessons.

We didn’t want to be late for class, after all.

=====

The Township of Sips. The Inn. The Royal Suite. Local Time: 1240 Hours.

Emma

[Time Elapsed: 47 Hours 40 Minutes and 20 Seconds. Time Remaining: 120 Hours 19 Minutes and 40 Seconds.]

I heard a groan.

Then, a stirring of stiff sheets.

My eyes winced as they blinked and were immediately greeted not with the ‘comfortable’ confines of the tent, or the now-heavenly open spaces of my bedroom back home, but instead… a bright and glowing screen inches from my face. 

I wasn’t claustrophobic.

This was something I found out many many times over.

Shuttles didn’t bother me, nor did the tight confines of a true spacer station.

But power armor? 

There was something about being able to wiggle around, yet not too much, that made this particular aspect of suit life acutely claustrophobic. 

It was that awkward combination of being allotted some freedom of movement, combined with the tightness and fit of the exoskeleton that really did it. Especially with the exoskeleton locked, where my body is free to ‘move’ in a space measured in centimeters and inches.

And despite the space probably being a cave diver’s paradise, it simply was not enough for me. Especially upon waking up from weird and nonsensical dreams.

However, in spite of all of that, the claustrophobia and fear went away with one simple command.

“Give me motor control, EVI.”

“Acknowledged.” 

The locking of the exoskeleton and the freeing motions of its actuators brought me ‘back’ into the world.

Though despite the relief that came with being in control, one realization arrived to bring anxiety crashing all the way back down, worse than the mild claustrophobia of in-suit wakeup.

Local Time: 1240 Hours.

We were four hours behind schedule.

I rushed over to the still passed out Thalmin, shaking him to wakefulness, and suffering dearly for it.

[ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED: 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS]

Or at least, I would have. If the attack wasn’t a pure magical assault.

The prince huffed and held Emberstride firmly in his hand, before realizing what had just transpired.

“Ancestors, sorry Emma. Are you alright?!” 

“Yeah, not a scratch.” I responded.

“Alright… then might I ask why the hell you woke me up like that?!” He quickly reverted to friendly yet stern aggression once the matter of my nonexistent injuries were cleared up. 

“We’re late.” I responded simply, before moving over to the blinds, and immediately drawing them — revealing the harsh brightness of the mid-afternoon sunlight.

This finally stirred something within the prince, as all grogginess from the previous night dissipated.

The sheer dread in his face was one shared amongst many a soldier — especially in situations such as these — as he sprinted to the bathroom, trailing behind duvets, mattress toppers, and various other fur-covered fabrics in his wake.

The sound of running water was heard next, as it was clear the prince was making a mad dash for morning preparations. 

With the waiting game now ongoing, I quickly turned to the EVI, my brows scrunched with frustration. “EVI?”

“Yes, Cadet Booker?”

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?! I set a timer for like 8:30, 8:40, 8:45, 9:00, 9:05, 9:09, 9:15, 9:20, and 9:30 didn’t I?!” I ran through the list of staggered alarms, each of which were still very clearly marked active.

“Correct.”

“Then why didn’t it work? Did I just not respond to the audible alarms? You could’ve just shook me or somethin—”

“Alarms were overridden.”

“What?” I shot back sharply. “By who…?”

“Override executed under Health and Safety Restorative Care Directive 12-A. Mission operator must maintain baseline cognitive readiness and acceptable physiological status. Analysis under Log: [28.192.91.a], indicated high risk of diminished performance at operator-designated rest cycle cessation intervals. Continuation of rest cycle was prioritized.”

My heart skipped a beat, as I twiddled my fingers and moved around my ‘hands’ for good measure.

“Motor function at 100% Capacity”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” I shot back, as I ‘tested’ for any delays, any ‘hints’ of—

“Let’s go.” Thalmin shouted from down the hall, somehow… already in his full armor.

“That… that was surprisingly quick—”

“Magic-assisted shower drilling.” He interjected with a cocky grin. “Standard stuff for Havenbrockian battlemages. Now come on, Emma. Let’s get moving.”

“Right, yeah.” I nodded, trailing behind Thalmin who began sprinting through the halls at a brisk pace.

It was only when we reached the elevators however did he speak again, this time, cocking his head in concern. “You alright? You… sounded like you saw a ghost or something?”

“No no. It’s fine. I… I guess I’m still a bit frazzled from last night.”

This prompted the prince to punch me softly in the shoulder. 

“Are you that much of a lightweight that even being in proximity to alcohol causes you to become hungover?” He chided, eliciting a reciprocal chuckle from my end.

“Nah, I guess I’m just tired is all. Fighting two magical monsters two days in a row is a bit…”

“Eh, you get used to it, Emma.” Thalmin grinned, just as we arrived at the bottom floor.

The next few moments… were a real flurry of activity.

The hotel manager, along with the rest of his staff, were lined up to greet the both of us.

However, the prince’s mercenary proclivities took over, as he rushed to the buffet table, grabbing meats, pastries, and all sorts of delectable goodies as he began going to town on them.

To distract the staff from the Thalmin’s less than princely actions, I quickly addressed the manager, smiling pleasantly all the while. 

“Erm, thank you, Mr…”

“Edmure. Edmure Garh.” He bowed deeply. 

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Garh, and to all the staff here today.” I continued. “Thank you for your hospitality, and for well, everything really. On behalf of both Earthrealm and Havenbrockrealm.” I attempted my hand at morning diplomacy… though it was clear I wasn’t at full yapping strength just yet.

“You’re most welcome, my lady.”

“Now, I hope you don’t mind but… I was wondering since we were in a bit of hurry, if you could help pack the morning buffet as like provisions or—”

“We have already taken the liberty of doing so, my lady.” The man gestured at a neatly-wrapped package, sitting by the double door entrance. 

“Ah. Thank you, Mr. Garh.” 

“To serve is to live, my lady.” He bowed once more, before I moved to the double doors, alongside a now full-bellied Thalmin.

Though I couldn’t help but to quickly glance back to the tavern… witnessing what I could only describe as a literal disaster that the staff were still busy cleaning up.

“Right.” I sighed, as we both instinctively reached to cover our eyes from the afternoon’s blazing sun. “We’ll take the V4c to the Kelpie, and from there to the portal to Telaseer?”

“Sounds good.” Thalmin acknowledged, once more taking the awkward back seat, as we surged forwards towards the stables.

=====

Nilesypools Spa Town. Lady Lomadiah’s Illustrious and Grand Rest and Rejuvenation Hotel and Spa. Lady Lomadiah’s Private Thermal Suite No. 1. Local Time: 1257 Hours.

Lady Cynthis

“Unbothered.” A voice spoke, softly, and through the angelic harpstrings of a bardic troupe hidden behind the walls.

“Moisturized.” Another disembodied voice rang out, their words luscious and tingly, sending a ceaseless vibration down my spine and through my floating form.

“Happy in my own lane.” The first voice rang out, occasionally ringing a gong in between each word.

The whole room was scented with diffusors and incense emanating the sharp and refreshing notes of citrus, the deep and earthy notes of lemongrass, as well as the soft and flighty perfumes of flowers plucked from across the realm.

The water we floated in, was likewise infused. Brimming and bubbling with heated rocks that kept the water just at the cusp of boiling; exuding a constant and everpresent steam.

I felt my worries wash away, as I breathed in both the aerosolized herbs and sweet perfection of concoctions passed down over countless eons.

The Nexians had perfected relaxation… just as they had perfected everything else the civilized mind could dream of.

“Focused.” The second voice spoke, her words combined with the harmony of the music around me once again sending sharp tingles down my spine.

“And flourishing.” The first voice once more bellowed, this time with such a deepness that I felt my core shuddering in response.

Everything was alright with the world.

Everything was beautiful and untainted.

Everything was perfect.

And in that perfection, I couldn’t help but to think of Prince—

SLAM!

“OI OI OI! WHAT’S ALL THIS STEAM THEN?! I CAN’T SEE A BLOODY THING— AH!”

SPLASH!!!!

“What was that?!” I screamed, turning to Talia, Yartis, and Cerla as we each removed the cucumbers from our eyes.

“I don’t know, Lady Cynthis, but that yelling sounded an awful lot like Apprentice Ral Alt—”

SPLLOOOSHH!

A figure emerged from the water — face obscured by the steam — gasping for air, arms splashing haphazardly.

“Oi oi, I’ve been told that there are students here! Have you per chance seen either the newrealmer or—”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” We all screamed, and in a panicked blur, blasted him back with everything we had. 

=====

The Township of Sips. Local Transportium Junction. Local Time: 1305 Hours.

Emma

“Say… you wonder how the Apprentice is doing on that boat?” I turned to Thalmin on my V4c, my gaze turned upwards at the prince who now sat regally atop of the perpetually dripping magical equine.

“Can’t say I care, to be honest.” Thalmin shrugged. “So, you ready for your first trip through the transportium, Emma?”

“You betcha.” I grinned, as we both surged forwards at the insistence of the transportium attendant.