Emma
There were tis where I found myself lost in the heat of the mont.
Instances where all preceding worries were shunted to the backseat, if only to make room for the basking of achievents weeks in the making.
It felt, if only transiently, that I was no longer an actor in the theatre of life.
For one fleeting instance, it felt as though I was rely an onlooker, watching a historic mont go by.
And in the case of scenes such as these in the Nexus? Sotis, it felt like I was thrown into the pages of true epic high fantasy. Like I was plunged right into the thick of a generations-long Castles and Wyverns campaign, or a particularly intense session within a multi-generational fantasy-thed VR world.
Or maybe football. Maybe this is what football fans felt when their team scored a goal.
It was that latter feeling — the heavy fantasy vibes, not the football analogy — that brought out of ‘spectator’ mode, acting almost as a reminder that this was my reality now.
Though given what had just transpired, that realization only made all the more giddy to witness the lupinor’s unrepentant grin as Articord began whatever esoteric rituals were involved in passing initiation.
This.
This was Thalmin’s mont.
And I couldn’t be happier to see him achieve sothing he’d been building up to over the preceding month.
Thalmin
This was my mont.
Entry into Fight Club had never been guaranteed, nor had it ever been easy for unfavored adjacencies.
Yet here I was, basking in the glow of stagelights illuminating every angle of my success.
I tried not to pant.
I held my composure firm and resolute, adjusting my armor as I stood tall in the face of Articord’s honeyed words.
Yet while small in the grand sche of things — barely holding a candle to the victories of a real battle — its symbolic significance and the boons it brought were enough to overpower my veteran’s sensibilities.
…
2 Weeks Prior
“So… this fight club. What exactly—”
“Privilege, Emma. Privilege belying prerequisites, of obtaining skills and accolades any adjacent realm royal family wouldkillto obtain.”
“You’re being taphorical when you say, kill, right? … Right?”
I chose not to clarify.
“Entry into Fight Club is a nigh guarantee for one’s acceptance into the battlemage academies. The attainnt of which is comnsurate to the crystallization of one’s hold on power. For the skills learned within their walls is enough to make the difference between a failing legacy, and one reforged into bluestone and manasteel. It is to learn the arts sequestered from most adjacent realms, Arts that I am very much excited to show you in our promised exchanges.”
“You’re killing with this teasing buildup, Thalmin.”
“We have only Ping to bla for our delay in this venture. Regardless, it shall be… interesting to hear your thoughts on a battlemage’s true potential.”
…
“Prince Thalmin Havenbrock of Havenbrockrealm. It is with great honor that I bestow upon you, this first marker of your station here within the hallowed ranks of like-minded peers.” Articord spoke in that sa lofty tone of voice she often used in the classroom. Though, as established since her arrival in Fight Club, there was a noticeable difference in its delivery, as was the case with the rest of her mannerisms.
I knelt down, allowing the professor to drape, then clip a small leather-trimd cloak dyed in the sa deep green as the erald on her staff around my shoulders.
“This will be your marker. A distinction of strength and a badge of honor for your peers outside of our great guild.” She boldly proclaid, producing a black-hued brooch that sat atop of the unassuming tal clip holding together the fabric. “For despite this indicating your novice rank amidst your fellows, both cloak and brooch are enough to place you leagues above the rest of your peers in both will and strength.”
“And I will be… permitted to wear this in place of my Academy cloak?” I questioned, garnering a series of affirmative, self-assured chuckles from the gathered crowd.
“Don’t play the fool, Prince Thalmin.” Articord shot back with a teasing brow. “It is a known fact that every candidate who walks through those doors has this privilege in mind as their tertiary motivation, if not their secondary.”
“The Academy’s regulated regalia is lacking.” One of the upper-yearsn spoke. “Feels borderline offensive for a noble to be reduced to such simple attire.”
“Of course it is.” Articord turned back with a reflexive head-tilt. “It was intentional, a purposeful punishnt for the heretical actions of the Adjacencies who organized in open rebellion against the principles of Status Eternia, and His Eternal Light during the war.” Articord acknowledged plainly, not with malice but with a blunt reinforcent of ‘fact.’ “A mark of humiliation, which is still clearly effective, if your reactions to it are of any indication.” She continued before shrugging. “The attainnt of Fight Club’s decorations are thus to be considered a mark of penance on the path to atonent.”
There it was.
It took quite a while, but Articord’s true colors always seed to find a way to resurface one way or the other.
Yet in spite of that relapse into her typical ways, she soon bounced back with a surprisingly chipper attitude.
“Regardless, that is an irrelevant point. Tonight is a night of celebration and great rrint. For this night, we welco Prince Thalmin Havenbrock into our ranks!” The increasingly enigmatic fox announced before, just as quickly, summoning glasses of shimring wine into the hands of all present.
“A battlemage’s toast for our battlemage-to-be!” She proclaid, garnering not the hoots and hollers I’d have expected out of rank-and-file soldiers or what passed for battlemages back ho. Instead, I received carefully tid applause that felt more fitting for a concert hall than the barracks or tents of any self-respecting warrior. Though it should be said that the presence of levitating crystal chalices was enough of an indication as to just how utterly removed the Nexian martial culture was from the grim realities of the insects they trampled under heel.
Regardless, I didn’t necessarily wish to dwell on it. Not when all of this was a celebration directed for my efforts.
Which, to those ends…
“Now, before we proceed to what is expected of you, is there anything you wish to request of us, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock?”
Now was my chance.
I grinned.
Then I made my gambit.
“I would like to request a sight-seer mory shard depicting records of battlemages in battle, particularly those of Nexian battlemages engaged in combat against adjacent realm armies.”
“Ahhhhh!” Articord bead brightly. “My my, so it takes martial subjects to draw you into the realm of historical appreciation? I would say this is a surprise. However, it was to be expected from a royal of your… heritage.”
I blinked, unsure whether to receive the complint in stride or interrogate it for a backhanded agenda.
As such, I rely replied with silence. A response which Articord took in stride.
“This can be arranged, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. Indeed, this cos as a rather welco surprise.” She smirked mischievously, prompting to narrow my eyes in acknowledgent. “You see, we have a… tradition here in Fight Club. For every request that is made, from junior to senior, a spar is to be expected. In order to prove one’s worthiness to maintain the superior bargaining position, of course.”
A series of loud thumps preceded the arrival of the rock-crab receptionist we’d t at the entrance as he climbed onto the stage with a threatening aura.
“Now then… shall we begin?”
…
15 Minutes Later
I huffed.
Then I puffed.
As I stood tall above the rocky noble who’d since knelt down to a single knee in a show of submission.
My armor had held.
But my sleeves had frayed, and so too were parts of my fur singed.
The acrid sll of burnt fur wafted throughout the room as Articord was quick to return with her applause.
“Two victories in a single night? Within the hour at that? My my, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock, you really do impress .” She spoke before abruptly summoning the crystal out of thin air.
It took every ounce of self control not to growl out in annoyance as I grabbed that shard. Though the mont I began peering through its contents, I found myself promptly arriving at a worrying realization.
“There are no siege records within this shard.” I proclaid with a dulcet grunt.
“Oh. I wasn’t aware you were requesting siege records as well.” Articord responded in a half-genuine shock, reaching up a single hand to her lips to reinforce that notion, adding fuel to the fire of facetiousness barely hidden behind a polite smile of good faith.
“Yes.” I practically spat out just as Articord turned to another second-year student, this ti so sort of a chitinous five-limbed mollusk, a mber of one of the aesthetically lacking adjacencies and thus trapped in an unfair state of disfavor. “Would you like to partake in another—”
“Let’s just be done with it.”
…
20 Minutes Later
I stood on wobbly legs, my sleeves entirely shorn and my tunic half-burned off by a lucky spattering of acid that very nearly reached my bare fur.
Yet I stood victorious all the sa, the molluscoid kneeling… in their own strange way, once more leading to a series of claps from Articord to return.
“Prince—”
“Crystal. Now. Please.” I huffed out as Articord once more handed yet another mory shard.
I peered yet again, narrowing my gaze into the sights, witnessing sieges…
…
But without the cataclysmic spells I’d inferred from my request.
“Professor… Articord…” I spoke in utter exhaustion. “Where… where are the siege spells—”
“Oh! Siege spells! I assud you rely wanted records of battlemages engaged in sieges.” A stupid look of thinly-veiled chagrin engulfed her features as she tilted her head back, attempting to stifle a series of foxy cackles under what remained of her sagely visage. “You should have been more specific!” She shook her head as if to chastise . For what, semantics?! She may as well transmute into Vanavan if she wished to continue this course of antics.
“Do you wish for—”
“No. We’re done.” I held back a yell, but the sentints ca forth all the sa.
At which point… the entire room let out a series of half-muffled chortles spurred on by Articord’s own mirthful chuckle.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock…” Articord sighed out in the sa haughty cadence synonymous with her lectures. “You need only make your request, and refuse a fight!” She continued, prompting to cock my head in confusion. “I did ntion that it is a tradition, and that a spar is to be expected…” Her lecturing tone shifted, her stern lip making way for a growing grin. “In order… in order to prove one’s worthi… worthiness— Hahahahahahhh!! It’s expected and notcompulsory!” She was barely able to hold her own, as I witnessed a transformation of a cold-hearted zealot… into a beast eerily reminiscent of the more commonsensical Chiska. “Hahhh… consider this a hazing ritual of sorts. For future reference, you may request anything you wish. It will be up to the discretion of myself, or the mbers of this society to grant said request. A fight is rely customary, or a ans of gaining said requests through force.” Articord finally spoke through a series of teary chuckles. “I will even grant you a ribbon for your successful spars against two second-years… That in and of itself is truly an achievent to be lauded.”
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She rummaged through her pouches, producing a simple ribbon attached to a gold-and-silver coin.
With little warning, she pinned said coin to my cloak and handed the mory shard as requested.
A quick peer into the latter revealed exactly what I needed for Emma’s promised exchanges.
“Now…” The professor paused, raising a hand and casting several detection spells on my person. “I don’t seem to detect any injuries, at least not anything I’d consider grievous. Do you concur, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock? Or would you wish to be tended to by the Healing Ward’s—”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I responded gruffly, pocketing all crystals into my bag of holding before simply leaping off the stage without much fanfare.
“I request that the codes of conduct, outlines, syllabus, or whatever other expectations of this guild be sent to my room. I believe I’ve earned that much from defeating two second-years, yes?” I demanded plainly, the princely command that ca naturally to my sensibilities overpowering all Nexian conventions and causing the rest of the gathered upper-yearsn to crane their heads back and forth like a flock of dosticated ga-birds.
“Granted.” Articord acknowledged with a nod of respect. “Now, if there wasn’t anything else, I have two second-years to tend to…” She soon turned to my defeated opponents, a fiery glare cast over their disheveled yet healing forms.
“My business here is concluded, Professor. Thank you.” I proclaid firmly before leading the march towards the exit of this… strange new world.
Emma and Thacea were quick to follow as I pushed aside the fabric entrance, returning to the blindingly bright world of the Grand Arcade.
With a glance towards Emma and a knowing, grinning nod, we marched onwards towards a public bench. Following which, I let out a massive sigh, stretching both arms and legs in a fit of strained exhaustion.
“Impressed?” I questioned coyly.
“Quite.” Both Emma and Thacea replied simultaneously, turning to et each other’s gaze in mild surprise, before returning to et my own.
“That’s my lupinor heritage coming through again.” I announced pridefully. “No need to thank , of course. I was rely fulfilling my obligations to our sight-seer exchanges.”
“I appreciate that, Thalmin.” Emma nodded deeply.
“You can express that appreciation by showing the weapons, tactics, strategies, and whatever other manaless military miracles you have within that sight-seer of yours, Emma.” I responded teasingly.
“Oh, trust , Thalmin. That would’ve been the case even without the exchange.” She snickered as I moved to rest both arms behind my head.
“With all outstanding matters currently settled, will there be any andnts to the night’s itinerary before we retire for the evening?” Our unofficial avinor matriarch finally interjected, and as was expected, she was quick to ensure our rampant discussions did not float too high towards the primavale.
We both faced the princess, then each other, then finally the princess once more as a collective ponderous look prompted the avinor to let out a despondent, knowing sigh.
“We were thinking of maybe…” Emma and I spoke at about the sa ti, matching each other’s cadences. And in an act of satisfying synergy—
“... windowshopping?”
—we managed to land on the sa word in spite of all the odds.
The princess, as expected, placed her beak in between two gloved talons, her head remaining steady as her sharp and piercing eyes snapped back and forth between her two wayward wards.
“I imagined the month’s adventures would be enough to temper your endless capacity for foolhardy enthusiasm.” She exhaled softly before lifting her beak away from both hands. “Alright then. I see no reason to deny your well-earned departure from routine. Tomorrow’s classes are optional for a reason after all.”
Emma and I soon turned to each other with a collective shout of excitent, bumping our fists in the air much to the princess’ well-hidden amusent.
“Right then, let’s start off with—”
“PRINCE THALMIN!” A high-pitched, hair-raising voice suddenly erupted from the scattered crowds. A voice… that sent a pang of instinctual fear down my spine.
“Oh no…” Both Emma and I managed out under hushed breaths just as the rush of magical energy preceded the unwanted arrival of the overeager feline.
“Prince Thalmin! Why, you're hurt!” Cynthis gasped wildly, tip-toeing and bouncing back and forth around the bench, her hands remaining close to her mouth as if to emphasize her sense of shock.
“How could your peers let this happen?!” She turned to both Emma and Thacea. “Moreover, how could they allow your princely highness to remain so… improper in the eyes of the public?!” She whispered out dramatically, gesturing to— “Your sleeves are gone, Prince Thalmin! Y-your tunic too! Your arms are showing! This is beneath you! A mber of a royal household!” She continued, her eyes darting back and forth my form with concerning speed. “This won’t do! Think of what your mother would say!”
That… is certainly a new angle of attack… I thought to myself.
But before that thought even had the ti to settle, I found myself blanketed by sothing soft and silken.
“P-please! Take my cloak! I have hundreds more in storage for such occasions!”
I blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
Looking at the oversized purple-and-burgundy cloak that now sat atop of my newly earned Fight Club cloak.
“I… already have a cloak?” I managed out, realizing that I’d just opened the floodgates to an actual interaction, where all other attempts at such prior to this point had ended in swift departure.
Perhapsthiswas her insidious angle—
“Oh! Indeed you do! Oh, how foolhearty of ! I was — and indeed I still completely am — taken aback by this most inappropriate of scandalous displays! D-do you need new sleeves? No, we have to start at the tunic! Allow …”
“Wait, Lady Cynthi—”
I suddenly felt her hand on my breastplate. From there, I felt it worming its way through the gaps along my flanks and into the tunic beneath. Its warmth radiated against my fur under the torn linen as local manastreams were gently plucked and nipped, poised to do sothing to my battleworn undergarnts.
It didn’t take long for to understand her gambit, as in a matter of seconds, I found my tunic — chest, sleeves, and all — returned to a pristine state.
And dare I say it, it was even better than—
“I took the liberty of imbuing a personal touch on your fabrics! I… I do hope that’s alright?” She pulled back, holding her two hands in front of her in a most unconvincing attempt at abashnt.
“I… appreciate the gesture, and the ensuing result, Lady Cynthis.” I responded… politely, eliciting a look of so sort of satisfaction to settle behind those scheming eyes.
“However—” I shifted to a firm cadence, standing up as I did so, so as to et — and then exceed — her sightline. “I do not appreciate being touched without prior approval. I do not know how it is in your culture, Lady Cynthis na, but in Havenbrock, we do not take kindly to such acts without express approval. Not even in our bathhouses.” I clarified, giving the feline a breadth of good will that she very much did not deserve. “Is this understood?”
“Y-yes, Prince Th—” Cynthis paused, sothing suddenly halting her carefully practiced fit of apologetics. Then she turned to Emma with a fiery glare. “Might I ask sothing, Prince Thalmin?”
“Yes. But be swift.”
“I have… witnessed, several tis now, the newrealr touching, grabbing, and even holding on to your body.” She spoke politely, but the venom dripping behind each honeyed word was still very subtly audible. “Your hands, your forearms, your arms, and most notably your shoulders.” She continued, the sheer specificity of each bodypart being called out sending genuine unease down my spine. “Perhaps I am simply too uninford on the matter of Havenbrockian culture. Perhaps there are exceptions to the rule or so other non-verbal cue I am simply not seeing. So allow to ask… are these interactions not a violation of your social rules?”
“You’re missing so vital context, Lady Cynthis na.” I began firmly. “Cadet Emma Booker is my comrade. We are brothers-in-arms that have waded into oblivion and returned with nothing but tales of victory, facing challenges and trials and tribulations the likes of which could have only been overco with the strength of brotherly bonds.” I moved to place my arm across Emma’s shoulder, the human quick to reciprocate in kind. “This is just how fellow soldiers act, Lady na. It’s in our respective martial cultures.”
I could just about see an eye-twitch forming as soon as my hand landed on Emma’s shoulder.
Then just as quickly as she was able to bury away such a reaction, it returned as soon as Emma responded in kind.
Yet the porcelain mask the feline wore had not yet broken. It rely shuddered in place, if the analogy even still worked with soone so—
“I see!” She bead, pulling out of my introspective analyses. “I… am happy to hear that you have found a fellow soldier amidst your peers!” The noble continued, emphasizing that particular word as if her life depended on it. “A fellow warrior, forging bonds of martial camaraderie, is certainly quite remarkable!” She added, prompting both Emma and I to cock our heads in confusion. “Two soldiers together, correct?” She emphasized further, causing Thacea to now place her entire face between her hands, seemingly in frustration at all of us.
It was at that point that it finally clicked.
“Oh! Yes! Yes indeed. The bonds forged in combat are truly without comparison. I appreciate your insight on the matter.” I smiled in confidence, causing the feline to simply return a smile that grew increasingly confused with my latest response.
“I…”
“Cadet Emma Booker! There you are!” Another voice suddenly joined the fray, a huge pang of relief quickly washing over .
All four of us — Cynthis included — turned to face the new arrival.
Etholin.
“I hope I’m not interrupting! But I was hoping to request an audience with Cadet Em—”
“And the rest of us, I’m assuming?” I promptly questioned, causing Etholin to cock his head in confusion before nodding all the sa.
“Yes! Indeed! The more the rrier I say, I wish to—”
“Let’s walk and talk, friend!” Emma took the hint and leaped into action, sprinting to Etholin’s confused side, followed by Thacea and myself in short order.
“Goodbye, Lady Cynthis na, and thank you once again for your kind and considerate gesture!” I managed out in rapid succession as I passed her by, eventually joining in Emma’s frantic paces alongside an increasingly confused Etholin.
“B-but this isn’t the way to—”
“Everything eventually loops back around together, right? Let’s just take the scenic route!” Emma encouraged, causing Etholin to simply go along for the ride.
We passed by a myriad of other club showcases, such as boardga groups that demanded Emma’s attention and the dark society studies group that attempted to beckon Thacea’s interests, before we finally settled at a small public square landmarked by a fountain with several benches surrounding it.
It was there that we finally managed to catch our breaths as Etholin turned to Emma, and Emma alone, with a bright, expectant smile.
“I take it my presence was both fortuitous and expedient?” The small noble questioned with a polite smile, garnering Emma’s nods of affirmation in response.
“Sothing along those lines, yeah!” Emma responded non-commitantly, quickly following those words up by clearing her throat. “So with that being said, I believe I at least owe you an audience with whatever it was that you wanted to discuss with earlier?”
“Yes yes! This pertains to a matter of great importance!” The rchant lord bead as he hopped down from the bench in short order. Though that did little to bridge the height gap with any of us. “Cadet Emma Booker, it is with the most exceptional of honors that I request your presence in the rchant’s Guild!”
Emma paused, possibly blinking her many eyes beneath those red lenses in confusion.
“Er, the rchant’s Guild?” She reflexively blurted out.
“Yes! The rchant’s Guild! There is a great opportunity, an offer if you will, that I would be pleased to discuss within their storied halls!” Etholin attempted to expound but garnered even more quizzical nods from both the earthrealr and myself.
The rantolisrealr was… a difficult one to assess.
That’s just howallrchants are… I could hear my uncle huffing out under a disgruntled breath.
On one hand, he was the first student in the entire year group to have reached out a hand in tentative friendship.
On the other hand, the man proved an incompetent leader at best or a subversive elent at worst.
He openly allowed Ping to fight on his behalf for our place in the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom.
Though hedidcall it off at the last mont, indebting the bullish zealot under a carefully played face-saving ga.
He couldn’t prevent half of his peer group from invading our domiciles under the orders of another peer group altogether.
Though hedidattempt to apologize for it shortly thereafter.
Yet even that apology, filled with desperate pleas completely with prostrations and all, could barely involve Ilphius — the primary perpetrator of the aforentioned incident — in its entirety.
The man was… ineffectual.
Though, as I saw for myself in Elaseer, he was at least skilled in one field bearing his nasake — comrce.
This was why I rely gave Emma a shrug and a look of disinterest when she turned for my counsel.
Involving ourselves with the man was… a risk. Though given Emma’s desire to pursue her penproject, he was still a useful ally to have, at least at arm’s length.
“Alright.” Emma shrugged in acknowledgent, her body language betraying her nonplussed attitudes towards the rchant lord’s gas. “Lead the way, I guess.” She offered, garnering a series of excitable footsteps to follow, as we soon found ourselves walking at a reasonable pace; a contrast to the hurried, almost haggard sprints from the smaller noble.
“So… this offer. What exactly does it entail? And do I have the right to refuse?” Emma questioned the huffing pattenor, who simply nodded once in response.
“Of course you do, Cadet Emma Booker!” He managed out in between breaths. “No good deal was ever signed without an exit clause!” He further clarified before finally addressing Emma’s first point. “As for the deal in question? Well… let’s just say that it’s an opportunity that many an adjacent realm often miss during the course of their candidacies. Because while most candidates busy themselves with the accumulation of magical knowledge, the formation of personal bonds and stately connections, as well as the pocketing of powerful relics and artifacts, they all miss one very vital factor that far outlives anything else they can accomplish. Indeed, this sole factor — if overlooked and ignored — can lead to the undoing of all of a newrealm candidate’s efforts! Completely reversing any and all gains made in their years, decades, and centuries of hard work!” The rchant lord rattled on and on until finally we approached the double doors of one of the few structures present that wasn’t a pop-up, tent, or re facade.
This structure… resembled a bank, with its large marble pillars, ridiculously long flight of front stairs, and the large triple-volu double doors that awaited our entry.
“Cadet Emma Booker… I offer you sothing that will not only cent your efforts, your legacy, and your realm’s place in the grander map of the adjacencies, but sothing that will also grow, expand, and beco self-sustaining, for as long as your realm knows comrce!” He proclaid grandly as those doors opened at a series of careful knocks from the rchant.
“Cadet Emma Booker…” He repeated once more as those doors gave way to a grand hall. Its floors were a black-and-white marble harlequin pattern, its vaulted ceilings host to five grand chandeliers, and its interior… a ridiculous display of wealth — from its plush velvet benches, bars of seemingly every liquor, fireplaces with dragon heads trapped in various expressions of agony, and a statue of so elf at the center of it all, holding a pen and paper in both hands. It all epitomized the disgusting wealth of the greatest of bootlickers and despicable of opportunists. “... I offer you the fidelitous services of the rchant’s guild, and the guiding hand of the principles of eternal fiduciary banking.”
It was with those bizarre arrangent of words — sothing my sister probably had much much more experience in than — that several other students started entering the room from a second floor alcove that had ford from the masonry of the walls themselves.
“Cadet Emma Booker…” He repeated far louder, more bombastic now, as he raised both arms wide above him. “I offer you and your realm, safe, protected, and curated passage into the grander Nexian-Adjacent economy. The only path, the only way, to prevent your newborn economy from being devoured the mont those market gates open. We will be the shepherds, the herdsn, husbanding your fragile realm; protecting you from the threats which face the tentative first steps of a newrealm economy.”
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