Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So as promised yesterday here’s the final revision for the chapter! :D And as I mentioned, most of these are literally just grammar and spelling corrections! Almost all were just punctuation corrections, along with a few replacement of words like ‘if’ and ‘to’ and stuff like that, so just minor grammar bits that my editor caught! :D The biggest ‘change’, really, is making the word ‘plastic’ sound a bit more enunciated like a foreign word for Etholin, but that’s really it! :D I hope you guys enjoy it! And once again huge thanks to my editor for doing all of this despite him being sick ^^; As always, all of the edits have been highlighted with an underline, and I kept the underlines from the first revised version too just in case there are people who haven't seen that one yet! :D
Etholin
Silence punctuated the air.
Though as with most things with Emma, it didn’t take long for a bold, inquisitive voice to emerge from her helm.
“Oh, you mean like licensing fees?” She responded, rephrasing my questions in such a way that gave no room for ambiguity.
“Correct.” I nodded.
“You can just pen that to me. Or easier yet, divide the profits 50/50, just like our ownership.”
I blinked rapidly in response, my mind pacing, my heart racing, as every fiber in my being attempted to rectify this startling case of character incongruity.
Had Emma just revealed her hand?
Had she — after all this time — decided to give in to her worst vices?
Had she truly decided to leap down from the white horse, to join those she once looked down upon in the mud?
And if so… why now? Why here? Why at this crossroads of a negotiation so banal and innocuous — over a pen, no less — would she risk losing what she’d been molding, shaping, and painstakingly constructing for months now?
Why risk it all?
“Cadet Emma Booker… I cannot believe you are so brazenly and openly suggesting — after establishing such clear moral boundaries — the blatant infringement on a penmaker's brilliant work!” I responded with genuine shock, only to be met with a series of wildly gesticulating raised hands courtesy of the earthrealmer.
“Okay, okay, let’s take a step back, Etholin. That was a miscommunication on my part, and for that, I apologize.”
“Oh, thank His Eternal Graces…”
“Yeah, that sounded quite devious without some establishing context.”
“I’m… sorry?”
“You see, we won’t be needing to pay any tributes or licensing fees or anything… because there’s no one to pay it to anymore.”
“So the master behind such an innovative design has long since passed?”
“Yeah—”
“Then surely their family estate must still be reaping the rewards of their genius! If not them, then their lords perhaps, or their house, guild, or—”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” I questioned, finally returning the floor to Emma in full.
“The intellectual rights to the pen, and to a variety of other consumer products in my realm for that matter, are now considered public domain. In other words, they lack any real ‘owner,’ and are thus capable of being reproduced by all.” Emma spoke calmly.
“Oh.” I pondered out loud, pinching my chin between two fingers. “Then they belong to the Crown Commons?” I offered.
The first true bout of silence seemed nigh upon us, but as was expected in our exchanges, Emma was quick to completely shut that possibility down.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill me in on what exactly you mean by Crown Commons.” She spoke plainly, simply, and in a manner that attempted to rectify the growing gap between us.
“It’s the ultimate end to any form of intellectual property or conceptual ownership.” I began in earnest. “When there exists no more legitimate claimants — which is an exceptional circumstance indeed — the rights to such properties shall fall under the crown itself. Be it a stageplay, composition, design, schematic, or even a pen, any lonesome piece of property without an owner will, by its very nature, fall under the crown’s domain. This follows the nature of things. As all land and property, from great estates to the wild game that roams atop, below, and above them, cannot simply be without an owner. As all without claimants of ownership, shall return to the most absolute right of them all — the Crown and its Sovereign.”
Emma paused for far longer than any other instance in this deliberation thus far, as it was clear that she was carefully pondering my every word.
“And if land asset management and distribution is anything to go by, I assume that the crown doesn’t just make their new intellectual property holdings free and open for all to use.” Emma responded dourly.
“That depends on the sovereign, Emma.” I offered with hope. “Some, as seen in many adjacent realms, allow for free game hunting, for instance. This courtesy can sometimes be extended to certain works of art, music, culture, and so on and so forth.”
“But it’s ultimately their decision, their discretion, and not a universal public right now, is it?” She questioned with stoic intent.
“No, it is not.” I acknowledged solemnly. “Which is why I am hoping — given your rather novel naming convention for such a concept — that your sovereign may have put into place some long-term stipulation for the use of intellectual property!” I beamed.
To which Emma could only nod with a long sigh.
“It’s… complicated. But the first thing you’re going to have to understand, Etholin, is that I come from a very, very different socio-political context to what you might understand as the baseline norm. And to continue this discussion in any meaningful capacity, without getting bogged down on matters of sovereign reign and absolutist discretion, we’re going to have to clear the path with a fundamental reorientation of expectations when it comes to the basis of my people’s governance.” Emma cleared her throat, the formerly chipper and casual demeanor giving way to something far more grounded. “What you have to understand is that we are a nation without a hereditary monarchy, a landed aristocracy, or one with an inherently entrenched legal system in which political authority is delineated based on bloodline or family. We are a nation not of nobility and commoners, or royalty and peasantry, but of true and inalienable equals. Where the notion of commoner and nobility are both divested in lieu of the citizen. The citizen, in which case, acts as the principal authority by which political power is derived.”
…
My rapid blinking returned.
And so did a slow, unprompted, polite smile.
It was the smile I wore whenever deals went awry.
It was the smile that I put on as a temporary distraction until an appropriate response could be mustered.
It was a polite neutral canvas from which a variety of expressions and mannerisms could be derived once my senses caught up to me.
But they never did.
At least not in this instance.
…
Because this was no negotiation gone awry.
This was not even a social faux pas of epic proportions.
This…
…
This was a claim that bordered on the delusional.
Dare I say it, it was worse than the pile of dead metals sitting outside of this door.
What the earthrealmer had just suggested… was a fallacy within a fallacy. An impossibility within the impossible. A recursive logical paradox in which there existed no escape.
How could there be no division of status?
How could order exist when there is a system that prevents it from manifesting?
How could authority hold legitimacy when derived from the rabble? Even if the rabble dressed itself as neither noble nor common?
I glanced over to Prince Thalmin.
Perhaps they were a people of complete martial authority, an insect colony without a queen, a true union of equals under instinct?
I then turned to Princess Thacea.
Perhaps they were grouped into unions of clans without a leader, rotating authority by the most capable, as the situation demanded of it, yet again out of some deep-seated animal instinct?
Yet all of these explanations were forays into the realm of the mad.
It dared to put into consideration the possibility of a union of the nobility and the common… or worse yet, the complete upheaval of the concept in lieu of something else entirely.
How could she even speak with such confidence on a matter that was so incredibly—
“You alright there, Etholin? You’ve been smiling nonstop for like a minute now, friend.”
The perpetrator of this whole… debacle had now cast yet another lure.
One to draw me out.
And one to finally force me to address this claim of…
…
I didn’t even know how or with what words to describe it.
“I’m… ahem. I am quite alright, Emma. Though I must admit, your claim is a rather… radical one.”
“Just as radical as the public domain thing I need to broach.”
It finally clicked.
As that dreaded, fateful thread of a madman’s reasoning made its way into my psyche.
If her claims were true, then the concept of a true public commons would potentially be—
“Ahh yes.” I maintained that facade of a smile, forcing myself out of another oncoming reverie. “P-please, do broach it. We need to properly address this before moving—”
“Right, yeah, we still have a contract to get hammered out! Alright, I’ll make this quick! So! Simply put, public domain simply means that the intellectual property in question is truly public. As in, nobody owns it, and nobody can stake a claim on it. Most of practically everything that matters in my realm is now in the public domain, and what few things that aren’t are part of the accessory artisanal economy that exists in conjunction with the primary— Oh, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let's just say that most everything under the sun is freely reproducible. From the most essential of necessities to the smallest of non-essential knick-knacks that could be considered personal property.”
I raised a single finger in a desperate attempt to bring all to their core fundamental concepts.
“So whereas the end of ownership in our system is a vesting of its rights to the crown… the end of ownership in your system is a vesting of the rights to… everyone?”
“It’s the complete cessation of exclusive ownership rights, outright.” Emma ‘corrected.’ Though that ‘correction’ bordered on outright insanity. “Enforced and recognized by the state, mind you, but given the state is an extension of the citizen, it blends into what is essentially just blanket rights for all. Which leads me to our first point, Etholin.” Emma promptly surmised as I awaited a return to some semblance of normalcy in this negotiation gone astray. “I’m simply attempting to explain things as it works within my system. However, since these legal frameworks do not extend outside of our sovereign domain, I shall instead be acting as the custodian and steward to the rights of this pen, given that I am acting as the representative of Earthrealm. Hence why I offered the 50/50 deal in the first place, given the equal partnership of our venture.”
I nodded once, then twice, before reaching a hand to my forehead in a display of complete and utter exhaustion.
“Then… for the purposes of our business… let us consider the exclusive rights to this pen to be your own, and by extension Earthrealm as an entity?”
“That works.” She nodded.
“That… concludes that aspect of the contract, I suppose.” I continued with haggard breaths, feeling as if I’d just completed an entire class of physical education. “Now, with the matter of exclusive rights and appropriate claimants to the pen’s design dusted and sorted, can we please discuss the specifics behind our actual product?” I urged with growing impatience, my eyes firmly locked onto our object of mutual infatuation laying lifelessly on the table.
“Most certainly.” Emma beamed with the same growing excitement. “I appreciate you laying the legal and contractual groundwork before actually picking apart the inner workings of the pen, Etholin. That was really thoughtful of you.”
“It would be beneath me to besmirch my family name by not paying such matters with the appropriate dues they deserve, Emma. Though there may be certain merchants willing to sample the stock prior to making clear its origin and owner — Lord Rostarion clearly falling into league with such… questionable characters — my family and I pride ourselves in ensuring all parties are treated with the due respect of a nobleman’s transaction.” I clarified with a polite nod, the velvety embrace of Emma’s compliment only tempered by my burning curiosities and the decorum associated with accepting as such.
“Right, so, where would you like to start?” Emma, clearly reading the room, extended her hand first.
Her curt, almost common mannerisms played to my favor at this point, as she eschewed the expectant social displays to dive right into the thick of things.
At which point, the curious little princeling within me threatened to hack his way forward to the forefront of the discussion.
The casing! Talk about the casing!
Was it ivory?
Chitin?
Heavily lacquered wood?
Shaped amber?
A shell of some foreign creature?
Why was it so perfectly shaped?
How was it so expertly fashioned?
How were the grooves inlaid within both the tip and shaft so perfectly aligned?
Were they made in two separate phases? At two separate places? By two different tradesmen?
If so, then making those grooves align would be an incredible feat indeed…
Was it expensive to fashion without the aid of enchanted tools or mana-based means?
But what of the materials?
Ivory’s bottleneck is the animals it comes from…
So was chitin… and tortoise shells…
And amber for that matter — though I think amber comes from hardened tree sap, a veritable gem in all but name…
So what was it?!
“Perhaps its casing, Emma?” I finally offered, subduing that princeling by means of muffling him under years’ worth of social etiquette, reducing his scatterbrained postulations into a single consolidated question.
“Oh? What specifically do you want to know about it?”
Twitch.
Though it wasn’t without a fight.
“Everything.” I finally beamed, the princeling gaining a slight edge in this fight. “A-and by everything, I mean… I wish to know exactly what it is! I admit the material in question is rather… foreign to me, all things considering. Foreign, but not quite, I mean. There are… similar materials I am familiar with, though they are ultimately quite… different, if my scrying of your pen was of any indication.” I promptly corrected my course, balancing it with genuine admissions. “Mostly Nexian in nature, Crownlands in origin, I mean.” I offered with a genuine concession to earnest inquisitiveness; a rare and earnest moment that I had hoped Emma would not seek to condemn or disparage.
She didn’t.
“Oh! Right! Yeah, I can imagine why it’d be a bit foreign to you, given how there seems to be a distressing, or rather, a noticeable lack of synthetic resin around.”
I blinked, then placed both hands on my hips. “Synthetic resin? Is that what it is?”
“Well, it’s called plAHstik, to be precise. That’s how it is in our language at least. But I just wanted to use a term that might be a bit more… easily digestible is all.” Emma offered with a shrug, forcing me to once again narrow my gaze on the pen.
“I see.” I spoke solemnly. “Test me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Tell me more about this plAHstik. Explain to me, in a manner you would consider not so easily digestible.” I spoke with a growing and excitable grin, one that was reciprocated in kind by a sole nod from the earthrealmer.
“I… hmm… I can’t get into it too deep into this ‘else we’ll be trapped here in this room for eternity, But what I’ll say is this — it’s the end result of a long and complicated process of refinement, processing, and what is effectively the transformation of a substance at what I can only describe as its fundamental constituent level. Or more specifically, a rearrangement of its weaveforms to the point where it becomes useful to our ends. It all starts with—” Emma paused, as if actually second-guessing herself in what was to be an assured beginning to a long-winded lecture. “Well… I’ll just stick to how we originally did it. How we do it now is just a tad bit different.” She added ominously before moving on just as effortlessly. “It all starts with a certain thick, black, goopy substance drawn up from deep beneath the earth—”
“Night sap?” I cocked my head. “Sorry for interrupting, but the only thing that matches such a description is night sap. A thick, black, tar-like substance that occasionally bubbles to the surface, or is found and extracted via drilling.”
“Yeah.” Emma nodded. “It seems like you all have your own names for it. But I do believe that’s—”
“Yes, Etholin. It is Night Sap.” The avinor princess quickly interjected, garnering an appreciative nod from both the earthrealmer and myself.
“Thank you, Princess Dilani.” I spoke deferently before allowing Emma to continue.
“Yeah, so, we take that ‘night sap,’ and then we… process it. It involves a lot of heat, a lot of finagling, and a heck of a lot of pipes and tanks.” She chuckled nervously. “You go through the process of rearranging their weaveforms, shortening it, lengthening it, manipulating it until you have created a specific… arrangement of them. This causes what was formerly night sap to have changed so completely that it no longer resembles its raw form! At which point, you have these pieces of hard resin that are then capable of simply being melted down and then turned into whatever you want.”
I felt everything crawling to a slow but abrupt stop by the end of Emma’s explanations.
I felt, or more accurately, recalled my thoughts from much earlier, emerging to the forefront once more.
Were they molded? Shaped? Compressed? Grown into form?
…
And then it hit me.
A wave of revelation as soon as Emma brought out her miniature sight-seer, projecting on its surface the image of what looked to be… milk-white pellets.
…
It was molded.
“You melt it like wax… and then mold it into shape.” I managed out under a shaky breath, a small grin forming all the while.
“Yeah! That’s exactly it! We basically heat it up, and then depending on what method the manufacturer or printer uses, you either extrude it, injection-mold it, or blow-mold it… but I think the latter is for plastic bottles, but I digress.” Emma managed out, reaching a single hand behind her head in some display of… strange physical expression.
But that didn’t detract from the primary issue at hand.
…
They’d gone through all of this hassle.
They’d committed to a convoluted series of roundabout alchemical processes.
Changing the very fundamental weaveform of an otherwise innocuous black substance with few physical uses.
All to achieve what would otherwise be far easier accomplished by far simpler alternati—
“Emma.” I finally broke out of what could have been another long-winded reverie.
“Yes, Etholin?”
“Why… why go through all of this effort? What could have possessed your people to have possibly believed this to be a worthwhile endeavor? What… could your people have possibly gained from expending all of that effort for what I can only imagine to be a product far better served by any other material? You could have used wood, and that would have been far, far simpler! Why commit to complexity for complexity’s sake?!”
“It’s just easier.” Emma responded with that teasing, almost mischievous tone of voice.
“EASIER THAN FASHIONING WOOD?!”
“Well, what can I say, Etholin? Where I come from, with practically limitless access to all of these synthetic materials produced at titanic scales… wood, and all things natural, start to become the rarer of the bunch. Incapable of being brute-forced into existence via the creation of more factories, more facilities, more industry, requiring both time and scale to bring up to the same mass-scalability as practically anything else. In a strange and interesting irony, it is the simplest of things from the natural world that becomes the rarest. In an era where almost anything synthetic — from metals to plastics and a whole catalogue’s worth of things — can be produced in quantities limited only by industry itself. In short, we’ve reached a point where we’ve built an industry that has now far surpassed the pace of nature. That’s why using plAHstiks for something as innocuous as a pen starts to make sense at scale.”
I blinked once.
Then twice.
And then a third time.
Why… why does she sound more like an elf the more she talks? Was she—
The mention of assailing, conquering, and completely sidestepping the natural order… was the single most elven thing I’ve heard her say today.
And she spoke so confidently, so thoroughly assured of herself… that if this wasn’t true, then she’d simply be a madwoman.
Yet so much was already proven true.
So to what ends…
What was Earthrealm?!
The princeling within me stared slackjawed at Emma’s explanations, wanting nothing more than for her to expound on this world, to show me said world via what was clearly a sight-seer that—
Wait.
That sight-seer.
That memory shard.
She’d shown me a manaless means by which—
No.
Stop it.
You’re losing sight of the objective.
I could hear Uncle’s warnings pointedly addressing the princeling within me.
Stay the course, you are already so close to shore!
“I… I don’t imagine we will have the same sorts of materials available, Emma.” I spoke flatly, circumventing another circumnavigation of the realm.
“Oh, yeah, that’s why I think wood or whatever else is the cheapest available material here would work.” She nodded.
Then why didn't you say so in the first pla—
Oh.
That’s right.
I was the instigator of this mad tangent.
“Very well, Emma.” I nodded. “Since you mentioned we would be competing on price, I can most certainly find a supplier for some cheap housing shafts for the pen—”
BANG! BANG! KNOCK!
“Lord Etholin Esila! Our patience is running dry. Please make haste, or we shall need to prepare the chambers for the next candidate!” Fiswisk’s voice boomed through the closed door.
“Y-yes, your excellency! We will be finished within the hour!” I replied hastily, garnering but a single bang of acknowledgement from the other side of the door.
“We can finalize the materials after the fact. The council usually does not perform courtesy calls like this. They typically just… throw candidates out if they prove to be a waste of time. So this bodes well for us, though I would rather not tempt fate with this extension of goodwill.” I prattled hastily towards Emma. “Let us finish up the contract first and foremost, then review and put into writing our business aims for this venture. That should be enough to convince the council, especially as we already have a working prototype in our hands.” I once more gestured at the pen.
“Let’s do it, Etholin.” She spoke gleefully.
=====
45 Minutes Later
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Exhibition Hall. Grand Arcade. Central Thoroughfare. Prosperity Row. Local Time: 2315 Hours.
It should have taken scarcely a handful more minutes to finalize the agreement.
Yet Emma had somehow dragged talks for far, far, longer than it ever had the right to be.
Though admittedly, it felt as if it went much quicker than what it otherwise could have been.
There was a strange cold and removed thoroughness when it came to her contract deliberations.
An ambiance and overwhelming aura not too dissimilar to those ‘contract wars’ Uncle often put us through at quill-point, where hours were spent in lightning-paced rounds of contract deliberations; all in an attempt to prepare us for the worst possible scenarios in our respective futures.
But while those sessions were often painted in heated, sweat-inducing back and forths, where all parties involved continuously attempted to tear, claw, and gnash at the other in a desperate bid to gain the ‘better deal,’ Emma’s approach was far more… impartial.
There was a methodical precision to her calculus, yes. An uncompromising one at that.
Yet there was no hint of that sense of fiery desire for dominance.
If anything, it all felt eerily cold; a commitment to the letter of the agreement without ever once giving in to the intensity of the negotiating table. A complete removal of emotions whereby neither casualness nor severe stoicism was conveyed. Only… an emotionlessness where the written word had taken over all contextual pretenses.
What’s more, the wrestling and redressment of the clauses never once hinted at a battle for dominance. Instead, Emma’s concerted efforts were squarely placed into a battle for equitability and completely impartial terms; a complete departure from Uncle’s lessons.
I was left… eerily unnerved by the whole affair. Though it wasn’t the most intense, stressful, or even the most remotely threatening.
It was simply… odd, in a way that proved to be completely foreign in nature.
Regardless, with the contract in hand and the pen in the other, we now had our impromptu gambit assembled and ready.
This all came to a head as the council was reconvened, sitting high atop in their nestled alcove on the second floor, their gazes locked on both of us.
“Lord Etholin Esila, you have the floor for this second and final bid for membership. So please, proceed.”
There were no more polite courtesies extended. No more room for error or patience to be had.
Because even despite the anomalous metals still remaining as they were behind me, their presence held no more weight against the unrelenting tides of ritual and history than Emma and I did.
“Esteemed and revered councilors, I come before you not with an amendment to my mishandlings of a truly unprecedented situation, but a bold new step forward born from said circumstances.” I began with a merchant's smile. “For it is within turbulent waters and rocky seas that the merchants most capable will find themselves rising to the challenge, seizing the occasion, whilst those that don’t — sink.” I paused, craning my head to where Rostario stood. “It is with that preamble that I present to you a most innocuous business opportunity, a dragon hiding in kobold attire, a bold new step that will disrupt and completely upend the penmaking business in my favor. My lords, ladies, and excellencies, I present to you… the miraculous mundane marvel, this miracle for the meager of means, this mystifying manuscript-maker: the Marvelous Manaless Pen.” I held Emma’s pen high up in the air, casting a light, then two, then three, reaching twelve distinct spotlights upon it before finally lowering it from its glowing heights.
“Observe.” I quickly moved to a board that Emma had conveniently rolled in, a piece of parchment attached to its surface.
The same demonstration I’d done with Emma quickly followed, but to my surprise, the council was rather quick to decipher my meaning.
A few seconds of scrying soon followed, confirming my claims and determining that all materials present were — in fact — manaless.
“Impressive.” Prince Fiswisk spoke first. “But what of the means of production?”
“That is where Cadet Emma Booker’s partnership will come into play, your majesty.” I bowed deeply. “She has the workshop, the knowledge, and the tools to make this a reality.”
“So you two are in a partnership?” The blubbery man followed up promptly.
Though my answer, wordless as it was, consisted of a simple delivery of my contract via a telekinetic spell.
Several minutes of silent deliberation followed.
A scene unlike that of my first stageplay-like approach to negotiations played out in silent, ominous stillness. Not even the murmur of deliberation or rustling of papers could be heard as a privacy screen had since been deployed within the alcove.
This went on for five minutes more before finally… a verdict was reached.
“Under careful and extensive review, the council has deemed this venture…”
I leaned in, hands clasped close to my chest in earnest anticipation.
“... potentially worthwhile, and satisfactory in its goals.”
It took every ounce of energy within me not to break out into an all-out grin, holding the princeling within me tight as I maintained my composure and awaited the full details of the verdict.
“The council has deemed it fit to grant you a conditional offer of entry. We grant you a temporary place in our council, but not the rank of member or councilman.”
I held my breath, then bowed in understanding.
This was to be expected given the novel nature of the venture.
It just meant the business needed to prove itself, which, given the circumstances, I was more than sure it would be.
“Thank you, wise and esteemed councilors.” I spoke with pride and excitement welling within my chest.
“With that being said, the guild will be closely monitoring your progress. And should you come into conflict with any of the established or vested interests within Elaseer… this shall be you and your partner’s responsibility alone to answer for. Now… was there anything else you wished to broach, Lord Etholin Esila?”
“No, councilors. I wish to simply express my deepest gratitude for your wise decision. I will be sure to return with only positive news!”
“This we hope to see, Lord Esila. This marks the end of your candidacy review. The council is adjourned.”
A series of claps were quick to follow.
And in the glow of what felt like victory, I finally understood what it was that Father had spoken of years ago.
“It is one thing to prepare and succeed in an exam, transaction, or business negotiation. It is another feeling entirely to have grasped victory from the firmly clenched jaws of defeat. I hope it is that you never have to experience the latter, but if you do… then you shall know victory in its most exhilarating form.”
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Exhibition Hall. Grand Arcade. Central Thoroughfare. Prosperity Row. Just outside of the Merchant Guild Hall. Local Time: 2330 Hours.
Emma
I’d never seen Etholin just so… giddy before. And it truly warmed my heart to see such a formerly anxious and nervous wreck finally grasping fate by the throat.
“I shall perform the necessary primary market surveys by this weekend. Following which, I should be in talks to acquire new storefront property within the following week. This means we shall have some need to discuss the specifics of your manufacturing processes either next week, or in the days leading up to storefront acquisition, as we will need to discuss the space requirements for the backend aspects of our venture.” He spoke firmly.
“Sounds good, Etholin. Just keep me posted, and I’ll have some working machines printed out and in working demonstrations sometime next week.”
“Excellent!” He beamed before allowing the ambiance around us to drown out his excitement.
Exhaustion was quick to consume him as the adrenaline he was running on had now petered out.
“Right then, I… I say this is as good of a time as any to bid you farewell!”
“Indeed.” I nodded. “Until next time, Etholin.”
However, before the pattenor could fully depart, he turned around for one final matter. “Emma?”
“Yes, Etholin?”
“Perhaps we can… discuss the specifics of your realm’s industrial potential later? When you’re free, of course! I… would love to see more of what you have mentioned, and to delve deeper into the… foreign concepts we scarcely touched upon whilst in the heat of negotiations.”
“Oh, I’d be more than happy to oblige, Etholin.” I beamed, garnering a glimmer of excitement to shine once more from behind the exhaustion slowly consuming his face, the little ferret eventually walking away following a half-hearted wave.
Silence wouldn’t fall on any of us, however, as the busy streets around us were quick to fill in the void of the excitable ferret’s conversations.
“If there is nothing else, I suggest it is time we finally retire for the evening.” Thacea spoke up, taking the lead, leaving Thalmin to quite deftly handle the sacks of rare metals he carried in both hands. A flicker of mana radiation spikes clued me into what the prince was doing, as the WAID picked up some aberrant disruptions in the manafields concurrent with the strength enhancement spells found in Chiska’s class.
He was using this as a workout opportunity… what an absolute legend.
“Emma?” Thacea reiterated.
“Oh, yes, let’s! Though I think we ought to pick Ilunor up on the way back too, I think we last saw him at one of those food clubs.” I finally answered as we walked in sync vaguely in the direction of the entrance.
“Emma.” Thalmin quickly chimed in.
“Yes, Thalmin?”
“To what… extents were your claims of industry bluster for the purposes of the negotiation, and to what extent were they genuine?”
“Oh, I was being perfectly earnest there, Thalmin. You see—
ROOAAAARRRRR-SCREEEEEECH!
I stopped in my tracks, both Thacea and Thalmin turning up, as my sensors were quick to pick up on a sight that sent shivers down my spine.
High above us, veering back into view from behind a series of wrought-metal ledges, was a drake.
However, unlike the few drakes we’d seen overhead prior, cruising lazily and without much effort, this one was frantic, as if wrestling with its rider and jockeying for control.
The EVI was quick to auto-zoom towards the rider in question, but neither their name nor designation rang a bell, not especially in a situation as wild as this.
However, what was even more bizarre was the drake that flew just behind its wake, one that seemed to actually be in control, its wings beating in purposeful strides, ridden by none other than…
…
Are you serious???
“Is that… Ilunor?” Thalmin questioned just as the out-of-control drake took another sharp turn, not in an attempt to evade Ilunor, but simply out of a loss of control.
“STAY CALM! I’M RIGHT BEHIND YOU, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!” The EVI could just barely make out his voice.
But that was the least of my concerns.
As the drake took yet another sharp turn, but this time—
[COLLISION IMMINENT!]
—it plunged down straight at us.