Emma
There were times where I found myself lost in the heat of the moment.
Instances where all preceding worries were shunted to the backseat, if only to better make room for the basking of achievements weeks in the making.
It felt, if only transiently, that I was no longer an actor in the theatre of life.
It felt, for one fleeting instance, that I was merely an onlooker, watching a historic moment go by.
And in the case of scenes such as these in the Nexus? Well… it felt, sometimes, like I was watching a moment of true epic high fantasy, like I was plunged right into the thick of a generations-long Dungeons and Wyverns campaign, or a particularly heavy fantasy series.
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 me out of ‘spectator’ mode, acting almost as a reminder that this was my reality now.
Though given what had just transpired, that realization made me all the more giddy to witness the lupinor’s unrepentant grin as Articord began whatever esoteric rituals were involved with passing initiation.
This.
This was Thalmin’s moment.
And I couldn’t be happier to see him achieve something he’d been building up to over the preceding month.
=====
Thalmin
This was my moment.
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, resolute, adjusting my armor as I stood tall in the face of Articord’s honeyed words.
Yet while small in the grand scheme 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… fight club. What exactly—”
“Privilege, Emma. Privileges belying prerequisites, of obtaining skills and accolades any adjacent realm royal family would kill to obtain.”
“You’re being metaphorical 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 attainment of which, is commensurate 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… which I am very much excited to show you in our promised exchanges.”
“You’re killing me with this teasing buildup, Thalmin.”
“We have only Ping to blame 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 same lofty tone of voice she often used in the classroom. Though as established since her arrival, 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-trimmed cloak dyed in the same deep green as the emerald of 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 proclaimed, producing a black-hued brooch that sat atop of the unassuming metal 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 the distinction of 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 grin. “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 upperyearsmen 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 punishment 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 a blunt reinforcement 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 attainment of fight club’s decorations are thus to be considered a mark of penance on the path to atonement.”
There it was.
It took quite a while, but Articord’s true colors always seemed 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. Because tonight is a night of celebration and great merriment. For on this night: we welcome Prince Thalmin Havenbrock into our ranks!” The increasingly enigmatic fox announced, before just as quickly summoning glasses of shimmering wine into the hands of all present.
“A battlemage’s toast for our battlemage-to-be!” She proclaimed, garnering naught the hoots and hollers I’d have expected out of rank and file soldiers or what constituted as battlemages back home, but instead, a series of carefully timed applauses that felt more fitting in a concert hall than the barracks or tents of any self-respecting warrior; the glasses all hovering in place in front of the nobles and royals, a small allusion 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 memory shard depicting records of battlemages in battle, particularly those of Nexian battlemages engaged in combat against adjacent realm armies.”
“Ahhhhh!” Articord beamed 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 compliment in stride, or interrogate it for a backhanded agenda.
As such, I merely replied with silence. A response which Articord took in stride.
“This can be arranged, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. Indeed, this comes as a rather welcome surprise.” She grinned mischievously, prompting me to narrow my eyes in acknowledgement. “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 met 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 smell of burnt fur wafted throughout the room, as Articord was quick to return with a series of applause.
“Two victories in a single night? Within the hour at that? My my, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock, you really do impress me.” She spoke, before abruptly, summoning the crystal out of thin air.
It took me every ounce of self control not to growl out in annoyance as I grabbed that shard. Though the moment I began peering through its contents, I found myself promptly arriving at a worrying realization.
“There are no siege records within this shard.” I proclaimed 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 time some sort of a chitinous five-limbed mollusc; a member 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 same, 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 memory 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 assumed you merely wanted records of battle mages engaged in sieges.” She smiled a dumb, wide open grin engulfing her formerly sagely visage, as she tilted her head back, almost as if gasping for air in those unseemly cackles. “You should have been more specific!” She laughed… yet strangely, no one cared to join in on her antics. “Do you wish for—”
“No. We’re done.” I held back a yell, but the sentiments came forth all the same.
At which point… the entire room let out a series of half-muffled chuckles, as they all joined in on Articord’s ridiculous motions.
“What? What’s so funny—”
“Oh Prince Thalmin Havenbrock…” Articord managed out in between haggard breaths of her own. “You need only make your request, and refuse a fight!” She continued, prompting me to cock my head in confusion. “I did mention that it is a tradition, and that a spar is to be expected… in order… in order to… in order to prove one’s worthi… worthiness… hahahahahhahahah! It’s expected and not compulsory!” 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 down to earth Chiska. “Consid… 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 members of this society to grant said request. A fight is merely customary, or a means of gaining said requests through force.” Articord finally spoke through a series of teary laughs. “I will even grant you a ribbon for actually defeating two second years… that… that in and of itself is truly an achievement to be lauded.”
She rummaged through her pouches, producing a simple ribbon attached to a surprisingly sized coin.
With little warning, she pinned said coin to my cloak and handed me the memory 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 detect 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 club 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 came naturally to my sensibilities overpowering all Nexian conventions and causing the rest of the gathered upper-yearsmen to crane their heads back and forth like a flock of domesticated game-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 healing disheveled forms.
“My business here is concluded, Professor. Thank you.” I proclaimed 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 meet each other’s gaze in mild surprise, before returning to meet my own.
“That’s my lupinor heritage coming through again.” I announced pridefully. “No need to thank me, of course, I was merely fulfilling my obligations to our sight-seer exchanges.”
“I appreciate that Thalmin.” Emma nodded deeply.
“You can return that appreciation by showing me weapons, tactics, strategies, and whatever else manaless military miracles you have within that sight-seer of yours, Emma.” I responded teasingly.
“Oh, trust me, 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 amendments 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 primvale.
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 same time, matching each other’s cadences, and in an act of satisfying synergy—
“... windowshopping?”
—we managed to land on the same 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 why not. Tomorrow’s classes are optional for a reason after all.”
Emma and I soon turned to each other with a collective shout of excitement, bumping our fists in the air much to the princess’ well-hidden amusement.
“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 exasperated breaths, just as the rush of magical energy preceded the unwanted arrival of the overeager feline.
“Prince Thalmin! Y-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 and—
“How could your peers let this happen?!” She turned to both Emma and Thacea. “Moreover, how could they let your princely highness 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! Y-your… Your arms are showing! This is beneath you! A member 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 tactic… I thought to myself.
But before that thought even had the time to settle, I found myself blanketed by something 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.
Perhaps this was her insidious angle—
“Oh! Indeed you do! Oh how foolhearty of me! 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 me…”
“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 something to my battle-worn undergarments.
It didn’t take long for me 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 abashment.
“I… appreciate the gesture, and the ensuing result, Lady Cynthis.” I responded… politely, eliciting a look of some sort of satisfaction to well behind those scheming eyes.
“However—” I shifted to a firm cadence, standing up as I did so, so as to meet — 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 Mena. 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, something suddenly halting her carefully practiced fit of apologetics, as she turned to Emma with a fiery glare. “Might I ask something, Prince Thalmin?”
“Yes. But be swift.”
“I have… witnessed, several times now, the newrealmer 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 sent genuine unease down my spine. “Perhaps I am too uninformed on the matter. Perhaps there are exceptions to the rule or some other non-verbal cue I am simply not seeing. But allow me to ask… are these interactions not a violation of your social rules?”
“You’re missing some vital context, Lady Cynthis Mena.” I began firmly. “Cadet Emma Booker is my comrade. We’re brothers in arms that have completed an entire quest together, facing challenges and trials and tribulations the likes of which have forged strong 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 Mena. 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 merely shuddered in place, if the analogy even still worked with someone so—
“I see!” She beamed, pulling me 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. “This truly is a sigh of martial synergy! 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, as a huge pang of relief washed over me.
All four of us — Cynthis included — turned to face the new arrival.
Etholin.
“I hope I’m not interrupting! But I hope to borrow 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 same.
“Yes! Indeed! The more the merrier 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 Mena, and thank you once again for your considerate help!” I managed out in rapid succession as I passed her by and then eventually joined 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 boardgame groups that demanded Emma’s attention, the dark society studies group that attempted to beckon Thacea’s interests, before finally, we arrived at a small ‘public square’ with a fountain and 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.
“Something 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 me earlier?”
“Yes yes! This pertains to a matter of great importance!” The merchant lord beamed, 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 Merchant’s Guild!”
Emma paused, possibly blinking her many eyes beneath those red lenses in confusion.
“Er, the merchant’s guild?” She reflexively blurted out.
“Yes! The merchant’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 earthrealmer and myself.
The Rantolisrealmer was… a difficult one to assess.
That’s just how all merchants 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 element at worst.
He openly allowed Ping to fight on his behalf for our place in the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom.
Though he did call it off at the last moment, indebting the bullish zealot under a carefully played face-saving game.
He couldn’t prevent half of his peer group from invading our domiciles under the orders of another peer group altogether.
Though he did attempt 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 aforementioned 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 namesake — commerce.
This was why I merely 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 pen project, he was still a useful ally to have, at least at arm’s length.
“Alright.” Emma shrugged in acknowledgement, her body language betraying her nonplussed attitudes towards the merchant lord’s games. “Lead the way, I guess.” She offered, garnering a series of excitable footsteps to follow, as we now 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 merchant 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 mere facade.
This structure… resembled a bank, with its large marble pillars, ridiculously long flight of front stairs, and the large triple-volume double doors that awaited our entry.
“Cadet Emma Booker… I offer you something that will not only cement your efforts, your legacy, and your realm’s place in the grander map of the adjacencies, but will also grow, expand, and become self-sustaining, for as long as your realm knows commerce!” He proclaimed grandly, as those doors opened at a series of careful knocks from the merchant.
“Cadet Emma Booker…” He repeated once more, as those doors gave way to a grand hall — its floors 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, fireplace with dragon heads trapped in various expressions of agony, and a statue of some elf at the center of it all, holding a pen and paper in both hands. “... I offer you the fidelitous services of the merchant’s guild, and the guiding hand of the principles of eternal fiduciary banking.”
It was with those bizarre arrangement of words — something my sister probably had much much more experience in than me — that several other students started entering the room from a second floor alcove that had formed 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, of ensuring your newrealm does not become swamped the instant you open your markets. We will be the shepherds, the herdsmen, husbanding your fragile economy; protecting you from the threats which face the burgeoning first steps of a newrealm economy.”