ã€ŠBrummagem (Steampunk | Monster Tamer | Progression Fantasy)ã€‹


 Prologue

    No one ever hears acromantula coming.

    That¡¯s their whole thing, isn¡¯t it? Their aetheric ability ¨C ¡°dome of silence¡±. An invisible bubble that no sound can breach, in or out.

    Rarely does anyone ever see acromantula coming, too. The spiders are smart. They never attack at the beginning of a surge, when aether waves rush in and for a brief spell of days illuminate the world with their glow from the sky. No, acromantula wait. When the normal dimness descends ¨C that¡¯s when they strike.

    And the mighty walls of Lua aren¡¯t always enough to deter them.

    Unfortunately, no one had told Cillian that, or maybe someone had at some point, but the young boy hadn¡¯t cared. And why would he? He was thirteen, which, in his mind, made him immortal. Bad things happened to other people, not him.

    It was Friday, and Cillian wanted to pla¨C no, not play, playing was for children. Cillian wanted to explore the abandoned, spooky factory he and his best friend Aidan had been giving a wide berth for years. But today was different. Today, he was feeling brave. He would meet up with Aidan and issue a challenge to his friend ¨C whoever finds the most valuable trinket inside gets to order around the loser for an entire day.

    Cillian giggled quietly, imagining the lanky boy reciting a love poem while kneeling before his long-term crush Fiona. Cillian had even written the poem himself.

    He giggled some more. Mother eyed him strangely.

    Well, Cillian wouldn¡¯t actually do something so cruel to his friend, but having the poem handy ensured he¡¯d have the leverage to make Aidan willingly carry out other less monstrous things.

    ¡°What are you giggling about?¡± mother asked him suspiciously, walking alongside.

    Cillian grimaced. That was one wrinkle in his otherwise flawless plan ¨C she¡¯d decided to accompany him to the Moores. Because it wasn¡¯t safe, apparently.

    What a rake of bollocks, he thought angrily. So what if Aidan lived in the outer ring? Cillian had been going to his place for years, and there had never been any problems. Apart from the homeless, of course, but they were plenty in the midring, too. This time though, mother had insisted since there was talk about heightened beast activity near the city. It happened after nearly every gleambout, Cillian had tried to argue, but to no avail.

    I don¡¯t need a niss-damned babysitter.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± he replied, shaking his head innocently. ¡°Just thinking of you, mum. You know, all that cold, rattling metal in the tram and now this.¡± He demonstratively exhaled through his mouth to let vapor form and quickly dissipate. ¡°Must be a killer on your old bones.¡±

    She gently thumped him on the head. ¡°These old bones can still climb better than you, child, without tripping on air and falling on my behind.¡±

    Cillian turned to glare at her. ¡°A cat spooked me,¡± he insisted for the hundredth time, ¡°a black one, with vivid green eyes. And it was slippery.¡±

    She smiled, checked her timepiece, and said, ¡°Of course, Lian, of course. The same cat who bit your knuckles and caused you to slide off the pipe the other day.¡±

    ¡°No, mum.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°The pipe was Mr. Sullivan¡¯s cat; you can¡¯t fool me. I keep my stories straight, you know.¡± He paused. ¡°That is, because they are truth and all, easy to keep straight, I mean. And it¡¯s unfair anyway ¨C the way you climb buildings ain¡¯t natural. Must have some chimpanzee blood in you.¡±

    She sighed. ¡°You are such a charmer, Lian. Old bones, chimpanzee blood ¨C what else? And you do realize that if I have chimpanzee blood, it means you also have it?¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°Mine¡¯s watered down by father¡¯s weak blood.¡±

    Mother laughed. ¡°Why is your father¡¯s blood suddenly weak?¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe not weak, but from¡­ uhh, what¡¯s an animal that sits around all day?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what you think he does at work? Sits around? He¡¯d be surprised to hear that.¡±

    ¡°Alright, then he runs around, wishing he was sitting instead, like he does at home. What about a vermintooth? They are mostly stationary, right?¡±

    She thumped him again. ¡°Dear, vermintooth is a beast, not a normal animal. I hope you don¡¯t go around telling people they have beasts in their blood. That wouldn¡¯t go well for you.¡±

    ¡°I know, mum.¡± Cillian resisted an urge to roll his eyes again. ¡°I¡¯m just joking.¡±

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t,¡± she admonished gently, ¡°not even as a joke, alright?¡±

    ¡°Aye-aye, I get it.¡±

    They kept walking in silence after that, clicking their heels on the wooden blocks that made up the pavement in these parts. Cillian often joked that he could find the way to Aidan¡¯s house from the tram stop with his eyes closed, just by following the characteristic odor. Father had told him once that the smell came from the coal tar used to treat the rectangular blocks, and it was also the source of their dark brown-grey color. Personally, Cillian even preferred them over the cobblestones in his home sector. The pavement here was somehow nicer to run on ¨C when one got used to smelling that manky mix of house paint and a homeless man¡¯s breath, that was.

    The street they were on was long and narrow, only a couple of motorwagens¡¯ width worth. Not that there would be any, Cillian mused. So more like a couple of carriages¡¯ width worth. The lamp posts only lined one side of the street and weren¡¯t spaced closely enough to provide an unbroken illuminated lane, instead creating small islands of faint, warm light amidst the sea of dark. Honestly, they were doing such a poor job that the glow from the tall arched windows adorning the buildings on either side of the street contributed more to the endless battle against the dimness.

    Light. Dark. Light. Dark. The patches kept alternating. Cillian groaned internally. By himself, he would be there already. The boy wanted to sprint but couldn¡¯t just leave his mother behind; she likely wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up in her heeled boots. He much preferred her when she didn¡¯t pretend to be all dignified ¨C when she ran through rooftops with him, showing how to position his body and where to place his feet for an easier climb. Not tonight though. Tonight, she played the role of a concerned mother, escorting her brilliant son ¨C who didn¡¯t need escorting ¨C to his friend¡¯s house, and planned to have tea with the said friend¡¯s mother. Aether help me.

    Cillian forcefully stomped on a puddle formed in a hole left behind by several dislodged blocks. Just because he could. Mother glared at him, unimpressed. He grinned in response.

    At least, she¡¯d be occupied and wouldn¡¯t try doing something embarrassing, like following us.

    She opened her mouth to voice a rebuke, but a cold blast of wind straight to their faces intervened. She clutched her fedora and muttered, ¡°It is pretty cold tonight, I admit.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t feel any,¡± Cillian boasted.

    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t, dear.¡± Mother smiled and raised the collar of her long coat.

    Cillian shuddered and surreptitiously did the same. She still noticed.

    Mercifully, five minutes later, just before he could lose his mind, they reached their destination. A turn to the right through an archway into the inner yard, a short walk toward the far-right corner ¨C and they were there. Two doors led inside this section of the building, and both appeared shut, but he knew better. The one barring the way down towards a boiler room was shut ¨C two separate padlocks attested to that ¨C but the other one, leading to the housing units, almost certainly wasn¡¯t. The lock on it got busted with some regularity ¨C once even by Aidan himself on a dare.

    Cillian reflexively glanced up at a balcony on the third floor of the seven-story building. His friend¡¯s room; there was light. Good, he thought, Aidan wouldn¡¯t be able to claim he was asleep and knackered and say ¡°Let¡¯s go another day¡± or other such nonsense. Sometimes, he could be a wee slow on the start-up and needed a good kick. Hmm, Cillian suddenly got an idea, maybe I should climb up and knock from the outside? Wouldn¡¯t that be the craic?

    ¡°I assume you know the code,¡± mother said once they approached the door. She rubbed her gloved hands together and added, ¡°Hurry up!¡±

    ¡°No need. Look, it¡¯s banjax¨C oh.¡± Cillian blinked in surprise, all thoughts of climbing evaporating. ¡°It¡¯s actually whole?¡± He and Aidan shared the codes with each other habitually, but it rarely became relevant to Cillian as he could count the number of times the lock here hadn¡¯t been broken on his visits on one hand. ¡°Dandy. Maybe I can finally have a swing at it.¡± He hastily raised his hands at mother¡¯s frown. ¡°Kidding, kidding, I know the code. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s something stupid; I remember Aidan bitchi¨C ahem, complaining about it a couple of days ago. What was it?¡±

    He began turning the bottommost and biggest ¡°gear¡± of the lock, which had numbers ranging from 1 to 36 engraved on every tooth, hoping the metallic snap-snap-snap would jog his memory. ¡°Umm, something obvious. First 36, then¡­ largest! Right, got it!¡± He quickly lined up the 36th tooth with the 12 o¡¯clock position then did the same with the 24th tooth of the middle gear ¨C middle both in size and placement. The smallest and topmost gear happened to have the required number already in place. The aligned code read: ¡°36-24-12¡±.

    The door unlocked, and the gears spun about randomly to reset, accompanied by a staccato of ticks.

    Why would anyone set something so stupid as the code? We live there! Cillian heard Aidan¡¯s mocking words in his mind. Apparently, so that dunces like me can remember it, he answered mentally in his own voice.

    Cillian opened the door with a bow, but mother only snorted, coming in. Hypocrite. Always tells me not to snort like that. He followed the ungrateful woman inside.

    Alright, step one of his master plan was complete, with some complications. Hopefully, the complications in question would stick with Mrs. Nora as promised.

    He flew up the stairs.

    Factory, here we come.

    <hr>

    ¡°Going somewhere?¡±

    Cillian grimaced and halted. Some finagling was required to escape the chimpanzee¡¯s clutches, it seemed. He turned around and smiled charmingly as if they hadn¡¯t been trying to sneak out just now. ¡°Mother! You look radiant! And, Mrs. Nora, thank you so much for the tea and biscuits, they were delicious! Alas, we have to go, important matters arose and require our attention.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡± Mother nodded seriously. ¡°And what matters are those, if I may ask?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s confidential.¡± He sighed. ¡°But! Given how you¡¯re a respected member of my household, I¡¯ll share ¨C we¡¯re going exploring, nothing more.¡±

    ¡°Exploring? At this hour?¡± Mrs. Nora asked, looking at her son.

    Aidan hesitated, so Cillian supplied an answer, ¡°It¡¯s not too late yet, and tomorrow¡¯s weekend. It¡¯ll be fine, Mrs. Nora, everyone here knows us.¡± He quickly spun to face the door again and reached for the handle. ¡°Alright, gotta get going, bye!¡±

    ¡°Not so fast.¡± Mother walked up to the door and put her hand on it, eyeing him warily. ¡°What are you really planning?¡±

    Cillian mentally congratulated himself, Oh yes, feed an obvious tosh first then reveal the ¡°truth¡± once pressed. Perfect. He exchanged glances with Aidan and made an apologetic face, which caused his friend to furrow his brows in confusion.

    ¡°Fiiine,¡± Cillian dragged out, affecting reluctance. ¡°We¡¯re going to the girls¡¯ place, alright?¡±

    Aidan went wide-eyed in alarm.

    ¡°Girls?¡± mother repeated after a brief silence, clearly not having expected such an answer.

    ¡°Just Fiona, you know, she lives nearby; Aidan fancies her. And her sister Cara.¡± Cillian paused to process what he¡¯d just said. ¡°I mean, her sister Cara also lives there, not that Aidan fancies them both. Although, they¡¯re kinda similar¡­ Hey, Aidan¨C!¡±

    ¡°Shut yer gob, you prickwaver!¡± his best friend hissed and hit him in the arm.

    ¡°Aidan!¡± Mrs. Nora exclaimed in outrage.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± Cillian ducked behind his mother, hiding a smile. Yes! Aidan¡¯s reaction was perfect; it would help sell the impression they were really going to meet the cailini.

    He didn¡¯t know why it felt important to keep his true intentions secret from mother; going to the factory wasn¡¯t that big of a deal. But it was the principle of the thing ¨C Cillian was nearly an adult now, and his business was his business, no one else¡¯s. Mother would only worry unnecessarily. Besides, technically, he hadn¡¯t lied. After all, they would indeed go to the girls¡¯ place. He¡¯d never actually said they¡¯d meet the said girls, only that they¡¯d go in that direction, which was true.

    ¡°Aidan!¡± Mrs. Nora was pulling her son¡¯s ear while the boy yelped. ¡°You do not call a guest vile names and you do not hit them!¡±

    The woman kept chastising her son, and Cillian laughed. Until his mother turned and eyed him in disapproval. ¡°Really, Lian? Revealing your friend¡¯s private matters like this?¡±

    ¡°You insisted!¡±

    ¡°Like you had no other way of saying it! Nora!¡± she called out. ¡°Nora, my son is equally to blame. He can be a little¡­¡±

    ¡°Prick,¡± Aidan mouthed angrily but voicelessly, his left ear aflame, glaring daggers at Cillian, who shrugged innocently.

    ¡°Rude,¡± mother finished. ¡°And indecorous.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse,¡± the still-fuming woman replied. ¡°Apologize to your friend, Aidan, now.¡±

    The boy looked like he wanted nothing more than to strangle Cillian, but he obediently did as told with his lips barely moving, ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Cillian, for calling you prickwaver and hitting you.¡±

    Cillian tried and failed to contain his grin. ¡°I accept your apology. Don¡¯t do it again though, it was very hurtful.¡± Mother thumped him on the head for the third time this evening. ¡°And I beg your pardon, too, for my unbecoming behavior,¡± he promptly continued as if had intended to apologize all along. The boy eyed the door. ¡°We¡¯re free to go?¡±

    It was the women¡¯s turn to exchange glances now. Mother said, ¡°They seem to be in the mood, Nora, might as well let them go. Otherwise, I¡¯d fear for your apartment¡¯s integrity.¡±

    Mrs. Nora didn¡¯t look convinced. Cillian might have overdone it a little. ¡°Please, Mrs. Nora, we¡¯ll be quick, in and out. I want to see Cara,¡± he implored. Again, not a lie, he did want to see her. And revealing an embarrassing thing about himself was fair at this point and might help placate Aidan somewhat.

    ¡°Oh?¡± mother raised an interested eyebrow. ¡°So you fancy a girl, too?¡±

    ¡°Cara?¡± Mrs. Nora asked in surprise at the same time. ¡°The girl is 17 if I remember right.¡±

    ¡°So? I¡¯m a charmer, mother said so just recently.¡±

    Aidan snorted in derision. Cillian responded by crossing his arms and wagging the index and middle fingers at the eejit surreptitiously.

    ¡°And you¡¯re going to meet the girl you like wearing this ugly duffel coat? It¡¯s way too small for you now, and¨C actually, where did you even get it?¡±

    ¡°Ugly? You bought it for me! And it¡¯s been lying here for yonks, mum. I use it when things get dirty.¡± Oh null! ¡°I mean, umm, the girls¡¯ parents aren¡¯t exactly expecting us, you know?¡± Cillian scrambled to clarify. ¡°We¡¯ll have to climb from the outside, and it¡¯s grimy there.¡± Aether, did I ruin it?

    Mother rubbed her forehead and sighed. ¡°You aren¡¯t helping your case, Lian. Just¡­ just go already, you¡¯re giving me a headache.¡±

    Mrs. Nora eyed her son sternly before giving her own reluctant assent, ¡°Fine. But best behavior, both of you, understand?¡±

    Cillian nodded eagerly while Aidan didn¡¯t look all that enthusiastic. Admittedly, he hadn''t been pumped about Cillian¡¯s plan for the evening to begin with.

    The boys headed out. When Cillian was already halfway through the doorway, mother suddenly asked, ¡°What¡¯s that in your pocket, Lian?¡±

    He hurriedly slipped out and began closing the door. ¡°Just a flashlight, mum. Bye-bye! Have a nice tea party!¡±

    Cillian could feel her suspicious gaze right until the moment the door clicked shut behind him.

    <hr>

    ¡°What the niss-shit was that!?¡± Aidan demanded as soon as they exited the building.

    ¡°What?¡± Cillian pretended not to understand but quickly gave up. His friend deserved a real apology. ¡°Sorry, that was not dandy. I just wanted to get away and thought they¡¯d let us go quickly if I mentioned girls. Father seemed pretty uncomfortable when talking to me about them recently. Figured it¡¯d work.¡±

    ¡°Then you should¡¯ve talked about your crush, not mine!¡±

    ¡°I did!¡±

    ¡°Aye, after babbling about Fiona! You know mine and her mothers are friends! She¡¯ll tell!¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right.¡±

    ¡°Oooh,¡± Aidan mocked angrily.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry, mucker, I¡¯ll make it up to you.¡±

    ¡°How? With your stupid plan? You know it¡¯s stupid, right?¡±

    ¡°Hey now¨C!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anything of worth there, you muppet! It¡¯s been abandoned for yonks; everything of value is long gone! And don¡¯t you remember what homeless Rory had told us? It wasn¡¯t even a factory but some sort of gigantic furnace. What could possibly be worthwhile there? Slag?!¡±

    ¡°Stop shouting, Aid, we¡¯re still inside the cauldron!¡± Cillian hissed. ¡°And homeless Rory was full of niss-shit, a waste of the hard-won brandy he was!¡±

    ¡°He worked there!¡±

    ¡°He told us he¡¯d worked there!¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Aidan scoffed. ¡°Still stupid. Let¡¯s get it over with; I¡¯m freezing my balls out here.¡±

    ¡°Aye. Why is it so cold today anyway?¡± Cillian eyed the sleeves of his coat and the ends of his leather gloves, which didn¡¯t quite meet on account of the former being too short, then fetched a hat with earflaps and a short brim from the coat¡¯s pocket and pulled it on his head.

    The boys quickly left the yard through an arch sitting opposite the one Cillian and his mother had taken earlier and fast-walked toward the main street ¨C it separated the 5th octant, on the edge of which Moores lived, from the 6th. Taken together the two octants made up the Null-Lem quarter of the outer ring.

    They expertly navigated through narrow alleys formed in between buildings very similar to Aidan¡¯s own, spooking rats along the way and climbing over wooden crates inconveniently blocking the path. A woman hanging clothes on a line stretching across the gap shooed them away when they greeted her. Bah, no manners at all!

    Five minutes later they were already on the main and turned left to head in the direction of the Wall.

    Despite the late hour, the street was still bright and lively ¨C the ground floors on both sides were filled with ever-full pubs and ever-present shops. Pubs, inside which Cillian had never been allowed to but had sneaked in a couple of times anyway. And shops, which were spilling their wares on tables and shelves almost to the road and had young boys loudly proclaim the quality of the goods to all passersby.

    It was like finding yourself in a different world after taking one small step. From a dark, quiet, and narrow alley to some sort of festival. Only it wasn¡¯t a festival; it was just Friday. The boys didn¡¯t bump into anyone and didn¡¯t have to elbow their way through, but people were still plentiful. This close to the midring, they were walking about on the wide street without fear; Cillian even spotted a couple of city guards on patrol. And there were working lamp posts on both sides of the road, actually giving off more than a whisper of light and allowing him to see the steam and smoke rising from the rooftops and short exhaust flues jutting out from the walls here and there.

    Although, if one looked closer, they¡¯d see that it wasn¡¯t a different world but a variant of the same. The pavement was still wooden blocks, and it was in an even worse shape ¨C there were great many holes simply filled with gravel, not to mention other holes filled with nothing but rain. The aforementioned people were also the same ¨C most were dressed in coats of various types, fedoras, and tall boots of dark colors, with an occasional aviator-style jacket, a rain cape, a gatsby, or a cloche appearing in one combination or another.

    The two friends didn¡¯t mingle with the crowd for long, soon turning into one of the numerous streets cutting through the 6th octant laterally. And it was an actual street rather than yet another alley.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Cillian finally acknowledged when they were almost halfway to their destination. They¡¯d been mostly marching silently until then. ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anything valuable.¡±

    Aidan rolled his eyes.

    ¡°But! I have another idea, this one¡¯s actually genius.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to hate it, aren¡¯t I?¡± Aidan puffed out rhetorically.

    ¡°Only if you¡¯re a sissy.¡± Cillian grinned. ¡°We¡¯re going to climb the thing. The one getting higher wins!¡±

    Aidan stopped and stared at him as if it wasn¡¯t the greatest thought ever. ¡°That¡¯s even stupider, Kili!¡± he decried. ¡°The thing¡¯s rusted all over! It¡¯s going to crumble!¡±

    ¡°So, a sissy then?¡± Cillian smirked. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

    ¡°What are you, five?¡±

    ¡°Just think. It¡¯s been derelict for yonks, and, aye, all the stuff¡¯s likely long gone, but it¡¯s been an upright derelict for yonks. You think no one¡¯s tried to climb it? There are steps, mucker. It¡¯s not exactly Foerstner headquarters, is it? It hasn¡¯t fallen yet, and it¡¯s not going to fall today.¡±

    Aidan huffed and resumed walking, slower now. ¡°What do you even have in mind, huh? Why do you want to order me around so much? What¡¯s your angle? Maybe I should just refuse to participate.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have an angle,¡± Cillian lied. Lying to a friend was okay. ¡°I just want to have the craic, don¡¯t be a wet rag.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. Refusing your schemes is often just plain good sense.¡±

    ¡°Like null it is.¡±

    The deeper they went into the octant, the more differences with the one they¡¯d left behind reared their heads. Gradually, buildings stopped being uniform ¨C first in height and, soon, in the employed materials as well: worn-out rustic brown brick, limestone, concrete, and plastered brick pretending to be concrete replaced the red brick¡¯s near monopoly. The lengths of the buildings also varied. Roofs and windows stayed mostly the same though: the former ¨C all steep angles and smoking chimneys; while the latter ¨C tall and arched and featuring pronounced sills.

    However, after they turned left into an alley and then right into another street, this one narrower, a real change made itself known. Gone was the unpleasant odor of tar coal as there was no pavement in here, just hard ground turned to mud in some places. In its stead, an altogether different smell had taken over ¨C a back alley smell if you would. Piss and drunkards and cigarette smoke. Lovely.

    None of the inhabitants cared much for the two of them, thankfully. In their tattered and too-small duffel coats and funny hats, Cillian and Aidan didn¡¯t look like they had anything worth a null on them anyway. They looked like they belonged. Hopefully, in the dim light no one would notice Cillian¡¯s nicer-than-average boots.

    As the pair walked over a couple of corrugated iron sheets just lying on the ground, likely covering some hollows and looking like they¡¯d been stolen from someone¡¯s rooftop, Cillian asked, ¡°So, you in or what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Aye, but I figured maybe you just want to make yourself scarce while your mum inevitably complains to mine about you. You know, how she longs for her eejit son to be more like the perfect Cillian.¡±

    Aidan laughed out loud. ¡°Ha! I bet they¡¯re drinking more than just tea because Mrs. Roisin wishes to forget you exist for a couple of hours!¡±

    They kept up the banter and playful shoving, without any sullen silences now. Cillian knew Aidan would come around eventually, he always did.

    The duo skirted past a group of men burning garbage in a barrel, walked under a metal catwalk, and emerged into a narrower part of the street. The pathway remained the same if weaving around more, but the buildings bulged out, edging closer to their neighbors across.

    It was more of a forest made from concrete, brick, and metal rather than a street ¨C not that Cillian had ever been to a forest. What gave off that impression was, first, more catwalks spanning the gap at all levels ¨C there were even catwalks connecting other catwalks. And second, most structures here looked like they¡¯d been grown over the years as opposed to being carefully planned and constructed, which was evident by the fact the materials in use often switched floor to floor, sometimes accompanied by a change in size too. That was, seeing a big upper floor, erected from concrete, sitting on top of a much smaller floor, built from brick, and without any visible support beams was nothing unusual. In fact, it¡¯d be a very mild example. If Cillian wasn¡¯t mistaken, one structure ahead and to the left terminated with an actual freight container at the very top. Not putting the metal tomb at the base likely constituted the extent of safety protocols here. Countless wall-mounted ladders and lanterns also added to the wilderness feel.

    In other words, the area was a complete mess, and Cillian loved it. It was a climbing heaven. There was even a resident gargoyle sitting atop a wide unused pipe running under the third floor of one of the buildings. On guard from evil outsiders, no doubt.

    ¡°Hey, shams! Who are you, and what do you want at the temple?¡± the gargo¨C ahem, boy called out to them.

    ¡°Get nulled, Flynn, it¡¯s me!¡± Aidan shouted in response.

    ¡°Hm? Oh, Aidan, hey! It¡¯s been a while. Who¡¯s this with you?¡± Flynn squinted from above, raising a small handheld lamp. ¡°Oh, ¡®tis your prissy friend! Hello!¡±

    ¡°Niss take you, little Flynnie,¡± Cillian said, not in the mood to be delayed.

    ¡°We ain¡¯t going to the temple,¡± Aidan assured.

    ¡°Where to then?¡±

    ¡°Not your business. We¡¯ll talk on the way back.¡±

    ¡°Kay. No skin off my arse if you¡¯re lying.¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t lying. Grown-up stuff, sham, you wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Pfft, right.¡±

    ¡°Bye, gargoyle! Guard well!¡± Cillian yelled in farewell as they left him behind.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    The two boys reached the end of the street and climbed a small rise waiting there ¨C someone had helpfully carved steps into the dirt ¨C and immediately came upon a ditch two dozen paces wide. The ¡°scar¡± ran through a big chunk of the octant longwise and had been dug out yonks ago ¨C for a scheme no one could remember but everyone had a fantastical tale about ¨C and then never used. These days, it simply collected garbage and served as a playground for children. Multipurpose, that.

    They crossed the metal footbridge and turned sharply left to walk in between the ditch and more ugly buildings. The path was barely wide enough for two people to pass through shoulder to shoulder and was lined with iron sheets, with more of them also hanging a meter above their heads, sloping down toward the ditch.

    The end of the pathway signaled the end of their journey. As the two exited the ¡°tunnel¡±, they immediately spotted the factory ¨C it was hard to miss on account of a giant smokestack, at least six stories tall, standing proudly not fifty paces away, forward and right. They¡¯d seen it way before getting close, of course, but all the encroaching buildings and the fact that the factory was the only place not illuminated in any way had made it difficult to properly discern. Not anymore. Now, it looked somehow even taller than Cillian remembered. Not just the chimney but the main part of the facility as well. He felt no inkling to sissy out whatsoever though, honest.

    Aidan stopped and stared apprehensively, so Cillian affected a nonchalant air and casually strolled past the still visible scars in the ground where the heavy fence had once barred the way. A blast furnace, homeless Rory had called it. According to him, the trio of pipe-like things next to the smokestack, half its height but thrice the girth and ending with a dome instead of being open, were cowper stoves, which had been used for preheating air before blasting it into the furnace itself from below. Cillian could sort of see it as the main tower had a huge pipe wrapped around it about two meters above the ground. He still thought Rory was a shameless swindler.

    He carefully walked past the smokestack, crunching on the gravel underfoot and for the first time appreciating the sheer scale of the thing, then past the stoves too, gently brushing one on the way and feeling the cold even through the gloves. A dozen paces further he ducked under a pipe running parallel to the ground only to realize that it terminated abruptly three steps away.

    Ahead awaited a maze of metal scrap, amidst which he couldn¡¯t see anything connecting the big heater yokes to the tower, but then again, lots of stuff here was just gone. Case in point being a couple of hangar skeletons to his far right. Aye, skeletons, because only the rusted frames remained. Everything here was dark and rusted.

    Cillian crept closer to the supposed furnace, crouching under more broken pipes and twice having to circle piles of unidentifiable junk. He didn¡¯t look back to see if Aidan was following; he didn¡¯t need to. Teasing aside, his best friend wasn¡¯t a coward.

    Just a dozen paces from the tower, Cillian stopped and looked up.

    ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Aidan shoved him forward. ¡°Don¡¯t stand under it!¡±

    Aye, that probably wasn¡¯t smart. He hadn¡¯t been staring up at the tower itself but rather at a black opening of yet another prematurely terminating pipe, this one vertical and wide enough to swallow Cillian whole with room to spare. It originated from the side at the very top of the furnace, going first diagonally then straight down, and was clearly supposed to go into something on the ground, but that something had been scurried away by locals, leaving the pipe just hanging in the air like an arm. How it hadn¡¯t fallen off yet was a mystery.

    A few more steps and, at last, they were at the heart of the place. Cillian marched to the side of the imposing structure that felt most like the ¡°front¡± to him ¨C the one furthest from the ditch ¨C and only then deigned to look at it, tracing his gaze up from the bottom. The concrete foundation and the aforementioned encircling pipe came first, followed by five levels of steel grating platforms connected with stairs and, same as the pipe, snaking all around the brick spine. And, at the top, his eyes glued to a curious slingshot-like shape, upside-down, taking up three more levels in height. He had to shuffle back a little and crane his neck hard just to be able to see the tip from this close.

    Suddenly, Cillian felt really intimidated and small. The furnace wasn¡¯t the tallest structure he¡¯d seen in his life, not by a long shot, but nothing else he remembered had appeared so exposed. There was always a facade covering the insides. Not here.

    He shook his head and looked away. It didn¡¯t matter. No way he would back down now even if he didn¡¯t feel ready.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± Cillian proclaimed loudly and turned to face his friend.

    ¡°Umm¡­¡± Aidan looked unnerved. Sissy. ¡°I don¡¯t see the ladder. Do you?¡± he asked, voice hesitant and hopeful. Cillian chose to overlook it.

    ¡°What ladder?¡±

    ¡°The one that should be here, leading to the first platform. How would they climb there otherwise? It¡¯s three meters up!¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Cillian turned back to the tower and spent a few seconds properly processing what he was seeing. ¡°It¡¯s fine. We just have to reach the pipe, and there¡¯s plenty of stuff to hold on to.¡± He cleared his throat, trying to rid of any residual hesitation in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Just follow me.¡±

    Before he could convince himself to postpone and without waiting for an affirmative, Cillian tore his eyes away from the top, walked up to the concrete base, and jumped on it. One step at a time.

    Reaching the pipe, indeed, turned out to be easy, but it took him three tries to get a grip on it; it was so thick. Cillian pulled himself up and, sitting atop now, asked cheekily, ¡°Need a hand?¡±

    ¡°Get nulled!¡± came an expected response.

    Cillian stood up. The first platform was now at his waist level, and it lacked any railings. More scrap for locals, probably. He clambered up and waited for Aidan.

    ¡°See?¡± he asked once the mucker joined him. ¡°Stable.¡± Cillian stomped. The bang reverberated louder than he¡¯d expected. ¡°Oops. Nothing to worry about.¡±

    ¡°I swear, if you start jumping up and down, I¡¯m going to strangle you.¡±

    They carried on. The stairs between the floors soon proved to be easily conquerable even if Cillian took his time feeling up each step carefully. Mother had trained no tool. Even with the measured approach, it took them less than five minutes to ascend to the top platform. A little underwhelming, truth be told.

    ¡°Woo-hoo!¡± Cillian bellowed, raising his arms. Aidan swatted at him. What¡¯s with everyone smacking me around today?

    Further up, the footpaths surrounding the ¡°slingshot¡± looked more like scaffolding and were only reachable by ladders, which, thankfully, still remained. Although, their shabby appearance inspired little confidence.

    The boys took a breather. Cillian felt for the first time that the wind had shifted to warmer now, which was nice. He approached the edge and looked around. They were above most structures in the vicinity, but this height meant nothing to him; he¡¯d climbed much higher with mother. Glancing in the direction of the center of Lua, he saw the midring wall, behind which stood more buildings playing host to countless light sources and gradually growing larger, but couldn¡¯t discern any details beyond that. The aether streaks in the sky, colorful as they were, didn¡¯t provide all that much illumination. Nice view but not exceptional. He should come back when¨C

    A strange silhouette spotted out of the corner of his eye on a nearby roof interrupted Cillian¡¯s train of thought. He turned and shifted his focus to it, but there was nothing, just darkness. Cillian frowned, confident he¡¯d seen movement, and examined the building closer for several heartbeats, top to bottom and back ¨C nothing still. It stood serenely on the other side of the ditch and looked typical of the environment. Shoddy. But no moving shapes. The only worthy thing to note anywhere close was mist, which was just starting to form along the ground but was swiftly expanding. Grand, exactly what we need.

    ¡°I think Rory had the right of it, Kili!¡± Aidan called out from the right, startling him. ¡°Look!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Cillian questioned irritably, breaking off his staring contest with the building and joining his friend. ¡°Oh, that.¡± He¡¯d somehow forgotten about another feature of the facility, initially not visible on their approach because of its position on the other side.

    There was a shaft. An inclined one. Supposedly, for an elevator. Only a frame again, and it looked like someone had simply lowered a normal vertical shaft until its tip ended up resting on the platform that the boys currently occupied. There was no cabin, hoist ropes, or anything at all other than the beams going down and crisscrossing the ¡°walls¡±.

    ¡°See? I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s a guide rail, so it is an elevator. Or was. And the whole thing¡¯s welded, Kil, not just lying on top,¡± Aidan pointed out, kicking one of the beams for emphasis.

    ¡°Huh.¡± Cillian peered closer. ¡°But¨C but what¡¯s the point of having a tilting elevator? It would require more metal, no? Makes no sense!¡±

    Aidan snorted. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure whoever built this yoke knew more about blast furnaces than you do, mucker.¡±

    Cillian rolled his eyes. ¡°Whatever. I ain¡¯t apologizing to Rory though; he¡¯s still a swindler.¡± He straightened up and changed the subject, nodding at the ¡®slingshot¡¯, ¡°So, we going up?¡±

    Aidan grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s high enough? Look at these ladders ¨C they¡¯re so rusted you can¡¯t even tell what color they are!¡±

    ¡°I knew it! You¡¯re going to sissy out after all? Be my little servant for a day?¡± Cillian grinned in anticipation.

    ¡°Nah, Kil, see, I¡¯ve never actually agreed to¨C¡±

    A shriek interrupted him, and they both jumped.

    A woman¡¯s shriek, from somewhere down below, muted by distance but still distinct. It grew hysterical then cut off, as abruptly as it had erupted, and not because the woman stopped shrieking, but as though someone had shut the world¡¯s heaviest door on her, leaving now ominous silence behind.

    The boys exchanged long looks. Violence was nothing new here, but, thankfully, it wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as in the true slums. Whatever was happening, it didn¡¯t concern them. They would stay out of it.

    Although¡­

    Cillian fetched his small flashlight and rotated the bottom of the handle to switch it on then walked to the stairs they¡¯d used to climb up and shone it onto the lower floors to make sure the violence in question wasn¡¯t about to pay a visit to them. Damn mist was everywhere now, thin as it was, even at the bottom of the furnace.

    Something didn¡¯t feel right to him. What was it? He strode to the opposite side to look across the ditch once again.

    Aidan joined him, shining his own flashlight down, not that it reached the ground. ¡°What?¡±

    Cillian shook his head. ¡°Whisht. Listen.¡±

    They stood and listened.

    After several breaths, Aidan shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t hear nothing.¡±

    ¡°Aye. Me neither.¡± Cillian faced his friend. ¡°Like, nothing at all, just wind and ourselves.¡±

    Aidan blinked and frowned. ¡°Huh. Right. That¡¯s quare.¡±

    Quare, indeed. Cillian peered down intently. Yes, he could hear the wind and all that metal surrounding them quietly groaning, but where were the sounds of people? What was happ¨C

    He gasped and took an instinctive step back as he witnessed a nightmare. Beside him, Aidan let out a strangled, horrified noise.

    A spider emerged from the mist and gloom, big as a hound, scurrying along the ditch¡¯s far wall, just close enough to the buildings¡¯ sparse lights to be visible. Then another followed the first, this one the size of a man. Then another, smaller again. And another. The mist was swirling around them as if an active participant of its own, denser at the creatures¡¯ feet and making them appear all but glide above the surface. They were so mesmerizing that Cillian couldn¡¯t look away. Until he belatedly realized that the big spider was dragging something through the garbage and mud. Someone. A recognizably human shape, absolutely cocooned in the webbing, was being taken along for the ride.

    By the Heaven¡­

    The beasts lined up with the boys and, not sparing the petrified duo a glance, kept trudging along down the ¡°scar¡±.

    Cillian yelped when a hand seized him by the shoulder, but it was just Aidan, who was pointing at a different spot, mouth agape. He followed his friend¡¯s arm and saw more spide¨C no, more acromantula crawling over the walls and roof of a taller building standing further away from the ditch. He saw one monster slip inside an open window, trailed by more.

    Breath caught in his throat, Cillian watched the same scene repeat at another location. A bigger spider through an open window or door, with a smaller taking a chimney. One more time. And again. And again.

    Some wee part of his mind had realized what was about to happen, yet a larger part couldn¡¯t quite believe his eyes. Monsters? Here? That was impossible! He should have started bellowing warnings, should have tried to alert even a single soul, but he did nothing. Only watched in terrified fascination.

    So the two young boys stood, frozen like statues, and the world itself appeared to stay stock-still as the last of the visible acromantula disappeared inside. How many were there hiding in shadows and waiting in ambush, which he couldn¡¯t see?

    In a few heartbeats, the picture returned back to normal ¨C nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary once again. Almost like he¡¯d dreamt up the whole thing.

    One second.

    His whole body felt tense.

    Two.

    Please, let it be just a trick of my overactive imagination.

    Thre¨C

    An entrance to a building burst open, and a man fell out of it into the mist, back first, with a smaller spider on top. Blink and you¡¯d have missed them.

    No.

    But, like a first punch in a fight, it was immediately followed by an eruption of violence.

    More doors and windows exploded out, spilling terrified humans abandoning their homes in a panic. Don¡¯t! Cillian wanted to shout, That¡¯s exactly what the ones outside are waiting for! As people stumbled and fell, not knowing what to do and where to run, the beasts pounced on them. In stark contrast to the flailing humans, the spiders acted methodically. So very orderly. So unlike what he¡¯d always been told to expect from supposedly mindless monsters.

    Cillian saw a man get jumped as soon as he exited his house. Then the same happened to another man. To the left, he spotted a naked woman climb out of a window and leap from one catwalk to another, only to slip and plummet down; a big acromantula was unhurriedly lowering itself on a strand of web in pursuit.

    He frantically swept his gaze from side to side ¨C the monsters were emerging from everywhere now. One moment they were separated into small groups, the next ¨C dozens had cropped up out of countless dark nooks and corners, swarming all over, skittering across walls and pipes, and dropping down on the fleeing prey. Several especially big ones even seemed to be acting as sentinels and were spreading over the rooftops. Spreading their range, he realized.

    Cillian returned his gaze to the ground and could only stand and watch in horror as another woman got pierced from behind ¨C an acromantula¡¯s spindly limb tearing open her chest with a gush of blood. He made a sickened gasp and averted his eyes, in time to catch sight of flashes of gunfire to their left. Then more.

    He saw all that, yet not a single sound reached them. Nothing.

    Cillian squeezed his eyes shut and breathed, trying to process the scenes and blindly grabbing for his best friend¡¯s hand. Aidan clutched him back tightly. A horrific mime show was unfolding beneath ¨C the two boys its sole audience. He could only hope they would remain spectators.

    His first instinct was to run but run where? They were probably safer here than anywhere else at the moment. Mother, a panicked thought came to him, but Cillian forced himself to relax. She¡¯s far enough away; she¡¯s fine. Where was the null-damned alarm, anyway?! Oh, right, acromantula. There might have been an alarm, and they just couldn¡¯t hear it.

    Makes sense, aye. Also likely why we don¡¯t hear nothing; we must be beyond the combined dome. The bubbles merge together and grow bigger, right? But how did the monsters get so deep without alerting anyone to begin with?

    No, Cillian shook his head. He had to focus. Hows and whys weren¡¯t important right now. On wooden legs, he trudged to the corner providing a view both at the ditch and at the area with the gunshots, which had ceased a moment ago, dragging Aidan with him. Oh null. The mist was rising, obscuring more and more, but he still spotted a big acromantula crawling on top of the roof of the pathway they¡¯d taken earlier. In their direction.

    Then the sound returned.

    Cillian jerked at the abruptness of it as pleading screams, cries of pain, shuttering of glass, and even someone¡¯s crazed laugh ¨C everything assaulted him all at once. It took the boy a moment to shakily readjust, during which he had a silly realization that his previous thought about a heavy door being slammed shut on the shrieking woman had been pretty accurate. And now the room had expanded to include them, too. They were under the dome. Which could only mean one thing.

    ¡°They¡¯re coming for us,¡± Cillian uttered, surprised at his own calm tone. He could feel Aidan shudder.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± his friend asked in a hoarse voice. Good, the mucker was still functional.

    Cillian didn¡¯t have time to respond though as somewhere very close metal screeched in protest, and the whole tower trembled. Then rapid tap-tap-tap sounds came, like a stone on steel, hollow. Oh no. Something was climbing up the broken ¡°arm¡±, underneath which he had foolishly gaped earlier. Aidan whimpered, or maybe it was him. Things were happening faster than Cillian could think, so he didn¡¯t. When a monster appeared from below, almost flying up the pipe, and lunged for them, he simply tackled Aidan to the platform, and the beast soared a hairsbreadth above. He screamed as his right shoulder was sliced open, only barely registering the other boy¡¯s cries of pain.

    From the floor, Cillian choked out a sob, coughed, and forced himself to look up. His vision was blurry but good enough to see the looming abomination. It was already facing them and preparing to attack once again. This is it then. Defiance surged up in him, and Cillian did the only thing he could ¨C threw his shining flashlight at their would-be killer. It wasn¡¯t even a good throw, lying prone as he was, and the flashlight simply bounced off one of the creature¡¯s many legs.

    So much for defia¨C

    The monster went berserk.

    It pounced on the implement, which was rolling away, and tore into it, making awful clicking sounds. Cillian blinked stupidly. What? Then Aidan¡¯s moans interjected, and he jumped to his feet. And fell again. Crawled to his friend. Cursing and sobbing, the two rose together, helping each other. Cillian tried not to look at the psychotic beast five paces away. Inadvertently, his eyes fell on another flashlight, this one turned off, and the realization finally dawned on him. Aether burning. Niss-crap, I¡¯m an eejit!

    He shoved Aidan towards the stairs, grabbed the flashlight, and scrambled after. Don¡¯t look behind. The back of Aidan¡¯s head was oozing blood. As for his own shoulder ¨C a warm, almost pleasant feeling was spreading over it, but, strangely, he didn¡¯t feel any pain.

    They fled down the stairs, thundering over the steps three at a time, caution be damned. If the thing crumbled now, it would still be better than being carried away by the monsters.

    On the second platform from the ground, Aidan screeched to a stop, and Cillian almost crashed into him, averting at the last moment and falling on his knees. His friend was yelling something incoherent, but he didn¡¯t need to hear properly to understand ¨C another acromantula, even bigger, was skittering toward them from the hangars, diving in and out of the mist. It would reach the furnace and climb before they could descend. And it was still too high to just jump down and run away. They were trapped.

    Aidan was panicking now, and Cillian himself felt an urge to close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere else. Yet he stumbled to his feet and, more firmly than he felt, wrapped Aidan in a one-arm hug, his other hand clutching the flashlight.

    ¡°Mucker, listen! I¡¯ll throw the flashlight once it gets up here, and we run!¡± Cillian swallowed as the incoming creature disappeared from view, too close to the tower to see from their position. ¡°Wait til it goes mad, you hear?!¡±

    Thump-thump-thump.

    ¡°Aidan, you unders¨C?!¡±

    The monster exploded above the edge of the platform, and he fumbled to switch the light on. Then, in a panic, he threw it randomly right and up, but, instead of flying away from the tower, the flashlight bounced off the first acromantula, which, unnoticed by both, was slowly sinking to their level from above on a lengthening and barely visible thread of web.

    Cillian watched in dread as the glowing stick landed back on the platform with a loud clang and skidded to a halt right at the opening to the stairs leading down. Oh null. Both creatures leaped at it, carelessly tearing into each other in their frenzy. He desperately cast about for another way down.

    The elevator shaft!

    Cillian slapped Aidan on the face and shouted, ¡°Snap out of it, mucker! Let¡¯s go!¡±

    He had to forcefully turn and push the useless prick, who began yelling as they neared the edge at speed. Cillian didn¡¯t care, only bellowed, ¡°JUMP!¡± and trusted Aidan to do it out of sheer survival instinct.

    They both yelped the entire short flight but managed to grab onto the frame. Thank aether for the cross-beams!

    ¡°Come on, come on! Don¡¯t freeze, eejit! To the vertical girder and get to the ground!¡±

    The loss of firm footing had seemed to jolt Aidan back to reality, and, freaking out loudly, the two of them recklessly slid down in less than five seconds, tearing their gloves and coats on the jagged edges in the process.

    They were back on solid ground but at a loss for what to do next. Cillian glanced up and regretted it immediately. Then Aidan took the initiative ¨C he rushed straight to the ditch.

    ¡°Where are you going?!¡± Cillian didn¡¯t understand but ran after anyway. Better to move somewhere.

    ¡°Garbage!¡±

    ¡°What?!¡±

    ¡°There are some dumpsters there! We can hide!¡±

    Aye, hiding was good. Best damned thing Aidan had ever said.

    They all but tumbled into the ditch in their hurry and took off left ¨C past the stoves and chimney again and back the way they¡¯d come from. The immediate vicinity of the furnace was still eerily untouched likely because it was so open with nowhere for the monsters to stage an attack from. But soon, not forty paces away, other people appeared amidst the white haze and dust ¨C a trickle at first, all scared and bloody, screaming and shoving each other out of the way. Then more. Everybody was rushing any which way: some attempting to cross to the other side, others ¨C scurrying along the ¡°scar¡±, same as them. There were also dead acromantula lying around. Not many but enough to give Cillian hope.

    The hope died right away when he finally noticed smoke and flames coming from the ditch further ahead. He¡¯d been so preoccupied with clambering over junk, scattered everywhere, and deliberately not looking up at the carnage that he¡¯d first smelled the fire rather than seen it. But, as soon as he had, Cillian stopped and gaped at the spectacle.

    A man, his left leg on fire, was yelling madly at a beast and swinging a hammer at it. Too slow and too wild. He cried out in agony when sharp talons pierced him through the side but, instead of going down, roared like a beast himself, lunged forward, grabbed the monster, and charged into the flames. Both disappeared inside the raging inferno.

    Cillian couldn¡¯t believe his eyes.

    ¡°What are you two standing around for, boys?!¡± some woman rushing past shouted. ¡°RUN!¡±

    More things ignited to the left of the ditch ¨C someone was throwing fire cocktails about. There would be no hiding for them here.

    ¡°Up!¡± Cillian overtook Aidan and started climbing the wall to their right on all fours, digging his fingers into the dirt and for the first time realizing his injured shoulder wasn¡¯t moving properly. But no intense pain ¨C good enough.

    Just three steps off the edge was where the line of buildings began, and, miraculously, the one right in front of him had its metal door gaping open. They rushed in and slammed it shut. But before he could even consider holing up in there, a scream ¨C a girl¡¯s scream ¨C came from the upper floor. Cillian whirled around. Looked at the stairs. Looked at Aidan. His friend shook his head, eyes going wide. The scream turned into agonized gurgles. And ceased. Cillian hated himself for feeling relief at not having to make a choice.

    Then he lurched forward, crashing into a table, as Aidan suddenly shoved him from behind, shrilling, ¡°FIONA! Fiona lives close!¡±

    Before Cillian could understand what was going on, his friend thundered past to the opposite side of the room where another door led outside, threw it open, and fled.

    ¡°Aidan, NO!!!¡±

    Cillian groaned and rose unsteadily to his feet. Prickwaving moron!

    He rubbed his elbows, winced, and gave chase.

    First left ¨C the boy more or less stumbled to the end of the alley ¨C then right, picking up pace and cursing the lovesick fool with every breath. He spotted Aidan ahead, shouted for him to stop, and fell again ¨C tripped. On a corpse. Two corpses, in fact ¨C one woman, one monster. And a bloody crowbar discarded nearby. He grabbed it before shuffling away, in too much hurry to feel horrified.

    Swaying side to side like a drunkard, catching himself on walls, railings, and barrels, Cillian nonetheless carried on, barely noticing a man pursued by two spiders jump from one roof to the next above his head, and no longer paying any attention to screams and crashing sounds coming from everywhere. He might as well be cut off from the sounds again ¨C none of it mattered.

    One step after another, Cillian went after his best friend.

    Come on, Aidan, don¡¯t be an eejit!

    How many stupid alleys could there possibly be?! He struggled to remember the way as everything looked the same. Someone forcefully bumped into his shoulder, and Cillian spun and fell. Yet again. He got up and kept going.

    Yes! That building ¨C I know it! Cillian mentally cheered.

    His cheer was short-lived. He was late.

    He knew it as soon as he saw an acromantula crawl on a pipe past an opening to the alley he was staggering through. Past the opening only two dozen paces away from Fiona¡¯s home. The small beast vanished from view, heading there with intent.

    ¡°NO-NO-NO! Aidan!¡± Cillian wailed, hoping the mucker would hear him and react. He kept half running, half limping; his right knee no longer quite right. The sounds of furious banging on metal reverberated, then he heard Aidan¡¯s unmistakable voice shouting for Fiona.

    Cillian emerged on the three-way junction, himself screaming something unintelligible.

    Emerged, just in time to see the monster jump on his friend from above.

    ¡°AIDAAAAN!!!¡±

    The spider tore into the boy¡¯s head.

    Cillian threw the crowbar uselessly, not hitting anywhere close to the pair, but when he saw the blood erupt and heard his best friend¡¯s burbling cries, he lost it. The whole world shrank to a single point, and then¡­ and then Cillian couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t recall things clearly.

    One moment he was running, the next ¨C found himself launching at the beast, tackling it off Aidan¡¯s sprawled form.

    He didn¡¯t remember landing and didn¡¯t know how the monster got behind him, but suddenly Cillian was face down in the dirt with his back being sliced to ribbons.

    Another blink ¨C now he was back on top, howling and trying to wrap the ripped coat around the beast.

    Someone was calling out his name ¨C it didn¡¯t matter.

    The one thing that did was bashing the lump off the ground again and again, and, when the creature fell from the ruined cloth, he jumped on it, uncaring of the talons cutting into his flesh, and kept pummeling down. Fists, elbows ¨C he threw all he had ¨C until blood, his blood, was running everywhere, coating both the monster¡¯s body and his bare hands. Where had his gloves gone?

    Cillian never stopped thrashing the broken abomination, feeling no pain, only fury. It became his singular purpose.

    Then strong hands enveloped him from behind.

    The boy lashed out blindly.

    ¡°Lian!¡±

    He lashed out again.

    ¡°Lian, it¡¯s me!¡±

    He kept struggling, trying to get free, screeching like a madman, and was about to bite the hand on his shoulder when he heard another desperate, ¡°Cillian, it¡¯s mum!¡±

    Cillian stopped dead. MUM?!

    He clicked his jaw shut and snapped back to reality, heaving a strangled breath. Comprehension flooded back into his mind. That and agony. And Aidan.

    ¡°I¡¯ve found you, son, I¡¯ve found you,¡± mother chanted.

    ¡°MUM!¡± Cillian tried to find his feet. ¡°Aidan! He¡¯s injured, he needs help!¡± But she held onto him. ¡°MUM!¡± He heard her let out a single sob from behind.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dear,¡± she whispered, voice shaking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but we have to go.¡±

    ¡°WHAT?!¡±

    ¡°Can you walk, sweetie?¡±

    Mother hefted him up, and he sought to stand, already turning, intent on reaching for Aidan. But his legs wouldn¡¯t support him, and she had to catch him before he crashed. Then she lifted him up and draped him across her shoulders, squatted to pick up the crowbar, and began hurriedly walking away from the scene.

    ¡°Mum, WAIT! Aidan!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lian,¡± she repeated, openly crying now, but didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡°MUM!¡±

    Cillian tried to crane his neck to look back, but his everything hurt, and he could only manage enough to see his friend¡¯s unmoving legs.

    ¡°AI¨C!¡± he called out but choked and spat blood.

    Mother approached the closest door and tested the handle ¨C no give. She banged and pleaded to let them in. No response.

    ¡°No-no-no,¡± she muttered desperately when more screams and clicking sounds came from behind them, very close. She abruptly turned, and Cillian had only just noticed a spider crawling towards them on the wall when an ear-shuttering bang came from right next to him, and the spider fell. Mother fast-walked to a building on the opposite side.

    What? Since when does she have a gun?

    Cillian was barely cognizant at this point, his ears ringing, but he saw that the structure didn¡¯t have a ground floor and was instead standing on arches made from crisscrossing girders of dark metal. Mother was saying something to him, tone reassuring, but he¡¯d missed the meaning; his addled mind latching onto some cylindrical thing underneath the building ¨C anything to avoid thinking about his dead friend. It took him several seconds to identify the object as a doghouse converted from an old, rusted boiler now lying on its side and having the top replaced with an ill-fitting wire mesh door.

    Mother cursed, ¡°No lock. Damn it.¡± She was right. There were shackles welded both to the door and the boiler¡¯s wall, but no padlock. ¡°No matter, I¡¯ll hold the door with the crowbar.¡±

    She knelt, gently pulled Cillian from behind her head, and set him down legs first, his back to the open doorway.

    Which was why he saw the attack coming.

    ¡°Behind you!¡± he rasped in warning, his voice gone.

    Too late. Unable to help. Useless.

    Again.

    But mother surprised him. She reacted immediately ¨C pushed his limb body in, rose and spun around, viciously back-swinging the crowbar without looking and whipping out the revolver from inside the coat, all in a blink of an eye. She fired. The terrifying creature, which had torn into her forearm, went limp but was still hanging on, the talons dug deep. Mother cried out in pain but didn¡¯t try to shake it off ¨C she couldn¡¯t ¨C as another much bigger monster lunged at her. She shot it as well.

    ¡°MUM!¡±

    More spiders came.

    Cillian made to get out ¨C grabbed the edges of the boiler and pulled. He barely shifted a hairsbreadth before the pain in the shoulder forced him to let go. Useless.

    ¡°No, Lian, STAY THERE! Close the do¨C!¡± She threw the crowbar at his feet. A fourth shot rang out.

    Niss take the damn thing, he wouldn¡¯t sit there and do nothing!

    He feverishly pulled on the edges again and moved this time. Yes! Almost out!

    Then he heard rapid thumps above his head, and another acromantula showed up, looked upside-down at him, and dropped on top of his legs. He grabbed the crowbar and rammed it ¨C the creature didn¡¯t fly far. It made to leap at him again, and Cillian instinctively pulled up his legs and slammed the door shut, hooking the end of the weapon through the mesh and pulling on the handle.

    Only then did he realize what he had done.

    The spider stabbed wildly at the mesh with its limbs. Crack-crack-crack. Crack-crack-crack. Unable to puncture the thing yet relentless.

    Cillian no longer saw his mother; his entire view was taken up by the monster. He was holding on to the crowbar for dear life. Another shot ruptured the air. Chill crept up his spine. How many did she have left? The monster kept pouncing at him.

    Mother screamed.

    ¡°No-no-no,¡± Cillian pleaded and pushed the crowbar, damn the consequences. But the spider leaped forward again, and the door slammed shut. ¡°LET ME OUT!¡± he yelled and threw forward as much of his weight as he could. The stupid beast didn¡¯t understand that the meal was willingly coming. It crashed into the door over and over.

    Cillian¡¯s vision went blurry ¨C he was crying now, his whole body trembling.

    ¡°Please, LET ME OUT! Please, help us! Help mum! Please!¡±

    The hideous black eyes and fangs, gnawing on the mesh, were his only reply.

    ¡°Ho¨C hold on, son!¡± He heard her!

    One final shot rang out. His mother suddenly erupted in fury, shouting her last-ditch defiance.

    YES!

    But the fury broke just as abruptly, leaving only wheezing and coughing. Struggling to say something else.

    ¡°MUM!¡±

    She sounded quieter.

    ¡°Please, mum!¡±

    Crack-crack-crack.

    And quieter.

    He saw glimpses of her down on her knees but still fighting.

    ¡°Li¨C Lian.¡±

    Crack-crack-crack.

    A spider jumped on her from behind, and she collapsed.

    ¡°MUUUM!¡±

    She struggled fiercely. Then less.

    NO.

    Then her voice faded forever.

    ¡°MUM!¡±

    ¡­

    No response.

    ¡°Please, mum,¡± he sobbed in despair.

    It couldn¡¯t be.

    NO!

    He refused to believe it ¨C pushed yet again. Why was he so damn useless and weak?!

    Then the small beast moved aside, to be replaced by a much larger specimen and letting Cillian catch sight of her limp form. The bloody remains of his mother.

    He froze and stared, going numb, all remaining strength abandoning him in an instant.

    A much larger limb pierced the thin mesh like paper, the talons almost reaching his head.

    Cillian just sat dumbly, uncomprehending.

    Another stab.

    M-mum?

    And another. But what did it matter?

    Please.

    His whole world had crumbled before him.

    Cillian began howling, no longer caring.

    Mother¡­

    The boy let go of the handle.

 Chapter 1. Hello, World!

    Cillian dreamed of flames.

    Orange and blindingly bright, even through his tear-streaked eyes, and rushing in like a wave out of nowhere, consuming the spider before him. The flames never touched him directly, but the heat was unbearable. Hell itself had seemingly opened its gates to collect him.

    He dreamed of throwing himself at the far end of the coffin and covering his head. Dreamed of shrieking in agony and hopelessly pounding the wall, trying to get away. The flames might not have touched him directly, but he still felt ablaze.

    Then a laugh came ¨C an inhuman laugh, an entire chorus of inhuman laughs, each slightly different from the rest, but every single one creepy and hoarse. And a man, in a metal mask and a hat tilted low, kneeling and peering through the circular opening.

    With a screech, the roof got torn off, revealing a dozen pairs of mocking eyes glowing sickly yellow and glaring down at him, while the rest of the world went up in smoke.

    Cillian woke with a gasp.

    He abruptly sat up, mouthing for air and frantically looking around with wide eyes, clutching his right shoulder, ready to bolt. Spiders and flames and the man with pitiless eyes and¡­ mother. Where was his mother? He had to¨C

    No.

    Stop.

    He closed his eyes and exhaled with a shudder, then folded in half, moaning quietly and trying to force himself to breathe normally. There was no smoke, no need to struggle for air. Also, no man, no monsters, no pain. And no mother. Just his room.

    This dream again.

    He sagged back on the pillow.

    It¡¯s been a while. And I haven¡¯t missed you one bit.

    Cillian released the shoulder and felt an urge to check his back for burns but resisted, instead stretching both arms down and lying still. After almost a full minute of making himself stay as if stone, calmness and clarity came back to his mind, and, in a manner that felt strangely routine, he reached for a cup on a low table next to the bed, drained it in three big gulps, and patted his sweat-covered forehead with a towel waiting for him under the pillow.

    Rare or not these days, the dream always brought back old pain and never failed to make him thirsty. It paid to be prepared.

    He swung out of bed and went to the bathroom, shaking his head in a vain attempt to get rid of the lingering images of his savior. Those intense blue eyes, somehow sparkling even in the dim light, and that mask¡­ like a weird combination of a masquerade and a gas mask. On one hand ¨C dark metal richly inlaid with gold threads weaving meaningless patterns around a single oblong eyehole, narrower down the middle and featuring a thin rim made from the same gold. On the other ¨C a bronze-colored plate curving over the man¡¯s nose and stretching down to cover the mouth. It protruded forward, as if there were supposed to be exhalation slits cut into it but weren¡¯t, and also featured two circular air filters, presumably decorative, sticking out on both sides of the mouth.

    The masked man and his companion ¨C a monstrous amalgamation of a horde of hideous bodies; the myriad of heads all cackling in delight. They had come to save him from the spiders.

    What a joke.

    Cillian washed his face in cold water and peered into a mirror. He looked tired. With bags under his brown eyes and a wrinkled forehead beneath dark hair, he appeared much older than his eighteen years. A shadow, which he¡¯d neglected to shave yesterday, didn¡¯t help either. He massaged his face, trying to coax it to relax. It was no good.

    He returned to his room, checked that both alarms were still set to 6 o¡¯clock, and took a single sleeping pill, knowing from experience that he¡¯d need it if he wanted to fall back asleep. Otherwise, the fretfulness and the eyes wouldn¡¯t let him doze off now and would likely follow him for the rest of the day. Today, of all days, he couldn¡¯t afford that.

    Cillian sat down on the bed and glanced out the window. The Everstorm ¨C a shining vortex forever raging in the sky far Heavenward ¨C greeted him, only partly visible through the dense cacophony of buildings even from the seventh floor. It was still noticeably blue ¨C light blue ¨C growing paler closer to the core; the fading color letting everyone know that the gleambout was over.

    Yes, today, on the 6th day of the blue surge, he absolutely had to get as much rest as possible.

    The final interview awaited him in the morning.

    He lay down and tried to loosen up his rigid muscles, cursing the blue-eyed man under his breath. More out of habit now rather than real bitterness. He¡¯d made his peace with the past. The chevalier hadn¡¯t been truly at fault; he was just late.

    Once a chevalier himself, Cillian would always strive to do better than that.

    <hr>

    The tram slowed down, opening its back door, and he jumped out without waiting for it to come to a full stop. He wasn¡¯t in a hurry but why wait? After checking that his fedora was still safely tucked into the overcoat''s belt behind his back, Cillian cleared off the road and looked up.

    The skywalkers ¨C far, far above everyone¡¯s heads ¨C were crawling along their daily route from Rim to Lemwise, shining down on insignificant humans hurrying about their oh-so significant errands. Judging by the walkers¡¯ current position and provided level of illumination, he estimated it wasn¡¯t yet 7 ¨C plenty of time to get to his target location.

    He crossed the wide road to the other side of the street, skirting right in front of a motorwagen and eliciting a curse from its driver in the open cabin. He waved an apology and, once on the sidewalk, began ambling in the direction of the center of Lua. His mood was a bit mixed ¨C one part excited, one part weary. He hoped a long walk in the cold would do him some good.

    Cillian loved this time of day. Pale yellow light from the skywalkers, reflecting off brass doorknobs, copper pipes, and glass windows, not too many people around, newspaper and poster boys scurrying this way and that on bicycles, ringing their bells in warning ¨C what¡¯s not to love? And to think, he was walking toward an interview that could spell a complete transformation for him.

    Most of the world didn¡¯t have an engineering marvel in the sky creating a convenient day and night cycle and was drowning in eternal dimness, instead. Most of the world didn¡¯t have any sort of civilization or culture. Most of the world was infested with beasts.

    He had to step out onto the road to bypass a trio of workers in brown overalls, who¡¯d taken the entire width of the sidewalk with their strewn about boxes and instruments. The ladders, ropes, and a huge signboard, leaning on the wall, suggested they were about to install the latter above one of the shops. A motorwagen honked at him.

    He cursed. On the other hand, most of the world also didn¡¯t have nearly as many people as Lua. Good enough reason for a city boy to go out and fight monsters?

    Moryah.

    As unwanted doubts began invading his mind, Cillian looked down at his attire to forcibly switch the topic of contemplation. He¡¯d been over this countless times before, alone and with father. No reason to doubt himself now; his decision was final. He was just feeling nervous.

    The damn tie sat uncomfortably around his neck. He¡¯d never worn it before as the school uniform didn¡¯t include one, and it¡¯d taken him five minutes just to put it on correctly. Father¡¯s suggestion. That and the black low-heeled shoes adorning his feet ¨C brogue shoes, apparently. Father had told him the tie and the brogues would make him look like he meant business.

    Cillian didn¡¯t know about that. What he knew for certain though was that the tie was strangling him, and the shoes were hindering his every step. Why was it important to wear both for the final interview but not for the previous ones, he didn¡¯t understand.

    The rest of his clothing was the same as the last time ¨C pleated trousers, a crisp dress shirt, a double-breasted vest, and the high-collar overcoat. The shirt was white; everything else ¨C dark grey, with the vest being a notch lighter. Cillian frowned when he crossed paths with a man in his thirties dressed very similarly and realized he probably looked just like any other corporate ant, if a little younger.

    His hand leaped to his face in a sudden alarm. But no, he had remembered to shave.

    Relax, mucker, why are you so fidgety? There¡¯s nothing to fear; just another interview.

    He eased his shoulders. Aye, just another interview.

    Cillian walked across a stone bridge spanning a canal, with the tram he¡¯d taken only now noisily passing him on the right, then strode in between two crumbling sections of the original wall and into the inner ring proper, not for the first time wondering why they wouldn¡¯t just completely demolish the old thing.

    He kept diligently following the sidewalk ¨C early hour or not, the traffic could be pretty chaotic as loud whistles from patrolmen attested to ¨C but soon found himself with a roof over his head anyway, because the building above him extended all the way to the road, creating a sheltered walkway with a succession of contiguous arches serving as the outer wall. As he walked, Cillian saw shops and cafes on the ground floor begin to give signs of life. That was interesting as they normally didn¡¯t open so early.

    A massive black-and-white banner made from light fabric, as its gentle rippling in the wind suggested, reminded him of the likely reason. It covered almost the entire side of the next building and was tethered to the row of snarling gargoyles sitting below the edge of the steep tiled roof. The contents depicted a larger-than-life three-headed canine monster cowering at the feet of an even larger silhouette of a man.

    Right. Today wasn¡¯t just his final interview day ¨C no one but him and his father cared about that ¨C today was also Foerstner Academy graduation day.

    Graduation.

    Should I come?

    It¡¯d been a while since the last time. He¡¯d stopped coming after the incident, but he remembered enjoying it very much with his parents, and, if he passed, it would actually be relevant to him.

    Although, would they tell me the results right away?

    Cillian judged it unlikely, but he was already going toward the center; might as well swing by the ceremony after.

    The deeper he went into the inner ring, the more grandiose the buildings on both sides became. It was sometimes difficult to believe that the half rusted, half rotten slums, littering the edges of the outer ring and getting barely any light from the skywalkers even in the middle of the day, were located in the very same city as these ostentatious structures he was seeing right now.

    Every building here had to have a distinguishing feature, it seemed. Be it a covered gallery or gargoyles, like in the buildings he¡¯d passed earlier, or, say, a collection of huge circular balconies completely replacing one of the corners and, instead of protruding outward, appearing as if carved in stone, one above another. There had to be something differentiating you from the neighbors ¨C that was the unspoken agreement.

    And he was still half a dozen kilometers away from the true craziness.

    Cillian reached an intersection and had to stand by until a patrolman gave him and others a signal. While waiting for a couple of open-wheel motorwagens to approach and then hurry past, he spied a trio of lifting cranes standing on top of a half-finished structure diagonally across the street and noted that it was already an entire level higher than last time, which he found mighty impressive. The cranes almost seemed to be constructing the building around themselves and rising with it.

    He thought he should like this place. Many decorative moldings above doors and windows, covered porches, and, in particular, fake columns integrated into corners of most buildings, giving an impression as if every floor stood on a foundation supported by four columns stretching from the floor below ¨C all of it provided plenty of hand and footholds for climbing. But, in reality, everything here was simply too tall.

    Most buildings in the inner ring weren¡¯t that much higher than those in the midring on paper ¨C if one were to merely count levels. However, it wouldn¡¯t take you long to realize after coming here that every floor, every window, every arch, and even every roof ¨C all architectural elements were somehow stretched vertically. Not by much but, taken together, enough to make reaching between one hold and another a difficult proposition.

    Not to mention city guards zealously running after the homeless, hooligans, and would-be climbers. Also, smoke. Thick pillars were rising from most roofs while smog was sinking down low. Even this early in the day it was thin but noticeable and unpleasant. For a reason unknown, the midring often had significantly less smog than the other two.

    None of it had stopped Cillian from scaling buildings here in the past, of course. But it was dangerous without a partner, and he never had one these days.

    After fifteen more minutes of traversing the streets, he came in sight of his destination. A pretty boring structure by the standards of the inner ring ¨C it had a distinct central portion ending in a massive dome with a cupola at the very top and two wide wings mirroring each other, both sporting traditional gable roofs. The tall, long-defunct light pillars, four of them, proudly standing guard at the ¡°corners¡± of the dome marked it as a very old building. Or, more likely, marked the owner as a pretentious tool who had erected the pillars there purely for show.

    Regardless, his target loomed ahead menacingly by virtue of being situated on top of a small rise, its dark roof shimmering in the warm light.

    He walked down the long, gradually declining street leading up to it, reached a wide perron consisting of three flights of low steps and flanked by two marble statues, both depicting some famous individuals he didn¡¯t care about, climbed to the top, shielded his eyes from the intensifying skylight, and checked his pocket watch. He was early.

    Following verification of his identity with a guard, Cillian entered through the building¡¯s main doors and proceeded into the vast space. He walked past the burgundy-colored walls, featuring white arches leading to nowhere, some of which were used as frames for more busts of noteworthy people, and then under a massive chandelier somehow suspended at the level of the fourth floor instead of hanging from the very top. The sights and sounds engulfed him. That and people. Despite the early hour, they were hastening left and right, making him feel like an intruder.

    Also, rather self-conscious.

    At first glance, no one here appeared to be dressed significantly better than him. But look and listen more closely and you¡¯d see and hear the many jingling and sometimes even ticking metal trinkets. The women had small golden chains and ornaments decorating their predominantly dark corsets and layered skirts; their necklaces and earrings glittered in the light, and velvet chokers covered their entire necks.

    A couple of ladies, who were practically flying across the hall in a hurry, wore fake vambraces on top of their white blouses and had fancy chainwork adorning the tops of their tall, heeled boots. The ensembles made an appreciable tinkling sound when they intersected his path. Cillian fancied you could distinguish one woman from another just by the walking noises they made.

    As for the ticking, it came from a gentleman sitting on a bench near the entrance. He was reading a newspaper all the while the gears on the front of his leather jacket, stylized to look like a worn-out soldier coat, kept rotating ¨C the middle gear snapped to a new position every second, causing the two smaller ones to follow suit.

    Fake. Everything here was fake. Sometimes even aether-powered fake. But pretty, Cillian had to admit.

    Should I wear a fake of my own?

    To null with it, he decided while clicking his shoes on the dusky stone floor, polished to a mirror-like shine, fetched a bracelet from the pocket of his trousers, and put it on the left hand. Might as well.

    Although, classifying it as a bracelet was likely incorrect. There was a loop wrapping around his wrist, but most of the object took the form of a skeletal hand laid on top of his hand. Only missing fingertips. Cillian didn¡¯t like wearing wristwatches or anything else adding weight to his arms, but this golden contraption, from a distance appearing as if his very bones shone through the skin, had attracted his attention. Yes, sometimes he liked silly baubles as well, sue him. It would serve to liven up his otherwise all-too-serious look.

    Cillian quickly climbed the stairs to the now familiar office on the third floor, where an assistant greeted him and told him to wait. She grimaced when a train rumbled past the pair of wide windows, and he laughed quietly to himself. Don¡¯t like it much, do you? Now imagine taking a written evaluation with trains constantly running back and forth on the stupid overpass.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The building likely didn¡¯t belong to Foerstner, and they were simply using it for the interview season. Not that it mattered.

    Cillian sat on a chair and glanced at a clock on the wall. Twenty minutes.

    Twenty minutes til my fate is decided. No sweat.

    He took off his coat and relaxed the shirt¡¯s collar slightly.

    Aye, easy as falling off a log. No sweat at all.

    <hr>

    ¡°I have the results of both your medical and psychological evaluations. Which would you like to begin with?¡± Mr. Byrne, his interviewer, asked him.

    ¡°Medical,¡± Cillian replied at once. He wanted to get it over with.

    ¡°Medical it is.¡± The man nodded and dropped a folder on a low table between them.

    The two were sitting at the end of the room opposite the window, on a pair of comfortable upholstered sofas facing each other, which was different from all the previous times. Then, Cillian had occupied a much less agreeable chair on one side of an imposing walnut table while his interviewer, or even several, had towered on another, backlit by the skylight.

    He much preferred the current arrangement. Good sign?

    Mr. Byrne opened the folder and read out loud, ¡°Third-degree burns all over your back; lacerations on your arms, shoulders, and chest; nose broken multiple times; and, from your own words, broken left leg, which we don¡¯t have any records of. Does that cover it all?¡±

    ¡°It does.¡±

    The man eyed him for several long seconds, perhaps waiting for more, then continued, ¡°Naturally, I understand the burns and the lacerations ¨C you were one of the many unfortunate victims of the so-called ghost-train incident ¨C but broken nose and leg? How do you explain it? Are you clumsy, Mr. Shea?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± He thought about how to better phrase it. ¡°The nose¡­ umm, I used to get into fights,¡± Cillian confessed reluctantly.

    ¡°Get into fights?¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± Don¡¯t they have records of it? Foerstner owns the damn school! Or is it another test? ¡°Age 13 to 14, I used to get into many.¡±

    ¡°But not anymore?¡±

    ¡°Not anymore, no. Not in yonks.¡±

    ¡°And the leg?¡±

    Cillian grimaced. ¡°It was a climbing accident a couple of years back. You don¡¯t have a record because a physician my father knows treated me at home. It healed well, no problems. At school, I said it was a bad strain.¡±

    Mr. Byrne frowned. ¡°Why lie?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°It was stupid, really. I just thought it would look less suspicious that way. They never stopped watching me closely because of the history of impropriety.¡±

    ¡°Fighting, you mean?¡±

    ¡°Aye, fighting. And a lack of proper respect shown to the authority figures,¡± Cillian elaborated candidly.

    The man hummed. ¡°I see.¡± Then adjusted his glasses ¨C big round lenses, likely fake again, with very thin bronze rims ¨C and repeated, flipping the page, ¡°I see. For all your escapades, you don¡¯t seem to have any injuries limiting your range of movements.¡±

    ¡°Lucky, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Lucky, indeed. Lucky not to be expelled and, before that, lucky not to get punctured anywhere vital, lucky not to burn alive. Also lucky to avoid poisoning.¡± At Cillian¡¯s confused expression, he explained, ¡°Many of the initial survivors of the ghost-train incident who¡¯d had physical contact with an acromantula later died from poisoning. You didn¡¯t know that?¡±

    The boy shook his head. ¡°The details were hard to come by. We¡¯ve tried.¡± Perhaps now was his chance to get some answers from someone in the know. ¡°Speaking of the incident, the chevalier who saved me¡­¡± He thought he¡¯d done a remarkable job of keeping bitterness out of his voice. ¡°Umm, what was his name again?¡±

    Mr. Byrne chuckled. ¡°Nice try, but no. The details of the event are confidential.¡±

    This again.

    ¡°Alright.¡± Experience had taught him not to pry.

    ¡°In any case, surviving a face-to-face confrontation with a beast is a good experience to have. Of course, no one can corroborate your account of the events, but it reads cohesive enough to me. Onto the next topic then,¡± the man pivoted. ¡°As I mentioned, there are also results of your psychological evaluation to consider.¡±

    Another document binder joined the first one on the table, this one significantly thinner.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with ¡®Temperament and Character Inventory¡¯. Should I remind you of the dimensions?¡±

    ¡°No need, I remember.¡±

    ¡°Good. Notably, you scored very high in ¡®Novelty seeking¡¯ ¨C ¡®Exploratory excitability¡¯ subscale, in particular. You also scored high in ¡®Self-directedness¡¯ ¨C ¡®Purposeful¡¯ and ¡®Resourcefulness¡¯ scales stand out to me. At the same time, your ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ score is noticeably lower than the mean, and the ¡®Ambitious¡¯ subscale of the ¡®Persistence¡¯ dimension is strangely low, too. Does that sound right to you, Cillian? May I call you Cillian?¡±

    He nodded absentmindedly, taking time to think about the question, playing back the pronounced assessment in his mind. Eventually, he replied, ¡°Sounds right, more or less. I mean, I don¡¯t understand why I am considered unambitious ¨C I¡¯m trying to become a chevalier, aren¡¯t I? ¨C but everything else? I don¡¯t seek harm, of course. In fact, I think I have a good sense for danger¨C¡±

    ¡°How confident are you about that?¡± Mr. Byrne interrupted.

    Cillian blinked. ¡°Umm, what do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean, are you sure you don¡¯t intentionally plunge into perilous situations?¡±

    Now Cillian furrowed his brows and replied tersely, ¡°I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend, Cillian, but look at it from my point of view. I see a young man who, from his own words and written testimonies, regularly gets into trouble and acts recklessly. Climbing a decommissioned blast furnace, fighting an acromantula in close quarters, brawling with your schoolmates, now you¡¯re telling me you treated a broken leg at home instead of going to a hospital. And don¡¯t think we don¡¯t know about your jaunts to the Wall, trying to sneak in and go up. You¡¯ve done it twice, and I suspect there might have been other attempts when you saw the futility and turned around on your own rather than being caught, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Four,¡± Cillian answered swiftly. ¡°Four times in total.¡±

    The frowning man sat back, took off the glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. ¡°At least, you seem to be honest.¡±

    There was a lull.

    ¡°Are you finished?¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Are you finished telling me what I already know? Can I defend myself now?¡±

    Mr. Byrne smiled and made an inviting gesture. ¡°By all means.¡±

    ¡°First of all, I agree with the rest, but not going to a hospital for the leg wasn¡¯t an instance of reckless behavior or anything of the sort. It was just a matter of convenience. Second, you don¡¯t see a young man doing all those things ¨C you see a young boy. The boy who¡¯d had too much curiosity and too little sense and, aye, sometimes had lacked discipline.¡± He shrugged. ¡°The young man I am today hasn¡¯t had any problems with the aforementioned things in years.¡±

    ¡°And you are telling me all of your issues are now gone? Nothing left at all? The very high score in ¡®Novelty seeking¡¯ paired with the low score in ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ tell me otherwise, Cillian.¡±

    The boy shrugged again and dropped back to rest on a cushion himself. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the tests are telling you, don¡¯t know how much you can rely on some questionnaires, but what I do know is that you can rely on your records. You seem to trust them well enough regarding my misconducts and such, so it¡¯d be fair to also trust what they say about my improved attitude, no?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t say much.¡±

    ¡°They say I¡¯ve scored well in the finals. But I meant the absence of any recent records indicating improper behavior.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, there are none. The last one dates back to almost four years ago, which could be interpreted in a couple of ways, actually, but, for the sake of moving things forward, let¡¯s say I believe you for now.¡± Another folder was added to the growing pile. ¡°This one¡¯s related ¨C mental health evaluation.¡±

    Mr. Byrne began slowly scanning the pages, clearly only for show. Cillian resisted an urge to sigh. It was the fourth time he¡¯d been here, not counting the medical examination, which had taken place in a different facility. The first was a general ¡°Getting to know him¡± interview, followed by the said medical and two rounds of psychological testing. And, of course, the finals at school, which he knew were very important. He wondered if Foerstner performed such rigorous screening procedures when hiring in all their divisions, or if it was specific only to the ¡°Companion¡±. Cillian had never asked father about his hiring process back in the day.

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to exhibit signs of hypochondria, paranoia, or any other severe mental disorders,¡± the man finally carried on. ¡°The only one making me slightly concerned is your moderate score in ¡®Depression¡¯, which doesn¡¯t necessarily mean you suffer from one but might indicate a general dissatisfaction. So, are you dissatisfied?¡±

    ¡°Dissatisfied? Dissatisfied with what?¡±

    ¡°You tell me. With your education, with the way the company has been treating your family, with life in general ¨C anything.¡±

    He looked at Cillian, expecting a prompt answer, so the boy obliged, ¡°Well, I suppose I am dissatisfied with my life. Isn¡¯t everyone?¡±

    ¡°In what regards? Don¡¯t you live in comfort?¡± Mr. Byrne fixed him with a cool gaze. ¡°The spots in the academy are limited, as you know, and becoming a chevalier is fiercely sought after. Why should a slot go to someone who already has everything?¡±

    Cillian felt incredulous at what he was hearing. Most students will be brats from the inner ring; what in the aether is this tool babbling about?

    ¡°With respect, sir, you¡¯re talking like I¡¯m trying to buy an exclusive ticket to an opera or something of that sort. Pure pleasure. But being a chevalier is not about privilege alone, is it? There¡¯s a rake of responsibilities attached.¡±

    ¡°True. So you want to do your part in advancing Foerstner¡¯s interests, is that it? Or are you one of those ¡°keep people safe¡± types?¡±

    Something in the man¡¯s tone and eyes seemed mocking and really tickled him, so, despite his best efforts, the words came out a little aggrieved, ¡°I¡¯ll do what¡¯s necessary, sir, as long as I get to leave this null-damned prison for once.¡±

    ¡°You feel shackled in here?¡± Mr. Byrne sounded surprised. ¡°Lua is a very big city, and there are many other professions that allow one to go outside.¡±

    ¡°Aye, other professions. Go outside all the while shaking in fear, you mean. Hiding behind corporate soldiers.¡±

    ¡°Security forces, not soldiers,¡± the man corrected firmly.

    ¡°Apologies. Obviously, that¡¯s what I meant.¡±

    ¡°Obviously.¡± He put his glasses back on. ¡°So you want to go out and not feel fear? Why not join our ¡®Security¡¯ division then? They go beyond the Wall all the time.¡±

    ¡°In huge convoys, maybe.¡± Cillian had never seriously considered turning into a corporate soldier. They had no real freedom as far as he could tell.

    ¡°And you feel the need to what, fight against beasts single-handedly?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I said, I¨C¡±

    ¡°No, see, Cillian, I think you¡¯re lying. To me or to yourself, I¡¯m undecided. I also think you¡¯re wasting the company¡¯s time.¡± The man picked up the lone folder still remaining on the sofa, got up, and walked behind it, sounding callous all of a sudden. Before the boy could say anything in response, he continued, ¡°You know what else I think?¡±

    Cillian shook his head, too put off by the unexpected development.

    ¡°I look at your history, and, believe me, I can infer a lot from what wasn¡¯t added to your school record as I very much doubt that your activities were limited to a few brawls and unauthorized excursions ¨C I know how these things work. Then I look at your low ¡®Harm avoidance¡¯ and high ¡®Depression¡¯ scores¨C¡±

    So it¡¯s ¡®low¡¯ and ¡®high¡¯ now whereas before they were ¡®below average¡¯ and ¡®moderate¡¯.

    ¡°¨Cand all of it taken together makes me think that you want to somehow go out swinging, that is, recklessly fight monsters until, very soon, one terminates your intolerable existence. Or maybe,¡± he fetched some paper and started waving it, too fast for Cillian to discern the contents, ¡°you only wish to attend the academy out of some misplaced sense of injustice done to you by the company. Maybe you want to get in and start digging or try to sabotage Foerstner from the inside or other such foolishness.¡±

    What?!

    ¡°It¡¯s a copy of your essay, Cillian. The one about your plans for the future. The one where you express an intense desire to dismantle Foerstner Group for unwittingly bringing the monsters to Lua and then not coming to your rescue until it was too late. Ring any bells?¡±

    Cillian blinked. Shit. He buried his face in his hands. I forgot about it.

    ¡°I see it does.¡±

    The boy mumbled, ¡°I was 14 and very, very angry.¡±

    ¡°I understand that,¡± the man replied. ¡°And what of your habit of asking incessant questions about things you have no good reason to ask about? Yes, I know about that too. Is ¡®I was young¡¯ your excuse here as well?¡±

    He placed his hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward, eying Cillian intently.

    ¡°Which one is it, Cillian? Are you suicidal or an idiot?¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°I personally think you¡¯re angry at the world and want to kill yourself. Kill yourself and waste the company¡¯s resources invested in you in the process. And why wouldn¡¯t you?¡± He gave Cillian a nasty smile. ¡°I¡¯ve read your account of your mother¡¯s and Aidan Moore¡¯s deaths, and it made me sick. You killed both of them, you realize that, don¡¯t you?¡±

    As blood rushed to his head, Cillian¡¯s consternation transitioned to shock before swiftly turning into nascent fury. ¡°What did you just say?¡± came out in a murderous whisper.

    ¡°You disagree? Here.¡± Mr. Byrne fetched another document and handed it to him. ¡°A copy of your report, word for word. Do you even remember what you wrote? Or do you recall things differently now?¡±

    ¡°I¨C¡±

    ¡°You were the one who dragged Mr. Moore to the abandoned furnace and, therefore, to the epicenter of the attack in the first place. Wasn¡¯t that the case?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¨C¡±

    ¡°Your best friend, in your own words, dead. Because of you. You were also the one who decided to grapple with the acromantula that attacked Mr. Moore even though it was clear that it was already too late, and that you couldn¡¯t help him in any way¨C¡±

    ¡°He was still alive!¡±

    ¡°¨Cand, in doing so, you severely injured yourself, which necessitated for your mother, Mrs. Roisin Shea, to carry you, therefore considerably hindering your collective ability to move, which, in turn, directly led to her gruesome death. Torn apart by the monstrous spiders. Because of her own son.¡± He tutted. ¡°Does that sound about right? You are the reason they are dead.¡±

    Somewhere in the middle of the man¡¯s tirade, Cillian sprang to his feet, breathing heavily and almost vibrating with rage.

    ¡°Or do you disagree?¡± Mr. Byrne pronounced slowly and scornfully as if talking to a simpleton, not looking threatened in the least. ¡°Why would we even consider admitting someone with such a magnificent track record of bringing death to others because of his ineptitude?¡±

    Do I disagree? Cillian felt sick and in pain all over again. He imagined jumping over the furniture and throttling the man or, better yet, smashing his stupid glasses so the fake lenses shutter and dig into his skin.

    Anything to wipe away that smug smirk.

    But it was a familiar territory. Cillian closed his eyes and forcibly pushed his toes into the floor as if trying to burrow into it ¨C fancy brogues and all ¨C until it hurt.

    Do I disagree?

    He¡¯d been over this so many times the count was probably in the hundreds. If not thousands.

    But no, he didn¡¯t disagree. Cillian had never doubted his fault. But he also knew that he¡¯d been just a child.

    He¡¯d long accepted his share of the guilt, despite rationally knowing that the only ones truly responsible had been the monsters. And even they had simply done what monsters always did. Cillian hated them, sure, but those acromantula were all dead. Slaughtered in a three-day hunt that had followed. Just an awful twist of fate. He¡¯d done what he could, and there was no reason to loathe himself.

    Perhaps, one day the boy would even believe it.

    ¡°We done?¡± he asked quietly, glaring at the tool, and made to grab his coat and fedora from a stand and leave the office.

    ¡°Please, sit down, Cillian,¡± Mr. Byrne replied, suddenly jovial once more, circled back around the couch, and did so himself. ¡°We aren¡¯t finished.¡±

    ¡°I think we are.¡±

    ¡°I apologize for my words; I meant none of them.¡±

    Cillian didn¡¯t turn around.

    ¡°Sit down,¡± the man repeated, more firmly this time. ¡°Just a test. Yes, another test. I know you¡¯re sick of them.¡±

    ¡°A test?¡± The boy clenched and unclenched his right fist, still facing the door.

    ¡°Aye. I honestly thought that I¡¯d laid it on a wee thick. Sit down, let¡¯s continue our talk. Some harsh words aren¡¯t enough to deter you, I hope? You didn¡¯t try to punch me ¨C even though I can see you really want to ¨C didn¡¯t start screaming obscenities, or blaming someone else. You didn¡¯t lose your temper ¨C that¡¯s what I wanted to check. Good enough for me.¡±

    Cillian breathed in and out sharply, contemplating if he should stay, then, reluctantly, shuffled back to the couch and dropped on it, without looking at the eejit, lest he did something unwise.

    ¡°No evidence of misconduct in years is a good thing, but a better thing is when there is evidence of the opposite ¨C of proper behavior, of self-control. A chevalier is a significant position with serious responsibilities, and it¡¯s my job to whittle down the undeserving early. Of course, getting admitted to the academy is not a guarantee you¡¯d become a chevalier.¡±

    He could only nod stiffly in response.

    ¡°Your handling of that awful situation wasn¡¯t ideal, but you were very young; you¡¯re still very young. And you can learn; I think you have potential. As long as you aren¡¯t trying to join in a misguided attempt at revenge against the beasts. It¡¯d be pointless ¨C there are always more of them.¡±

    The boy shook his head. Pointless, aye.

    ¡°And, between you and me, there¡¯s nothing wrong with some recklessness here and there. After all, people call it bravery when it succeeds, don¡¯t they? If it succeeds.¡±

    Mr. Byrne collected the folders and dropped them back on the sofa.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s discuss other more pleasant matters, shall we? Your father, Mr. Brendan C. Shea, works in our ¡®Motorwagen¡¯ division. You also graduated from one of our schools. So, in regards to your loyalty score¡­¡±

    Cillian felt a wee unsettled at another sudden change of mood and did allow a sigh to escape him this time. More questions.

    What a surprise.

    A train rumbled past, and his tense shoulders sagged.

    Aether help me.

    The torture continued.

 Chapter 2. High level

    The cage¡¯s doors opened, and the monster slithered out.

    Sharp gasps reverberated through the square: some excited, others ¨C horrified.

    Cillian squinted, trying to see the almost black creature a little better. I should¡¯ve taken my spy goggles. From so high up, it resembled a dark blanket draped over the cobblestones. Thankfully, the stones were light grey, allowing the shape to stand out.

    And what a disgusting shape it was. A darkmantle, he belatedly realized.

    Cillian was familiar with it from a book he¡¯d once read. There were no pictures, but the creature was described as a lump of tentacles with a single menacing eye adorning each and appearing as if sitting on top of an old, wide-brimmed hat with holes in it. In reality, the circular ¡°brim¡± was the thick skin membranes stretching between the tentacles.

    He saw the said membranes flex as the darkmantle cautiously moved forward a few strides and back again, then wriggled left ¨C toward the massive crowd. All without turning once. And why would it? It lacked any sides, as far as Cillian could tell, or even a distinctive head. Its top was just a conjunction of tentacles, and the myriad of eyes went all around.

    A few people shouted insults at the beast, and someone even cried out in alarm, despite the large distance and a row of Foerstner security forces standing in between. Cillian rolled his eyes. He couldn¡¯t remember everything, but he did recall that darkmantles were cave-dwellers normally hanging from ceilings and pretending to be stalactites. They couldn¡¯t move fast and were practically helpless when not awaiting in ambush. Menacing looking, sure, but Foerstner would never put a precious graduate in real danger. It was all a spectacle.

    Speaking of the graduate: the class¡¯ valedictorian ¨C a dark-haired girl wearing a long skirt and a slim-fit jacket with shoulder pads, both black ¨C stood calmly on the opposite side of the square with a cage of her own close by, this one significantly bigger and covered with a veil. At a signal, she threw the white garment aside and unlocked the heavy doors herself. The people began applauding even though nothing had happened yet, thus making Cillian miss the girl¡¯s words. She¡¯d said something to the cage¡¯s occupant, who immediately began clambering out.

    Another monster emerged on the scene on all fours then slowly straightened out until it stood on two legs, towering over its master.

    A rougarou. Cillian grimaced. Boring choice.

    Another word, and the armor-clad beast took a step. First right leg, then left, and repeat. Moving ever so slowly, hunched forward, its massive limbs dragging along the ground and stepping down surprisingly softly. Or maybe not that surprisingly, given the lower parts of its body ¨C those not obstructed by the metal ¨C were covered in dirt and murky moss, dense as fur. The companion¡¯s movement seemed unhurried, deceptively lazy. Yet inevitable.

    This ain¡¯t going to be a fight. What¡¯s the darkmantle supposed to do? It can lengthen its tentacles and wrap them around the rougarou all day long; nothing will come of it.

    The closer the companion got to its helpless opponent, the louder the whopping throng cheered. Encouragements and furious calls to ¡°Kill the beast!¡± flew from all over, including a balcony positioned above the pipe atop which Cillian was perched. As if there weren¡¯t two beasts on the square. One was just tamed.

    Halfway there already.

    The darkmantle began scurrying from side to side before dashing to the right, but it was met with a trio of guards jabbing down with their rifle-mounted bayonets. The panicking creature hastened back to the cage and swiftly slithered its way to the roof. And not a moment too soon.

    The rougarou rammed the cage. One second it was still shuffling upright, the next ¨C once more dropped on all fours and leaped, displaying the previously unseen swiftness. The companion smashed into the criss-crossing bars like a boulder, which, Cillian supposed, wasn¡¯t that far from the truth. Submerged in a bog, one could easily mistake its massive head and shoulders for a trio of rocky mounds.

    The cage, only three-quarters the tamed beast¡¯s size and designed to hold a very different type of monster, barrelled backward with a screech, tumbling twice and lifting a thin cloud of dust.

    Everyone held their breaths, waiting to see if the darkmantle had been crushed.

    The rippling tentacles were their answer. The monster was on the wall of the cage now, and it quickly wriggled its way inside by way of one of the freshly created gaps.

    The girl came to stand next to her companion. Damn the noise! Cillian missed her command again as the crowd cursed the darkmantle and demanded its head. The head, which the monster didn¡¯t even have.

    The rougarou began lumbering forward again, trailing some greenish liquid in its wake. The cat-and-mouse game didn¡¯t last long after that.

    One beast approached the cage and tore it apart with its colossal arms while another desperately struggled, trying to squeeze the tentacles around the attacker with no effect.

    The ¡°fight¡± ended with a furious roar followed by a disgusting squelch. And a loud celebration, of course, which made Cillian remember why he¡¯d stopped coming here in the first place. Because he didn¡¯t want to see any prickwaving staged fights and the adorning public, that¡¯s why. Bleedin¡¯ mockery.

    The crowd loved it though. People filled the entire long plaza, applauding and cheering as one. How could those at the back even know what was happening, he had no idea. More people cramped balconies and elevated walkways, the support legs of which made the square look like an arena ¨C the buildings as its grandstands and the series of widely spaced stone columns at each corner as the ways in and out. And, of course, Foerstner headquarters offered the greatest view of all ¨C Cillian could faintly see what were probably the company¡¯s bigwigs looking down from the majestic watch tower in the middle of the structure, a hundred or so meters from the ground. Even the four turrets surrounding it ¨C likely converted from the actual light pillars, unlike at the interview site ¨C hosted some spectators.

    Cillian watched the long shadow cast by the building across from his own slowly creep forward over the gathered crowd, like a tide. It, too, appeared slow but inevitable.

    ¡°Twatwaffles,¡± he grumbled, suddenly feeling disgusted with the whole thing.

    Footsteps sounded above. A girl, no more than ten, stretched over the railing and looked down at him. ¡°Hey! What are you doing here?¡±

    Oh null.

    Cillian craned his neck up and replied right away, hoping his smile was coming out reassuring, ¡°Pipe repair, madam, nothing to concern yourself with.¡±

    She blinked and, without taking her eyes away from him, slowly sucked in a lungful of air and called out, ¡°MUUUM!¡± then ducked inside.

    Niss-shit! Time to leave.

    He peered down to check if the balcony below was still empty ¨C it was, but the door leading to it gaped open.

    Double niss-shit!

    He swung himself down but didn¡¯t drop, instead reached with his right leg for the arching lintel above the window, jammed the foot sideways into the corner, twisted around, and pressed into the wall back first, hands pushing off the pipe. He looked up and could see nothing but copper. Good.

    ¡°What are you talking about, sweetie?¡± came a woman¡¯s voice, growing more distinct with every word. ¡°What man?¡±

    ¡°He said he was repairing the pipe, but I think he was a spy!¡±

    Niss take that girl. What is she even doing here? Isn¡¯t this some sort of administrative building?

    ¡°He is right¨C hey! Where is he?!¡±

    Cillian had to screw his face hard to avoid chuckling.

    Below, the valedictorian girl marched toward her fellow graduates, proudly standing at the top of the wide stairs leading up to the Foerstner headquarters, her companion back in its cage.

    ¡°There¡¯s no one here, Sile. Are you inventing things again?¡±

    ¡°He was right here, I swear!¡± The girl sounded appalled at the accusation. He smiled wider.

    ¡°I can barely work with this ruckus going on as it is. Please, don¡¯t distract me unless it¡¯s actually important, alright?¡±

    Cillian stopped smiling, even as the girl protested her innocence, once he realized his predicament. He¡¯d been planning to climb to the roof of the building, noticing too late that the top levels had been modified since the last time he¡¯d been here with his mother. Made unclimbable. So it was either descend all the way down and try to find another route or settle for a consolation prize in the form of a pipe, two floors below his target. He could settle, no problem.

    Only they always used the fire escape on the other side as their way back ¨C its lowest platform wasn¡¯t reachable from the ground because of the sliding design of the ladder ¨C and without getting to the roof he wouldn¡¯t be able to get to the fire escape either. And the balconies would be crowded until the end of the ceremony and then some.

    Niss take me, he mentally berated himself. What a tool.

    He listened intently to the girl and her mother but couldn¡¯t hear anything. Was it because they weren¡¯t there anymore or because of the noise, which was starting up again as the graduates¡¯ assignments were being announced one by one, Cillian didn¡¯t know. He risked twisting around the pipe, hanging on his arms alone, and stole a glance. No one. He pulled up and quickly crawled to the corner of the building only a dozen meters away. A cautious peek to the other side revealed more spectators occupying the balconies. He darted back.

    ¡°Twatwaffles,¡± he repeated, quieter this time. ¡°They can¡¯t even see anything from there.¡±

    The boy eyed the curving walkway connecting his building to the headquarters; it was only a level or two below, but it was also teeming with beas¨C ahem, people, among which there would be guards too, in all likelihood. Behind the structure and still some ways off, he glimpsed vivid green ¨C a rare color to encounter in the city. Rare everywhere but at the very core of Lua, that was, where the elites lived and had their lavish gardens and greenhouses.

    Cillian shook his head to clear it. There was nothing to it; he had to wait.

    As the finely dressed young chevaliers congratulated each other, their masks shining in the light of the skywalkers, another young man and a would-be chevalier far above their heads let out a sigh, settled down, and prepared for a long stretch of boredom.

    <hr>

    On the way back home Cillian was in a strange mood. All in all, things had gone well today. He hadn¡¯t received a straight answer as to his chances to be accepted to the academy, but Mr. Byrne¡¯s questions and comments toward the end of the interview had almost sounded like words meant for someone who would, in fact, be admitted. Like the prodding about the contents of the contract he¡¯d have to sign, making sure he understood the implications. Or the man¡¯s surprising willingness to describe the curriculum and facilities in more depth than in the pamphlet. The previous interviewers had all refused to share meaningful details.

    Cillian felt optimistic but would have to wait for a letter with the official answer until the 13th of the blue. One whole week.

    He had backup options, of course, but nothing he really fancied. He didn¡¯t have a passion for engineering, like his father, or anything else for that matter. Apart from climbing, which wasn¡¯t a paying profession, unfortunately. He didn¡¯t feel like doing any one of the rake-load of jobs he¡¯d gotten glimpses of from above over the years. Nothing appealed to him.

    Huh. Perhaps, there was some merit to the stupid psychological tests, after all. Dissatisfaction with life? You don¡¯t say.

    I¡¯m addressing it, aren¡¯t I? One week.

    A cyclist sped past.

    But maybe I should add a little more joy right this moment?

    Cillian looked around with intent ¨C a very specific intent. Why not?

    The roads were much busier now, filled exclusively with motorwagens. Big and small, open cabins and closed, with elegant arches above their wheels, most sporting black roofs and red doors, of Foerstner make and others. His father had likely had a hand in manufacturing some of them.

    That¡¯s not it. What am I looking for?

    At an intersection ahead stood a lone patrolman, appearing quite a busy bee, and a tram, his tram, was rumbling by. Perfect.

    Cillian put his fedora on and pulled it as low as it would go, took off the skeletal hand ¨C too distinct ¨C and began jogging toward the uniformed man, himself being mindful of the traffic. The patrolman was constantly turning this way and that, so he noticed the boy coming but could only stare first in annoyance then in incredulity as Cillian knocked his blue flat cap clear off his head on the run. The boy muttered, ¡°Terribly sorry,¡± then proceeded to accelerate until he caught up with the departing tram. He jumped on the steel bumper, reached for the lip above the rear window, pulled up, and sat himself on the edge of the roof.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have traffic to manage, sir?¡± he shouted, pointing at the motorwagens rushing past the stunned man on all sides.

    The copper cursed, picked up his cap, and, with one final baleful glare, spun around. A loud whistle conveyed his irritation. Some unfortunate fella was about to get his day spoiled by an overly pedantic traffic controller.

    Cillian cracked up and grinned, feeling stupidly proud of the antic, like he was back to being 13. It¡¯d been a while since he last engaged in any mischief, and he didn¡¯t even know why he was suddenly feeling so impish. Had to be the delayed realization that he was finally done with the interviews; they¡¯d been quite stressful.

    A driver following the tram was staring at him. Cillian shrugged and waved, then looked to the side, his eyes inadvertently landing on a group of excitable youths.

    Half a dozen boys and girls in school uniforms were sauntering down the sidewalk and lively discussing something ¨C likely the ceremony. They laughed and playfully shoved each other; the fella at the front was even walking backwards while gesticulating wildly. So carefree. How old were they? No more than 15, surely. Cillian kept watching.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    When was the last time I experienced something resembling this? This¡­ camaraderie? Or even just a simple friendly banter?

    Yonks ago was the obvious answer.

    His joy dimmed somewhat, and he turned away.

    Aye, yonks ago¡­ And there was no one to blame for it but himself.

    Aidan, his best friend, might be dead, but it had been Cillian¡¯s fault for pushing every other friend away. All that fighting and anger. And bitterness. By the time he¡¯d gotten a grip on himself ¨C with a lot of help ¨C it was already too late. Everyone had hated him, and rightfully so. Then, over the following years, he¡¯d grown accustomed to loneliness. There were even times when he believed he preferred it that way.

    What were Mr. Byrne¡¯s parting words again?

    That everyone in the academy needed a circle of support. Everyone had to learn to work with others and, at times, rely on others.

    ¡°Can you do that, Cillian Shea?¡±

    Well, he still remembered himself at 13. He¡¯d made friends easily then; he could do so again now. Engage with others more, make some jokes, help with problems ¨C how hard could it be? He¡¯d make friends, and they would become chevaliers together, progress through the ranks together. He would rediscover the joy of human interaction. That was the plan.

    Speaking of the ranks¡­

    He might not have been able to see the graduates¡¯ masks in detail, but Cillian knew all of them had received their first etchings today ¨C a single leaf of a shamrock, heart-shaped, on a short curving stalk, denoting Rank 1, the Honored. Every chevalier was supposed to have a mark of their standing decorating the mask in a clearly visible spot. Every chevalier¡­

    His savior flashed through Cillian¡¯s mind as the tram kept clamoring along.

    The man¡¯s mask hadn¡¯t had any etchings, that was for certain ¨C he dreamt of the stupid yoke often enough; could recall every crease. Plenty of meaningless golden swirls but no leaflets anywhere, unless something was hiding inside a cavity of one of the ¡°filters¡±. But even if there hadn¡¯t been a shamrock on display, fully leafed or not, Cillian felt confident the chevalier was of Rank 3 ¨C the August. Given his companion, the man could be nothing else.

    Aye, compared to that monstrosity, a darkmantle was positively cute. And a rougarou? Cillian understood why beasts capable of both withstanding a lot of physical punishment and negating a wide range of aetheric effects were popular companion choices, but how many more rougarous or orgeshi could Foerstner possibly want? Personally, he hoped for a more exciting partner since it would accompany him for the rest of his life.

    Besides, a rougarou didn¡¯t emanate enough menace. One could grow to be truly enormous and was pure deadly, no doubt, but it simply lacked that spine-chilling aura, which the man¡¯s companion had in spades.

    Even though Cillian didn¡¯t dream of that part too often ¨C not in the last couple of years ¨C he could still close his eyes and vividly envision himself being carried away by the blue-eyed chevalier, with soldiers spewing fire from their flamethrowers on all sides. He¡¯d been half dead at that point but still coherent enough to make out that creature. The creature he¡¯d mistaken for an entire horde at first because it sported dozens and dozens of separate bodies, each half his height and with their own heads, arms, and legs. All ¨C the color of a drowned man¡¯s skin.

    He could also easily recall those mocking yellow eyes and mouths, lined with sharp teeth and stretching from one pointy ear to the other, which had been laughing at him, jeering. He remembered the long tongues flickering out in amusement.

    The bodies grew from something in the center, obstructed from view. Some legs were scurrying along the ground while others merrily dangled up in the air. And every so often, a few bodies would tear off the main mass. Literally. They would lean forward and stretch the skin until it ripped. Then they¡¯d go wreak havoc on the monsters ¨C other monsters ¨C somewhere out of sight, before returning and merging back into place.

    Try as he might, Cillian hadn¡¯t been able to find any mention of the species in any book. So he dubbed it a ¡°drowned orchestra¡±. And even if there was not an iota of gallantry in that entire abomination, he would still much prefer having something like that; expectations behind the word ¡°chevalier¡± be damned.

    Something practical but intimidating¡­ Aye, that would work. He looked up.

    Wobbling on top of the tram and watching a majestic airship momentarily obscure the light from the skywalkers, which were now drifting directly overhead, he concluded that obtaining a formidable companion and a couple of friends would make for a good goal for the academy. If he got accepted.

    An honored chevalier. And hopefully more.

    Was it really possible?

    There was nothing left to do but wait.

    <hr>

    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± father asked, looking at him expectantly across the table.

    Cillian eyed the letter in his hands nervously ¨C Foerstner¡¯s shamrock was stamped into the burgundy wax seal, begging him to be undone.

    This is it.

    It had required all of his self-control to restrain himself from ripping the envelope open right next to their postbox downstairs. He¡¯d delayed so that they could read it together. His oul fella had even taken a day off for the occasion.

    Without any more hesitation, the boy took a deep breath, carefully slid the knife under the seal, retrieved the lone parchment, and began reading it, hurriedly skipping past the unimportant jabber and seeing¡­

    ¡°Cillian Faol¨¢n Shea¡­¡±

    ¡°Application number¡­¡±

    Blah blah blah.

    ¡°Foerstner Chevalier¡­¡±

    ¡°We are delighted to announce¡­¡±

    He paused, blinked owlishly, and reread the line.

    ¡°We are delighted to announce the positive decision regarding your¡­¡±

    Cillian¡¯s mind ground to a halt. There was a sound of a chair scraping the floor.

    I¡¯m in?

    He sat and stared dumbly at the line.

    ¡°¡­positive decision¡­¡±

    And the one below: ¡°You are accepted into the program¡­¡±

    I¡¯m in!

    ¡°Well?¡± Father¡¯s voice was a wee strained.

    I will be a chevalier! I will go outside! I will finally¨C wait.

    Father¡­

    He swallowed, eyes still down, unsure how to feel all of a sudden. That was good¨C no, more than good, that was immense! With a few short words, all his hopes for the future had become real; the door leading to a very different life had been unbarred and thrown wide open for him to pass through. Aye, that was grand, and he should be feeling happy, should be jumping and whooping for joy right about now.

    So why wasn¡¯t he?

    Father was still waiting.

    Father. How should I break the news to him?

    Cillian wasn¡¯t an idiot. Despite his oul fella¡¯s unyielding support from the very first time he¡¯d announced his intention to join the Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy, as it was officially called, he knew the man hated the idea. Probably even secretly hoped that Cillian wouldn¡¯t be accepted. He didn¡¯t begrudge his father this. Moreover, perhaps deep inside he¡¯d even been harboring similar hopes himself.

    Father would have to battle mixed emotions, same as me.

    ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± he said and finally looked up.

    Brendan Shea sat motionless for a long moment, processing, then stood, swiftly circled the table, and embraced Cillian, who immediately reciprocated.

    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, son,¡± came out quiet but firm.

    Cillian hugged his father tighter.

    ¡°Thank you, dad.¡± His own voice wasn¡¯t nearly as steady; there was a lump in his throat.

    Tears threatened to escape, so the boy inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and repeated, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The pair held one another.

    Once, they¡¯d been so unalike, father and son. And, after the tragedy, they¡¯d even briefly grown distant as one was dealing with the grief by constantly lashing out, while another ¨C by throwing himself into work. Father always loved him and provided for him, but the man had never been vocal and, as Cillian later realized, simply hadn¡¯t known how to help his broken son. And, above all, he¡¯d been thoroughly broken himself.

    We aren¡¯t anymore. We are good.

    It was one very bad beating the boy had received that, ironically, helped them to turn things around and go on the mend. As Cillian had been lying in a hospital bed for the second time in his life, father was inconsolable, having a nervous breakdown ¨C crying and blaming himself, saying he was a worthless parent and that he should have been the one to die that day, not mother. Those words and the sight of his normally stoic dad being so freaked out cut through Cillian¡¯s anger and self-loathing like a knife. The two ended up sitting there, weeping together, just like that awful day a year and a half prior, and promising each other to do better.

    And they had been doing better ever since. Cillian couldn¡¯t say they were regularly having lively and heartfelt conversations, but they¡¯d become a real family again. Reduced and damaged but real. So he hadn¡¯t been surprised when father offered his complete support back then, just as he wasn¡¯t surprised now that the man couldn¡¯t find in himself too many words of congratulations. Cillian getting admitted meant a long time apart.

    Two years. And then who knows how often I¡¯d be able to visit.

    One rainbow cycle on the actual academy grounds and another on a faraway assignment under supervision to complete the education ¨C that was the deal. Then you become an honored chevalier and get sent on tasks all over the plane.

    But I¡¯m in! He couldn¡¯t quite wrap his head around the fact.

    Still not breaking off the embrace, father whispered, ¡°She would have been proud too, Lian. So very proud.¡±

    With one last mutual squeeze, they separated.

    ¡°I know.¡± Cillian gave a raspy chuckle, smiling fondly. ¡°Mum would¡¯ve loved it. It¡¯s a wonder she¡¯d never run off to join herself.¡±

    Father sat down next to him. ¡°Oh, she was all over the place when younger, could never decide what she wanted to do in life. Tried everything and liked nothing, that girl. Or, more accurately, didn¡¯t like anything for too long.¡±

    ¡°Tried everything, huh?¡±

    ¡°Aye, sometimes it felt that way. We weren¡¯t together back then, just had a couple of mutual friends, but every time we met she had a new story to share about one thing or another she¡¯d gotten to experience. I was hopelessly in love with her, obviously, because of her stories and for many other reasons. But your mother didn¡¯t care one whit about me.¡±

    ¡°That so? Seems to me she liked you well enough, or where did I come from?¡± Cillian joked.

    Father gave a rare smile. ¡°That happened much later. When I finally managed to screw up enough courage and go for it. One of my greatest achievements in life ¨C becoming the first thing Roisin Kelly actually committed to.¡±

    Cillian scratched at his neck absentmindedly. ¡°Aye. And a good thing she did.¡± He looked out the window. ¡°Just have to commit, I suppose.¡±

    Father stood and walked back to his previous seat. ¡°You aren¡¯t having second thoughts, are you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he denied right away. ¡°Still processing, that¡¯s all. Need to sleep on it.¡±

    ¡°You do that. When do we have to come and sign the contract?¡±

    ¡°We? You¡¯re going too?¡±

    ¡°If you want to.¡±

    Cillian read the letter again. ¡°Have until the day after tomorrow to agree, or the spot goes to someone else. Can you take another day off?¡±

    ¡°I believe so; have quite a few accumulated.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t we go celebrate after? It¡¯s been ages since we went anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Good idea. What do you have in mind?¡±

    <hr>

    Cillian stood in the dimness, a chill breeze massaging his back and a bawdy song about a woman¡¯s large chest slowly fading from his mind. He gazed up at the blast furnace.

    ¡°Everyone needs an ample bosom for a pillow, and hers is up to 90. Everyone needs an ample bosom for a pillow¡­¡±

    The boy smiled.

    He and his father had signed the contract earlier today and then went to a restaurant and a music hall. Neither of them had expected the said hall to turn out to be a rowdy place, full of naughty songs and reminiscent more of a pub rather than a theater. The patrons laughed uproariously, spilling cheap drinks everywhere, loudly applauding some performers while booing others off the stage. Musical plays kept alternating with comedy sketches and even a few acrobatic acts. Not at all what Cillian had in mind when he¡¯d suggested they try one.

    The surprise was welcome though since, despite genuinely intending to celebrate, both of them had been in a somber, contemplative mood, often lapsing into long silences, which, while not unusual for either of them, had bothered Cillian. But no one could stay gloomy for long in that establishment ¨C the many humorous and outright vulgar songs coupled with liberal consumption of beer and cocktails saw to that. He would forever cherish the sight of his father chortling and actually spilling his drink when hearing lyrics about Lua¡¯s governor being ¡°buggered by the Big Four every morning¡±. Cillian couldn¡¯t believe the singer¡¯s guts, or maybe the man was just mad, since neither the governor nor the corporations would be amused.

    Regardless, it had served to pull them both from their murky thoughts and fears, and the two celebrated properly in the end.

    Which had brought Cillian to this. Father had gone back home while he had elected to take a stroll. A stroll around the neighborhood turned into a tram ride and into a subsequent journey down memory lane. He hadn¡¯t even been sure the place still existed, but here the furnace stood ¨C it appeared the same as ever to Cillian; even the ¡°arm¡± was still hanging limply. He hadn¡¯t seen the thing or even visited the octant as a whole ever since that day and wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d come today. To wallow in his misery again?

    At first, he¡¯d relived the events obsessively every single day, fueling his anger and self-loathing. Later, he¡¯d endeavored to do the opposite ¨C put the tragedy out of his mind completely. To his surprise, over time, he¡¯d mostly succeeded. The trick, Cillian had learned, was to always keep busy. He¡¯d studied and read and climbed and researched beasts and chevaliers as much as he could, given the confines of the city. He¡¯d even tried his hand at drawing and playing instruments, only to discover he had an aptitude for neither.

    Well, here¡¯s to hope he would be better suited for killing beasts and other responsibilities of a chevalier. Cillian knew monster extermination was just one of their numerous duties.

    No, the young man decided, he wasn¡¯t here to be depressed. He¡¯d come to say goodbye.

    Cillian began climbing.

    I¡¯m going to be a chevalier, mum. It¡¯s done now; the contract¡¯s signed.

    Of course, he had to get through the academy before he would truly become one. There were plenty of rumors of students dying during the program, particularly in the second year. He didn¡¯t give the talk much credit though as everyone knew that the elites always took up most of the available slots, and he couldn¡¯t imagine them doing so if there was a high chance of death. Many of those entitled brats likely only wanted to graduate and gain the prestige and privileges associated with the position and then use their family connections to avoid being sent on any truly dangerous missions. Or any missions at all.

    Cillian scaled the ¡°slingshot¡± too ¨C to the very top ¨C finally finishing what he¡¯d started years ago.

    And who could say for certain how many people got in and how many of them later got out, anyway? The lists of students weren¡¯t publicly available even if, he mused while pulling up the final ladder, a determined individual only had to observe the interview sites and the train station on the departure day to correctly infer most identities. Not that the majority of the chevaliers attempted to hide their true names in the first place. Some were even celebrities, and the masks were largely for show ¨C a symbol of status, nothing more. Select few took the secrecy seriously, but, when they did, it was nigh impossible for anyone on the outside to find out any details about them. Hence Cillian¡¯s inability to dig up a scrap of information on his mystery savior.

    He perched upright on the narrow platform, which quietly complained at his intrusion, taking care to carefully work out how he would jump back to the ¡°slingshot¡± if the rusted thing started to give in under his weight.

    A pointless exercise as the furnace would likely stand unchanged even upon his own graduation ceremony two years later. And long after that, too. He remembered someone telling him that when its operation had first been halted, there were riots. Not because of the furnace alone ¨C there were other factories in the octant being put out of use at roughly the same time. For years, the locals harbored hope the regular work would resume any day, guarding the place from vandals and scavengers alike. It proved to be a futile activity; Heavenly Steel had no plans to reopen it. Gradually, the hope was ground to dust, and only the rusted skeletons remained. A symbol of the better times for the octant.

    Cillian found it sad but also a little unfair. Why should some null-damned smelting facility have a symbol, a reminder of its prior glory, while his mother hadn¡¯t received anything? The elites buried their dead in a graveyard accessible only to them ¨C all the while scoffing at aether-worshipping savages living outside and practicing the same rites ¨C but everyone else¡¯s bodies got cremated, and the ashes scattered. No exceptions.

    He shook his head forcefully. I¡¯m not here to be all dejected and glum, remember?

    The boy looked around ¨C not much had seemed to change in five years. Oh sure, there had to have been plenty of damage ¨C a lot of burned down buildings and destroyed lives ¨C but the ¡°scar¡± was still there, and the forest of concrete, brick, and metal blocks had grown back, leaving no trace of the carnage. Different yet the same.

    Just like Cillian himself. He¡¯d been a very different boy back then, standing at the top of the tower and peering down at the surroundings. Some parts of him had disappeared, never to be seen again, with new ones emerging to take their place. Although, he wasn¡¯t completely unlike his younger self, either. He still possessed the same curiosity and daring, if tampered, that had gotten him in so much trouble as a kid. He still loved climbing and heights. In his heart, he still wanted to go on an adventure.

    He still wanted freedom.

    Sounds of laughter and someone¡¯s poor but enthusiastic singing reached him, filling the place with life and making the boy smile.

    Well, he would get his chance soon enough.

    On the 49th of the blue, just three days before the start of the next surge, indigo, the train for the academy would depart, taking Cillian away from Lua for the very first time. Taking him away to start his adventure.

    Bye, mother.

    Bye, mucker.

    Cillian took one last deep breath, eyed the Everstorm, which was spinning lazily in the sky, slowly let the cold air out, turned around, and began the descent.

    There might not be a symbol, but I will always remember you both.

 Chapter 3. Path traversal

    Cillian watched the clock hand shift one notch closer to the upright position. Soon after, a warning horn reverberated, signaling fifteen minutes until the departure.

    Excitement and dread ¨C he felt both in equal measure.

    The clock was an enormous golden thing standing on top of the similarly golden arch stretching over a couple of rail tracks and looking like it would roll down left or right at the slightest breeze any moment ¨C its contact point with the arch appeared so minuscule. Cillian liked the see-through design ¨C he could glimpse the sky through the neat holes fashioned into the rim in a circle, forming the numbers. Although, the readability was questionable.

    Fifteen minutes.

    He cast about in search of something else to distract him.

    Contrary to the image of a train station Cillian had always had in his head, the platform wasn¡¯t bursting with scampering people hurrying to board, buying snacks, looking for missing luggage, or simply pushing each other out of the way. The reality was an orderly affair ¨C not too many folks, none of whom appeared in haste, and plenty of guards. Both O¡¯Driscoll and Foerstner guards, with the former vastly outnumbering the latter, notably. They could be easily differentiated by their distinctive styles: O¡¯Driscoll ¨C almost military look, pine green and with lots of straight lines and wearing patrol hats; and Foerstner ¨C more casual, predominantly darker shades of grey with burgundy neckerchiefs, all sporting fedoras.

    It¡¯s quare that we have to hitch a ride on an O¡¯Driscoll train.

    The academy had first been built somewhere to the Null-Rimwise, he knew, but, after it¡¯d been overrun with beasts one time too many, it was relocated Heavenward of the Azure mountains, close to the majority of the farmlands. The farmlands belonging to O¡¯Driscoll & Co., which were only reachable by the rail constructed and maintained by them as well. It probably chafed Foerstner Groups¡¯s bigwigs ¨C having to employ someone else¡¯s transport to get to their own academy.

    ¡°You should go, or they¡¯ll leave without you,¡± father said quietly from behind him.

    Cillian swallowed. ¡°Aye. I really should.¡± He tried to think of something to say to alleviate the mood, but nothing came to mind.

    It¡¯s happening. No way back now.

    He¡¯d already handed over his baggage, receiving a stern warning from a man collecting it that the bag would be searched and that nothing aether-powered was allowed. He knew that already; Mr. Byrne had told him as much.

    There was nothing left to do but say his farewells and board. Cillian found it hard to do either, so he eyed the glass ceiling instead.

    This was how the inside of a greenhouse had to look like, the boy imagined ¨C a myriad of translucent panes allowed the warm skylight to shine through. Only in place of flowers and saplings, the said skylight illuminated the sea of brass. It seemed everything here was made of or decorated with it ¨C the clock, the arch, the girders curving along the ceiling and supporting it, and even the train itself was garnished with golden lines.

    It was ostentatious and tasteless, yet Cillian scrutinized the surroundings so intently as if he expected a test on the contents of the station upon arrival to the academy. He did that as, if he looked at his father now, he wouldn¡¯t be able to hold back tears.

    To null with it. Cillian jerked his shoulders angrily and turned around. What does it matter if I cry or not?

    To his surprise, father was misty-eyed too. The man wasn¡¯t one to show his emotions openly, not counting a couple of exceptional occasions. Cillian supposed today counted as such an occasion since, in a few short minutes, they would separate for the next two years.

    Two years away from home, to begin with. And the second one would be in constant dimness.

    The past several weeks had flown by in a blur. By some unspoken agreement, the two of them had attempted to spend more time in each other¡¯s company. When normally Cillian would have been either out and about climbing one structure or another or shut in his room reading or studying, and his father would have been at work or tinkering with various mechanical curios in his office, the days leading up to the departure they¡¯d endeavored to enjoy together. It mostly meant lingering in the living room, quietly engaged in their own projects, and exchanging rare comments and observations, instead of immediately making for their respective corners. It was nice. Visiting his father¡¯s workplace, like Cillian used to when he was younger, had also been nice. And father had even accompanied him to one of his favorite roofs yesterday, which was quite hilarious to witness. His oul fella was strong but not very flexible.

    However, with each passing day, the weight of the upcoming separation had been growing heavier. And now it pushed down on Cillian¡¯s shoulders like an actual physical burden.

    Another horn sounded. Ten minutes.

    They embraced.

    A million different thoughts raced through Cillian¡¯s mind. What should I say? Nothing will make it feel any better.

    He brooded over all the countless words he¡¯d never gotten to say to his mother. He¡¯d loved her so much but had been too ¡°grown-up¡± and too ¡°tough¡± to voice any of them. It was one of the rake-load of things he regretted.

    ¡°I have something for you,¡± father pulled away and reached into the inner pocket of his coat. ¡°Hope you like it. Here. Give me your hand.¡±

    Cillian did and shortly found a weighty thing sitting on top of it.

    ¡°Whoa. Heavy.¡±

    It was a pair of goggles. As soon as he realized that, he grabbed them with both hands and began twisting this way and that to get a better look. Very pretty.

    ¡°I know they look bronze, but it¡¯s actually gold-painted steel all the way through. What do you think?¡±

    Cillian blinked, looked up, and bumped his father on the shoulder with a huge smile. ¡°Pure whopper, dad. I mean it.¡±

    He removed his hat and eagerly put the pair on. The goggles were, indeed, deadly. They sported sizable orange-colored lenses, many decorative creases, and were covered with superfluous cogs and nuts all over. His smile turned even broader when he began rotating the gear sticking out to the side of the right lens and discovered they also featured an adjustable magnification.

    Cillian tapped on the lenses. ¡°So that¡¯s what you were doing the whole last week.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right. But I began much earlier than that; took me a while to get the design right. Not too gaudy, I hope?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± He hugged his oul fella again. ¡°Thanks, dad. They are perfect. And I¡¯ll miss you. Blindin¡¯ fiercely I will.¡±

    Father clapped him on the back. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you too, son. Don¡¯t forget to write often, you hear?¡±

    ¡°Aye-aye.¡±

    They let go of each other.

    The boy returned the hat back atop his head, hefted his small bag with essentials for the two-day journey from the ground, and swiftly climbed the steps leading into the carriage.

    Don¡¯t leave things unsaid, eejit.

    He turned back and pulled the goggles down to his neck.

    ¡°I love you, old man. Don¡¯t throw big parties without me.¡±

    Father laughed with tears in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll try to wait for you, but no promises. You go and enjoy your adventure, kid.¡±

    ¡°That I will.¡±

    See? He could learn.

    Then, with one final wave and a smile, Cillian glanced up at the sky, spun around, and disappeared inside.

    Until we meet again, dad.

    <hr>

    He quickly found his assigned compartment and entered. But before that, he¡¯d taken off the goggles and hidden them in the bag, just in case the chaperones found a problem with him having them.

    A first glance revealed that the space was more generous than he¡¯d thought it would be ¨C four beds, more twin than single in size, with two on top and two underneath, and a table down the middle.

    A second glance revealed that it was already occupied.

    There were two boys on the right. The one above sat with his back to the window and a book in his lap. He didn¡¯t seem to be reading though but rather fuming at something. Why is he pissed off already? His counterpart at the bottom was peering at the platform, trying to locate someone, while simultaneously unpacking. Both looked up as he came in.

    Make an effort, muppet. This was his chance to start over, with people who didn¡¯t think of him as some sort of beast-blooded savage.

    ¡°Hello. I¡¯m Cillian.¡± He nodded to both and dropped the bag onto the only remaining free bed. The bunk on the upper left was being used as a storage for towels and pillows, for some reason.

    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Eamon, but you can call me Eams if you want!¡± the boy below, Eamon, greeted him with a smile. He was blond and friendly-looking, cheerful.

    The other fella was eying him with an irate expression, or maybe it was his default one. Cillian silently waited for him to say something.

    Eventually, he did, ¡°Teagan.¡± He sounded irate as well.

    Cillian nodded again.

    ¡°So you are a first-year too?¡± Eamon asked, abandoning his previous activity and turning his entire attention on Cillian.

    ¡°Umm, yes? Did you think I was here to check your tickets or something?¡± he joked with what he hoped was an affable smile, judging that starting with some humor was probably the right choice.

    Aether, would I have to think about every phrase now? It used to be so simple.

    Teagan snorted, nose in the book.

    Eamon didn¡¯t take offense, only grinned. ¡°Nah, figured you were here to mop the floors or some such.¡±

    Cillian took off his coat and hat, hanged them both on a hook, and sat down. ¡°Mop the floors, aye. You might be more correct than you think if what I¡¯ve heard about the academy turns out to be true.¡±

    ¡°How do you mean?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some people say the students do all the chores, you know, cleaning and cooking and stuff.¡±

    ¡°That so? Doesn¡¯t sound like the craic.¡±

    ¡°Well, those people also told me the academy had long been infiltrated by the Hierarchy, all in the same breath, so don¡¯t take it too seriously. Trustworthy information about the place is hard to come by. Unless you¡¯re high in the chain, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Ha! I can¡¯t imagine the Hierarchy infiltrating anyone. What people were those?¡±

    ¡°Just some oul fellas from the 4th outer octant, claiming to be former Foerstner enforcers. Although, I¡¯ve heard it from others, too.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re from the outer ring then?¡±

    Cillian shook his head. ¡°The middle. Hang around the outer a lot. Or used to, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Another tarhead. Figures,¡± Teagan muttered loudly enough for the rest to hear.

    Eamon and Cillian exchanged glances. After a short pause, the former shrugged and carried on as if he¡¯d heard nothing, ¡°I¡¯m from the 3rd outer meself. Shame I¡¯ve never met there any fellas telling stories like that. What else did you hear?¡± He leaned forward with interest; the boy¡¯s eager eyes were a little disconcerting.

    ¡°Umm, a lot. I¡¯m sure most of it is pure tosh though, like the talk about the no-gun policy. Has to be niss-shit, right? Chevaliers all carry them.¡±

    Cillian began unpacking while he talked. Slippers first; everything else could wait.

    ¡°Aye. I¡¯d sooner believe in the infiltration theory rather than this. What about you, Teagan?¡± Eamon twisted to look up at the boy.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Know any thrilling stories about our destination?¡± No reply. ¡°Teag?¡±

    The addressed boy grimaced and breathed out as if trying to steady himself. ¡°My name is Teagan, Eams. And I don¡¯t entertain nonsense like this. It¡¯s for simpletons.¡±

    Eamon laughed. ¡°Simpletons, you say? Clearly, you¡¯re one of those ¡®high in the chain¡¯ as our mutual neighbor has just so aptly remarked, aren¡¯t you? So what do they say about the academy in your esteemed circles, Teagy?¡±

    Teagan turned the page and without looking at either of them responded through clenched teeth, ¡°Nothing. And it¡¯s not me being high, but rather someone else being low, I should think.¡±

    Eamon stopped craning his neck and sat back, miming being hanged and winking at Cillian. ¡°Apologies, your honor,¡± he proclaimed loudly. Then quieter, ¡±Ye hear, Cillian, cop on, we¡¯re mere manky peasants here.¡±

    Cillian just watched in slight bafflement. Do they already know each other or not?

    His last meaningful interaction with peers had been ages ago, so he had no idea how to navigate the conversation. Eamon wasn¡¯t suffering from any such ailment though. The boy kept talking.

    ¡°As for meself, I¡¯ve heard every single instructor there is of the August rank, can you believe it?¡±

    ¡°That¡­ doesn¡¯t sound likely to me,¡± Cillian replied slowly. ¡°Isn¡¯t there supposed to be a rake-load of them? Would be pure waste for the company to have so many of their best herd a bunch of youths.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But if you want to raise the best they should be trained by the best, methinks. And who¡¯s better than an augustman? Have you ever met one?¡±

    ¡°Uhh¨C¡±

    ¡°I have! Declan Kavanagh himself! He was at the graduation ceremony a couple of years back. The man¡¯s a giant. Can you imagine an establishment full of Kavanaghs?¡±

    Cillian had heard of the man. The renowned treasure-hunting chevalier.

    ¡°That would be grand. As long as none of them are the Hierarchy¡¯s spies.¡±

    ¡°A heap of rotten shite,¡± Teagan growled under his breath.

    ¡°Something to add, yer nobleship?¡± Eamon asked with a grin.

    The fella finally put his book down and glared down at them. ¡°There¡¯s not going to be anyone of the 3rd rank, apart from headmaster Gorman, stop talking tosh! And infiltrated by the Hierarchy? What else? Rotfangs as personal servants? Aether only knows how culchies like you got admitted to such a prestigious institution, but you are here now, so you should refrain from¨C¡±

    ¡°You got a problem with me being here, Teag?¡± Eamon stood up and glared at the boy, not allowing him to finish.

    Teagan only raised his bushy eyebrows, not appearing particularly intimidated. Cillian couldn¡¯t blame him as the other boy looked like he''d get up on a gust of wind. ¡°Figured it out on your own, did you? Guess you really do deserve your spot, genius that you are.¡±

    Why so much aggression from the get-go? Or had they already been at each other¡¯s throats when I came in?

    It dawned on Cillian that he had no aetheric idea of how 18-year-old boys normally interacted with each other.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, I do deserve to be here, I¡¯ve earned it,¡± Eamon seethed. ¡°What about you, big guy? Let me guess, your parents had to buy a place for you? Or did they simply lick someone¡¯s arse?¡±

    Teagan snapped the book shut and made to get up, but, before he could do so, the door to their compartment slid open without knocking, and a Foerstner guard came in.

    The man looked disinterestedly at the pair, at Cillian, at the pair again, then glanced down at his pad and asked, ¡°Teagan Baessler present?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Teagan swallowed his anger with visible difficulty. ¡°Do you need something?¡± But he was ignored.

    ¡°Eamon O¡¯Leary?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± Eamon replied.

    ¡°And you are Cillian Shea?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    The man marked something on the pad. ¡°We¡¯re departing now.¡± He eyed the two boys¡¯ aggrieved expressions sternly. ¡°Don¡¯t make troub¨C actually, I don¡¯t care if you make trouble so long as you keep it quiet and none of the escorts feel a need to intervene, understand? We are guests here.¡±

    Eamon smiled widely and raised his hands, palms out. ¡°Sure thing, chief, you¡¯ll hear nothing from us.¡±

    ¡°Make sure that I don¡¯t.¡± And he withdrew, leaving the angry duo to their staring contest.

    It didn¡¯t last long as Teagan switched his gaze to the door and then back to Eamon, undoubtedly still contemplating violence, but evidently thought better of it and stiffly leaned back. ¡°Lucky you.¡±

    Wind down, Eamon, Cillian implored silently. The last thing he wanted was having to share the compartment with two warring boys until the next evening.

    ¡°Well.¡± Eamon smiled sheepishly. ¡°Not the best start, innit?¡± He dropped down on his bunk.

    The ¡°big guy¡± picked up the book again ¨C Cillian spotted the title, ¡°From Null to Heaven¡± ¨C opened it seemingly at random and resumed reading.

    Thank you.

    Soon, a loud air trumpet announced the departure, the doors closed, and they promptly took off. There was no ceremony or grand speech, only a rhythmic tadgak of the wheels and the waving families.

    As the train began rumbling along the platform, Cillian looked for his father but couldn¡¯t find him, so he mimicked Teagan¡¯s half-lying position and tried to suppress his suddenly rebelling nerves. It hadn¡¯t occurred to him until now ¨C he¡¯d been fretting over the academy itself for most of the past few weeks ¨C but they had to actually reach the place first. The path could potentially be fraught with danger, regardless if it was a well-trotted one or not.

    And he was leaving the city for the very first time. It wasn¡¯t quite traveling the world, per se, more akin to simply traversing the line from point A to point B, still severely confined, but Cillian would gladly take what he was given.

    Excitement and dread. I should probably get used to experiencing both.

    The silence didn¡¯t last long since Eamon, evidently, couldn¡¯t be put off for more than a couple of minutes. They chatted for a spell. Well, his neighbor chatted, talking about everyone and everything, with Cillian making polite noises and Teagan ¨C impolite ones. Eamon ignored the rude boy and kept loudly describing his ¡°culchies¡± parents, his friends and what they were up to after school, and even his cat, which he, lamentably, hadn¡¯t been allowed to bring to the academy.

    Cillian could only sit and nod.

    It felt like the boy was in a hurry to unload his entire life story, and they hadn¡¯t even left the city yet. To be fair, Lua was big. The train headed almost directly Heavenward, making the skywalkers¡¯ light gradually grow fainter and fainter. Such was the peril of those living in this and Nullside directions; not all octants outside of the inring had been made equal.

    The illumination kept diminishing, yet Eamon¡¯s eagerness to talk ¨C didn¡¯t.

    Cillian was being fed a rake-load of facts, and he made a genuine effort to retain at least some of them, instead of letting the words flow past him.

    Eamon had no siblings, only cousins, and his family were all Foerstner too ¨C no surprises there ¨C with his father doing ¡°metallurgy science¡±, whatever that meant, and his mother working in a small administrative role in the same department. He would be the first member of the O¡¯Leary clan to rise higher in the corporation and was very proud of the fact.

    Cillian discreetly checked his pocket watch.

    ¡°What about your family?¡± the boy asked, seemingly satisfied with the waterfall he¡¯d unleashed. For now.

    ¡°Foerstner as well. Motorwagen division,¡± he answered succinctly, not wishing to delve deeper into the topic of his parents.

    ¡°That¡¯s grand! Do you own one? Can you drive?¡±

    ¡°Umm, no and sort of? Father has one, not me. And I can drive, but no papers yet.¡±

    ¡°Must be sweet! I¡¯ve only ever ridden as a passenger a few times ¨C very convenient. If the trend holds it shouldn¡¯t be too long before they become affordable to the wider public; I can¡¯t wait.¡±

    There was a blissful pause. Eamon seemed lost in thought for a moment.

    ¡°What trend?¡± Cillian inquired.

    ¡°Hm? Oh, I mean the general trend of all new tech first being introduced for the soldierly and industrial uses only, then scale down and wide until it suits the commodity market. We are at a point where motorwagens are already a commodity, just an expensive one for now.¡±

    ¡°I suppose. Father owns a T3, but he received a company discount. T4 is cheaper as far as I know, not by much though. But given the rate of development, it¡¯d be much faster for us to graduate and rise to the August and be able to afford anything rather than wait for the prices to come down enough, I reckon.¡±

    ¡°That might be. And you, Teagan? Can you drive?¡± Eamon extended an olive branch to the larger boy, shifting to take a seat at the foot of Cillian¡¯s bunk without asking for permission.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Teagan didn¡¯t deign to reply.

    Eamon opened his mouth to say something else, but a deafening ¡°Attention!¡± interrupted him, sounding as if a man with a speaking trumpet was bellowing from right outside their compartment.

    ¡°Attention all onboard! We will begin the procedure of crossing the Wall in five minutes. Be advised that outside the boundaries of protected habitats all usage of aether-powered devices is strictly prohibited. This is for your own safety. Anyone caught violating the rule will be summarily punished in accordance with the O¡¯Driscoll & Co. regulations. Oil lamp illumination will be provided from 7 am to 9 pm in all communal areas. All passenger compartments are equipped with their own moderator lamps as well. Read the provided instructions on their operation before attempting to light them. Attention! We will be crossing the wall in four minutes...¡±

    Cillian realized there really had been a man outside their door when he moved further down the carriage, repeating the words.

    I wonder how those living outside denote time when there aren¡¯t any skywalkers?

    He glanced at the rapidly approaching Wall. He¡¯d seen it up close many times before so wasn¡¯t that interested currently, but soon he¡¯d be able to observe it from a completely different angle.

    ¡°Scary, innit?¡± Eamon asked quietly.

    ¡°Huh? What is?¡±

    ¡°That we need structures such as this to keep us safe.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Scary¡¯ is not the word I would use. I think it¡¯s inspiring.¡±

    Eamon glanced at him curiously. ¡°A big lump of stone with guns is inspiring?¡±

    Cillian shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s an inhospitable plane, but we get by. The Wall, the railroads, the skywalkers ¨C constructs like these are a testament to human adaptability, our will.¡±

    ¡°Or they are a testament to our isolation.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t it be both? We¡¯d been forcefully isolated, but we adapted.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how it went, but who knows. Just a shame having to be clustered in a train seemingly geared up for war every time you want to go outside. And you can¡¯t even do that without permission from everyone and their grandma. And other city-states? They might as well be on different planes altogether.¡±

    The boy looked at Cillian expectantly, waiting for an agreement or aether knows what else, so he shrugged and uttered very artfully, ¡°It is what it is.¡±

    ¡°Like we need anyone else,¡± Teagan chimed in with contempt from above, no longer pretending to read. ¡°You want to rub shoulders with savages out there? Or maybe with the rotfangs?¡± He glowered at them. ¡°Although, you two would be right at home.¡±

    Cillian sighed. What was the fella¡¯s problem?

    Eamon opened his eyes wide theatrically, leaned toward Cillian, put a hand to his mouth like he was about to share a secret, and ¡®whispered¡¯, ¡°Right, that one¡¯s here too. For a moment I forgot where I was and thought it was me cat up there. She also likes to climb places and make beastly noises.¡±

    Cillian puffed out a laugh.

    Null. I don¡¯t want to pick sides.

    ¡°What did you just say?¡±

    Eamon pointed at his ear. ¡°You deaf? You¡¯d fit with the so-called savages well enough yerself, methinks, given yer attitude.¡±

    Teagan abruptly swung down, landing with a thud, and Cillian for the first time appreciated how tall and brawny he really was. The boy loomed over them.

    ¡°Say it again, Eams.¡±

    Eamon, to his credit, also didn¡¯t seem threatened much. He stood up, and the two found themselves nose to chin.

    ¡°Say what again? That you¡¯ve been acting like a rotten prick the whole time since I came in? What¡¯s gotten up your arse, Teagy-boyo?¡±

    Cillian cracked an involuntary smile. Maybe his 14-year-old self would¡¯ve fit here well enough after all.

    At Eamon¡¯s words, Teagan¡¯s face turned contrite for an instant. Unfortunately, he then noticed Cillian¡¯s expression and didn¡¯t like it one bit.

    Shit. I should probably try to diffuse the situation. Aye. But how does one do that exactly?

    He spoke in his best diplomatic tone, ¡°We¡¯re about to go through the Wall, guys; better to start igniting the lamps.¡±

    ¡°I will, aye, right after I cave your faces in,¡± the brute hissed.

    ¡°Mine?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m waiting,¡± Eamon sneered.

    What are you doing, tool?!

    ¡°O¡¯Driscoll would take objection to that; they are paid to deliver the goods. Undamaged.¡±

    ¡°O¡¯Driscoll can kiss my arse. Steamin¡¯ farmers.¡±

    Just then the train came to a halt, and Teagan rocked back slightly.

    Eamon jumped him.

    The hell?! Cillian jerked in surprise.

    The smaller boy shoved the bigger one at the top bunk. The movable body and the immovable frame collided with a thump ¨C it wasn¡¯t a strong hit but enough to make Teagan lose his balance and crash down on top of the bed with a curse. Eamon didn¡¯t give him even a moment of reprieve and followed up with a knee to the stomach, all but dropping on top, but Teagan recovered quickly and redirected the flying knee with his own. He then grabbed the falling fella by the shoulders and shoved him down into the corner between the bunk and the wall. Eamon hit his head and let out a strained ¡°Fuck!¡±, before rolling out of the way of the next punch. Which never came. Instead, Teagan wrapped his opponent¡¯s neck from behind into a chokehold.

    He started squeezing and spitting the words into Eamon¡¯s ear, ¡°You steamin¡¯ rot! Jumping at me like that, what kind of coward are you?!¡±

    The smaller boy struggled futilely.

    Cillian sat, bewildered, not quite comprehending the sudden escalation. Why had Eamon struck first? There was no time to ponder the events further though. He got up and grabbed Teagan¡¯s right shoulder.

    ¡°Let him go already. He¡¯s turning purple.¡±

    The fuming fella seethed at Cillian, ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill him, but he has to learn the lesson. Same as you.¡± He attempted to shrug off Cillian¡¯s hand by thrusting his shoulder up, relaxing the grip around Eamon¡¯s neck just a wee, and Cillian used the movement to quickly hook his own right arm under the boy¡¯s armpit and behind the neck, grabbing for the chest with the other. He heaved.

    Unfortunately, trying to pry Teagan¡¯s arm away felt like pulling on a supposedly slidable ladder that had been rusted stuck long ago ¨C very little give. But at least it allowed Eamon to breathe.

    ¡°Let go!¡± Teagan fumed.

    ¡°What in the aether is going on, fellas?! Do I have to press the emergency button? We¡¯d all be in trouble then.¡± Cillian wasn¡¯t sure if such a thing existed. Unlikely, given the prohibition on aether usage. ¡°Come on, mucker, release him!¡±

    Teagan did so abruptly, and Cillian staggered back, pulling his arms away to untangle from the pile. But the large boy wasn¡¯t finished ¨C now rounded on him.

    ¡°Now see here, mucker, don¡¯t ever tou¨C¡±

    The world plunged into darkness.

    ¡°-ch me again!¡±

    Apparently, at some point they¡¯d resumed moving, albeit slowly, and were now inside the Wall.

    Tagdak.

    The train chugged along.

    The two boys on their feet were breathing heavily while the one below wheezed and coughed.

    Tagdak.

    Cillian couldn¡¯t resist a smile at the situation. Teagan clearly wanted to glower at him but couldn¡¯t see anything. Neither could he.

    Awkward.

    Tagdak.

    And so they stood. All through the brief ride, followed by another stop ¨C waiting for the heavy outer gate to be raised and the bridge across the ditch to slide into place, no doubt ¨C and until some semblance of visibility returned once their carriage cleared the tunnel.

    The whole sequence had taken at least two minutes.

    When the light came back, Cillian saw that Teagan¡¯s mood hadn¡¯t improved much. But there was no time for this distraction anymore.

    He swiftly skirted past the still-seething brute, who raised his fists at the sudden movement, expecting an attack, but Cillian was no longer interested in any prick-measuring. No, he had much more important business to attend to. He dropped at the head of Eamon¡¯s bed and peered at the Wall, catching Teagan¡¯s look of confusion out of the corner of his eye. Eamon kept gasping.

    Whatever. He¡¯s not dead; good enough. The pair of them can wait.

    Teagan snorted. ¡°Steamin¡¯ tarheads. Remember your place; there was a rake-load of better deserving than you two.¡± When no reply was forthcoming, he tsked, muttered another curse, and climbed back to his bunk.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly how I imagined my chevalier career to begin!¡± rasped Eamon with a laugh.

    Just shut up already, you twatwaffle.

    The Wall on the outside looked very different ¨C gone was the mostly homogeneous stone, and, instead, from about halfway up, the surface was littered with rectangular pockets playing host to mighty turrets. And the two lowest levels featured rows of slits currently being barred with solid metal shutters. They only had scraps from the skywalkers combined with aether streaks far above for illumination, but even in the dimness Cillian could still see the myriad of pockmarks, long scars, and entire chunks missing, particularly closer to the ground. It seemed the Wall was due for some extensive repairs.

    From this close, they couldn¡¯t yet see the curvature, but he knew it was there. The imposing structure went all the way around the city.

    Isolated? Aye. But also awe-inspiring. Our only barrier between civilization and wilderness.

    Off they went into the said wilderness, gradually leaving both the city and his old life behind.

    So long, Lua.

    Once he could no longer discern any details, he moved back to his own bed.

    For a while, they rode in blissful silence. Teagan lit his lamp and was reading again, and Cillian did the same. The title of his book read ¡°The Cradle of Learning¡±. A story about a fictional library ¨C although many claimed it had existed in truth yonks ago ¨C supposedly containing all the knowledge in the world, including the origin of humanity. He didn¡¯t believe it for a second, but the tale was still interesting.

    Unfortunately, Eamon proved incapable of staying quiet and soon started talking again. First, making small comments about everything they could see from the window ¨C not a lot, mostly dead trees, and even they were rare ¨C then moved on to animatedly speculating about what awaited them during the first days in the academy. Cillian didn¡¯t find it likely that they¡¯d be subject to an immediate ¡°trial by fire¡±, whatever the boy had meant by that.

    Even a brief interaction with his fellow trainees had left him drained. He hoped the introduction wouldn¡¯t be indicative of his future relations with the others.

    Just when Cillian was about ready to admit defeat and close his eyes, feigning sleep, to see if that would deter Eamon from trying to engage him in any further conversation, there was a knock on their door, which was promptly opened before any of them could say anything.

    A tall, blonde girl about their age stood there. She quickly glanced around from one person to another.

    ¡°Hello everyone.¡± Her eyes found the boy on the upper shelf. ¡°Teag. I¡¯m looking for Sorcha; have you seen her?¡±

    ¡°Do you see her here?¡± Teagan asked irritably in lieu of giving an answer. It appeared he was generally snapping at everyone. Good to know.

    The cailin raised her eyebrows. ¡°I see you are even more cheerful than usual on this fine day.¡±

    She grabbed the handle and made to leave but, with the door already halfway shut, changed her mind, turned back, and spoke in a soft voice, ¡°Liam, Fia, and others are in compartment six playing cards.¡± The girl glanced at Cillian and Eamon and seemed to hesitate a bit. ¡°Moira is not there, so you can come out into the light.¡± She frowned and bent forward to peer at the dim exterior through the window. ¡°As much as there is, anyway.¡±

    And with that, she was gone, gently sliding the wooden door all the way.

    Cillian didn¡¯t expect the burly boy to follow, but, after a brief hesitation, Teagan swung down again, glared at them one more time for good measure, and departed as well.

    ¡°Man, did you see that cailin?¡± came out of Eamon¡¯s mouth immediately following the click. ¡°Why is it always the big stupid ones who get all the girls?¡±

    Cillian looked at him. ¡°I grant you big but stupid? How do you know if he¡¯s stupid? And the blonde didn¡¯t seem like his mot to me.¡±

    Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°Because he¡¯s clearly not too bright. And I ain¡¯t talking about this girl, although she sure seemed overly concerned for him too. I¡¯m talking about that Moira one.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think stupid ones get to ride on this train in the first place, and for all you know Moira is his sister or something.¡±

    His one remaining neighbor eyed him with exasperation. ¡°I see now how the gears in your head spin. But you¡¯ll cop on that I¡¯m right. He is probably just some bigwig¡¯s nephew. I can¡¯t see him passing the test otherwise.¡±

    ¡°The test?¡±

    ¡°You know, the admission test,¡± the boy clarified.

    ¡°The admission test?¡±

    Eamon looked at him strangely. ¡°The test we had to pass to get accepted into the academy? That admission test?¡±

    ¡°You mean the finals?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t mean the finals! I mean the admission test ¨C 90 questions about everyone and everything!¡± Now Eamon looked indignant again as if Cillian was screwing with him.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have to take any additional tests. I had the finals at school then a rake-load of interviews and evaluations. Medical, psychological, and stuff but no tests,¡± Cillian spelled out slowly, not sure who was being an eejit.

    ¡°You kidding me?! I had to pass the test before I was even allowed to take part in the interviews!¡±

    ¡°That so? Hmm, what school did you say you¡¯d attended?¡±

    Eamon calmed down rapidly. ¡°Public one, in my home octant.¡± The fella oscillated a lot, it seemed.

    ¡°I¡¯m Foerstner-schooled.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, you think it¡¯s because you are a privileged one? At least, a more privileged one than me?¡±

    Cillian shrugged. ¡°Sure looks it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just blindin¡¯ unfair. The prick probably didn¡¯t have to do anything at all then! Even the interviews!¡± Eamon circled back to the initial topic of his ire.

    ¡°Who cares? It¡¯s how it works, and you¡¯re here, right? The end result is the same.¡±

    Eamon muttered something uncharitable under his breath then slumped and went quiet. Finally.

    Cillian returned to his book.

    So what¡¯s that whole fuss about the cradle?

    <hr>

    The food in the dining carriage turned out to be the usual fare ¨C potatoes, an assortment of de-aethered meats, a scant selection of vegetables, but plenty of greens.

    They¡¯d been proceeding to the place together ¨C Cillian and Eamon ¨C but along the way his friendlier neighbor had disappeared inside another compartment. Just to meet and greet, apparently. Cillian had opted not to wait. Now here he was, alone again, standing with a cup of tea ¨C he wasn¡¯t hungry yet ¨C and looking for a place to perch.

    There was a plethora of available seats, but, as part of his ongoing quest to engage with others more, he approached a girl with dark hair in a neat braid, sitting with her back to him before an assembled chess board. On the other side lounged a boy in elegant round glasses. Cillian watched the game, standing next to the table and not saying anything, just sipping tea.

    They both glanced at him but didn¡¯t speak either.

    He wasn¡¯t a proficient player himself, but it quickly became evident that the girl¡¯s opponent was being completely outclassed. And after the fella departed, appearing disgusted with his performance, Cillian took the freed place.

    ¡°You don¡¯t mind?¡±

    She arched an eyebrow. ¡°Mind what?¡±

    ¡°Playing a few rounds with me, I mean.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing here. Play.¡±

    ¡°Aye, but¨C never mind.¡±

    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t spill your tea on the set or the clock.¡±

    ¡°You got it. Rules?¡±

    ¡°Whatever you prefer.¡± Her voice carried a note of amusement as if it didn¡¯t matter what he chose. To be fair, it likely didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s do 30 seconds per move. The less time I have to think, the better I do.¡±

    ¡°That a chess assessment or a general one?¡±

    Cillian smiled.

    They assembled the pieces and began playing.

    ¡°What¡¯s the knight¡¯s movement again?¡±

    When she gave him a very unimpressed look, he raised his hands. ¡°Sorry, only joking.¡±

    And, of course, barely ten moves later, he got crushed.

    ¡°I¡¯m out of practice,¡± Cillian grumbled.

    The cailin just eyed him mercilessly and started arranging the board again. A rematch.

    Alright, mucker, stop embarrassing yourself.

    He got crushed in twelve moves this time.

    Umm, progress? The boy hid his face in his hands.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t very good at this, are you?¡±

    Cillian rubbed his forehead and shrugged. ¡°Let¡¯s give a lash to 2 minutes per move, shall we? I¡¯d been mistaken; I¡¯m a much more thoughtful guy these days.¡± He nodded sagely. ¡°Aye, that was my error, I see it now.¡±

    Let¡¯s start with e4 this time.

    Needless to say, it helped none.

    ¡°You seem to know some openings but don¡¯t follow through. How come?¡±

    ¡°I do know a few,¡± he confirmed. ¡°But I simply memorized them without really understanding their objectives. Seems disingenuous to just copy from a book, so I often end up making a prescribed first move or two and then wing it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the most witless thing I¡¯ve heard all day,¡± she deadpanned.

    ¡°It¡¯s not even midday yet, give it time. In the meanwhile, care for another?¡±

    Before they could begin a new round, a displeased shout from the end of the carriage interfered.

    ¡°Sorcha! Stop playing chess and come help me scour the town off the rotfang infestation!¡±

    What?

    Cillian¡¯s opponent didn¡¯t look up at the intruder. ¡°I am busy, Aoife, go away,¡± she said loudly but without any heat in her voice.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been playing since the skywalkers ignited!¡± The voice was coming closer. ¡°Actually, you¡¯ve been playing since the skywalkers stopped lighting the way.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back once I win this game.¡± Then quieter, ¡°And a few more.¡±

    Cillian turned around and saw that it was that blonde girl from earlier. She had a pretty name.

    Aoife reached their table and tapped on it. ¡°You¡¯ve said it before, you know.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I remember. ¡®A few more,¡¯ I said. But how many is ¡®few¡¯?¡± Sorcha shrugged. ¡°Who can say for certain.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hilarious.¡±

    ¡°With the rate she¡¯s demolishing me,¡± Cillian chimed in, putting his white queen into place, ¡°¡¯a few¡¯ could mean a hundred, and she¡¯d still be done in no time.¡±

    Aoife glanced at him. ¡°And you are¨C oh, one of Teagan¡¯s neighbors, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°That I am. He¡¯s still there with you?¡± At her nod, he continued, ¡°Is he being complimentary about me and Eamon, perchance?¡±

    The girl chuckled softly. ¡°Not quite.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s your move,¡± Sorcha said impatiently. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon, Aoife.¡±

    Her friend sighed. ¡°30 minutes. And then I¡¯m dragging you by the ear. You can¡¯t spend the whole trip playing chess.¡±

    When she turned around and left, Sorcha muttered, ¡°Watch me.¡±

    ¡°Name¡¯s Cillian by the way.¡±

    ¡°A pleasure, Cillian. Now make a move.¡±

    He smiled. For some reason, the cailin had made him feel comfortable from the beginning. Probably because she seemed so utterly disinterested in having a conversation and simply wanted to play chess. For the first time since he¡¯d boarded the train, he could stop fretting over what to do or say. Just make moves.

    Come on, I need to take this seriously.

    Cillian could even see himself growing to like the game more. Once he stopped being so fiercely hopeless in it, that was.

    <hr>

    The next 40-odd hours had gone by more or less the same.

    They¡¯d first neared the Azure mountains after climbing steadily for a good while, whisked right through the pass, and, finally, left the belt far behind. And all throughout the journey, Teagan had continued to be mostly absent. Or reading. Or staying quiet. In a word, continued to be a perfect bunkmate, their rough initial interaction notwithstanding.

    Eamon was different. His talkative neighbor had never given Cillian more than two consecutive hours of peace, but, truthfully, he found not minding it too much. In fact, the boy reminded him of a certain kid who could also never shut up for long.

    A couple of times the compartment had been visited by their Foerstner chaperones to check up on them, but Cillian didn¡¯t think the treatment was in any way special; the same likely happened to everyone else on the train.

    He¡¯d also made an acquaintance with several others. When Sorcha had failed to materialize in compartment six fast enough for Aoife¡¯s liking, the latter brought the game and the playing party to the dining carriage, instead. That was when Cillian met Moira, but he didn¡¯t care to find out if she was Teagan¡¯s mot, sister, or whatever. Her making an appearance caused the sulking boy to vanish posthaste, taking his disdainful glances with him, which was good enough.

    Even just playing a couple of rounds in the company of seven others had made his head spin from all the talk and banter. It appeared they were all well familiar with one another. Cillian had excused himself soon after, justifying the retreat with a thought that he managed enough progress for one day.

    Overall, he¡¯d been feeling restless the whole time. It wasn¡¯t nervousness because of what awaited him ahead or fear because of the imminent risk of being attacked by beasts but rather something else. He thought the confinement itself was the likeliest culprit. He simply wasn¡¯t accustomed to being so sequestered from the world for such a long time.

    Constant dimness and noise messing with his sleeping routine hadn¡¯t helped either.

    So the hours dragged on.

    When, an eternity later, an announcement proclaiming they would arrive in 20 minutes finally came, Cillian felt like cheering. He carried both excitement and exhaustion, despite not engaging in anything remotely straining for close to two days.

    ¡°Finally,¡± he couldn¡¯t help but blurt out loud.

    ¡°Tsk, I¡¯m disappointed,¡± Eamon declared, reclining on the bed with both hands behind his head.

    Cillian glanced at him, then back through the window. ¡°The settlement¡¯s not even visible yet; how can you be disappointed already?¡±

    ¡°Not that. I¡¯d been hoping we¡¯d get attacked at least once.¡±

    ¡°What? Why would you hope for something like this?¡±

    Eamon shrugged. ¡°The outside is supposed to be teeming with beasts, innit? Where are they then?¡± He sat up and leaned close to the glass as if hoping a monster would emerge then and there.

    ¡°Trains use steam and not aether for a reason. And beasts around these parts likely learned to stay away the hard way. I was given to understand that O¡¯Driscoll runs the route regularly.¡±

    ¡°Nah, beasts don¡¯t really learn. And, anyhow, it¡¯d be nice to see one getting obliterated with our mounted guns from safety.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t speak blindin¡¯ nonsense, Eamon!¡± The words came out harsher than Cillian had intended. ¡°A beast attack is always a serious matter, and there¡¯s no such thing as complete safety.¡±

    ¡°Whoa!¡± Eamon raised his hands up. ¡°Where did that come from? I didn¡¯t mean nothing by it. Just¨C just never seen a beast up close, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Lucky you,¡± Cillian muttered before taking hold of himself and hastily changing the subject, ¡°Anyway, I want to get out as soon as possible; sick of being cooped up in here. Hopefully, there won¡¯t be any lengthy security checks on arrival.¡±

    There weren¡¯t.

    The train station turned out to be a teeny concrete box, resembling an entrance to a bunker more than anything. Just a single structure, nothing else. Not even personnel.

    Why does it look so drab, and what¡¯s the point of it being here in the first place if we don¡¯t even use it?

    Cillian voiced his confusion to no one in particular when he finally emerged to the open air once again, and, to his surprise, Teagan decided to answer.

    ¡°There was a better one some time ago, fully manned and equipped, but beasts overran it thrice. So they decided to just make this,¡± he nodded at the squat building, ¡°and don¡¯t use any aether burning whatsoever. And the crew only comes in from the settlement when necessary. This way there¡¯s nothing to destroy and no need to rebuild over and over.¡±

    Cillian looked at him, wondering when the fella had begun considering him worthy of polite attention.

    ¡°What?¡± Teagan noticed his expression and asked heatedly.

    That¡¯s better.

    ¡°Nothing. Thanks for the info.¡±

    The boy eyed him for a moment and scoffed, ¡°Whatever. Do try to correct your ignorance, tarhead.¡±

    Their welcoming committee consisted of six trucks ¨C modified AA models, Cillian recognized, which had their open cargo beds extended until they were hanging a full meter behind the rear axles ¨C and four smaller and older T2 models, with their black leather roofs folded back like accordions and the lone passenger seats replaced with big guns on swivel bases. The students were counted, divided between the trucks, and they were off.

    Getting freight treatment wasn¡¯t the most pleasant experience ¨C everyone had to sit on the floor and hold on to the side walls for dear life. The bed didn¡¯t even feature a tailgate, for aether¡¯s sake. And swallowing dust from the trucks in front coupled with jumping up and down on countless bumps made examining the surroundings a difficult exercise. The single local skywalker was already powered down for the day, too.

    Regardless, the hopping headlights provided sufficient illumination for Cillian to soon spot the settlement¡¯s walls. Not nearly as impressive as even the midring wall in Lua, they still stretched a good 20 or so meters in height and sported battlements all along. The procession didn¡¯t make for the main gate though, which was easily identifiable by two guard towers flanking it, but rather rode past it, reached the corner, and turned right, heading toward the opposite wall.

    Cillian saw the Everstorm far in the distance ¨C not a trace of blue anywhere now, just dull white in the center and even duller white at the edges ¨C and, thanks to it, could now orient himself for the first time since disembarking. It seemed the settlement was more or less aligned with the cardinal directions.

    They reached the Heaven wall, which stood less than a hundred paces away from a forest, and the transports spread out into a single line to ride alongside it. A break in the stone barrier soon revealed itself ¨C not another gate but a hangar, sticking out slightly as if it had crashed into the wall from the inside and decided it was a good place to stay. As they got closer, the warm light spilling out of the open gateway gave Cillian a view of the ramp smoothly creeping out in between a pair of guide rails already extended across the ditch.

    One by one the motorwagens disappeared inside, with the escort transports entering last.

    Out of the hangar through the other side and into the open space they went, on foot, leaving the torturous vehicles behind and each carrying their own baggage. As they were being marched to another walled enclosure inside the walled enclosure, Cillian saw the buildings¡¯ windows and lanterns gleam down the slope, inviting him to explore, but very shortly his field of vision became dominated by the looming stone once again. The walls surrounding the academy grounds appeared even taller than their outer counterparts.

    It felt to him like they were sneaking in as if thieves in the night since even here they¡¯d entered through what clearly was just a side gate. To add to the impression, no one greeted them on the inside, and the place itself was dark and hushed. No lights were visible, apart from a small glowing island surrounding a lone lamp post further ahead. No sounds indicating any activity reached them either.

    However, it wasn¡¯t entirely silent as there was constant monotonous chirping coming from all directions.

    ¡°An auspicious start,¡± Eamon whispered from Cillian¡¯s right.

    Is everyone asleep? I¡¯d like to join them right about now.

    ¡°Welcome to the Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy, neophytes!¡± one of the chaperones, who Cillian recognized from the train, proclaimed after stopping and turning around to face them.

    ¡°Welcomed, are we?¡± Eamon asked loudly, standing in the middle of the throng and making a show of looking around with exaggerated slowness. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel like it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just how it goes, lad. You¡¯ll meet your nanni¨C ahem, instructors soon enough. For now, on behalf of the Security division, allow me to wish you all a pleasant stay. I dearly hope you find your time in this place cozy, restful, and not at all traumatic!¡±

    The guards all around chuckled, and the man himself was still laughing even as he resumed leading the column deeper inside.

    An auspicious beginning, indeed, Cillian thought while excited chatter reverberated around him.

    For better or worse, it would be his home for the next seven surges.

    He eyed the sky, noticing the skywalker¡¯s dark silhouette hanging dormant, with layers of constantly shifting aether smears of all colors ¨C most of them blue ¨C serving as its backdrop.

    A hand pushed Cillian from behind to keep him moving, and he looked back at the seemingly lifeless buildings.

    As far as first impressions went, this one didn¡¯t inspire confidence.

    And what in the aether is this damn noise?

    He caught up with Eamon.

    Just grand.

    Sure hope I¡¯ve made the right choice.

 Chapter 4. Onboarding

    Cillian woke up and rolled to the side with a quiet groan. The mattress pressing into him felt stiffer than usual, somehow. Much stiffer. The boy squirmed, trying to get more comfortable, and sluggishly noted that there was still no skylight coming from the window, which was all the permission he needed to allow himself to melt into the sheets once again. Smiling and already halfway back to happy slumber, a single hazy thought passed through his mind, Weird. Since when is there a window right above my head?

    His eyes flew open and he craned his neck to stare upside-down at the iron-barred opening. That and a small, dark silhouette sitting on the sill just outside and seemingly looking back at him curiously.

    Huh? Cillian blinked and sat up, comprehension making a drowsy comeback. Another blink ¨C the shape was still there.

    Right, I¡¯m in the academy now.

    He reached for the regulator of the aether-powered lamp, which jutted out from the wall next to the bed, and rotated it ever so gently, hoping not to spook the creature. Alas, at the first sign of light, the bird took off immediately, and the only thing he¡¯d managed to glimpse before it disappeared was its blue and pink feathers. Pretty.

    A glance at the clock hanging opposite the window revealed it wasn¡¯t even 6 yet; plenty of time before the day would begin in earnest. But, as he was wholly awake now, Cillian stretched, swung out of the bed, and went to the bathroom ¨C every unit had its own, thankfully ¨C to take a shower. He¡¯d neglected to do it yesterday ¨C and the day before that, come to think of it, stuck on the train as he¡¯d been ¨C and was now in dire need of one.

    In fact, the previous evening he had accomplished nothing more than shrug off his clothes and crash. Who would have thought that restlessly doing nothing for hours on end could be so exhausting?

    He turned on the water, made it just shy of scorching hot, and sighed contentedly.

    Cillian doubted that anyone else had engaged in any exciting activities either since, after they¡¯d all been ticked off the list and handed their unit keys by the lone academy staffer welcoming them aboard, the entire cohort had been marched straight to the dormitory and told not to leave until morning. It was all very quare. He¡¯d expected to at least receive some sort of inspirational yet intimidating speech by a stern-looking chevalier in charge, congratulating them for being admitted and warning not to be eejits all in the same breath or something of that sort.

    But there had been nothing. No light, no speech, no people.

    What was that bird? he wondered idly while washing away the sweat of the journey. Hororohoruru? Didn¡¯t seem hostile.

    After the shower, Cillian checked out the room¡¯s wardrobe and found it to be filled with an assortment of clothes. Most notably, it contained two full sets of uniform consisting of: straight-fit trousers, dark grey; a long-sleeved dress shirt, white; a basic five-button vest, of a slightly lighter grey color; and a silk neckerchief, of the customary Foerstner burgundy. As for the outerwear, a pair of identical corduroy jackets, featuring a standing collar, a couple of big breast pockets, and only four large buttons across the entire length, were hanging on top of the uniforms. Interesting choice of material, he mused, caressing the tough fabric. It looked as if it was made from countless black cords, very thin, laid parallel to each other. The poor man¡¯s velvet, it was often called, to his knowledge. Cillian hadn¡¯t thought Foerstner would ever use a material associated with the word ¡°poor¡±.

    He started putting on the uniform while also peering closer at the rest of the contents.

    There was some sort of white turtleneck, only very light and airy, paired with loosely cut cotton trousers. Athletic wear, maybe? To the right swayed a thick leather apron, its purpose unknown. A neat row of boots ranging from elegant to menacing lined the bottom, while several differently-sized bags adorned the shelf at the top. No hats anywhere though, which he found surprising.

    Cillian nodded in satisfaction as the final piece of the attire ¨C the jacket ¨C slid its way on top of his body. He looked at himself in the framed mirror affixed next to the front door. That tiresome medical examination, which included taking lots of measurements, had been put to good use, it seemed. He felt comfortable. Or, at least, as comfortable as one could get when wearing unfamiliar clothes for the first time.

    Out of the room and into the hall he went, gently shutting the door behind and, to his surprise, finding the saffron light already coming from the communal area. Cillian strode toward it and saw another figure, clad in a blouse and a skirt, doing the same from the opposite wing, closer to the destination than him.

    The girl soon turned right and disappeared from his view, but her voice carried out to him.

    ¡°What are these?¡±

    As he approached the space, he noticed that she was talking to a dark-haired, bespectacled fella who was sitting on one of the velvet sofas, leisurely flipping the pages of a leather-bound booklet, which had an outline of a golden shamrock depicted on the cover.

    ¡°Our very own chronicles,¡± the boy replied, his words measured and carefully enunciated. He glanced at Cillian and gave a small nod.

    ¡°Ooh, where¡¯s mine?¡± She started rifling through the three stacks of folders arrayed on the polished wooden table in the center of the room, making a mess of them.

    ¡°Shauna,¡± the lounging boy grimaced and admonished.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°They are all signed and arranged in alphabetical order. Put them back in place.¡±

    She scoffed, finally found her own, and replied, ¡°Do it yourself if it bothers you.¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± Cillian interjected.

    The cailin only glanced at him and said nothing while the boy raised his eyebrows and asked, nodding at the jacket, ¡°Going somewhere?¡±

    ¡°Just planning to look around.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been told to remain here, remember?¡±

    ¡°Until the morning.¡± He glanced through the set of lofty windows and saw the brightening world outside. ¡°I¡¯m Cillian, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Oscar.¡± The newly introduced fella slowly looked Cillian up and down as if trying to commit every hairsbreadth to memory. It was kind of unsettling. ¡°This one¡¯s Shauna,¡± he added with a lazy wave.

    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡° Cillian remarked, gladly stepping out of Oscar¡¯s direct line of sight and shuffling to the table himself.

    ¡°This is steamin¡¯ rubbish!¡± Shauna exclaimed and tossed her now empty folder to the floor while holding open an identical booklet and several bound sheets of paper, with the first one sporting the words ¡°Rules of conduct¡± at the top in a large font.

    ¡°What is?¡± Oscar glanced at her.

    ¡°What¡¯s a ring?¡± Cillian asked at the same time, looking over the girl¡¯s shoulder.

    She whirled around and glared at him. ¡°And what are you looking at?!¡±

    ¡°Whoa.¡± He took a step back and raised a calming hand. ¡°Only curious, what¡¯s the big deal?¡±

    ¡°The big deal? The big deal?!¡± she almost screeched, threw up her hands, then turned to Oscar and complained, only marginally quieter, ¡°I¡¯m the second ring, Oscar! Me!¡±

    The boy blinked and pivoted to fully face her, nestling one leg on the sofa¡¯s seat and one arm on its weaving backrest. Very unhurriedly. Everything he did appeared slow and deliberate.

    ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± His expression was solemn, apart from a wee upward tug at one corner of his mouth.

    ¡°I do say! This is intolerable!¡±

    While she was letting out her frustration, Cillian pinpointed his own folder and was now reading the opening page of the ¡°chronicle¡±, as Oscar had called it. Three distinct sections stared at him. The top one simply read:

    ¡°Cillian Faol¨¢n Shea.¡±

    ¡°Date of Birth: 17/G/440AF¡±

    The one below:

    ¡°Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy¡±

    ¡°Date of Admission: 49/B/458AF¡±

    ¡°Ring: 2¡±

    ¡°Date of Companion Elanroot Acquisition: ¡±

    ¡°Year 1 Ranking: ¡±

    ¡°Year 2 Assignment: ¡±

    ¡°Date of Graduation: ¡±

    ¡°Honored Chevalier Assignment: ¡±

    And the final section contained a single line:

    ¡°Companion Species: ¡±

    The rest of the pages were all blank. Judging by the name, the book was presumably meant to be filled with heroic deeds and exploits he would accomplish over the course of his long and illustrious career. Hopefully.

    Cillian mused about the entries. Most of them were self-explanatory ¨C also empty ¨C but what exactly being of the second ring meant, he didn¡¯t know. Nothing good if Shauna¡¯s reaction was any indication. There was also a curving golden line painted on the inside of the cover ¨C a single stroke, nothing else ¨C which, at first, he¡¯d taken for a bizarre decoration but, after closing and opening the booklet a couple of times, realized that the line exactly mirrored the shamrock¡¯s stalk on the outside.

    So they¡¯ll add the leaves in here as well as to my mask. Nice.

    The storm in the background was still going strong.

    ¡°How dare they humiliate me so?! I swear, when I get my hands on whoever made the decision¨C!¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s an honest mistake?¡± Oscar asked with a proper smile now.

    ¡°Is being of the second ring somehow bad?¡± Cillian chimed in. ¡°I¡¯m also one.¡±

    Shauna whirled to face him, again, doing it so fast her long wavy hair loudly smacked the top of another sofa at her back.

    She glowered, ¡°Of course you are, you¨C you steamin¡¯ tarhead! I¡¯m surprised you aren¡¯t the first ring! But me?¡± The mad cailin began pacing back and forth while muttering curses to herself, then abruptly stopped and asserted to Oscar, ¡°You¡¯re right, it must be a mistake.¡±

    ¡°And maybe,¡± the boy gestured at the line of windows, which, thanks to the arching wall, were giving them a panoramic view of the academy grounds, ¡°It¡¯s not too late to fix it? The day¡¯s fresh; there is time.¡±

    Shauna perked up. ¡°Yes. Yes! I¡¯ll do just that. And will make them bleedin¡¯ apologize to me!¡± She gathered the folder from the floor, forced the papers and the booklet inside, and stomped toward the staircase. It was a wonder she wasn¡¯t furiously waggling her fists at the sky.

    Once her footsteps faded, Oscar returned to a lounging position. ¡°Shauna, Shauna, never change.¡± He chuckled, glanced at confused Cillian, and explained, ¡°There¡¯s no one here yet. Sure, some security and service personnel, but the instructors and the headmaster are all away. She¡¯s going to complain to the empty hallways.¡± He suppressed another chuckle, shaking his head in amusement.

    Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. ¡°What do you mean there¡¯s no one here? Where is everyone then?¡±

    The fella gave him a self-satisfied smile. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡±

    When nothing else was forthcoming, Cillian shrugged and gazed around the communal area to distract himself. To tell the truth, the whole spectacle had made him uncomfortable and at a loss what to do or say, the same as during the confrontation between Eamon and Teagan on the train. He wondered if it was just him, or both situations had been really quare.

    A painting of a tall man in gleaming armor, pinning some kind of ursine monstrosity to the ground with a spear, adorned the wall to the left of the windows. That¡¯s a¡­ what did she call it? Steamin¡¯ rubbish, he thought. Surely, chevaliers don¡¯t wear full-body armor like this? On the opposite side was a similarly unrealistic depiction of a typical Lua street at night with dozens of elegantly dressed residents strolling one way or another while being illuminated by the soft light from the many windows and torches. It was unrealistic because the Everstorm was hanging right above the street, big and dull orange everywhere but at the very core, yet it somehow didn¡¯t contribute much illumination to the scene.

    And who uses torches anyway?

    Cillian had to admit that both pictures looked striking in their gilded frames amidst the deep crimson of the walls.

    He noticed something else on one of the tables next to the windows and came closer. A clatter of copper coins with a hole in the middle of each were arranged in tidy stacks of twos and threes, held together by strings. He picked up one such stack and wondered out loud, ¡°And these are¡­?¡±

    Oscar obliged, not looking around, ¡°Tokens, I presume. Rather drab looking, no? I have four.¡±

    ¡°Four?¡± He examined the table but couldn¡¯t see any sets of more than three. First come, first serve, I guess? ¡°And what are they for?¡±

    The boy sighed theatrically enough for Cillian to hear. ¡°Do I look like an instructor to you? All will be answered, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Yet you already have the answers, don¡¯t you? Clearly, not everyone had suffered difficulties in obtaining information about the academy.

    He slipped the string in his pocket and turned around, intent on venturing outside and exploring the place while he had a chance, but stopped as a somewhat peculiar thought crossed his mind ¨C consideration for a fellow classmate. Peculiar, because it¡¯d been a while. Didn¡¯t Eamon complain that they¡¯d have to wake up ¡°bleedin¡¯ early¡±, and he hated doing that? Cillian felt sure the boy had. Admittedly, he¡¯d talked an awful lot about a rake-load of things.

    Should I make a good friendly gesture? He¡¯s on the same floor as me, so one of the sets has to be meant for him.

    After a brief mulling over, he did just that ¨C located the folder with golden strokes artfully tracing ¡°Eamon O¡¯Leary¡± on the dark leather surface and dropped another trio of tokens inside. All under the watchful eyes of Oscar, who appeared a touch disapproving.

    Cillian wasn¡¯t even sure if he liked Eamon, but, at the very least, the boy was an easy company, and it cost him nothing to help. He also hoped that in the future gestures like this would start coming naturally, without him having to think long and hard every time.

    Alright, mission accomplished.

    Before leaving, Cillian carefully inspected the surroundings one last time, confirming he hadn¡¯t missed anything else. When nothing stood out, he nodded his thanks to the sitting fella, buttoned up his jacket, and headed toward the stairs.

    <hr>

    Halfway down the flight leading to the ground level, Cillian halted, looked back at the unlit communal area on the second floor, shrugged, and went to check out the table there.

    A single four-token string still sat untouched. He exchanged it for his old one. That¡¯s better.

    The boy smiled and resumed the descent.

    <hr>

    Crisp air enveloped Cillian once he stepped outside. The skywalker was hovering almost directly overhead, which left him disoriented for an instant, as the object¡¯s position and brightness, or lack thereof, didn¡¯t belong together. Something¡¯s wrong, his mind tried to tell him, but the boy closed his eyes and shut it up swiftly.

    Nothing¡¯s wrong, eejit. It¡¯s not Lua, is all.

    Indeed. He hadn¡¯t paid much attention last night, but it appeared the walker in this place simply didn¡¯t move. Which made sense, now that he thought of it. Why would it? The area was small enough for the spotlights to reach everywhere all at once. Not that Cillian could see the effect on the settlement proper since the walls stood in the way.

    Speaking of the walls. Same as their colleagues surrounding the town, they featured a tower at every corner, likely manned around the clock, but no battlements. Potentially interesting, though he wouldn¡¯t risk climbing anything on the first day. His eyes swept back to the structures inside the perimeter.

    The building he¡¯d just exited was a simple limestone box with a semicircular bulge in the middle where the communal areas were. Barred windows spread down the wings on either side of it, and a mansard roof completed the boring ensemble. Disappointing. The structure across was even more uninspired ¨C nothing but a large hangar with lots of condenser fans and exhaust pipes sticking out from all surfaces.

    To his left stretched the main building of the entire establishment. The entire settlement, even. It stood perpendicular to both the dormitory and the hangar, protecting the Heaven side of the rectangular yard.

    Aren¡¯t corpos supposed to be obsessed with appearances above everything else?

    The architects of this place hadn¡¯t gotten the memo, apparently, since even the heart of the academy presented a bland sight. As Cillian neared the double doors leading inside, he recalled that the majority of the facilities were supposed to be situated underground. And Foerstner likely didn¡¯t feel the need to show off as everyone in the entire town worked for the company and lived here to support the manufactu¨C err, the education of chevaliers in the first place. Aye, that must be it.

    In the echoing atrium he promptly ran into his good friend Shauna, who appeared a wee harried.

    The cailin scowled at him. ¡°There is no one here!¡±

    Aether, why does she always have to yell at me?

    ¡°And that¡¯s my fault how exactly?¡± She opened her mouth to voice some inane reason, no doubt, but he carried on, ¡°After you left, Oscar mentioned something about all the instructors and the headmaster being away. Know anything about it?¡±

    The girl blinked, then smacked her forehead. ¡°Forgot about that.¡± Puffing out the air in mirth at her expression turned out to be a mistake because she noticed and instantly rounded on him again, ¡°And why are you here?¡±

    Cillian eyed the interior. ¡°Just having a tour.¡± He attempted a calming tone as if talking to a quarrelsome cat.

    ¡°Well, you can return to the dormitory; there¡¯s no one and nothing around. All doors are closed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to take a gander anyway.¡±

    Shauna scoffed. ¡°Suit yourself, tarhead. I¡¯m going back.¡±

    He gave her his most unimpressed look and proceeded deeper. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself on the way out, kitty, the doors are heavy.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± When he only waved without looking back, she cursed him and stormed off.

    Blindin¡¯ nutty or not, the girl had been correct, Cillian quickly discovered. There were labels identifying various sections as ¡°Classrooms¡±, ¡°Auditorium¡±, and ¡°Underground¡±, but no way to get in. The areas containing the instructors¡¯ quarters and offices on the second and third floors were similarly shut.

    He grew bored and cut his exploration short without going to the top. The only semi-interesting thing he¡¯d found was a blackboard decorating the wall to the left of the wide stairs on the ground level. ¡°Schedule,¡± the heading read. And even that was bereft of contents.

    Back outside wasn¡¯t much better. Next to the side entrance, which had welcomed them just a few hours prior, sat another hangar, smaller and with only a handful of ventilation yokes. Add a water tower, a nondescript house near the far-right corner of the main building, a shed next to it, and that was it ¨C the entirety of the proud Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy. What was on the surface, in any case.

    Somewhat disenchanted, Cillian returned to the dormitory, where some activity was finally happening. Sounds were coming from the dining hall, even though the doors remained closed, and the light on the second floor was on. Still no people in sight, but merry laughter spilled from above.

    Oscar and Shauna had been joined by half a dozen other individuals, with everyone occupying sofas, armchairs, and cushions while coalescing around the pair. Only Sorcha stood apart, studying her copy of the rules of conduct.

    Cillian walked up behind her and asked, ¡°Anything noteworthy?¡±

    Sorcha jerked forward, then looked at him with a grimace. ¡°Personal space, dandy!¡±

    Great job, mucker.

    Cillian raised an apologetic hand. ¡°Sorry, just wanted to know if there¡¯s anything worthwhile.¡±

    ¡°Do you not have your own?¡± She pointedly eyed the folder in his other hand.

    ¡°Aye. But no way I¡¯m reading all this,¡± he nodded at the stack of papers in her arms, ¡°if all it says is that we should do things that are good and not do things that are not so good.¡±

    The girl smiled. ¡°I believe most regulations say something of that so¨C¡±

    ¡°Sorcha!¡± came a loud and by now regrettably familiar voice.

    She grimaced, ignored the caller, and continued, ¡°And just so happens, no, there isn¡¯t anything worthwhile. No one should have any problems following the rules unless they are a complete barba¨C¡±

    ¡°Oi! Don¡¯t ignore me!¡±

    Cillian sighed. Sorcha sighed with him, muttering, ¡°Speaking of barbarians.¡± She glanced at the shouting girl with palpable disdain. ¡°Oh, Shauna? Sorry, didn¡¯t see you there, took you for a banshee. Have you already forgotten where your room is? Need a hand finding it?¡±

    All around, people erupted in poorly suppressed laughter.

    ¡°You can stick your hand in a boiler,¡± Shauna spat. ¡°I wish to know what your ring is.¡±

    ¡°What do you think? You are the only one here who graduated Foerstner primary yet still ended up a second-ringer. I¡¯d say no one could predict it, but I don¡¯t like lying.¡±

    ¡°Sorcha,¡± Aoife admonished from one of the cushions.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Niss take you, you rancid witch,¡± Shauna hissed, a wee bit red now, then stuck her finger at Cillian. ¡°And you are one to laugh, tarhead!¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Cillian pointed at himself. ¡°I wasn¡¯t even laughing.¡± Admittedly, he¡¯d been grinning widely. ¡°Right, I suppose I should show solidarity with the fellow ¡®second-ringer¡¯. And I would if I knew what the fuss was about. What¡¯s a¨C?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not your fellow, eejit! It¡¯s a mistake! One I will correct once the staff actually gets here.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Shauna, seems like a big mistake to make.¡± It was one of the boys, Cillian thought his name was Lorcan, who said that. ¡°You didn¡¯t do as well as you¡¯d hoped on the finals, everyone knows that, so maybe they simply judged you unworthy.¡±

    ¡°Who cares about the finals? I got in, so I must be the third.¡±

    ¡°Personally, I find it hilarious,¡± Oscar chimed in with a big, happy smile. ¡°All that posturing and for what? To run around in the dark howling at the empty offices?¡±

    Aoife, who crept behind the couch while the boy was talking, smacked him on the back of the head lightly. ¡°Don¡¯t be a bully, Oscar. It might be a mistake, in which case it would be corrected. And if it is not, then Shauna needs our support, not ridicule.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need anyone¡¯s support; I¡¯m not a damsel!¡±

    ¡°About the rings,¡± Cillian tried once again. ¡°What are they for? I can guess the purpose of tokens, I¡¯ve heard some talk about them, but¨C¡±

    ¡°Aye, tokens, what I was about to ask,¡± a large, thickset fella unapologetically cut him off, ¡°How come you have four, Oscar? Did you take one from another set?¡±

    Oscar looked at him flatly. ¡°It¡¯s called getting up early; maybe you should try it.¡±

    ¡°I was plenty early,¡± the boy protested in his rumbling voice. It was kind of pleasant, actually. ¡°I was the first one. At least, I was the one who turned on the lights. There weren¡¯t any fours there, only twos and threes.¡±

    ¡°There weren¡¯t?¡± Oscar asked, sounding surprised.

    Cillian didn¡¯t look at him and, instead, walked up behind Aoife, stopping at an arm¡¯s length this time. She glanced at him questioningly.

    ¡°So what¡¯s with the rings?¡± he asked her quietly while the discussion about who¡¯d taken the four-token string from the second floor was gathering steam. ¡°Do you know?¡±

    She made a so-so gesture. ¡°A more fitting name would be something like ¡®priority order¡¯, I suppose. The ring determines your standing relative to the others but only in a general sense since there are just three of them. The greater the number, the better.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°I¡¯ve surmised as much. Shouldn¡¯t it be the other way around though?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s supposed to represent the walls of Lua. Hiding behind three walls is better than hiding behind one ¨C that sort of thing. And I wouldn¡¯t worry about that.¡± Aoife pointed at the ¡°Year 1 Ranking¡± line in her chronicle. ¡°This is what actually matters. As for the rest, they will gather us today to explain the details.¡±

    ¡°Mhm, that¡¯d be grand. Feels like everyone here knows way more than me. Thank you, Aoife.¡± He nodded to her and turned to retreat to his room.

    Rings and tokens and rankings. With Foerstner, nothing was ever straightforward. He should¡¯ve known.

    On the way back to the wing leading to his accommodations, Cillian could feel someone¡¯s sharp gaze following him, and he felt pretty sure he knew who it was but didn¡¯t pay the attention much mind. Even if the boy had correctly deduced that it was Cillian who¡¯d taken the tokens, what would he do about it? No one had forbidden them to take anything from another floor. He could just claim ignorance.

    After all, it was first come, first serve, wasn¡¯t it?

    <hr>

    Breakfast turned out to be disappointing as well.

    Is this an educational or a penal institution? The bars, the glum buildings, the simple food ¨C what¡¯s with all that? Cillian had been hoping Foerstner would splash some serious scions on their future chevaliers, but it was not to be, apparently. Even their rooms were very plain. So far, the only bright speck amidst the dullness was the elegant communal areas. He wondered how his counterparts who were more accustomed to luxury would cope with the environment. Although, maybe that was the whole point. Teach them to subsist on less.

    Here he was, standing with a tray filled with eggs, thin slices of de-aethered meat, dried tomatoes, and a salad consisting of greens, greens, and more greens. It was like he¡¯d never left school.

    What would it take to get meat from normal animals, some fresh vegetables, and a couple of fruits? Become the headmaster?

    He knew that food production was very challenging and expensive ¨C most of the potentially edible things in the world being tainted with aether saw to that ¨C but still, he was a future chevalier, damn it, and a growing boy to boot.

    Cillian had been the very first to enter the dining hall, and, when he had, a poster proclaiming ¡°1 meal = 1 token¡± briefly made him worried, but a nice lady manning the counter had explained that it only concerned evening meals ¨C breakfast and lunch would always be provided for free ¨C and that they didn¡¯t have to worry about it until week five anyway.

    Maybe they would be able to buy better food, too.

    Now he was facing a dilemma of where to sit. Three big wooden tables stretched across the entire length of the chamber side by side, offering half a hundred available seats, at a glance. 2 floors, each with 2 wings, and 6 pairs of doors opposite one another in every wing makes¡­ 48 students in total. Seems about right. They all had to sit together like one big happy family then.

    He chose the table closest to the side windows and a spot on it right down the middle. This way, he would be neither in the center nor on the fringes. His own thoughts made him cringe. Aether, why do I keep thinking so strategically about crap like this? It¡¯s not that complicated. Just act natural, tool.

    Soon the hall began filling up with people, some arriving in ones and twos, others ¨C in big companies. Before long Cillian had neighbors both left and right. He ate slowly and listened with half an ear, looking for familiar faces.

    Aoife, Sorcha, and an unknown girl had seated themselves at the central table and were preoccupied with a lively conversation, while Oscar was waiting in line and talking to a large fella. Maybe measurements for some had been less precise than others, Cillian mused, eyeing the way the boy¡¯s muscled back and shoulders tested the stretchability of his dress shirt and vest. Shauna was ambling toward the table nearest the entrance, looking down at the porcelain plates on her tray with disdain. She would be quite lovely if not for her constant displeased grimace. Eamon was still nowhere to be found.

    Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

    ¡°And what about you?¡±

    ¡°Hm?¡± Cillian glanced to the right and saw a boy looking at him with an expectant expression. ¡°Sorry, did you ask something? Kind of lost in thought.¡±

    ¡°Aye, I get you, a lot to take in. We,¡± his neighbor gestured at the nearby faces, ¡°have been talking about the rings and tokens and so on. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Right. I¡¯m Cillian Shea.¡±

    ¡°My name¡¯s Patrick. So, what ring are you?¡±

    ¡°Second.¡±

    ¡°Same as me then,¡± the fella smiled broadly. ¡°Seems we are in the minority. You figured what it means yet?¡±

    ¡°I told you what it means,¡± said the girl across from him. ¡°Preferential treatment.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just repeating what you heard on the train,¡± the boy waved her off. ¡°Saying ¡®preferential treatment¡¯ is only marginally less obscure than saying ¡®ring¡¯. Preferential treatment for what exactly? I don¡¯t see anyone getting better meals than me or not having to stand in line. Do you?¡±

    ¡°You know I don¡¯t.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°But clearly it¡¯s going to be important. Otherwise, why have it? And right in our chronicles at that.¡± The cailin then inclined her head at Cillian. ¡°I¡¯m Nuala; Patrick here is not keen on introducing me, looks like.¡±

    He was about to nod in return when a cheerful voice called out to him.

    ¡°Hey, Cillian!¡±

    Eamon dropped on the bench next to Nuala, a steaming cup of tea as his sole company.

    ¡°Eamon,¡± he greeted back, eying the noticeable absence of any food on the tray. ¡°You¡¯re not eating?¡±

    The boy grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t feel like it; me stomach is in knots. Happens sometimes when I¡¯m nervous.¡± His sour look rapidly morphed into a smiling one when he spotted who was sitting at his shoulder. ¡°Good morning! Eamon O¡¯Leary, at your service.¡± He gave a bow, which came out awkward yet did nothing to deter him. ¡°But people also call me ¡®the charming one¡¯. Or ¡®the dazzling one¡¯. Depends on the circumstances.¡±

    Nuala huffed a quiet laugh. ¡°Or they do, do they?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    ¡°Surround yourself with liars much?¡±

    ¡°Alas,¡± Eamon glanced up at the ceiling and affected a forlorn look, ¡°they see this honest face and always try to swindle me. Such is the burden of those pure of soul, I¡¯m afraid.¡± He grinned and shuffled closer to her. ¡°But you have me at a disadvantage, m¡¯lady. You are¡­?¡±

    ¡°Nuala Rafferty. No one calls me charming or dazzling, sad to say.¡±

    He peered at her with narrowed eyes. ¡°Are you a liar too? There¡¯s no way. Even a rotfang would feel your allure. Cillian, quick, call the lady dazzling.¡±

    Munching on the meat as he was, Cillian could only blink in surprise. He slowly finished chewing, swallowed, took a sip of water, and swallowed that too. All the while the company kept staring at him. He turned to regard the girl carefully up and down. ¡°Umm, I suppose you are? Dazzling, I mean.¡±

    Eamon sniggered.

    ¡°Why, thank you. I¡¯ll gladly accept a compliment given with such conviction,¡± Nuala commented with a wry smile.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Cillian scratched at his forehead. ¡°I don¡¯t really know you. And compliments aren¡¯t my forte.¡±

    ¡°No need. Thoughtful compliments are much better.¡± She glanced at Eamon meaningfully.

    ¡°Hey!¡± the boy protested. ¡°My compliments are always thoughtful too!¡±

    ¡°Oh really? My ¡®allure¡¯? What does it even mean?¡±

    ¡°And what ring are you?¡± Patrick interjected, attempting to steer the conversation back on track and eying Eamon a wee sourly for some reason.

    ¡°Ring?¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s what I said.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t checked yet?¡± Cillian asked. ¡°There¡¯s a folder with your name in the communal area.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Eamon looked puzzled. ¡°Nah, I haven¡¯t seen nothing. To be fair, I didn¡¯t look, went down straight away. What¡¯s in there, and what¡¯s a ring?¡±

    Patrick opened his mouth to answer, but a rumble of approaching vehicles made him pause. Everyone turned to look. Behind the windows giving a view into the yard, several trucks were raising a dust haze on their way to the main building. Once they stopped, people began spilling out of the open beds and closed cabins.

    Armed and armored people, to be precise.

    Cillian approached one of the windows to observe closer, and he wasn¡¯t the only one.

    There you are, instructors, hello! And some security personnel, too.

    The groups could be easily distinguished from one another by their attires. The guards were dressed in tough-looking black jackets and pants, overlaid with lighter slabs of carapace of an unknown beast to cover the vital areas. On the other hand, the chevaliers, who were clearly in charge, wore much heavier protection. Not a full armor enclosing every hairsbreadth in steel, like in the painting, but an assortment of solid pieces tightly strapped on top of the gambesons.

    No two chevaliers looked the same though. One was practically gleaming in the yet muted skylight, on account of every single part of his armor being made from polished metal. The cuirass ¨C the chest piece ¨C even appeared forged from bronze. Another chevalier, who briefly glanced at the curious faces behind the glass, had almost no metal on her at all. Instead, everything from the vambraces and pauldrons to the greaves shielding her lower legs and even the battle skirt, composed of overlapping horizontal bands that went all around but left a narrow opening at the front, was fabricated from some scaly hide. Big scales, in color and texture resembling chestnuts, to Cillian¡¯s mind. There was also a man at the back, sporting a tea-green cape, of all things, which was gently undulating in the wind.

    The one element that united everyone present was the fact they all wore burgundy neckerchiefs or scarves, speaking to their affiliation. Even those chevaliers who carried neck protection still had them on top.

    Idly, Cillian noted the difference between Foerstner security personnel in Lua, including the ones who¡¯d chaperoned the students on the way here, and those currently in his line of sight. It seemed that, away from the general public, the company put much more stock in practicality than showboating. Rugged jackets as opposed to flamboyant coats, heavy-duty boots rather than tall ones which were currently in fashion, and the complete absence of any hats ¨C all contributed to the impression. Although, the lack of headwear might be due to their recent open-air truck ride.

    None of the arrivals mingled. Most instructors marched toward the main building, with only a couple heading somewhere behind it, while the enforcers went any which way. One man set out straight to the dormitory.

    ¡°It was nice knowing you,¡± Eamon said from Cillian¡¯s right, making him jolt in surprise.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a dangerous-looking fella carrying a rifle on the way here. And is that blood on his jacket and hands?¡± The boy practically mashed his face against the glass.

    Cillian peered closer too. ¡°Sure looks it.¡±

    The security operative entered the dining hall, and everyone looked up expectantly, but he only froze at the doors and began counting the students.

    Silence stretched for a while, interrupted only by the clinking of cutlery. Eventually, he proclaimed, ¡°47 in total. One is missing.¡±

    Aoife rose and spoke up, ¡°Moira is in her room; she doesn¡¯t eat breakfast.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to know that. You¡¯ll relay the information to her.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she replied even though that hadn¡¯t sounded like a question.

    ¡°The headmaster calls for a general assembly in the auditorium at 8 o¡¯clock. Go through the main doors and turn left. Everyone should be dressed in uniform, including these.¡± He casually untied the neckerchief with his bloody right hand. ¡°One minute early is too late, understood? And in the meantime, don¡¯t go anywhere. There are matters currently happening outside that you have no business witnessing.¡±

    Not staying to see if there were any questions, the man spun around and began marching away.

    ¡°Will there be classes today?¡± a boy from Cillian¡¯s table called out.

    There was no reply, only the sound of the doors swinging shut. They watched the guard stalk back to one of the trucks.

    ¡°Cheerful fella,¡± Eamon commented while the transports reversed and disappeared back through the main gates.

    Cillian checked his pocket watch ¨C 07:35 ¨C and asked, ¡°What did he mean by ¡®matters outside¡¯? Nothing¡¯s happening.¡±

    Both boys returned to the table.

    ¡°Who knows. I get the inkling it¡¯s all deliberate, you feel me?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Nuala asked. She hadn¡¯t bothered to stand or even pause her eating, it seemed, as her plate was now completely devoid of food.

    ¡°I mean all of it.¡± Eamon gestured around. ¡°No greetings yesterday, some mysterious rings you mentioned before, and now this arrival,¡° he nodded at the windows, ¡°suspiciously timed so we could see it. There might be a perfectly ordinary explanation for all that, but the bloody man with a firearm paying us a visit? Why not some ordinary staffer, hm? Cheap theatrics, I say. All of it.¡±

    ¡°For what purpose?¡± Patrick challenged. ¡°None of it made much of an impression.¡±

    ¡°Why yer asking me? I ain¡¯t the one who came up with it.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll tell us soon enough, I reckon. For now, we can at least put one myth to rest,¡± Cillian said.

    ¡°Which is?¡± Eamon raised his eyebrows.

    ¡°That all academy instructors are August chevaliers. There was a single fella wearing a mask, and I¡¯m pretty sure he only had two leaves etched on his left cheek.¡±

    ¡°Hadn¡¯t our mutual friend from the train already disillusioned us, manky culchies?¡±

    ¡°Aye. Not that I put much faith into his words.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± Eamon drank the rest of his lukewarm tea in two gulps and stood up. ¡°Anyway. M¡¯lady,¡± he bowed low to Nuala, ¡°I hope to see you again soon, otherwise¨C¡±

    ¡°We are in the same academy,¡± she remarked.

    ¡°¨Cotherwise I fear I¡¯d languish in despair for all eternity. Now that I got but a glimpse of your beauty¨C¡±

    ¡°Where are you going? It¡¯s still too early,¡± Cillian asked while Nuala mumbled something unintelligible.

    Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°No one appreciates me refined manners. Fine. I just want to check out that folder you told me about. Also,¡± the boy gestured at his clothing, which was decidedly not their issued uniform, ¡°need to change. And, Kil, you aren¡¯t wearing the necker either.¡±

    That said, he twirled around and was gone in a blink.

    Eamon O¡¯Leary, cailini and fellas. Coming and going like a storm.

    ¡°Name¡¯s Cillian,¡± he grumbled, hurrying to finish his meal.

    ¡°You¡¯re friends?¡± Nuala inquired.

    ¡°Hm? No, no, we met on the train.¡± He turned to look at the yard again. ¡°Although, we¡¯ve already been in one scuffle together. I suppose it counts for something.¡±

    ¡°Scuffle?¡± ¡°You two came to blows?¡± Nuala and Patrick asked at the same time.

    But Cillian had already stuffed his mouth full of scrambled eggs and could only shrug in response.

    Friends. After so long, the notion inspired uncertainty rather than delight. Would he even be able to build lasting friendships, the way he was now?

    ¡°Just a minor one,¡± once swallowed, he clarified, seeing that his neighbors¡¯ curious faces weren¡¯t going away. ¡°And not with each other. Doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t even recall what provoked it, that¡¯s how stupid it was.¡±

    A lot of the students were now heading for the doors.

    Before the pair could ask him any more questions, Cillian, too, rose to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the auditorium, I guess. It was nice meeting you both. Eamon had the right idea though; need to get my attire in order.¡±

    He gave a polite nod, brought his tray to the scullery window, and ambled out of the hall.

    Well, nothing to it but try, I suppose. And Eamon seems like a fine option, Cillian mused on his way to the third floor.

    A couple of boys all but flew past him up the staircase. He watched them disappear.

    Aye. Not friends yet, but we¡¯ll see.

    <hr>

    The auditorium turned out to be way more spacious than their measly half a hundred people warranted. Cillian and Eamon sat at one of the top rows straight down the middle, both properly dressed now. The former had not only put on the neckerchief but also exchanged his own boots for a pair of provided dress shoes. They were fiercely uncomfortable.

    ¡°You reckon that¡¯s the headmaster?¡± Eamon pointed at a grey-haired man standing at the center of the stage.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like one to me, but what do I know. He seems tired.¡±

    In fact, all of the instructors appeared to be in various states of fatigue, and only three had taken time to swap their armor for normal clothing. Far to the left of the centerpiece fella, stood a woman in a dark brown dress with sleeves barely reaching the middle of her upper arms ¨C nothing unusual. Apart from the fact that the dress itself was cut into pieces. One piece for each shoulder, one figure-hugging piece going down from below her breasts all the way to the pelvis, and the final one for the skirt. The three parts covering the torso didn¡¯t quite meet, leaving an area where the woman¡¯s white blouse was peeking through ¨C wide at the chest level and narrowing down as it extended toward her neck.

    The two other instructors not dressed in armor flanked the woman. Both were men. The trio were also the only ones wearing hats ¨C fedoras all. However, the woman¡¯s one was, again, more fashionable as it sported a slightly off-center crown and a brim that was curving down a lot ¨C not in the middle but above her right eyebrow ¨C giving the hat an asymmetrical, skewed look.

    The attire succeeded in pulling eyes away from her face but did nothing to mask the woman¡¯s overall exhaustion. It was in the way her shoulders slouched, Cillian supposed.

    ¡°By the by,¡± Eamon fetched his string of tokens from a pocket, ¡°you know what these are for? I saw the ring mentioned in the logbook yoke but nothing about coins with holes in them. I thought maybe these were the rings, but I¡¯m 1, not 3.¡±

    ¡°Logbook¡­ I like it. The proper name is ¡®Chronicle¡¯ though. And the coins are tokens. I only know that for 1 token we can buy dinner, that¡¯s it. Local currency, I reckon. And I¡¯m a second-ringer myself.¡±

    ¡°Aether. Rings, tokens, chronicles ¨C why does it have to be so complicated?¡±

    ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡±

    ¡°Alright, settle down!¡± boomed a powerful voice, cutting through any and all conversations.

    A man, his appearance befitting the delivery, swiftly climbed to the stage and took a spot next to the grey-haired fella. The new arrival looked to be in his sixties and was entirely bold, but vitality radiated from his every movement and gesture.

    ¡°Everyone here? Good. Let us get through the agenda on the double.¡±

    The doors were pushed shut to punctuate the statement.

    ¡°My name is Donnacha Gorman, and I¡¯m the headmaster of Foerstner Chevalier Preparatory Academy. I¡¯m also an August chevalier myself. Every single instructor here is of the Noble rank with years of experience in the field. Niall Zweber,¡± he tapped the man beside him on the shoulder, ¡°is my deputy. I do apologize for our appearance, we were engaged in some rather important and bloody matters until very recently.¡±

    He did look disheveled ¨C the long sleeves of his dress shirt were carelessly rolled up, and the neckerchief lay limply around his neck, untied.

    ¡°These two gentlemen and the lady,¡± headmaster Gorman gestured to his right, ¡°are instructors Rian Thalacker, Mairead Gehler, and Tiernan O¡¯Rourke. Down below are Aisling Haertel and Rory Gehler. And at the doors is Callum Hipke. You will meet the rest later. The proper forms of address are ¡®sir¡¯ and ¡®ma¡¯am¡¯. ¡®Instructor¡¯ is also acceptable.

    ¡°On behalf of the academy, I welcome you all. Your hard climb to the top begins now. You have questions, no doubt, and I will answer some of them. Others ¨C you will have to find the answers on your own.¡±

    Muffled noise came from outside the auditorium ¨C some stomping and rattling of metal ¨C but the man ignored it.

    ¡°First, you do not get graded in the traditional sense. We maintain internal rankings, but you will rarely see them. All I can say is that hard work gets rewarded, and it¡¯s not all about results.¡±

    The fella at the doors ¨C instructor Hipke ¨C cracked them open and stuck his head through the gap.

    ¡°Second, we have two forms of currency here ¨C tokens and stones. You should all have some tokens by now. They can be used for mundane things like meals, cleaning your gear, mending clothes, more frequent correspondence with Lua ¨C the like. Obviously, you don¡¯t have to pay for most of it, and, in fact, the main goal is to give you no choice but to learn how to handle these simple but vital tasks on your own. To that end, tokens can also be used for less mundane acquisitions. Examples include buying extra hours and ammunition for the ranges, renting restricted books from the repository, and buying supplementary equipment for competitions.¡±

    He gave them a somewhat predatory smile. ¡°You will get a chance to figure out what I mean by the latter soon enough.¡±

    Callum Hipke shut the doors again and gave the headmaster a crisp nod.

    ¡°As for the stones, well, all you have to know for now is that the tokens are meant for items available in a more or less boundless supply, while the stones are for limited commodities. It¡¯ll become clear later. The next point is¨C¡±

    Deputy Zweber leaned in to whisper in the man¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Right. Thank you, Niall,¡± he said in a normal volume. ¡°I forgot to mention that you are free to trade the tokens between each other. How you set prices is up to you, we are not going to regulate it, got it?¡±

    Not waiting for an acknowledgment, he moved on, ¡°Now, onto the matter number three. To spend tokens you have to first earn them. The handouts you received earlier are a one-off. You earn tokens by completing assignments, which can vary from simple written tests on various subjects and general chores to hands-on missions, sometimes lasting several days. Nothing too dangerous ¨C believe me, we are very aware that you lot are barely adults ¨C at least until you have any genuine skills to contribute.

    ¡°Which brings me to the rings. Speaking frankly, your ring directly affects your earnings. That is, the higher your ring is, the more tokens and stones you can make.¡±

    He left the statement hanging for a few heartbeats.

    Umm, what does that mean? Cillian exchanged uncertain glances with Eamon.

    ¡°Potentially. The exact formula is a secret, but you can think of it like this:

    ¡°Completing assignments equates tokens, but how you complete them is often up to you. Some of them are strictly individual, but most practical ones have to be fulfilled in groups of predetermined sizes. There is always a base reward for completion, which is used as the starting point. Then, in the formula, the average ring of the group members is used as a multiplier.¡± The man paused to let that sink in. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s not quite as simple as that since there are always things like out-of-control circumstances, impeding injuries, bonus rewards for exceptional performance, and other additional factors to consider, but I hope the general implications are clear to you all.¡±

    Oh you gotta be kidding me. Cillian grimaced.

    ¡°I imagine some of you might think it¡¯s unfair. After all, why hand an edge to those who already enjoy the advantage of better prior education and closer ties to the company? And the answer is simple: such is life. Our families and backgrounds make us inherently unequal. Like it or not, this is how things work.¡±

    The man swept his intense gaze over the gathered faces.

    ¡°There are only 14 first and second-ringers in this entire cohort. But don¡¯t fret, it¡¯s not all bad for you. I was of the first ring myself back in the day. And, like I said, every assignment, no matter tedious or exciting, offers extra rewards for exceeding expectations. Which means there¡¯s no reason for those of a higher ring to not consider you if they think that your contribution would offset any losses caused by the decreased average ring.¡°

    He clapped once, which served as the signal for the doors to be opened.

    ¡°It¡¯s all secondary, regardless. Work hard, follow our instructions, and you will succeed. As for what you have to aspire toward¡­¡±

    The heavy wooden barriers swung open, and both Cillian and Eamon leaned forward with interest.

    ¡°Follow me and don¡¯t rush,¡± came a muted voice from the corridor.

    First through the doorway marched a chevalier ¨C that nobleman with the mask ¨C who proceeded to join his colleagues waiting below the stage. The three of them spread out to stand next to the seats of the lowest row ¨C the one the students had been warned not to occupy ¨C as if preparing to shield the audience.

    What followed next was a procession of platform carts, each clearing the bumpy threshold with a rattle and then rolling in ponderously. Every cart was being propelled by a single individual, but Cillian didn¡¯t even notice them at first, his attention was directed squarely at the cargo.

    ¡°Second-years,¡± Eamon muttered.

    Huh? Cillian glanced at the faces of the new arrivals. Aren¡¯t they supposed to be already gone? But it had to be them, he reckoned, as all three looked young, which was visible even beneath all the grime covering their faces. Dirt was literally falling off them as they strained to push the cages deeper inside.

    Well, the one at the front wasn¡¯t really a cage but a giant glass ball. And inside sat a creature that he could only describe as a lump of green slime. An enormous eyeball swirled to look at them from that lump, seemingly straight at Cillian. He blinked in surprise. The eye blinked too, albeit slowly, as if savoring every wee bit of the motion. The reaction among the students was mixed ¨C someone laughed nervously while a fella on the second row cursed loudly and pressed himself deeper into the seat.

    Aye, that would surely help.

    The advance stopped, and the doors were pushed closed once again.

    The beast¡¯s semisolid shell sparkled in the warm light, but he got a distinctive impression that it was supposed to be glowing too but wasn¡¯t. Then a single tentacle began emerging from the body. Cillian watched in fascination as the appendage grew and grew, green droplets splashing down, while the main mass was shrinking. He didn¡¯t know the species but surmised that the overall volume had to remain constant.

    The tentacle reached the glass, and the featureless stump separated into three ¡°fingers¡±, which immediately stuck to the smooth surface as if sucked in by a pump.

    ¡°A brave choice,¡± Cillian commented.

    ¡°Craic, innit?¡± Eamon looked down at the scene with glee.

    The student next to the cart, a girl, who was clearly the companion¡¯s master, smiled gently at the creature.

    Chevaliers almost always preferred either majestic or terrifying beasts. The slime was just disgusting. Although captivating at the same time, Cillian had to admit. He forced his gaze sideways.

    The creature in the middle was housed in an actual cage. This one he was familiar with. A mongrel. That was, a single individual of the species known as mongrelfolk. One of several species that resembled humans. Or, in this particular case, leprechauns ¨C stocky little men from folklore.

    The heavily muscled, to the point of being comical, creature appeared to be sulking while sitting flat on its arse and scrutinizing the floor. At least, its main head was angled down. The creature¡¯s second head was pointed toward the audience, but its eyes were closed, the mind behind them sleeping. Not a surprise, considering it was the head of an infant. The dichotomy between the dominant neckless head with the face of an old bearded drunkard and the much smaller secondary head on a short yet powerful neck was fiercely unsettling. Clearly, not to Cillian alone if the tense silence among the first-years was any indication.

    The reason for the mongrel¡¯s glum mood was pretty obvious ¨C it was bleeding. Hard to say from where though since the brown rags that passed for its clothes were stained with red all over. Cillian could hear the main head¡¯s labored breathing, now that he concentrated on it.

    He imagined that if you looked at the creature from its right side only, it would appear almost entirely human since both the infant head and the enormous crab-like claw that served as its left arm would be out of sight. The other appendages seemed human enough, discounting the somewhat swollen right hand and both feet.

    Whereas the first two companions were disgusting and unsettling, respectively, the final one was just pure banality. Yet another rougarou. A miniaturized version of the one he¡¯d seen at the graduation ceremony, only without armor. It, too, appeared injured. In fact, there was an entire chunk missing from its rocky shoulder as if someone had taken a bite out of it. It had to have been a mighty jaw indeed. The companion stood proudly, glaring at them and caring neither about the large hole nor a series of smaller ones littering the edges of its moss-covered torso.

    The strangest part was how silent all three of the beasts were. The eye kept blinking, the sedate action sharply contrasting with the tentacle¡¯s haphazard dance along the glass. The mongrel kept breathing. And the rougarou kept imitating a statue. Apart from the wheezing of air, no sounds escaped the freak show in front of them.

    The masters themselves were in a better physical shape. Marginally. The rightmost student, a boy, was grimacing and had his arm in a sling. And he had to push the big cage with one arm. Ouch. The fella in the middle sported a bandaged head. Only the girl wasn¡¯t visibly harmed. And all three of them looked like they¡¯d been mud-wrestling with wild boars for hours and had blood on their gambesons and armor to show for it.

    ¡°These are the ones least injured among the, as of this moment, second-year students,¡± headmaster Gorman proclaimed with a proud smile. ¡°We¡¯ve just returned from the end-of-the-year competition. The competition finalizing the sorting order for selecting assignment posts. The competition determining whether they would spend the entirety of the next year on the border with rotfangs or get a chance to go on an expedition into one of the many lost cities. That competition.¡±

    The man gestured at the trio of human-monster pairs at his feet.

    ¡°They did well. Most of the students did. Unfortunately, there can only ever be one winner, and there is always a very real chance of failure, in which case you don¡¯t get to transition to the second year at all.¡±

    All of a sudden, he jumped down from the stage, landing right next to the mongrel, fetched a dagger from the holster on his belt, and began rattling the bars with it. The companion¡¯s master scowled but said nothing.

    ¡°Come on, you mopey piece of niss-shit, wake up!¡±

    The old head growled and shook side to side, still not looking up, then the beast lifted its right arm and swatted at the cage as if trying to get rid of an annoying bug. But headmaster Gorman proved to be an insistent pest. He transitioned to pushing and pulling the cart rapidly back and forth while keeping up the barrage of insults.

    ¡°Useless lump of meat, you almost got your master killed today, didn¡¯t you? Wake UP!¡±

    In all likelihood, the companion couldn¡¯t understand anything. Resembling a human or not, it was still a young beast, if a somewhat tamed one. But it clearly didn¡¯t care for being disturbed and rattled ¨C its one proper hand curled into a fist, and its growls were rapidly growing in volume. Then, like a hammer blow, the man drove the flat of his boot into the cage, and the mongrel finally snapped its main head up with a ferocious snarl, and, at the same time, the infant woke up and wailed.

    Heaven! Cillian covered his ears, the same as everyone else. The hell is he doing?!

    With speed that belied its ungainly body, the companion moved to its knees, mashed its big head against the bars, and stuck the arm out as far as it would go, trying to reach for the offender, while its claw began banging on the metal, too big to do the same. The infant carried on wailing.

    Headmaster Gorman only smiled in satisfaction and calmly gestured for his colleagues to start rolling the cages away.

    They all watched in silence as the mongrel kept trying to claw its way to the man all the way out the doors, while the eye in the slime spun and darted around in clear agitation inside its shell, the tentacle nowhere to be found. The rougarou remained still.

    Once the doors clicked closed, muffling both the snarling and the horrible yowling, he climbed back to the stage.

    At their bewildered looks, the man shrugged. ¡°The lad should¡¯ve done it himself long ago. It¡¯s no good for a mongrel to act all dejected and broken, not after a fight. But youngsters like you are often too soft.¡± He sighed and cleared his throat. ¡°Anyway. What awaits them now is a couple of weeks in isolation to put themselves back together, both the masters and the companions. It¡¯s an important part of forming a bond, so don¡¯t bother the seniors if you happen to see them. And, as for you, dear newbies,¡± a predatory smile found its way back to his face, ¡°you are a long way off something as exciting as this. For you, it will be hard, often dreary work week in, week out before you even get a sniff of your own companion. Because, as of right now, you¡¯re nowhere near ready.¡±

    He invited the trio of non-armored instructors to join him at the center of the stage with a wave. ¡°Instructors Thalacker, Gehler, and O¡¯Rourke will take it from here. And I will meet you again tomorrow.¡± With that, he whispered something to his deputy, and they both began striding away.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t tomorrow Sunday?¡± Eamon muttered.

    Once near the doors though, the headmaster halted, faced the audience again, and stated, ¡°Welcome to your new lives, boys and girls! Now prove to the company, prove to me that you deserve to become chevaliers. Remember, I will be watching.¡±

    The doors swung shut for the umpteenth time behind the duo.

    Everyone¡¯s way too dramatic in here, Cillian thought while eyeing the other students¡¯ reactions. Some of them appeared utterly unfazed.

    ¡°Alright,¡± the woman ¨C instructor Gehler, was it? ¨C spoke up, ¡°that¡¯s enough excitement for today. It¡¯s time for you to get familiar with the place. We,¡± she gestured at herself and her colleagues, ¡°will take you on a tour.¡±

 Chapter 5. Integrated Development Environment

    ¡°Adenauer.¡±

    ¡°Baessler.¡±

    ¡°Blayney.¡±

    Instructor Thalacker jumped down from the stage.

    ¡°Well? What are you waiting for?¡± he thundered. ¡°Converge on me!¡±

    Cillian saw two guys ¨C Teagan among them ¨C and a girl quickly spring to their feet and move closer to the man, who continued reading from the list in his hands.

    ¡°Eberhardt.¡±

    The callout lasted until a group of precisely one-third of the first-year students formed next to the first row.

    ¡°You are with me. We¡¯ll start the tour in the inventory. Follow.¡±

    In the space of ten seconds the auditorium got significantly less crowded. Why the rush? Cillian found himself thinking.

    Then, instructor O¡¯Rourke looked up from his own list and said, ¡°You all know the alphabet. Everyone from Janz to O¡¯Donoghue, gather next to the doors. We¡¯ll visit the metalworking workshop first.¡± Where the first man had been brisk, this one simply sounded tired.

    When neither of them had moved, Eamon tugged on Cillian¡¯s shirt. ¡°Looks like we are together. What¡¯s your last name again?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Shea.¡±

    Once only a small group remained, the woman took center stage, both literally and figuratively. ¡°The last sixteen will be with me. I¡¯m Mairead Gehler.¡± Her voice was warm, and she wore a gentle smile, which contrasted sharply with her predecessors¡¯ attitudes, even if they all could plainly see the undercurrents of fatigue on her face.

    Cillian glanced around and spotted Sorcha, Nuala, and the thickset boy who¡¯d asked Oscar about the tokens also being part of their group.

    ¡°We will go to the gym and proceed downward from there, then finish the tour by visiting the kitchens, the slaughterhouse, and the rest of the facilities above the ground. I¡¯ll ask you not to dally, alright?¡±

    She started moving, and they followed.

    ¡°The slaughterhouse?¡± murmured Eamon, raising his eyebrows.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t know? It¡¯s in the pamphlet,¡± Cillian replied.

    ¡°That so? Guess I haven¡¯t read it very thoroughly.¡±

    Cillian gave him a look.

    ¡°What? The yoke is entirely too long. Don¡¯t tell me you read all of it.¡±

    He could only shrug. ¡°It was interesting and, you know, kind of important?¡±

    Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll be told everything we need to know now, won¡¯t we?¡±

    They proceeded to the section Cillian had seen before ¨C the one labeled ¡°Underground¡± ¨C which was now open, and took the stairs leading down. There was also a cargo elevator available, an accordion gate serving as its only barrier, allowing them to see the bronze-colored walls and the dark floor inside.

    ¡°Can¡¯t we do the tour some other day?¡± a red-headed cailin descending ahead of him asked. ¡°You look tired, ma¡¯am, no offense. Don¡¯t you need rest? It doesn¡¯t seem like we¡¯re going to have classes today anyway.¡±

    The woman glanced back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can last a little longer. The three of us were on relatively light duty on the final day. You should see some of the others.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Instructor Aleshire had to be all but carried to his room; he was so tired.¡±

    Meanwhile, a few paces behind and above, Eamon began prodding Cillian for his thoughts on what they¡¯d seen and heard during the assembly.

    ¡°So, what do you think? Interesting system they¡¯ve got in place, huh? Rings, I mean.¡±

    Cillian made a noncommittal ¡°mhm¡± sound in lieu of a response. He was still processing the information as quite a lot had been dumped on them all at once.

    And why is the staircase so long?

    ¡°Don¡¯t let Donnacha and his dramatics scare you,¡± instructor Gehler said over her shoulder. ¡°He is very keen on making a strong impression on the new trainees. This whole ¡®let the second-year students and their companions show up all bruised and battered¡¯ was one of his first decrees when he became the headmaster.¡±

    The woman stopped, once they finally descended to the first underground floor, and turned to face them, still smiling kindly. ¡°As if you don¡¯t already understand the importance.¡± She gestured to her left. ¡°The gym is this way.¡±

    Unlike the others, Cillian didn¡¯t look where she¡¯d indicated, and, instead, as soon as his feet transitioned from the steel grating steps to the burgundy carpet with golden and white floral patterns, he cast about, trying to take the whole place in. They¡¯d had to negotiate four flights to descend a single level, which meant that in terms of height it was more like two floors rather than one. The lobby was spacious, and it even felt much more impressive than the stuff on the surface. There were doors and branching corridors everywhere and personnel bustling around. And portraits on the walls, of course; it wouldn¡¯t be a Foerstner facility without the company¡¯s forefathers looking down their noses on everyone either as painted faces or marble busts.

    That¡¯s more like it.

    ¡°You will spend a fair amount of time there being tossed around.¡± She gave a one-shoulder shrug. ¡°Unpleasant but necessary lessons, I suppose. Personally, I¡¯m not a fan.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind being tossed around by her,¡± some eejit at the back muttered with a snicker.

    Cillian sighed.

    If the woman had heard, and he didn¡¯t think it could¡¯ve been missed, she showed no sign.

    ¡°Up ahead is the infirmary. Currently occupied, so we won¡¯t be stepping inside.¡±

    ¡°What about the gym? Will we not go there?¡± The question came from the thickset boy, who¡¯d already strayed a couple of steps in that direction. Cillian really needed to find out the fella¡¯s name, so he could stop mentally referring to him this way.

    ¡°Not this time. The infirmary is a place I hope you¡¯ll never have a cause to frequent, so, if it wasn¡¯t so crowded in there, we would take a look. Unfortunately, this year the injuries were many.¡± She started moving to her right. ¡°The gym, on the other hand, you will visit regularly, and there isn¡¯t anything that requires an explanation. It¡¯s just one big chamber with an attached locker room and a small recovery pool.¡±

    Next on their itinerary was a door simply labeled ¡°Supplies¡±.

    ¡°This is a habitat of our resident quartermaster, Mr. Brian McCloskey. Don¡¯t all come inside.¡±

    Instructor Gehler and half a dozen students entered while Cillian and Eamon halted at the doorway. The space was nothing to write home about ¨C a long wooden counter and rows and rows of high shelves beyond it, filled to the brim with various paraphernalia. An unassuming gray-haired man sat in between.

    ¡°Hello, Brian.¡±

    ¡°Ms. Gehler. Students.¡± He nodded politely.

    ¡°You will get pretty familiar with Brian here and also with Laoise Braband, who oversees the laundry house on the surface, one way or another. You¡¯ll be coming frequently, either bearing tokens asking to mend your clothes or bearing fewer tokens to ask for materials and supplies so you can do the work yourself. It¡¯s¨C¡±

    ¡°What?¡± a disgruntled voice from behind Cillian interrupted. ¡°Why do we have to pay for this? Shouldn¡¯t it be included?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to pay,¡± Mr. McCloskey took over the explanation with a wry smile. ¡°Most basic supplies like threads, needles, pins, tape measures, and so on are all available at no cost. I¡¯ll also be giving free lessons on taking care of your clothing and equipment maintenance. But if you want to use, say, a sewing machine, then aye, you have to part with some tokens. And if you want me or my assistant to do everything for you, then you have to part with more, simple as that.¡± At one of the boys pulling a face, the man laughed. ¡°It only concerns the damage you do to your everyday outfits, not the special ones you¡¯ll get to wear during the scheduled¡­ umm, outdoor lessons, shall I say. We don¡¯t want you to sit around and make stitches all day after all.¡± He laughed some more.

    ¡°As for the laundry,¡± instructor Gehler added, ¡°the bed sheets and blankets and such will be washed for free. And your everyday attires too but only up to twice a week. You all have two full sets so make use of them. You are expected to always be presentable. Always. No matter how busy you are, you have to take care of your appearance. And you do it by either paying with tokens or paying with your time helping Mr. McCloskey and Ms. Braband doing the patching, washing, and ironing.¡±

    ¡°This is steamin¡¯ bollocks,¡± the same voice grumbled. ¡°I¡¯m here to tame a monster, not doing bleedin¡¯ laundry.¡±

    She didn¡¯t sigh, but Cillian could see on her face that she really wanted to.

    ¡°Remember, you represent Foerstner Group, not just yourself. And being a chevalier means you often venture into faraway places with minimal available amenities. You have to learn how to look after yourself, whether it is killing beasts with your companion or making sure you don¡¯t stink and all of your equipment is functional. Our goal is to teach you to be as self-sufficient as possible.¡±

    ¡°Hence the cooking we¡¯ll also have to do,¡± said the redhead from before.

    ¡°Hence the cooking.¡± The woman nodded. ¡°And hence the skinning, butchering, and de-aethering, as you¡¯ll see.¡± She thanked Mr. McCloskey for his time and shooed them all outside. ¡°But enough about dirty business. Time to progress further down.¡±

    ¡°What about the other doors and corridors, ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Nothing much. There is a recreation area down this hallway.¡± She pointed further past the ¡®Supplies¡¯. ¡°Just follow the directions. Not a lot to see there really; I think you are all capable of picturing what a room full of sofas and tables looks like. Some other areas are maintenance, personnel-only, and the rest are office spaces and such. Feel free to take a look on your own later, but as a rule of thumb ¨C if there is a guard present or a warning saying it¡¯s for staff only, then it¡¯s obviously off limits.¡± She grinned impishly. ¡°I suppose, you can always try sneaking inside; just don¡¯t get caught.¡±

    When they began shuffling down the stairs again, Eamon said quietly, ¡°She¡¯s nice, ain¡¯t she? Everyone else appears deadly intense.¡±

    Cillian was contemplating how arseways his cooking usually came out (despite father¡¯s protestations to the contrary), so his reply was absentminded, ¡°She probably teaches ¡®World Studies¡¯ or some other theoretical course, while Donnacha gives lessons on, dunno, people murdering or the like. Or maybe ¡®How to look intimidating 101¡¯?¡±

    Eamon sniggered, but his laugh was overshadowed by a loud, half-suppressed snort from above. Cillian glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to discover that it¡¯d come from Sorcha, who was now studiously looking away and pretending that it wasn¡¯t her who¡¯d made that sound.

    ¡°Actually, headmaster Gorman teaches ¡®Diplomacy¡¯. Also butchering, but that¡¯s beside the point,¡± their guide for the day remarked, her eyes sparkling with merriment. ¡°And I am your archery instructor. Although, I do like ¡®World Studies¡¯; it¡¯s an interesting class.¡±

    ¡°Diplomacy and butchery, that¡¯s a whopper combo.¡± Eamon kept sniggering. ¡°When one fails you can swiftly follow up with the other.¡±

    Amidst the ensuing laughter, they descended to the second underground level and reached the wall on the right.

    ¡°Welcome to the Repository.¡±

    The double doors opened, and Cillian found himself in a¡­ library. Why the fancy name?

    A labyrinth of bookshelves stretching almost to the ceiling hailed them from the left. And above some of the shelves he spied suspended brass signs with letter outlines engraved onto them. The readability was debatable, but he could just about make out the labels denoting the books on ¡°History of Lua¡±, ¡°The Great Flood¡±, and, more excitingly, ¡°Bestiary¡±.

    To Cillian¡¯s right was an equally large space, but it was split into two separate open floors. The lower one was clearly a reading area filled with dark acacia desks, upholstered pine green chairs, and lamps, in addition to what he assumed were private booths along the walls. The mezzanine he couldn¡¯t quite see from his position, but it was clear that the space was also dominated by wooden shelves containing something.

    He immediately knew that he would love it here.

    Instructor Gehler gave them a moment to absorb the scene then said, ¡°Another place you¡¯ll no doubt frequent. As you can see, books are on the left, the reading area ¨C on the right. Most but not all books can be borrowed but only for a limited amount of time.¡± She gestured to a man standing down the middle. Cillian hadn¡¯t even noticed him before.

    ¡°You bring a book you want to Mr. Shane Foley over there, and he makes a record of it. But I¡¯m sure you all know how this works; what we really came here to see are the phonographs.¡±

    She led them deeper inside, and the gentleman, Shane, fetched one apparatus from a rack at his back, placed it on the counter, and gestured at it with both hands.

    ¡°Greetings, first-years. For those of you who are unfamiliar, this is a phonograph, specifically, a cylinder phonograph ¨C an instrument for both recording and reproduction of sound. It has a sibling of the disc variety, mostly used for playing music. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve all seen them.¡±

    Cillian was, of course, well familiar with music-playing gramophones. He¡¯d never heard them called phonographs but assumed they were the same. The thing he was currently looking at was narrow and elongated, and the name said it all really ¨C the main part took the form of a small cylinder. Instead of a turntable to put a disc record on, the barrel-shaped horizontal yoke was meant to¡­ slide a cylinder record on top of, maybe? The horn was basically the same though, if somewhat narrower ¨C more of a bud than a flower at the end.

    ¡°Allow me to demonstrate to you how it works,¡± Mr. Foley said while pulling his white gloves on.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the latest model, but we make do. You just have to proceed with care. First, remove the horn.¡± He unscrewed the brass implement and put it down as gently as if it were a newborn baby. ¡°Unlatch the side clamp; it is used to keep the record in place, see? Like this. And once the phonograph is prepared, you can take the record.¡± Instructor Gehler handed him a small container that¡¯d been waiting on the counter. He opened it, inserted his index and middle fingers inside, and pulled out a wax-colored cylinder, which was, evidently, hollow. ¡°This is how you handle it. Do not touch the surface itself, only the inside or the edges. And be gentle, please, do not press.¡±

    ¡°Aether, what kind of douchewagen doesn¡¯t know how to use a phonograph?¡±

    Cillian didn¡¯t turn around to look but felt confident the words came from the boy who¡¯d been grousing before. Come to think of it, it was also likely the same fella who¡¯d made the inappropriate comment about their instructor. Doesn¡¯t he realize everyone can hear him? Or does he simply not care?

    ¡°Lift the playback stylus and gently slip the record on top of the cylinder.¡±

    He kept watching, hoping the man¡¯s actions were exaggerated and they didn¡¯t have to move quite that gingerly.

    ¡°Then the clamp, stylus, and horn go back into place.¡±

    That accomplished, Mr. Foley toggled the switch on the side of the wooden box housing the guts of the machinery, and the cylinder began spinning. For several seconds there was nothing, only the rhythmic vibration of the engaged mechanism itself. But before long a harsh sound burst out ¨C of a man clearing his throat ¨C and finally, actual words started spilling out, somewhat scratchy and strident on the ear.

    ¡°¡­Ahem. This is a continuation of the record labeled ¡®Elanroot Preservation, Part 1¡¯. Last time we discussed the best methods of on-site conservation of freshly obtained roots. Today, we¡¯ll talk about the strategies regarding their long-term storage, and how we can increase the lifespans. As always when it comes to elanroots, the very first thing we have to consider is the species¨C¡±

    Alas, they weren¡¯t destined to hear more ¨C the topic was actually pretty interesting ¨C because the librarian chose that moment to turn the phonograph off and, as soon as the cylinder stopped revolving, immediately set out to painstakingly perform the assembly process in reverse.

    ¡°The limit for a recording is 20 minutes, give or take, which is why many subjects come in multiple parts,¡± he explained while delicately brushing some loose wax off the cylinder. ¡°Therefore, unlike books, which usually cover an array of different if related topics, the phonograph records are much narrower in scope. And there are even a few made by the previous generations of students. The floor above us contains the repository. And this is the way up.¡± He pointed over his shoulder at the doorway gaping open to the right of the counter.

    The red-haired cailin asked, ¡°I assume we are not allowed to take phonographs to our rooms?¡±

    ¡°You can, actually. For a fee.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Shane. We¡¯ll move on with our tour.¡±

    Mr. Foley inclined his head. ¡°Always a pleasure, Mairead.¡±

    When they exited, instructor Gehler led them to the bulkiest double doors on the adjacent wall. ¡°Workshop¡±, the plaque above the frame proclaimed.

    ¡°One of the two workshops we have in the academy. This one is multipurpose, but it¡¯s mostly used for working with hides of various common beasts.¡± She proceeded to come in.

    Inside awaited an antechamber, both the far and the right walls of which featured wide windows tightly screened by wire mesh.

    ¡°On the left are the lockers, the main space is forward, and the nook on the right is a woodworking area ¨C a much later and smaller addition as we rarely deal with wood. I should mention that for the first several surges you won¡¯t be here too often; it¡¯s even possible some of you would never step foot in this place again since not all companions benefit from having any protective or decorative gear. Case in point being the hedorah ¨C the slime monster you met earlier.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we all going to have classes on armor-making?¡± Cillian asked. ¡°It¡¯s in the pamphlet.¡±

    Instructor Gehler nodded. ¡°Some of you will. We used to have a more extensive handcrafting program, but, the truth is, you already have to learn a lot in a short amount of time, and chevaliers rarely require proficiency in leather working and such. After all, if you need custom armor for your companion or yourself, you have the entire might of the well-oiled Foerstner machine behind you. There are plenty of skilled craftsmen.¡±

    She tried turning the brass handle of the door leading to, in her own words, the main chamber, but it didn¡¯t budge. The woman frowned. ¡°Fergus is not here yet, I guess. Shame. I wanted to show you how it looks on the inside. There are wonderful taxidermy mounts on the walls.¡±

    Her feet carried her to the smaller workshop next, but it turned out to be locked as well. The students followed like ducklings.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± she continued while somewhat grouchily stepping back into the lobby, ¡°the very first armor for your companion ¨C given that it takes to it well ¨C will be made by the academy staff. Everything but the finishing, which is usually handled by a specialist shop in the settlement. And the only mandatory class is metalworking, but even it has limited hours.¡±

    They were going down again, it seemed.

    ¡°Our understanding is always evolving, and these days we believe that making protection for your companion all by yourself doesn¡¯t bring any substantial benefits, so whatever lessons you have will mostly be focused on maintaining armor rather than fabricating it. You¡¯ll appreciate why when you actually procure a companion and begin studying the imprinting theory, which will take a while. And¨C¡±

    Right at the opening to the stairs, she suddenly broke off her explanation and stopped dead, her heeled boots clanging on the grating. Then someone¡¯s outraged voice reverberated, ¡°You there, in a hospital gown, halt where you are!¡±

    Cillian startled and ceased moving as well, and the rest did the same. The woman¡¯s face had turned thunderous. Oh, it was her. He swiveled his head from side to side ¨C there was no one here dressed as a patient, was there? Belatedly, he noticed that she was pointing downstairs; there had to be someone she could see across the staircase¡¯s well.

    Uh-oh.

    ¡°Saoirse, I know it¡¯s you. Come up here. Now.¡±

    Alright. I take back my words about her teaching ¡°World Studies¡±.

    He heard some unidentifiable cursing from below. Had to be cursing. Followed by shuffling.

    The group stood and waited while Saoirse ¨C whoever she was ¨C arduously crept up to their level. Even if Cillian didn¡¯t know that the incomer was wearing a hospital gown, he would still guess that she was injured. Or, perhaps, old. That¡¯s how slow her footsteps and how labored her breathing were.

    The look on the girl¡¯s face when she finally showed up said it all. Guilty.

    Instructor Gehler was displeased, to put it mildly.

    ¡°Saoirse,¡± she began. ¡°What are you¨C?!¡±

    ¡°Please, ma¡¯am, I have to see Darr¨C I mean, I have to see my companion!¡± The cailin looked miserable. ¡°I can¡¯t leave him alone right now! He¡¯s suffering!¡±

    ¡°Saoirse, we¡¯ve talked about this.¡± The woman made an obvious effort to stay composed. ¡°You can see your companion after you get treated yourself.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything serious! Nurse Kaspar has cleared me!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t feed me this rot, girl! I know you escaped; it¡¯s written all over your face!¡±

    More thuds of footsteps came from above, these ones sounding significantly more urgent.

    Saoirse peeped over her shoulder and shuddered. ¡°Oh no.¡±

    Another woman, a brunette wearing maroon scrubs, all but flew down the stairs, clutching the railing to make a tight turn at the landing. When the injured girl came into view, she visibly fumed and proceeded to clear the final flight in three big jumps.

    Cillian felt an urge to take two steps back. Just to observe the spectacle better, you understand.

    ¡°Ms. Oelberg,¡± the newcomer hissed and swiftly grabbed Saoirse¡¯s left hand. The girl winced. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?! You have a concussion, for aether¡¯s sake! Not to mention the bites!¡±

    ¡°Aine, not here,¡± instructor Gehler cut in firmly. She cast a meaningful glance toward her charges. ¡°Bring Saoirse back and make sure she stays there. And you,¡± she looked daggers at the girl, ¡°once I¡¯m done with my duties here, I will pay the infirmary a visit. Look at me.¡±

    Saoirse reluctantly did but not before throwing one final wistful glance at the staircase.

    ¡°Here¡¯s a question for you. Should I come straight away, or should I swing by Mr. McCloskey first and ask for leather straps? I¡¯m thinking three would do ¨C one around your shoulders, one for the waist, and the last one to tie your ankles to the bed. But what do you think?¡±

    The girl wisely didn¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°I understand the urge, really I do. Your companion is asleep and recovering, the same as¨C¡±

    ¡°And how would you know this?!¡± Saoirse exploded. ¡°You are here, and he is downs¨C!¡±

    ¡°Enough! I know this because I¡¯m a chevalier myself, you silly girl. I¡¯m done trying to be courteous.¡±

    She gestured for the nurse to take the cailin away.

    ¡°Please, ma¡¯am!¡±

    ¡°You have to rest for a couple of days at the very least, Ms. Oelberg. Drop your tantrums and you¡¯ll meet your companion again soon enough,¡± the woman ¨C nurse Kaspar, presumably ¨C urged the distressed girl to leave.

    And that was how they spent the ensuing uncomfortable minute or two ¨C watching the tear-streaked Saoirse, who was breathing shallowly, being more or less dragged upstairs.

    Eamon sidled up next to Cillian and whispered, ¡°I can¡¯t decide if it¡¯s a part of the theater or not.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± He furrowed his brows. ¡°Oh come on, Eamon, not everything here is staged.¡±

    ¡°Just sayin¡¯.¡±

    Cillian could see their chaperone take several steadying breaths before turning to face them once more.

    ¡°That girl. There¡¯s always at least one.¡± She chuckled humorlessly. ¡°In any case, where were we?¡±

    ¡°Did she name her companion?¡± Nuala asked, her tone more curious than mocking.

    Instructor Gehler sighed. ¡°It happens quite often; nothing unusual. But enough about Saoirse; we should continue. Next on our tour are the ranges. My domain.¡±

    As they began descending again, Eamon dragged Cillian closer to Nuala.

    ¡°Nuala! We meet again!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been here the whole time. Seems to me I¡¯m not that dazzling if you don¡¯t even notice me.¡±

    ¡°Apologies. Cillian had been distracting me with his ceaseless conversation, see. Not a moment of reprieve.¡±

    Cillian half chortled, half coughed in surprise. Bleedin¡¯ cockheaded shit-monkey!

    Nuala saw that and pointed at him with a laugh. ¡°Seems to me your friend disagrees.¡±

    Screw that!

    He wasn¡¯t about to be outdone so outrageously. Countless hours spent on the receiving end of the boy¡¯s endless chatter on the train flew through his mind, and Cillian went on the offensive ¨C he cozied up to the girl and said, ¡°Eamon actually told me he¡¯d been practicing compliments on you and meant none of them.¡±

    Nuala hid a smile. ¡°You don¡¯t say?¡±

    ¡°Slander!¡±

    ¡°He also keeps saying that you are wearing this,¡± he glanced down at the leather corset on top of her blouse, ¡°because he reckons you need it.¡±

    She cracked up.

    ¡°Hey now¨C!¡±

    ¡°I knew from the start he couldn¡¯t be trust¨C¡±

    ¡°Will you three shut up?!¡± a hot-tempered big fella snapped and pushed his way past them. ¡°Some of us are trying to listen here.¡±

    Cillian turned into an unwilling admirer of a pair of broad shoulders. Listen to what? Then it clicked. Oh, so that¡¯s what a gorilla looks like. It was that guy who¡¯d made the moronic comments. He¡¯d seen the fella before in the dining hall, speaking to Oscar.

    ¡°Listen to what?¡± Eamon echoed Cillian¡¯s thoughts. ¡°The sound of our boots pounding down the steps?¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The gorilla didn¡¯t reply.

    They emerged onto the third underground level, and one thing differentiating it from the previous floors became instantly obvious ¨C a gate was blocking the way further down. Or it would if it wasn¡¯t unlocked. The bars were jet black but sported a number of golden and brown smears. When he found himself directly in front of the swinging door, he understood ¨C the smears formed a paw if seen from the right angle. A bear¡¯s paw, to his mind.

    Cillian eyed it for some time, wondering what was secreted downstairs. Is this where the cailin had been going? Are the companions there?

    When he at last shook off the distraction, the tail end of the group was already a dozen meters ahead. Cillian caught up in time to hear Eamon grumbling to Nuala.

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying that the entire thing is designed to keep us down.¡± The boy seemed a wee agitated and was speaking rapidly. ¡°Multiplying by the average ring of the group? This just means that all the third-ringers would want to stick working with each other, innit? And us lowly ones would be left in the dust. They would earn way more!¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t even told me what your ring is. Have you found out?¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°Hm? Oh, aye, I¡¯m the first. And you?¡±

    ¡°Second.¡±

    ¡°See? Even for you it¡¯d be disadvantageous to work with me since our average ring would be one and a half. Grand for me; not so grand for you.¡±

    ¡°There, there. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d find someone desperate enough to take you in.¡±

    At that point, the gorilla did a one-eighty and invited himself to the conversation, ¡°Show us that you have a use, that we¡¯d earn more tokens if we include you even if the average ring goes down, then you¡¯d belong here. Can¡¯t do that?¡± He clicked his tongue. ¡°Too bad.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh, that¡¯s what the headmaster said. I¡¯m deeply grateful for repeating his words almost verbatim, sham.¡±

    Aether. Why does he feel the need to provoke everyone?

    ¡°The whole formula thing is garbage,¡± Cillian chimed in before Eamon could kick-start another fight.

    The hulking fella was scowling. He opened his gob to speak, but Cillian didn¡¯t let him.

    ¡°I mean, even if it exists, which I doubt, it doesn¡¯t actually matter because I guarantee you there is an additional ¡®+ X¡¯ factor at the very end, where ¡®X¡¯ could be anything, even negative, depending on what¡¯s necessary.¡± He knew enough about various performance metrics his father had in his workplace. The supposedly fair measurements of productivity, according to which his oul fella should have been promoted yonks ago, but somehow there was always someone else ¡®more deserving¡¯ than him. ¡°It¡¯s all arbitrary and easily exploitable is what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    ¡°So what are you suggesting?¡± Eamon asked. ¡°Just don¡¯t take the average ring into account and earn less?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting anything. Pick whatever partners work for you best, I suppose. Trying to play the game you don¡¯t know the rules of is kind of, you know,¡± Cillian shrugged, ¡°dumb.¡±

    ¡°But we do know the rules,¡± Nuala pointed out.

    ¡°Not really, we only know what we¨C¡±

    ¡°You tarheads come in here and think you can talk shit about your hosts?!¡± the gorilla demanded angrily. ¡°Who in the steamin¡¯ Heaven you think you are?!¡±

    His outburst attracted everyone¡¯s attention, not that Cillian noticed.

    ¡°The hell? I¡¯m talking to Eamon and Nuala here, not you. Weren¡¯t you walking ahead to listen?¡±

    ¡°I can do whatever I want, rat.¡±

    ¡°Rat? That¡¯s a new one.¡± Keep your calm, mucker. ¡°And I¡¯ll be sure to ask for your approval every time I want to voice my opinion.¡±

    ¡°Ahem,¡± instructor Gehler cleared her throat, very deliberately. Cillian looked up. ¡°If you gentlemen are quite finished, we still have a long tour ahead of us.¡±

    The guy quickly pivoted. ¡°Apologies, Ms. Gehler, I¡¯m simply educating the¡­ less civilized.¡±

    Cillian tried to blind himself to the eejit¡¯s stupid smile. Unsuccessfully.

    ¡°It¡¯s ma¡¯am or instructor Gehler, got it?¡±

    ¡°Of course. And I¡¯m Rory Raskopf.¡±

    The woman ignored him. She opened the doors and stepped inside the range. The students kept playacting as her shadow.

    Shit. So much for not making further provocation, tool. Cillian rubbed the back of his neck.

    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®tar¡¯ spelled backwards,¡± Nuala said from beside him.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°¡®Rat¡¯ is ¡®tar¡¯ spelled backwards. You¡¯d never heard it used before?¡±

    ¡°Oh. No. Or perhaps I just don¡¯t remember. Kind of forget a lot of stuff like this.¡±

    Eamon urged them both forward, ¡°Come on, let¡¯s not make our dear instructor wait.¡±

    Another antechamber greeted Cillian on the other side of the doorway.

    The gun range to the left was a concrete box, and it sported shooting booths at the head of every lane. The ceiling looked curious ¨C it resembled a window shutter with its horizontal slats angled to admit air but not direct skylight or rain. In this case, the slats served to deflect stray bullets, he reckoned. And close to the far end, the floor sloped upward like a ramp. As for the near wall ¨C the one gawking downrange ¨C it was taken in its entirety by a huge window, beyond which Cillian could see a featureless room.

    The archery range, on the other hand, presented a simpler affair. The walls and ceiling were lined with long wooden panels, making the space as a whole give off a feeling of finding yourself in a barn. There were no booths or viewing areas, but both ranges had side doors leading to, according to the signs, their corresponding arsenals. Instructor Gehler didn¡¯t allow the wandering hands to get anywhere near.

    ¡°The gun range is small arms only, but we also have an outdoor one to practice with the firearms packing a fiercer punch,¡± the woman explained when they were already on the way out. It appeared that the small confrontation with the stubborn girl had drained the last vestiges of energy from her. ¡°And over there is the inventory.¡± She pointed to the opposite wall, then adopted a genial, if forced, expression and soldiered on. ¡°Let¡¯s get you all suited up!¡±

    They all but marched in the indicated direction, and Eamon paused his flirting with Nuala long enough to ask, ¡°Suited up? Do we get armor already?¡±

    ¡°No, but you do get to complete your uniforms. Everything else is standardized; the hats though we allow you to pick your own, otherwise we¡¯d fear a revolt,¡± she replied with a tired smile. ¡°And tomorrow all of us will go on a trip!¡±

    ¡°What? Aren¡¯t Sundays days off?¡± the redhead found her voice again.

    ¡°Normally, yes, but not this time. Headmaster Gorman is not quite done with you yet. You¡¯ve met the companions; now he wants you to get a look at something else. Besides, don¡¯t tell me you need more rest? You¡¯ve been doing nothing but sitting around for the last couple of days.¡±

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± another girl asked.

    The woman opened the doors and invited them to come in. ¡°That¡¯s for me to know and you all to be surprised by.¡±

    From his position at the back, Cillian saw everyone begin swirling their heads left and right upon entering. It looked pretty comical. Once inside himself, he understood why. Whoa. This is an inventory?

    His first impression of the new location was that it felt¡­ comfortable. Aye, the room engulfed him straight away with its warmth and snugness, the way he imagined a hunting lodge would, albeit a very big one. There was no fireplace or stuffed beasts that he could see, but they wouldn¡¯t be out of place here. Not at all. His fancy dress shoes drowned in the soft rug.

    Cillian¡¯s second impression was that the chamber also had the look of a museum to it, on account of a good number of tall glass cases spread all over, accompanying a collection of wooden mannequins lining the walls and displaying different attires. Well, maybe ¡°different¡± wasn¡¯t quite the right word, since all the outfits were fashioned in the same general style, omnipresent Foerstner colors playing a major role in it.

    What is this? He shuffled closer to one of the showcases and squinted. Eamon joined him.

    After several seconds of careful scrutinizing, Cillian came to the conclusion that he had no aetheric idea what he was looking at. Some sort of metal wreckage? A brief glance around revealed that everyone else was examining the items on display as well.

    ¡°I see you lot are the same as the others,¡± an oul fella, who had to be in his 70s, croaked from the far side of the room. His walking stick made barely any sound as he sauntered toward them. And that¡¯s the head hunter himself.

    ¡°Everyone, allow me to introduce our chief of all things equipment, Mr. Rowan Valentin.¡±

    The man scoffed, ¡°Chief. Moryah.¡± He came close enough for Cillian to see his green eyes still full of vigor. ¡°How went the trip, Mairead?¡±

    ¡°It went,¡± the woman replied noncommittally, but after a moment of silent pondering and a glance in the students¡¯ direction decided to elaborate, ¡°A little heavier on the injuries than anticipated. A little heavy on the foolishness, too.¡±

    Mr. Valentin laughed. ¡°The former is preventable; less so the latter, I¡¯m afraid. The young ones are all alike. Look at them!¡± He raised his cane and emphatically moved it from left to right and back to indicate the gathered first-years. ¡°Not even a greeting.¡±

    Eamon immediately took up the challenge and stepped forward. ¡°G¡¯morning, sir. How¡¯s the craic?¡±

    The man put the walking stick down and eyed the boy like he was despicable. ¡°On second thought, perhaps some people should stay mum. Preferably, indefinitely.¡± He turned around gruffly, muttering, ¡°The craic! Aether help us.¡±

    ¡°Oi! I¡¯m just being friendly.¡±

    Instructor Gehler gave an amused chuckle before addressing the students again, ¡°Let¡¯s do this quick, shall we? Everyone will receive a hat and an aether compass, then we¡¯ll be off. Another group will be coming soon.¡±

    She directed the gaggle to follow the fleeing man.

    ¡°But what are these?¡± Cillian gestured at the glass box before him, still rooted to the spot.

    ¡°Hm? Oh. Curious, isn¡¯t it?¡± Instead of answering, she regarded the expectant faces, then pointed at the nearest casing and said, ¡°Look closely at the shape. What does it remind you of?¡±

    He shrugged. It was nothing but a pile of junk to his mind.

    ¡°A motorwagen wreck?¡± Eamon ventured a guess. ¡°Some of them have wheels.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cillian disagreed right away. ¡°How do you even squash a motorwagen like this?¡±

    ¡°I have a guess¨C¡± someone began.

    ¡°I believe these are locomotors¡¯ remains,¡± Sorcha replied, tracing her finger along the smooth screen of another exhibit. He¡¯d almost forgotten she was among them.

    ¡°What¡¯s a locomotor?¡± Eamon asked. Cillian had never heard of it either.

    ¡°Correct. Although, ¡®locomotor¡¯ is not the official name; it¡¯s a catch-all term encapsulating several types of mechanical beasts.¡±

    He blinked. I¡¯m sorry, what?

    ¡°They aren¡¯t well-known because they are exceedingly rare. It is speculated that there is a hotspot deep within the Hierarchy¡¯s territory, but these are just rumors. Most chevaliers would be hard-pressed to meet even a single specimen throughout their entire careers.¡±

    What in the aether? How can a creature be mechanical?

    ¡°Have you?¡± Eamon asked.

    She shook her head. ¡°No. And I¡¯m glad I haven¡¯t.¡± Before any more questions could come, she forestalled them by raising her hand. ¡°Believe me, you¡¯ll have ample opportunity to ask about everything and everyone to your heart¡¯s content later, alright? We should do what we came here to do.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, gather ¡®round, gather ¡®round,¡± Mr. Valentin raised his voice. He was now behind the counter. ¡°Let¡¯s attempt to make you a little more civilized. In looks if not in manners.¡±

    They left the glass cases behind and joined the man, who immediately stabbed his stick in Eamon¡¯s direction and demanded, ¡°The craic lad. You go first. I can¡¯t stand the sight of your feral hair any longer. Don¡¯t you know what a comb is?¡±

    The boy smiled and replied, ¡°My hair is unconquerable.¡±

    ¡°Be quiet and plant your feet over here.¡±

    The next couple of minutes were spent watching the pair try on different hats, starting with several variations of gatsbies. A thrilling spectacle, truly.

    Do we really have to stand and gape at them?

    Instructor Gehler, who looked like she was on her last legs but was stubbornly putting on a pleasant front, eventually asked for permission to start doing the same for the females among them, and, after way too lengthy of deliberation, the man grumpily acquiesced.

    Cillian slipped away back to the interesting part of the room. Sorcha was also there, examining one of the masked and clothed mannequins.

    ¡°Why would anyone wear a half-mask like this?¡± he asked, situating himself at the girl¡¯s shoulder.

    She glanced at him. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it? Looks pretty enough to my eyes.¡±

    ¡°I suppose. But what I mean is that it doesn¡¯t really conceal your identity, does it? And if you don¡¯t care about the secrecy, why wear a mask in the first place? It¡¯s just an extra load. I doubt this thin slice of metal would protect you from anything.¡±

    ¡°Masks are usually reserved for when you are in a settlement.¡± Sorcha gestured around vaguely. ¡°The same goes for the cloaks you often see chevaliers wear. Not something you¡¯d want to burden yourself with in the wilderness, but when you are among the civilized people, the company expects you to cover the armor and put on a mask. Although, it¡¯s not exactly a strict rule.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± His mind unwittingly flashed to the blue-eyed chevalier, who¡¯d been wearing a mask but casual clothes as far as he could recall. He certainly remembered the coat. Had the man been off duty and responded to the emergency? ¡°He looks like he¡¯s muzzled and cuffed though,¡± Cillian pointed out, waving at the silver bracelets gleaming atop the mannequins¡¯ wrists.

    ¡°This one¡¯s a woman.¡±

    ¡°Eh? How can you tell?¡± He opened the coat wider to check if there was a¡­ distinguishing feature present. And only realized what he¡¯d done after the fact.

    Sorcha snickered. ¡°Not that. The general style of both the coat and the fedora. Can¡¯t you see the difference?¡±

    Cillian shifted his shoulders in embarrassment and eyed the figure up and down, then moved his gaze to the models standing further to the side. ¡°Are they all women? Look the same to me.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    He shrugged and reached for the mask, wishing to trace his finger along the engraved shamrock, but¡­

    ¡°And what do you think you are doing, young man?¡± Mr. Valentin¡¯s voice filled with considerable irritation pierced the air.

    Cillian froze and glanced over his shoulder. Shit. Unfortunately, the displeasure had been aimed squarely at him. Sorcha snorted quietly.

    Are they done already?

    ¡°Do not touch anything, you fool. And do you require a written summons? Get back here.¡±

    He trotted to join the rest of the students. ¡°Apologies, sir.¡±

    Eamon was now sporting a plain-looking bowler hat, entirely black.

    ¡°Not what I imagined you wearing, honestly.¡±

    The boy rolled his eyes dramatically. ¡°Apparently, me ¡®wild mane¡¯ requires tempering with something formal and boring. Stubborn oul fella¡­¡±

    When it was Cillian¡¯s turn, he accepted Mr. Valentin¡¯s suggestion without complaining. It was a standard campaign hat for him.

    ¡°Splendid! Everyone has a hat?¡± The man eyed the girls¡¯ selections critically, grimaced, but held his tongue. ¡°Next you¡¯ll all receive aether compasses. Nothing advanced, but you¡¯ll need it for the trip tomorrow and beyond.¡± He retreated to the backroom and returned with a box, which he unceremoniously dropped to the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; they are tough cookies, have to be. Also identical, so just come and pick one.¡±

    Alright, this is getting exciting. My own compass!

    The ¡°equipment chief¡± hadn¡¯t lied. The implements they were being handed out were the most basic models imaginable ¨C they mimicked pocket watches, only significantly heftier.

    ¡°Lastly, everyone will sign right here.¡± Mr. Valentin opened the immense book sitting on the counter. ¡°And please, don¡¯t put your signature under someone else¡¯s name. Please.¡±

    They all managed to do so without further aggravating the man.

    It felt to Cillian like the tour had taken a day and a half, but a glance at the actual pocket watch revealed that it was still morning. They weren¡¯t done yet though.

    Instructor Gehler ushered the group outside and suggested, ¡°Let¡¯s leave the rest for after lunch, alright?¡± Or are we? ¡°We are supposed to do the whole walkabout right now, but there are only a couple of surface facilities left, and, frankly, I can¡¯t wait to get into bed any longer.¡±

    ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am,¡± the ginger girl immediately agreed. ¡°Where should we meet and at what time?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll collect you from the dining hall myself. Don¡¯t spread around.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s our schedule for the rest of the day?¡± Cillian asked.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have one. But I suggest you take time to think about what you are missing. I know that new students often neglect to bring various essentials from home, like ink, crayons, fountain pens, and such. And you, boys, don¡¯t forget that taking care of your appearance includes shaving regularly. Have you all brought razors?¡± Null. Have I? ¡°In the early days, Mr. McCloskey ¨C that¡¯s the quartermaster, in case you¡¯ve forgotten ¨C is usually more lenient, so you might be able to obtain what you¡¯re missing from him free of charge. But not if you wait too long.¡±

    ¡°Got it,¡± Eamon answered for everyone. ¡°And can we leave the perimeter, perchance?¡±

    The woman shook her head. ¡°No. But like I said, tomorrow we will go on a trip and¡­¡± she trailed off and covered her mouth as a huge yawn took over her face. Cillian clamped down on a smile. ¡°¡­Aaanyway, cadets, I¡¯ll see you all after lunch. Nap time awaits.¡±

    Two girls began excitedly chattering and ambled to examine one of the portraits.

    ¡°Do you want company in your bed, instructor?¡±

    The girls froze mid-step. A stunned hush snuffed out all other movements and sounds.

    There¡¯s no way.

    Cillian slowly turned his head to look at the gorilla, not quite believing what had just come out of his mouth. No one¡¯s such a blindin¡¯ cretin. No way. But the astonished expressions around served as proof that his ears had gotten it right. He glanced at their chaperone¡¯s face, expecting her to¡­ well, he didn¡¯t know what he expected. To smack the gobshite until he transformed into one big bruise? But what actually transpired ¨C the boy could have never predicted.

    Mairead Gehler smiled. It was a radiant smile, full of warmth and¡­ something else Cillian wasn¡¯t astute enough to identify.

    She stretched out her right arm, offering the hand to the fella. When he grinned and pressed past the others to take it, the woman surprised him by deftly stepping forward herself and bumping his newly acquired gatsby clear off his head.

    ¡°Wha¨C?¡±

    She grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the stomach, and the guy croaked and crumpled like a bird hitting a locomotive head-on.

    ¡°Shit!¡± someone yelped.

    The fella got the wind pummeled out of him. One moment he was upright, the next ¨C lay on the floor in the fetal position wheezing and groaning, trying and failing to fill his lungs with air.

    Cillian couldn¡¯t help but wince sympathetically. He¡¯d been there before and hoped to never be there again.

    ¡°Knew I was forgetting something.¡±

    Instructor Gehler squatted down to check on the fallen bo¨C no, scratch that. Instead of showing concern for her student, the woman simply reached for his trousers¡¯ pockets, patted them both, and fetched the string of tokens from the right one.

    Then she straightened out, and Cillian instinctively did the same. Gone was her pleasant expression, to be replaced with an austere one. It was a Noble chevalier who regarded the students now, and she didn¡¯t need her armor or companion to look the part.

    ¡°As you can see, Mr. Raskopf here was gracious enough to demonstrate two more clauses from the academy¡¯s regulations in action. Thank you for volunteering, dear boy.¡±

    The gorilla kept wheezing.

    ¡°First: we discipline you however we see fit. And yes, in some exceptional cases it includes physical punishment. I say, if you are stupid enough to make not one but two inappropriate comments about your superior, the situation qualifies. And second: tokens can be taken away just as easily as they are rewarded. See?¡± She dangled the string in front of them. ¡°Two comments ¨C two tokens. I would take even more for pissing me off, but, sadly, he doesn¡¯t have any left.¡±

    The fella finally started coming back to his senses. He knelt on the carpet, panting like he¡¯d just completed a marathon, his shoulders quivering.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    ¡°You¨C you rotten whore,¡± he spat, literally, and looked up. His eyes seemed unfocused. ¡°I¡¯m Raskopf.¡± He coughed and tried to stand. ¡°Raskopf! Do you¨C do you even comprehend what it means, you steamin¡¯ cunt!?!¡± The boy staggered but kept his balance.

    The woman gave him a cold smile. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure your name would be enough to sway some of the others, but, as far as I¡¯m concerned, you¡¯ve signed the contract. No matter what you might think, you are bound to the terms now, and those terms give me complete authority over you for the next year. Or until you drop out, in any case. Besides, I think you are forgetting my own name, Mr. Raskopf.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll fucking pa¨C!¡±

    ¡°Shut your mouth, Rory,¡± Sorcha cut him off and interposed herself between the advancing boy and the instructor. ¡°No one here wants to hear your whining.¡±

    He got in her face then, ¡°Are you fucking ordering me, Vogt?!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t impressed and didn¡¯t even reply, instead turned to the woman and said, ¡°Thank you for your time, ma¡¯am. We¡¯ll see you after lunch.¡±

    Instructor Gehler appeared amused at the intervention but didn¡¯t try to argue. ¡°Ms. Vogt. Everyone. Until later.¡± She inclined her head, adjusted her fedora, and began ambling back to the stairs.

    ¡°We are not done, whore!¡±

    ¡°Yes, we are.¡± Sorcha briefly looked over the faces of everyone. Everyone other than Rory. Him she kept ignoring. ¡°Go attend to your business. Clear out the space.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Nuala asked, uncomprehending.

    ¡°Just leave him here alone to stew in his own dimness.¡±

    And the dark-haired cailin began doing just that ¨C leaving.

    ¡°Where the fuck do you think you are going, Vogt?!¡±

    The fella grabbed her hand, and that was too much bestial behavior for Cillian to ignore. Without thinking, he stepped close and pushed the gorilla in the chest, gentle like.

    Aether, why are these arseholes always so huge?

    ¡°Don¡¯t make things worse, fella.¡±

    The guy¡¯s face turned even angrier, but Sorcha beat him to the punch. ¡°Aether, did I ask you to intervene?¡± She wriggled out of the grasping hand, shoved Cillian away, and resumed departing as if nothing had happened. ¡°Leave him to rot here, I said.¡±

    Rory made a determined step forward back into Cillian¡¯s personal space and raised his fist. ¡°Bleedin¡¯ rat!¡±

    ¡°You boys having fun?¡±

    Both of them whirled to look in the direction of the approaching voice. It was a security guard.

    ¡°Thank you, Emer,¡± Sorcha said to the ginger girl, who appeared next to her out of nowhere, panting.

    ¡°Sorry it took so long,¡± she replied. ¡°Didn¡¯t know where to run.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± the brunette called out. ¡°Can you make sure this big man-child stays here and cools off? We don¡¯t want any incidents. Or any more incidents. He has already insulted instructor Mairead Gehler multiple times today.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± the man¡¯s expression shifted from jovial to unkind in a blink. ¡°I¡¯ll keep him company then. What about this lad?¡± He nodded at Cillian.

    Sorcha rolled her eyes. ¡°No, this one¡¯s just an idiot. Cillian? Did you hear what I¡¯ve said twice? Leave.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere with you,¡± Rory seethed at the guard.

    ¡°Oh, we aren¡¯t leaving. Not right away at least. You and I are going to have a talk. Insult Mairead Gehler, did you?¡±

    Cillian wisely backed away. The gorilla shot him a withering glare.

    Huh. Two confrontations in less than three days. Both started by someone else, and both times he¡¯d felt the need to get involved.

    The hell¡¯s wrong with me?

    That resentful and easily provoked part of him should stay dead and buried.

    ¡°What a prick,¡± was the first thing Eamon said once Cillian caught up. ¡°You still think there aren¡¯t any stupid ones in here?¡±

    Rory was howling obscenities at the security rep in the background.

    He chuckled. ¡°Not sure what to think, to tell the truth.¡±

    They started climbing back to the surface.

    ¡°Of course there are idiots here,¡± Sorcha commented from a flight above. ¡°How could there not be?¡±

    Cillian rubbed his forehead awkwardly, amidst the growing amused whispering and the gradually withdrawing shouting.

    Well, if there are nitwits in the academy, let¡¯s make sure I¡¯m not among their number, aye?

    He eyed the rest of their ascending party.

    And keep your hands where they are, mucker.

    <hr>

    Cillian traced his finger along the snaking river all the way up to the edge of the map. It didn¡¯t seem to have a name, the same as the settlement itself didn¡¯t have one. Do they just call it ¡°the river¡±? Aren¡¯t there more nearby?

    The map didn¡¯t show any, but then again, the scale of this particular one only allowed it to encapsulate the area within 50 kilometers of the academy. He could see the forest immediately on top of the outer Heaven wall, another forest standing further away to the Rim, the aforementioned river, but mostly hills and plains. What interested him more though were the man-made structures.

    Apart from the railway tracks, there was a spot labeled as ¡°O¡¯Driscoll¡¯s abandoned farm¡± as well as four shield symbols scattered around the town at a considerable distance. No legend explained what the marks meant.

    ¡°Take a look at this,¡± Mr. Foley ¨C the librarian ¨C unrolled another chart and superimposed it on top.

    ¡°Whoa.¡±

    It was a see-through vellum paper, and in size it matched the one he¡¯d been looking at perfectly.

    ¡°This is how we keep track of changes. It¡¯s one of the old overlays. Look here. There used to be a sizable pack of nargacugas making a home for themselves right in the forsaken.¡±

    Cillian looked up at the man. ¡°Forsaken?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what we call the farm.¡±

    ¡°Ah. And the nargacugas aren¡¯t there anymore?¡±

    ¡°No, no, not for a long time. It¡¯s useful for our purposes to have some beasts around the settlement, but leave them thriving for too long and they¡¯d grow excessively powerful. We try to stay on top and wipe out any potential threats.¡±

    Cillian studied the assortment of markings on the paper, many of which were crossed out, then asked, ¡°Can you show me a more recent version?¡±

    Mr. Foley smiled apologetically. ¡°I¡¯m not allowed to. For educational reasons.¡±

    ¡°That so?¡± He waited to see if the man was joking, but nothing else came. ¡°Noted.¡±

    Cillian stayed in the libra¨C that was, the repository a while longer, perusing the shelves and listening to a couple of randomly selected phonograph records. He now knew a little more about the working principle behind moderator lamps and how to produce ethanol from potatoes and barley. Yay!

    When he left, Cillian was surprised to find out that it was already close to lunchtime.

    Back in the dining hall, he met up with Eamon and Nuala and couldn¡¯t help but wonder if they¡¯d spent the past few hours together. The fella sure worked fast.

    ¡°What were you up to?¡± Eamon asked once they sat down with their trays.

    Cillian took a swig of water and replied, ¡°Nothing much. Just back in my room, processing, you know, then in the repository, wandering around. And you two?¡±

    ¡°In the rec room, mostly,¡± Nuala said while cutting off the fat from her meat. She moved it aside.

    Eamon nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Aye. And let me tell you, it¡¯s not just couches and tables; there are cards, chess, backgammon and halma sets, gramophones, and even billiards! And the chairs are not those instruments of torment we have in our rooms but comfortable recliners and rockers. Our gorgeous yet intimidating instructor didn¡¯t do the place justice, my friend!¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t help but make compliments even when the woman in question is not present, can you?¡± Nuala poked him.

    ¡°She made an impression.¡± The boy smiled. ¡°Oh, and get this, Kil, the knucklehead from before ¨C you know whom I¡¯m referring to ¨C the word is he got ripped a new one by deputy¡­ umm, what¡¯s his name¨C?¡±

    ¡°Niall Zweber, and keep it down, Eamon,¡± Cillian urged.

    ¡°Deputy Zweber, aye. Don¡¯t know how exactly, but the prick came to the rec room all sullen and resentful. Shame they didn¡¯t kick him out¨C¡±

    ¡°Raskopfs are a big deal,¡± Nuala noted.

    ¡°¨Cbut I wager he¡¯s going to keep real quiet for the foreseeable future. But that¡¯s not even what I wanted to tell you. Remember our friend from the train, Teagy-boy? Another prick?¡±

    ¡°I think he was just pissed at something else, not us.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter? Anyway, that Moira cailin turned out to be his mot, just like I thought, and during the tour the two of them were in the same group and had a quarrel, which, apparently, got heated. No kicking each other or anything, methinks, but still intense. And the upshot is ¨C they both got penalized a token each,¡± Eamon said gleefully. ¡°That¡¯s a perfect day so far!¡±

    ¡°Curious,¡± Cillian commented after devouring another spoonful of soup. ¡°On one hand, we have this ring system, which is just a poor excuse to favor some students over others. On the other hand though, the instructors seem to not have any qualms about punishing the inring kids.¡±

    ¡°It probably depends on the instructor.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s just a way to demonstrate that no niss-shit will be tolerated from anyone,¡± Eamon said. ¡°Go after the important brats from the start to show who¡¯s in charge, you feel me?¡±

    ¡°Aye, that would be grand.¡± And unlikely, Cillian finished mentally.

    Equal treatment for everyone, at least when it comes to discipline? Moryah.

    After lunch, it was time for the ¡°gorgeous yet intimidating¡± Mairead Gehler to collect them, just as promised, and the group went to finish what they¡¯d started in the morning. Cillian had to admit, it was a wee funny to see the gorilla straining to keep his gob shut throughout. Although, the hateful glances the fella threw at their instructor, at Sorcha, and, more importantly, at him, all in the space of the three opening minutes, weren¡¯t that amusing.

    Only a few steps across the corridor separated them from the first point of interest ¨C the kitchens were located right in the dormitory. Eight of them in total, so there would have to be some scheduling involved.

    The good news was that their cooking skills wouldn¡¯t be graded in any way. The faculty considered not succumbing to food poisoning to be good enough. Instructor Gehler said it with utter seriousness, and they took her words in the spirit they were given. Poisoning was a major issue, after all. The four weeks of free meals would be used to get them up to speed on how to identify improperly de-aethered products. Unfortunately, contrary to popular belief, monster attacks were a distant third when ranking assorted causes of death, with incompetence or negligence in preparing ingredients and disease confidently occupying the top steps of the podium.

    Following the kitchens, the group got introduced to the metalworking workshop, much to Eamon¡¯s delight ¨C it turned out to be that large hangar, the view of which dominated Cillian¡¯s unit window ¨C and the laundry house. Then, their brief journey came to an end at the so-called slaughterhouse located in the smaller warehouse that he¡¯d already noted during his solo excursion.

    The very first thing they learned about the facility was that it wasn¡¯t actually a slaughterhouse, per se. That was, no livestock was slaughtered there ¨C whatever meat that was brought came either from local beasts already killed and dressed or, much more frequently, by way of regular deliveries from Lua. The name had supposedly been appropriate at one point but now was just a historical misnomer.

    ¡°We don¡¯t rely on hunting for meat supply, but all students are required to learn how to hunt a few select species and how to field dress them.¡± Instructor Gehler looked at them sympathetically. ¡°Dressing is not for the weak of stomach, I know, but it¡¯s an important skill for any aspiring chevalier. Skinning, butchering, and de-aethering are all done here. Don¡¯t fret though; you are only expected to gain basic proficiency in these areas. Your future careers will ensure that you have enough practice to master the skills.¡±

    Eamon looked a wee queasy when they were briefly shown skinning in action. Apparently, there was always a lot of work to be done in the slaughterhouse at this time of year, on account of the very recently concluded end-of-the-year competition.

    ¡°Bleh. And the dressing is even worse than this,¡± was all the boy had said the entire time they spent inside, which constituted a minor miracle.

    You¡¯ll get used to it. We all will.

    Cillian himself didn¡¯t feel much bothered, even though it wasn¡¯t exactly pleasant work.

    The outing on the whole took less than an hour, and the only noteworthy thing ¨C to him personally ¨C happened when the stocky boy with a rumbling voice, whose name he still hadn¡¯t learned despite intending to do so, came up to Cillian and politely asked if he was the one who¡¯d taken the four-token string from the second floor. To his simple ¡°Yes?¡±, the fella replied that, since he was from the third floor, he shouldn¡¯t have touched it. Cillian¡¯s similarly polite suggestion to address any and all complaints to the faculty members, who¡¯d failed to provide them with sufficient instructions, was met civilly but not overly friendly.

    Aether, this talk about fairness from someone from the inring is just mad.

    Later that day, Cillian decided that hiding away any further in his room or the repository wouldn¡¯t do, so he tagged along with Eamon when the boy opted to head back to the recreation area. It was full of people, but the sheer size of the space still made it feel half-empty.

    He naturally gravitated toward one of the quieter corners, where, surprise-surprise, Sorcha was playing chess. Her opponent was Teagan, and, from Cillian¡¯s admittedly limited understanding, it didn¡¯t look like the fella completely sucked. At least he wasn¡¯t being swept off the board in ten moves, unlike some.

    He watched for a while but then joined another activity happening a few tables away.

    It was a game he¡¯d never played before, never even heard of before, but it didn¡¯t present a problem since he wasn¡¯t the only one. In fact, only Aoife, who¡¯d brought the set from home in the first place, and Moira actually knew how to play it. Everyone else caught up on the rules in no time.

    It was called ¡°Lighting the Sky¡± and was played as a group ¨C not a competitive game but rather a cooperative one. The participants had to coordinate their actions to achieve a mutual goal ¨C ¡°to ignite all five differently colored skywalkers¡± before it was too late and ¡°the beasts came to town to drown them all in blood and darkness¡±.

    Lighting the skywalker was achieved by placing five cards of the same color in a row in the ascending order of their numbers ¨C from 1 to 5. The gist was ¨C the players could see everyone else¡¯s cards but not their own, so they had to share information in order to succeed. What information could be shared when making a move was strictly regulated by the rules, and there was a limit on the number of moves available as well as a penalty for putting a card out of place. The penalty naturally involved the beasts creeping closer to their goal of gorging themselves on the players¡¯ flesh.

    All in all, it was an amusing experience, but Cillian mostly appreciated the thought behind it. Aoife had deliberately brought a simple, cooperative game, as opposed to some complicated and competitive monstrosity. Presumably, in the hope of kindling a spark of camaraderie. And it helped that it was fun, too.

    Throughout the evening, Cillian found that he was genuinely enjoying himself and not just pretending to do so. He still had moments of not knowing what to say or how to react, but fitting in was rapidly growing easier. He always knew that his old self was lurking underneath the surface, but it was nice to have some confirmation that the horrific experience and the subsequent surges of making poor choices hadn¡¯t ruined him.

    But even so, he had a long way to go yet.

    And later, when he was lying in bed ready to sleep, once more processing the events of the seemingly endless day, the boy felt optimistic. At least one of their instructors came across as fair, other students were mostly tolerable, and the setup he¡¯d seen looked comprehensive and professional if a wee run-of-the-mill in terms of appearance.

    He was looking forward to what the next day would bring. And the next year.

    Cillian hoped his oul fella back home was doing well without him.

    He doesn¡¯t really need to know about a couple of near scuffles, does he?

    After all, there wouldn¡¯t be any more.

 Chapter 6. Out of bounds

    Aether. Not this crap again.

    Cillian eyed the vehicles arrayed before them with trepidation.

    Does the academy not have any normal passenger haulers?

    He¡¯d never encountered this particular model before and wasn¡¯t looking forward to appreciating its interior now.

    The front part appeared pretty standard ¨C Cillian privately referred to it as a tomb on a wheelchair with a pair of goggles. Or half a tomb, at least. Privately, because when he¡¯d shared his observation with father the other day, a rare sight of Brendan Shea spluttering and getting defensive about something greeted him in response. The man was sure proud of the design.

    The driver¡¯s cabin followed behind the ¡°tomb¡±, but Cillian honestly hesitated to even call it a cabin. It was completely bare ¨C there were no doors, no windshield, and only the presence of a short lip overhead and a curving metal plate in between the bonnet and the steering wheel hinted at the outline of an enclosed space. Cillian could understand such yawning design on civilian models, but this one was supposed to be used for traversing no-man¡¯s-land.

    And as for the rest of the vehicle¡­ Someone had seemingly plucked a wagon straight from a freight train, shrunk it a wee, and parked it behind the driver. Then the same someone had a think, ¡°Wait, how are the prisone¨C that is, the passengers going to breathe?¡±, and proceeded to add a line of thin hopper windows hugging the roof. So Cillian and the rest would have to sit on a hard bench in a metal casket in near complete darkness, enjoying their arses being slapped by the bumpy terrain.

    Here¡¯s to hope it won¡¯t be a long trip, he silently implored.

    One mildly interesting detail was that two of the assembled transports sported an upper floor of sorts ¨C just a solid waist-high fence encircling the roof of the wagon.

    Put together, Cillian thought the company had made the model tough in all the wrong places. Aye, it was entirely metal, drab khaki-colored, and the wheels weren¡¯t actually wheelchair-thin, but no barrier shielded the cabin from the elements and monsters, and the driver represented the most vital part! The vehicles also came across as entirely too massive; the widely accepted wisdom was that in most cases it was better to keep moving instead of stopping to fight because any heavy aether burning would likely attract more and more beasts. These things didn¡¯t look like they could outrun anything.

    Thankfully, several armed outriders would accompany the trucks on the journey.

    ¡°Do you need a special invitation?¡± headmaster Gorman barked. ¡°Twelve per car! Go!¡±

    They still hadn¡¯t been told where they were going; no one was answering questions.

    The apprehensive young men and women clambered in, and the convoy took off without delay. And aye, the sitting arrangement was exactly as comfortable as Cillian had feared.

    On the way, conversations were mostly limited to swearing and complaining. And, after a while, even the lone skywalker¡¯s light left them to their torment. Only one person still tried to stir up some chitchat.

    ¡°Where do you think we¡¯re going?¡± Eamon shouted into Cillian¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Blindin¡¯ storm, man! You don¡¯t have to yell quite that loudly; I¡¯m right here!¡±

    ¡°Sorry! I can barely hear meself! So what do ye think?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea! There doesn¡¯t seem to be anything on the map in any direction! Not within 50 kloms at least. Only an abandoned farm, but why would they want to take us there on day 2?¡±

    ¡°Maybe Donnacha decided we were unworthy and now wants to get rid of us, drown our bodies in a lake!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no lake either!¡±

    ¡°Ow!¡± a girl across from Cillian cried out as she bounced up and down.

    ¡°Tighten your straps, eejit!¡±

    Subjectively, the trip took a couple of eons, but, objectively, it was probably closer to forty minutes.

    Thank aether no one¡¯s gotten sick.

    They slowed to a crawl and soon stopped completely. His comrades in misery breathed sighs of relief, and one cailin even patted herself down as if to verify that she was still in one piece. Cillian expected the doors to be flung open immediately, but nothing happened. Judging by the lack of slamming from upfront, even their minders still remained seated.

    He climbed onto the bench to take a peek outside ¨C not all vehicles stood still; their armed escorts kept going and were now splitting in different directions. He couldn¡¯t see much else from his position, but there was something inherently wrong with the picture.

    It took him a moment to comprehend what.

    Too bright. It¡¯s way too bright in here.

    Cillian looked up at the sky ¨C there weren¡¯t any characteristic spotlights piercing the air and stabbing the ground from above; not that he expected there to be. The settlement¡¯s skywalker¡¯s illumination had abated yonks earlier.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing around,¡± Eamon commented after joining him atop the bench.

    ¡°We are probably facing the wrong way, but there¡¯s something here. You see how bright it is?¡±

    Eamon furrowed his eyebrows. ¡°Huh. It is bright.¡± He then repeated Cillian¡¯s action of looking up and about.

    They both almost fell when the motorwagen jolted again. It appeared they hadn¡¯t arrived yet.

    When the vehicle halted for the second time just a minute later, the disgruntled students were finally let out. And Cillian and everyone else¡¯s eyes gravitated toward the source of the unnatural light straight away.

    His first thought was pretty moronic ¨C that they were looking at a tiny volcano. He shook his head. Don¡¯t be a tool. The structure looming fifty paces ahead was plainly artificial, taking the form of a domed cylinder, three stories tall and about half that in diameter. The entire yoke appeared to be a single massive piece of concrete ¨C there were no windows, no doors, nor any other features. The surface was smooth and homogeneous. Or, at least, it had been at some point. Now the construct was covered in dirt, blood, and aether knows what else. Chunks were missing here and there, like a giant the size of the Lua¡¯s Wall had tried to chew on the thing but found it too unyielding for his tastes.

    The mini volcano impression was due to the fact that the light was coming from the air all around the structure. Aether embers, Cillian realized. Still glowing but gradually getting dimmer. The majority of them were floating above the dome, promoting the feeling that it had ceased erupting only scant minutes prior.

    ¡°While we wait, I¡¯ll tell you about the construct.¡± Headmaster Gorman began walking to the center of the radiance and beckoned them all to follow. ¡°It¡¯s called a lighthouse. The ancient name that used to mean something else, back in the happier times.¡± His eyes shone with admiration as he gazed at the thing.

    ¡°What are we waiting for?¡± someone asked, but the man ignored the question and turned to face them again.

    ¡°It has two main purposes. The first is a diversion system. Oftentimes our advanced scouts spot hordes of beasts heading toward the settlement. They retreat behind the defenses and on their way ignite the lighthouse.¡± He gestured at the embers cascading away from the roof like greatly arrested welding sparks. ¡°You see, the beasts are mostly mindless, but they are many. We need time to go on the high alert, and the lighthouses ¨C they attract the beasts from their surrounding areas. More often than not, as long as one is roughly in the way of a horde, the monsters would be drawn to it.¡±

    He took a deep breath as if wishing to savor the embers. ¡°We used to set up traps around each to lessen the beasts¡¯ numbers. Not so much these days, other than signal flares. The monsters waste their time here, clawing at the building with no one inside, but it never lasts. They always return to their course, and that¡¯s how we want it! You let a beast go and it would come back more vicious and with many of its brethren on its tail!¡±

    Cillian surreptitiously rolled his eyes and tightened his burgundy scarf when a cold blast of wind threatened to invade underneath his many layers of clothing. Eamon¡¯s hat flew off his head, but it proved unable to escape ¨C the stampede cord wrapped around the crown and attached to the left lapel of the boy¡¯s jacket saw to it. The hat jounced back and forth until Eamon finally managed to snatch it.

    ¡°Another purpose is periodical thinning of the beasts in the region,¡± headmaster Gorman carried on. ¡°We are the Chevalier Academy! We need beasts to teach you. Enough that you sense the danger and can gain experience, but not so innumerable as to swarm you every time you step foot outside and burn some aether. So we entice them here and unleash our fires.¡±

    The man eyed the gathered crowd of cadets, appeared satisfied that he¡¯d made an impression, and went silent. Cillian noted that the guard transports had maneuvered to enclose them in a loose circle, their operators all facing away. The instructors, too, were carefully scanning the background rather than savoring the light show ahead.

    Well? Cillian regarded the faces of his counterparts. No one¡¯s going to ask the obvious question?

    A minute passed. The students began conversing with one another.

    When it became clear that a deeper explanation wouldn¡¯t be forthcoming without prompting, Cillian finally asked, ¡°How does it work?¡± He nodded at the reason they¡¯d come here. ¡°The lighthouse? How does it attract beasts?¡±

    Mairead Gehler was the one who answered, ¡°It burns aether, naturally.¡± She gestured around. ¡°Putting an aether extraction facility here wouldn¡¯t be feasible, for obvious reasons, so instead we bring already processed aether ourselves. It¡¯s one of the regular assignments; you¡¯d become quite familiar with the process. The beasts nearby sense the burning reaction and come.¡±

    She traced a circle with her finger. ¡°If you walk around, you¡¯ll notice that there aren¡¯t any openings. There¡¯s a tunnel that originates some ways off here and terminates below the structure. It¡¯s the only point of entry. And up top,¡± the woman pointed at the dome, ¡°is the vent. Or the crater, as per headmaster Gorman¡¯s preferences.¡± She winked at them. ¡±It¡¯s protected by a steel grate and a hatch that slides closed when not in use, so that nothing can sneak in while the lighthouse is ¡®cold¡¯.¡±

    Are they burning aether here without actually doing anything with the generated energy? Just let it dissipate? That sounded quare to Cillian. He opened his mouth to ask clarifying questions, but instructor Gehler had already rejoined the others in tensely scrutinizing the bracken fields and the tree lines. Right. The headmaster had said they were waiting for something.

    Three guesses as to what, and the first two don¡¯t count.

    Aether embers still glowing and drifting close meant the lighthouse had been active recently; someone had likely come to warm it up just before their arrival. And he reckoned it hadn¡¯t been burning for long ¨C to avoid the risk of them all getting swarmed. Although, who knew how long one had to wait for beasts to show up when there wasn¡¯t a horde passing by.

    Cillian shifted his shoulders uneasily and began eyeing the surroundings as well. More and more students felt the change in the mood and proceeded to enlist in the watchful band of sentinels. The muted discussions petered out entirely. They stood and peered around, narrowing their eyes to focus on the distant silhouettes.

    Is it a bush undulating in the wind or something more sinister?

    It turned out that he needn¡¯t have bothered to strain his eyes since the first thing to reach them was a howl. It wasn¡¯t deafening, but in the hush that had fallen among the throng it reverberated loud and distinct. And very unpleasant. Cillian winced. The creature was incensed.

    The sentries let it get close, doubtlessly to better impress on the students the beast¡¯s sheer menace. He¡¯d only just spotted the dark shape charging to meet them head-on when explosions tore through his eardrums as two of the heavy machine guns began spitting death. The onrushing creature was obliterated; its dying wail lasted no more than a blink.

    But there was no time to revel in the mounted firearms¡¯ destructive power since a second beast came soon after. Followed by two more barrelling at the humans together.

    Another series of bone-rattling bangs ¨C and a fountain of gore showered one of the gunners.

    A girl shouted in alarm from behind him; Cillian whirled around and saw that a monster had managed to slip past the perimeter on the opposite side. But he didn¡¯t even have time to startle before it tumbled to a halt still twenty paces away, spluttering the tall bracken with its dark blood. Just another broken body only now catching up to the fact it was already dead.

    Cillian watched, transfixed, his ears covered. The machine guns kept erupting, momentarily brightening the environment with their muzzle flashes. As the bullets were flying and the monsters were squealing and collapsing, he couldn¡¯t help but shuffle closer to the edge of the circle of students to better appreciate their assailants¡¯ unique biology. He found himself standing next to instructor O¡¯Rourke, who held his lever-action shotgun ready but wasn¡¯t firing.

    This species was called batfoxes, Cillian knew. Named such because from a distance and with its bat-like wings folded, one could easily pass for a normal fox. Listening to the monsters¡¯ dying screeches, he thanked aether that humanity had invented ranged weapons. Although, one popular theory suggested that aether was the reason the ordinary foxes had turned into these abominations in the first place.

    A temporary lull took hold of the scene. Without the painful pounding on his ears, Cillian used the moment to wrack his brain for more information on the beasts.

    The most dangerous thing about batfoxes wasn¡¯t their maws that opened much wider than should¡¯ve been possible, nor their retractable, razor-sharp claws, but rather an ability to shift their bodies from solid and strong to almost liquid-like and back at will. The favored tactic of theirs was to allow a strike to land only to ¡°go soft¡± at the last possible moment and start slithering up and around the off-balanced attacker, in hopes of quickly smothering the unfortunate victim or biting at a vital body part.

    He could clearly see the rows of keen-edged teeth of the closest corpse. Its death rictus was chilling. Cillian¡¯s hand itched for something more substantial than an aether compass for a weapon. Just in case.

    The shots rang out once again, this time to Cillian¡¯s right. The other students stood in the way, but he still glimpsed a pair of gunners working in concert to bring down a quartet of monsters. Only one managed to break through the enclosure, limping and dripping blood, its shrieks no longer ferocious but pitiful. And even they abruptly cut off once instructor Gehler put the beast out of its misery with a well-placed bolt from a small crossbow.

    Where had she even been hiding it?

    A boy next to him whooped.

    Batfoxes were also considered clever. Probably not these ones though. Now that he could see more than one corpse, Cillian registered that the lot of them were only waist-high. Young. Therefore, likely possessed little intelligence and magic, and their wings were all but useless. Without an elevation advantage they couldn¡¯t glide down and ambush them from above in any case.

    The cracking broke off. Thundered one more time in a sustained rapid staccato. Then fizzled out again.

    But no silence ensued. Cillian and everyone else could hear a miserable whine coming from out of sight. It appeared at least one beast wasn¡¯t dead yet.

    The gunners, the instructors, and the students ¨C all swiveled where they stood, like wind vanes decorating the roofs of some buildings, waiting to see if anyone else would grace the party with its howling presence.

    Once it became clear that no more monsters were immediately coming, headmaster Gorman picked up an oversized polearm, which had been stowed on the ¡°second floor¡± of one of the trucks, and proceeded to follow the sound. A few heartbeats later the yowling grew even more desperate ¨C it punctured the air, causing everyone to hastily shield their ears again, before dropping off to a quiet whimper. The man returned, the polearm used like a giant skewer, dragging the bleeding creature behind him.

    The batfox was shuddering erratically, and at first Cillian thought the trembling was its death throes but then realized that the beast was trying to shift. Trying and failing. It was stuck in the ¡°liquid¡± state.

    ¡°Look at your compasses!¡± the headmaster barked at the fascinated students.

    Cillian did and saw the arrow point straight at the floundering creature.

    Before the departure, they had been explained how aether compasses worked. Despite the name, an aether compass wasn¡¯t used to find aether ¨C that would be quite useless considering that the substance was everywhere ¨C but rather to detect living beings that were drawing on the aether. A magical beast draws aether, which leads to a vortex forming around the creature¡¯s elanroot and waves rushing in to fill the void. The said waves that, in turn, could be picked out by an aether compass, hence the name. That was the theory.

    In practice, there were all sorts of complications with the process. Most notably ¨C more than one creature in the vicinity meant overlapping waves, which the implements couldn¡¯t always accurately decode and separate.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°As you can see, even in situations like this a compass is generally reliable.¡± Headmaster Gorman showed them his own, which, too, had the arrow directed squarely at the dying batfox, who kept struggling. The man had no trouble pushing the polearm down with one arm.

    ¡°The lighthouse and all the vehicles stopped burning aether a while ago. The disturbance still lingers, but not enough to confound the compasses. Although, in fairness, the motorwagens didn¡¯t create much disruption in the first place, not compared to the lighthouse. It¡¯s the facility¡¯s primary purpose, after all. If it was still active though, in all likelihood you would only receive garbage data, which is worse than no data at all. So keep in mind that, like I said, aether compasses are generally reliable but not invariably.¡±

    The other instructors dispersed. Not expecting any more noise, Cillian instinctively ducked when another shot ruptured the relative stillness. He spun to look in the direction of the sound and spotted deputy Zweber kneeling above a dark lump on the ground. No one among the chaperones appeared alarmed, so he willed himself to relax. The embers were almost gone now, making it difficult to discern what the deputy was doing. Carving out the elanroot?

    ¡°Look at the beast! Don¡¯t stare directly at the cloud!¡±

    Having said that, headmaster Gorman proceeded to put on a pair of weathered, bronze-colored goggles.

    What cloud? Cillian wondered, but before he could voice the question aloud, the man fished out a small cylindrical yoke from his belt and declared, ¡°Here¡¯s an impromptu lesson on operating an aether grenade. You grab it tightly so that the safety lever is pressed down.¡± He showed them how. ¡°Then pull out the pin, still holding the lever.¡± He did so. ¡°And, finally, release the lever and throw it.¡±

    The grenade did not fly very far.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stare at the grenade! Watch how the batfox reacts!¡±

    Cillian did as instructed and braced for more noise, but there wasn¡¯t even a loud pop. Instead, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a shimmering clump of aether, growing rapidly. A soft whooshing sound accompanied the discharge. The effect on the scenery was akin to rotating the regulator of the aether-powered lamp in his room ¨C gradual brightening of the surroundings.

    The effect on the batfox, on the other hand, was vastly more dramatic.

    Even in the current barely alive state, it instantly switched from quietly whining to hissing and hungrily snapping its jaws in the direction of the cloud. The monster tried to slither there, but probably wouldn¡¯t be able to make it even if it wasn¡¯t pinned down.

    After half a minute of this pointless struggle, during which the batfox succeeded only in aggravating its wounds even further, it vomited more dark blood and expired.

    ¡°Typical beast,¡± Donnacha Gorman all but spat. ¡°Driven by nothing more than an insatiable desire to consume, all of them.¡±

    Ironic. I can say the same about Foerstner.

    The aether outburst died down shortly after, and the man evicted the polearm from the body with a sickening sucking sound, cleaned the unwieldy weapon on its fur, knelt down, and started carving the corpse open with a knife, carelessly.

    Another instructor approached ¨C Callum Hipke, I think? ¨C and presented the cadets with his bloody hand, illuminated by the peculiar yoke he held between the thumb and the index finger. The object strongly resembled a plant root ¨C a collection of hairs branched out all along the main tendril¡¯s length. The veins decorating the tendril emanated a dull orange glow.

    The man spoke up, ¡°Elanroots like this one are less useful than laymen think, but still have some utility. As long as they are preserved correctly, which I didn¡¯t do.¡± He gestured at his colleagues, who were still occupied.

    ¡°Huh.¡± Eamon leaned forward to study the elanroot. ¡°Never seen me such a fresh root. This is how you harvest scions?¡±

    Instructor Hipke shook his head. ¡°Too dangerous since you can never be sure what the lighthouse attracts. Once in a while you get a nasty surprise.¡± He then forcefully dug his fingers into the tendril and began rummaging inside. The glow dwindled. ¡°There have been many fools thinking they could burn some aether in an area with young and not overly dangerous beasts and just gather the scions.¡± The remains of the elanroot were discarded to the ground, and his fingers now held a tiny quartz-like object. ¡°Besides, the economics simply don¡¯t work out. More often than not you end up spending more scions on ammunition and hires. Not worth the peril and effort.¡±

    ¡°What if you also sell the meat?¡± Eamon asked. ¡°Come to think of it, why not use lighthouses for easy hunting?¡±

    The man scoffed and addressed the audience, ¡°Anyone wants to answer this one?¡±

    ¡°Aether saturation!¡± Shauna exclaimed almost before the man had finished speaking. She looked at Eamon condescendingly. ¡°Obviously.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no. Aether saturation is a theory suggesting that the concentration of aether near installations like this gets so high as to make the arriving beasts saturated with the stuff, which, in turn, makes them all but impossible to drain for human consumption. However, more recent studies and advancements indicate that not to be the case. After all, the aether brought here,¡± he pointed at the lighthouse, ¡°is tightly contained with minimal leakage, and what gets released back is not aether but its embers, so aether concentration should not increase dramatically.¡±

    He nudged the corpse next to which headmaster Gorman had been crouching a moment prior with his boot. ¡°Nowadays, it is believed that the burning reaction itself releases something undetectable ¨C a kind of ripples that influence the beasts around, which make them not only go mad, or madder, but also affect the aether within their very bodies if exposed to the burning for long. Again, making it problematic to drain.¡± His eyes drifted to the cadets once again. ¡°Any other reasons?¡±

    Teagan was the one to answer this time, ¡°Generally, only predators get attracted to aether burning, not herbivores.¡± At the man¡¯s encouraging nod, he elaborated, ¡°Herbivores are more likely to run away than come near. And, as far as I¡¯m aware, no one hunts batfoxes or other carnivores for their meat.¡±

    ¡°There are several kinds of ursine beasts that are popular among hunters, along with a few other species. Mostly those that store substantial fat to last them through leaner periods. But, essentially, correct. I can tell you from personal experience that you can survive on batfox¡¯s meat ¨C properly de-aethered and prepared ¨C but it¡¯s not something to be recommended if you have any alternatives.¡±

    Eamon chuckled. ¡°What does a batfox taste like?¡±

    The man answered with a completely straight face, ¡°Like desperation.¡±

    The other instructors finished their gory business and rejoined the main body.

    Afterward, the students were allowed to wander as long as they kept within the established perimeter and were prepared to sprint back to the trucks if commanded.

    Cillian first trotted around the lighthouse, curious to examine it from an arm¡¯s length away, but it proved uninteresting. With embers gone, the structure was just a monotonous slab of muddy and bloodstained concrete. He left it and joined Eamon and Nuala in inspecting one of the mutilated corpses, which the sentries had helpfully dragged inside the circle.

    The pair of them, as well as several others, were crowding around a thicket of bracken that was snuggling the dirt, crushed underneath the body as it was. The plants¡¯ large and highly divided leaves were almost pristine, but Cillian could see a grisly trail the batfox had left in its wake.

    He squatted and pried the beast¡¯s maw open with his hands.

    ¡°What the rotten arse are ye doing?!¡± Eamon hissed.

    ¡°What? The thing¡¯s dead and ain¡¯t going to regenerate.¡±

    There was no mistaking the fact since the top of its head sported a gaping fissure, where one of the staff had extricated the elanroot from. Thanks to the constant chill breeze the foul smell was just about bearable.

    Nuala knelt beside him and asked, ¡°What are you looking for?¡±

    Cillian shrugged. ¡°Just studying the enemy.¡± He moved on to the batfox¡¯s wings and stretched out one of them ¨C the membrane was yellowish and surprisingly translucent. ¡°Actually¡­ anyone has a knife?¡± The faces above him contorted in confusion. ¡°A souvenir for my oul fella.¡± He mimed cutting the wing off with the reverse grip.

    Eamon guffawed. ¡°Say again? You want to send a bat wing in a package?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we are allowed packages, only letters,¡± Nuala mumbled, while gingerly holding the upper jaw and peering inside. ¡°Take a fang instead.¡±

    ¡°Nah. A fang could come from anyone. A wing like that, on the other hand¡­¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with ye two?¡± Eamon asked and descended to their elevation. He poked the orange fur uncertainly.

    ¡°Maybe I can make a necklace out of all these teeth,¡± Nuala suggested. Cillian couldn¡¯t discern if she was joking.

    ¡°Or three,¡± one of the upright boys noted. ¡°And there¡¯s even going to be some leftover for a neat bracelet.¡± He cracked a delighted grin and turned to the guy on his right. ¡°Hey, Oisin, Nessa¡¯s birthday is in two days, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Alright, pack it up, lads and lasses!¡± headmaster Gorman¡¯s harsh voice overcame all other sounds in the neighborhood. ¡°Time to head home!¡±

    ¡°Home,¡± Eamon snorted on the way to be sequestered in the cage once again. ¡°Hardly a home after only a couple of nights.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a place where I have to cook and do dishes; sounds about right,¡± Nuala said, smiling.

    ¡°I wonder if the quartermaster can buy things from us, not just sell,¡± Cillian mused aloud.

    ¡°How do you mean?¡± Eamon asked. ¡°It ain¡¯t no pawnshop.¡±

    ¡°I mean like fur and carapace and stuff. Also, lots of creatures have poison, and I know that some species¡¯ blood is valuable. That sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°I doubt we are going to get many opportunities for free harvesting.¡±

    ¡°Aye. I¡¯m just pondering. In case I ever need some tokens urgently.¡±

    ¡°How many have you got? We both have three,¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°Four.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Eamon stopped. ¡°How come ye have more than us? I thought everyone had the same amount?¡±

    ¡°No, remember Rory? He had only two. There were sets of threes and twos and one set of four waiting in the communal area together with the chronicles. First come, first serve.¡± The boy made a puzzled face, so Cillian explained, ¡°I grabbed four for myself and put a string of three in your folder. Thought you might sleep too long.¡±

    ¡°Oh, now I dig. Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem.¡±

    They reached the same motorwagen that had carried them here and joined the line waiting to climb inside.

    ¡°Uh-oh, speaking of the knucklehead. He seems to be displeased again.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Cillian glanced around. ¡°Oh, the gorilla.¡±

    Rory Raskopf was glaring. At him or Eamon ¨C it was hard to tell.

    ¡°What¡¯s crawled up his arse this time?¡± Eamon muttered, waving at the boy and smiling. ¡°Maybe a batfox? Shifted, crawled up, then shifted again.¡±

    Cillian made a face. ¡°Thanks for the image. And I think it¡¯s just his resting mug. Don¡¯t provoke him. We don¡¯t need a scene in front of the headmaster and the instructors.¡± He pushed Eamon up the steps.

    The trek back to the settlement was just as uncomfortable. Five minutes into the journey, a commotion took place somewhere at a distance, which inside the coffin materialized as muffled rattles of gunshots. It subsided promptly and didn¡¯t resume. The rest of the trip transpired peacefully.

    Cillian spent the time bobbing up and down, holding on to the bench, and contemplating the fact that a lot of his peers seemed to know more than him. Not quite peers after all, eh? He recalled the students¡¯ faces when the instructors had been enlightening them as to the operation of the compasses and the lighthouse. Clearly, most of his fellows had already known.

    It seemed Foerstner primary wasn¡¯t just about prestige. There was a difference in education, too.

    Does Eamon know even less?

    Once back at the academy, the students were dismissed. It was supposed to be their day off, after all.

    Cillian gratefully inhaled the cold air, trying to steady his head, then checked his boots. They had been issued several pairs for outdoor activities; the ones he was wearing were already grimy, even after such a brief outing. That¡¯s wilderness for you, city boy.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got any plans?¡± Eamon was seemingly itching to leave.

    ¡°Do you suppose we have to scrub the footwear after every excursion? Don¡¯t want to be penalized.¡±

    Eamon grimaced and glanced down at his own shoes. ¡°Look clean enough to me!¡±

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m not going to risk it. Gotta polish them till I can use one as a mirror. Then will hit the repository. You?¡±

    ¡°Change and go try me luck with the guards. Maybe they¡¯d let me and Nuala out to the settlement. We still haven¡¯t seen it! They smuggle us in and out like contraband whiskey.¡±

    Cillian chuckled. ¡°Have fun. Maybe I¡¯ll join you later. Although, something tells me they would turn you around.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

    He let himself be swept by a stream of students flowing into the dormitory while Eamon went to join Nuala, who was talking to Mairead Gehler.

    We¡¯ve seen the companions, we¡¯ve seen the monsters. And all before a single class. What¡¯s awaiting us next?

    Too absorbed in his musings about the future, Cillian failed to notice two pairs of eyes ¨C one contemplative and one angry ¨C following him inside.

    <hr>

    Back in his room, Cillian quickly undressed just to the trousers, put on his favorite red-and-black tartan shirt, rolled up the sleeves, and went about washing the caked mud off his boots. Once the unpleasantness was attended to and with his hands clean again, he patted the garment¡¯s lone patch pocket and discovered his skeletal hand stashed inside.

    There it is. He¡¯d forgotten about the trinket. Cillian dropped it on the bed, exited his unit, and ambled the path to the repository. Hope I won¡¯t be told off for wearing casual on Sunday.

    He¡¯d been prepared to part with a token, but, to his surprise, Mr. Foley rented him a phonograph free of charge. A fee waived in honor of being the first customer of the year. Cillian spent a good third of the following hour poring over the catalog of available records, before at last settling on a five-part account of a desperate struggle for survival of a chevalier named Desmond Blau in the ruins of Kilkenny, a coastal city, some four decades prior.

    The man himself narrated the tale, and Cillian guzzled the harrowing details of his ordeal with rapt attention. The chevalier had spent two weeks eluding a legion of akhluts (a hybrid beast that can take the form of a hideous orca or wolf, depending on the environment) and trechends (a three-headed monstrosity reminiscent of a mythical hydra, writ small) and surviving on rain and what scant provisions he had. All alone. Cillian had hoped to gain some valuable insight and instead stumbled upon entertainment.

    Even better.

    He¡¯d just unscrewed the brass horn ¨C heftier than the yoke attached to the apparatus Mr. Foley had used for his demonstration the day before ¨C returned the record labeled ¡°Part 2¡± back to the wooden casing, and prepared to grab its sibling when a firm trio of knocks intruded upon his solitude. With a groan, the boy went to answer. He needed a break from people.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± There was no peephole.

    ¡°Umm, Cillian? It¡¯s Keefe.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± The voice was familiar, so he opened.

    The heavyset boy stood there. He was still in his corduroy jacket and looked quite grim.

    ¡°Hello. What do you¨C?¡± A hand snaked out from the left and lunged at Cillian¡¯s throat. ¡°¨CAkhh!¡± He was seized and roughly pushed back inside.

    ¡°Hey, what are you doing?!¡±

    Cillian was scrambling, but the hand gripped him tightly. Another joined to cover his mouth.

    ¡°Shut up and close the door!¡± It was Rory.

    Cillian lashed out with his right arm ¨C couldn¡¯t reach. Went for the knee with his leg ¨C no real power behind it, scurrying back as he was. Then a train smashed into his stomach, and he doubled over and was shoved sideways onto the bed.

    Air!

    Another punch came, but he was numb to it.

    ¡°ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!¡±

    He needed air!

    Cillian only saw light and only felt an overwhelming urge to take a breath but couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°I said shut your trap!¡±

    And couldn¡¯t think either. Seemed like his brain got overloaded by the suddenness of the assault.

    A croak came like a dying animal. Who made it? A stray thought about batfoxes surfaced and slipped away.

    Cillian writhed on the bed like a fish out of water, heaving, gasping for air, while loud, indiscernible noises resonated around.

    Are they arguing?

    His left forearm hurt for some reason.

    Fuck me.

    Half a minute of agony dragged along.

    In and out. In and out. In and out. Too shallow.

    It wasn''t enough.

    But eventually, painfully, the spasms began slowing. With each passing second he could gulp more of that sweet, sweet nectar.

    Oh thank fuck.

    There was more racket.

    The boy felt like a warhammer had been lifted off his chest. To be replaced by a smaller hammer.

    Heaven, air feels good.

    Cillian blinked, then again ¨C still only light.

    At least now he could comprehend the words being shouted.

    ¡°¨C just talk! I never agreed to this!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t talk with rats like him! They don¡¯t understand words, only strength!¡±

    ¡°What if he complains to the instructors?! You can¡¯t even claim¨C!¡±

    It carried on for some time. He heard movement too. Sounds of his belongings being tossed aside.

    Once Cillian could marginally breathe again, a thought came unbidden, The heavy fella¡¯s name is Keefe. What a grand way to find out.

    He was still panting, but his vision had finally cleared. It appeared he¡¯d curled up at some point.

    ¡°¨C found them!¡± The gorilla seemed mighty pleased. More shuffling followed, then, ¡°You should¡¯ve never touched things you had no right to, understand?¡± When Cillian didn¡¯t answer, Rory loomed over him and repeated, ¡°Do. You. Understand?¡±

    Cillian gave a feeble smile. ¡°Aye.¡± A shuddering breath. ¡°I under-stand.¡± While thinking, More like under-lie.

    He felt lightheaded. Tried to straighten up. His head touched a hard object on the bed.

    The boy closed his eyes. Deep breaths, man, stay still.

    Keefe came and said some words. They sounded apologetic, but he didn¡¯t pay attention and, instead, patted his body. It appeared fine.

    The pair quickly discussed what to do next. Nothing, it turned out. Keefe¡¯s voice all but vibrated with agitation.

    Then Cillian finally heard footsteps leaving.

    No time to hesitate.

    He grabbed the horn, rushed to stand up, and smashed it at Rory with momentum behind him. Or tried to.

    ¡°What the¨C?!¡± Keefe threw his arm up to block above them both.

    ¡°Aaagh!¡±

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Clang ¨C the horn hit the floor.

    Cillian didn¡¯t wait. He lunged knee first at Rory, who was now half crouching next to the wall.

    He didn¡¯t know where the hit landed, but the accompanying yawp full of hurt was encouraging. He swung his arm and punched the brute¡¯s ugly mug.

    Blocked!

    Then it was Cillian¡¯s turn to fall with a yelp as his left leg got swept under him. Rory was on top again in an instant.

    He protected his head, but a blow came to the chest. One more. Then another to the liver. He grunted in pain, reached out blindly, and grasped something cold on the floor. His skeletal bracelet. What¡¯s it doing down here?

    The gorilla snarled and pounced at him again.

    ¡°STOP!¡±

    Keefe seized the furious fella from behind and tried to drag him away, but the knucklehead still managed to drive his boot down at Cillian¡¯s pelvis.

    He cried out, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. So he sprang forward, pushing hard with both legs ¨C his metal-decorated fist arched and pummeled Rory¡¯s face.

    The fella howled, and Cillian swore at the same time. The stupid yoke broke and cut into his fingers.

    ¡°LET ME GO!¡± Rory struggled. ¡°I¡¯ll fucking MURDER him!¡±

    Cillian was pain. Still, he rolled away and couldn¡¯t help but snigger upon catching sight of the gorilla¡¯s face ¨C the guy had been ¡°fingered¡±.

    Aether, what¡¯s with the stupid jokes? I haven¡¯t been hit on the head, have I? He thought, grinning like an eejit. Then coughed.

    The grappling match continued. Keefe was saying something, seeking to calm the buckling beast.

    ¡°¨C there¡¯s no way no one''s heard that! We need to leave before they call an instructor!¡±

    Rory didn¡¯t want to leave. Keefe persisted.

    Finally, dozens more words that followed, all saying essentially the same thing, seemed to penetrate the arsehole¡¯s thick skull. He stopped shouting and trying to wrestle away.

    For several agitated heartbeats, the three of them just sat there, on the deck, panting heavily and exchanging heated glares.

    Then Keefe slowly got up, both arms holding Rory. ¡°We are leaving.¡± His tone dared Cillian to challenge, who was in no state to do so.

    The gorilla followed, the long vertical gash on his right cheek drizzling red. He literally spat on the carpet, loathing clear in his eyes. But no more words were said. Keefe insistently tugged on the other boy¡¯s broad shoulders. After a few more breaths, the latter relented, and they turned and cleared out, with the heavier fella still half dragging his partner in crime away.

    Cillian watched them go. He allowed himself a moment to relax, counted to ten, then crawled to the door and pulled it shut.

    No more fights, my arse.

 Chapter 7. Outline

    Cillian was still on the floor, his heart finally calm, when someone knocked again. Oh come on, get lost.

    He ignored it. Turned to look at the horn. An initial surface inspection yielded no appreciable damage. The last thing he needed was to wreck a handout before the classes even began.

    I could¡¯ve killed the guy if not for Keefe. That wasn¡¯t smart.

    He didn¡¯t get an opportunity to examine the brass yoke any further because, as he sat up and reached for it, another more insistent rapping shook the door. Then a female voice followed, ¡°Are you alright in there?¡±

    When he didn¡¯t answer this time either, the unseen girl carried on, ¡°I¡¯ll have to call an instructor if you don¡¯t open. For all I know, you might be seriously injured. Please respond.¡±

    Cillian sighed. He just wanted to be left alone for a spell. Nevertheless, he swept the improvised weapon under the bed together with the cracked bracelet, got up with a wince, and shuffled to see who it was, glancing in the mirror ahead of presenting himself. He didn¡¯t look all that impressive.

    He opened the door. Aoife was there. He¡¯d thought the voice sounded familiar.

    ¡°Hello. What is it?¡± Cillian smiled and hoped his greeting had come out nonchalant.

    ¡°Oh, Cillian?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± He looked left down the corridor. Nobody. ¡°You knocked, and it¡¯s my room.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sorry, I just didn¡¯t know who actually lived here. Haven¡¯t memorized the rooms yet.¡±

    ¡°Same here. Do you need something?¡±

    Aoife just stared at him. He stared back.

    Before the silence could steer toward awkward, she said casually, ¡°I saw Keefe and Rory leave in a hurry; both were bleeding. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything about it, would you?¡±

    ¡°Both? I mean, I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Her expressive eyebrows flew up, and she traced her gaze meaningfully down his body and back up again.

    It took Cillian a moment to cop on, then he slowly raised his left hand to look at it. Oh, right, I¡¯m dripping blood, too.

    ¡°Just a¡­ shaving accident.¡± What? Why was he suddenly thinking half-witted jokes and making nonsensical comments?

    She laughed. ¡°A shaving accident? For your sake, I hope this is not the best you can come up with when lying.¡±

    ¡°Look, everything¡¯s fine. I just want some time alone to collect myself. I¡¯m not injured, not seriously at least, so you can relax. I appreciate the concern, but now I¡¯m asking you to leave. Please.¡±

    She sobered up quickly. ¡°If you want to be left alone, then you should probably do something about the blood.¡±

    He examined his hand again. ¡°I will. Once you leave.¡±

    ¡°I meant that blood.¡± Aoife gestured at the floor.

    Oh. Crimson droplets were splattered in the hallway, leading away from his door. Not suspicious at all.

    ¡°One moment.¡±

    He tried to run back inside but could only manage a fast shamble. His entire torso hurt, and he hadn¡¯t even noticed until now that he was still breathing shallowly.

    The rag with which he¡¯d cleaned the boots previously back in his hands, Cillian returned to the corridor and began swiftly erasing the evidence.

    Wait. Do I need the blood here as proof?

    He dithered for a moment but then finished the activity. No, it doesn¡¯t matter. Unless someone actually testifies, nothing would happen. And probably not even then.

    Aoife was watching him again. ¡°Are you sure you are alright? You don¡¯t look it, no offense. And you¡¯re missing two buttons.¡±

    Cillian glanced down. Indeed, his favorite shirt also hadn¡¯t been spared. He gingerly touched his chest and regretted it instantly. Hurt.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine. I will go to the infirmary once I¡¯m done here.¡± He started gently shutting the door, giving the cailin ample time to get out of the way. ¡°Thank you, Aoife.¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± She hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened, and if you don¡¯t want to talk about it, it¡¯s your decision. Even though one doesn¡¯t need the skylight to take note of the details,¡± she said wryly. ¡°It¡¯s just¨C Rory is¨C you just stay away from him, alright? He wasn¡¯t always like this, but these days he can be¡­ somewhat volatile.¡±

    ¡°So you immediately jump to the conclusion that it was Rory and not Keefe? Interesting. And I appreciate the timely advice.¡± He smiled softly to show that he wasn¡¯t bitter. ¡°See you later, Aoife.¡± The wooden barrier gently but firmly cut him off from the rest of the world.

    ¡°Visit the infirmary, Cillian!¡± were the girl¡¯s parting words.

    I will, he thought to himself. He wasn¡¯t a total moron.

    Alone again, he cleaned up, both the room and himself, then began undoing whatever buttons were still left on his shirt. Sure enough, an ugly bruise now decorated his chest. He tried to take a normal breath rather than an instinctual shallow one. It was unpleasant, but he could do it. Ribs broken or not?

    Hopefully not, as rib fractures could supposedly be nasty. His liver felt fine though.

    Self-examination complete, Cillian collected his trashed belongings. The tokens were gone, as expected. He looked for the estranged buttons next but could only find one. Later.

    He returned his attention to the horn and the bracelet. A more focused appraisal revealed no kinks or fractures in the former, which he found positively miraculous. But the metal hand was banjaxed beyond repair. You served me well, my friend. Crushing it against the gorilla¡¯s skull had felt gratifying.

    But what the hell is wrong with me?

    Three tangles in four days wasn¡¯t normal; he hadn¡¯t had such frequent scraps even at 13. Well, he¡¯d already avoided putting into writing the first two; not mentioning this one to his father wouldn¡¯t be a big deal either. That reminds me. Need to hand over the letter today.

    He wanted to sit and think through what had just transpired but knew from experience that it would be prudent to put some distance from the incident first. And he needed to visit the infirmary anyway.

    Cillian only remembered that the place was teeming with the recovering second-years when he already got there.

    He knocked before entering but shouldn¡¯t have bothered as the space on the other side was devoid of people. Three chairs and a door on each wall served as his welcoming party. The one on the left stood open, and he spotted a dark-haired woman sitting behind a desk in the cramped cabinet. She looked up as he approached the doorway.

    ¡°Are you injured?¡± Her tone was brisk. ¡°If not, I will have to ask you to leave. We have many patients at the moment.¡±

    ¡°I am, unfortunately.¡±

    She stood up and came closer. ¡°What are your injuries?¡±

    Cillian unbuttoned his shirt and showed her.

    ¡°Sit.¡± She pointed at the chairs. ¡°Dr. Fabian is occupied, so I will perform the examination. I¡¯m nurse Whelan.¡±

    The woman proceeded to gently touch his chest in several places, then instructed him to take measured, deep breaths, try to stand and sit again, lightly twist his torso. After that, questions followed. About pains in the chest and back, fits of coughing, dizziness.

    Is making stupid quips a symptom?

    Satisfied with her probing, she proclaimed, ¡°I can¡¯t tell one hundred percent; rib bruising and fracturing cannot be easily distinguished, but I think in your case it¡¯s a bruise.¡±

    ¡°Good. Well, not good but¡­ how do I treat it?¡±

    In lieu of an answer, nurse Whelan turned and disappeared down the middle door. Cillian waited. She reappeared, carrying an ice pack and a piece of cloth.

    ¡°Here.¡± She handed him the fabric, which she¡¯d neatly wrapped around the pack beforehand. ¡°Apply for twenty minutes. You can¡¯t take it with you; young men never return it. Come back for another after dinner. And tomorrow if you feel you need it. As for the treatment, there¡¯s not much that can be prescribed other than not straining yourself. If you still breathe shallowly the next morning, remember to take at least 10 deep breaths every hour. And if you find yourself unable to fall asleep, try the semi-upright position. Find some cushions. Nothing else to it.¡° She shrugged. ¡°It will have to heal naturally.¡±

    ¡°How long will it take?¡±

    ¡°It depends. Can take from a couple of weeks to a few months, but I think it¡¯s the former in your case, provided that you don¡¯t do anything to aggravate the injury.¡± The woman looked down at him meaningfully. When he didn¡¯t say anything, she elaborated, ¡°This is the part when you tell me how you acquired the bruising in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡±

    ¡°It does. Because if you simply fell or if someone dealt you the injury tells me how likely it is to be repeated.¡±

    Cillian sighed, grimaced at the aching sensation, and applied the pack. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I mean, it was dealt to me, as you say, but I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s going to be an ongoing or closed issue.¡±

    ¡°Mhm. Were there any witnesses?¡±

    ¡°Aye. Technically. There was another guy, but he was with the first one, not just a bystander. He didn¡¯t do anything, but I doubt he would testify.¡±

    ¡°What ring was he?¡±

    Cillian furrowed his brows. ¡°The witness? Umm¡­ third, I think? Is it important?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Only a third-ringer can testify. And depending on the severity of the accusation it might require several third-ringers.¡±

    Cillian thought he¡¯d misheard. ¡°Only a third-ringer can testify?¡± When she didn¡¯t add anything, he sighed again. ¡°Great system.¡±

    ¡°It is what it is. Your name, by the way?¡±

    ¡°Cillian Shea.¡±

    ¡°Well, Cillian, try not to visit us too often, will you?¡± She smiled encouragingly. ¡°You can always advance through the rings yourself.¡±

    Cillian didn¡¯t want to play this game, but he had to ask, ¡°Right. How does one do that exactly?¡±

    Her smile turned apologetic. ¡°How does one get promoted in a company? Who knows? Get better, Cillian, and I hope to never see you again.¡± She turned to leave but paused. ¡°Apart from this evening, of course. Don¡¯t forget about it.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Leave the pack on my desk.¡± She vanished behind the center door.

    The woman moves fast.

    With nothing better to do but sit and wait, Cillian brooded. He wasn¡¯t prone to it these days, but the occasion felt appropriate. Damn brute.

    Have I done something to provoke such a reaction? He didn¡¯t think so. Then again, it¡¯s not like he himself had needed much of a reason back in the day. At least, Keefe¡¯s involvement appeared straightforward. The boy had been upset about him taking the tokens from the second floor. And Cillian had kind of brushed him aside yesterday. At some point, the thickset boy and the gorilla had talked, and the latter offered to go ¡°convince¡± Cillian to return the tokens. Or something of that sort. Keefe clearly hadn¡¯t known what Rory had been planning in that dense noggin of his.

    But why would Rory even need Keefe in the first place? Because he¡¯d thought Cillian wouldn¡¯t open to him? Perhaps.

    Maybe the knucklehead wasn¡¯t a complete eejit. He¡¯d noticed that someone else wasn¡¯t pleased with Cillian and brought them along to soften the target. The fella had also ambushed him in his unit and not in the middle of some hallway. No witnesses and a guarantee that the tokens would actually be there. And he¡¯d avoided punching Cillian in the face for some reason. Although, that one probably meant nothing.

    Cillian needed to prepare for future confrontations, which seemed unavoidable. Aoife had said Rory was volatile, so such actions were likely par for the course with him.

    Getting into a brawl with someone much bigger than me is dumb though. No, wait! Getting into a brawl is dumb, full stop. This niss-shit is behind me, remember?

    Once twenty minutes were up, he left and went about his day, taking it easy.

    During lunch, Eamon noticed his discomfort eating, but Cillian dismissed the concern saying it was just his stomach acting up. He ate unhurriedly and genuinely tried to listen to conversations around him and even participate.

    Unsurprisingly though, many of them revolved around Keefe and Rory¡¯s visible injuries. Keefe had a bandage around his right hand and Rory had a small one on his cheek. The prevalent theory was that they¡¯d gotten into a fight. The fact that Keefe did his best to avoid Rory contributed to that.

    Cillian smiled. Caught Aoife and Sorcha looking at him. Stopped smiling. Right, did Aoife tell anyone?

    He didn¡¯t know if it actually mattered. So what if people knew he¡¯d gotten his arse kicked? The only one who could influence the situation was Keefe ¨C if he was indeed a third-ringer ¨C and he doubted the fella would testify. In any direction.

    Cillian finished his meal.

    The rest of Sunday was, thankfully, uneventful. He¡¯d discovered that laughing and making his chest move uncontrollably in general hurt a lot, so mostly stayed in his room, reading and listening. He¡¯d only made a single trip outside ¨C to have dinner, get an ice pack, and ask for threads and a needle from the quartermaster, Mr. McCloskey, to mend his shirt. He was skint now, but, just like instructor Gehler had promised, the man was lenient at this time of year. So, with the personnel at least, Cillian had had some measure of luck today.

    Two minutes of crawling on the floor had come after, which was seriously uncomfortable, to find the missing button. Cillian reasoned that restoring his favorite shirt was worth a wee bit of suffering.

    Now it was finally time to sleep, and he lay in bed, gazing at the ceiling and contemplating what the next day would bring.

    First day of classes. Despite the somewhat rocky beginning, Cillian was excited. Wonder what surprises await me. Hopefully, not too many.

    In his eagerness and discomfort, sleep didn¡¯t come easy, but he found it in the end.

    He dreamed of batfoxes battling gorillas.

    Cillian cheered for the foxes.

    <hr>

    It was supposed to be day one of the next surge, but the gleambout was late. The Everstorm stayed pale white, and no aether waves tore through the sky to paint it the brilliant indigo.

    Nothing notable there, come along.

    All surges usually lasted 52 days, but now and again one would get mischievous and resolve to prolong its stay even if barely any color remained.

    And the blue spell¡¯s successor wasn¡¯t the only one running behind schedule. The class was set to begin in 20 minutes, but Eamon was still absent from the dining hall.

    Is he just asleep, or did something happen?

    Cillian decided to go check on him. It wouldn¡¯t do for his ally to lose a token for being late, or whatever the penalty was, on the first day no less.

    Climbing the staircase felt agonizing, the pain had seemingly grown worse overnight, but soon enough he was back on the third floor, knocking on Eamon¡¯s door, two rooms to the right from his own.

    There was no answer. He knocked again, then called out, ¡°Eamon? You awake?¡±

    A few seconds later, he heard some unidentifiable noises, followed by rapid, muffled thumps. The room¡¯s occupant was scrambling. Cillian had a good sense to step away from the door, and not a moment later it swung open, revealing Eamon in all his early morning magnificence. In a word, the boy looked terrible.

    ¡°You look terrible,¡± Cillian informed him.

    Eamon gave a tired laugh. ¡°Aye, mornings do that to me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s probably 07:45 by now; you better hurry.¡±

    ¡°I figured.¡± Eamon¡¯s voice was lower than usual. ¡°Thanks for waking me. I¡¯m going to wash up real quick. Wait for me? Or have you even had breakfast yourself?¡±

    ¡°I have, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve got time for that. I¡¯ll wait here.¡±

    ¡°You can come in.¡±

    ¡°¡­Alright.¡±

    The room was a mess. Cillian himself liked to organize things in a way that often looked like a mess but was actually carefully arranged, like the desk in his own unit, initially placed next to the bed and lining the wall, now ¨C turned around and stuffed into the corner, forming a triangle with the walls. He¡¯d done it because this way, rather than looking at nothing, he would face the room, having a diagonal view of it. It gave him an illusion of free space. A room to think.

    Eamon¡¯s quarters, on the other hand, were clearly just that ¨C a mess. One bag was even open and overflowing with clothes as if its owner had given up in the middle of unpacking. There were also clothes on the desk and chair, and books on the floor. The books were arranged in a pile and not just scattered around haphazardly, at least. Cillian reasoned it was an impressive job of making the space feel personal in just two days if nothing else.

    Even more impressively, Eamon had cleaned up and dressed in under five minutes. He still looked haggard and seemed to lack his usual energy, but it didn¡¯t stop him from walking briskly. Once on the stairs, Cillian had to ask him to hold his horses. The pain made it impossible to keep up.

    Eamon spotted the grimace. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with ya? Are you injured?¡±

    Cillian hesitated. ¡°Aye, should¡¯ve told you yesterday since it might concern you too. Err¡­ Rory Raskopf, the gorilla, jumped me. My ribs are bruised, so I have¨C¡±

    ¡°He what?!¡± Eamon switched from tiredness to anger in an instant.

    Cillian didn¡¯t want to linger on the topic, just warn Eamon, but a look at the boy¡¯s face made it clear that he wouldn¡¯t be allowed to leave it at that.

    With a sigh, he elaborated, ¡°About an hour after our lighthouse trip, Keefe knocked on my door¡­¡±

    A brief description of what had transpired followed while they made their way to the classroom.

    ¡°Fucking arsehole!¡± By the end, his companion looked ready to commit murder. ¡°And that Keefe fella too! I hope you don¡¯t absolve him of the wrongdoing just because he looked guilty. Why would he have a problem with you in the first place? What did he expect? They have all the advantages but start crying the second something doesn¡¯t go their way?!¡±

    Eamon continued ranting, offering and discarding various options on how to get back at them both. Cillian didn¡¯t quite understand the explosiveness.

    Actually, maybe it¡¯s a normal person¡¯s reaction to violence, and I¡¯m the one being weird.

    It¡¯s not that he didn¡¯t feel angry, he very much did, but he¡¯d learned his lesson about flying off the handle the hard way yonks ago. Exercising restraint had been particularly difficult during the first couple of years or so. It was much easier these days. More natural.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Thankfully, by the time they arrived at their first lesson ¨C Bestiary ¨C Eamon had run out of steam. They were on time.

    Unlike the auditorium, the classroom was flat, but the desks weren¡¯t arranged in simple lines ¨C the entire room was split into two vertical halves separated by a narrow space in between. The desks on one half mostly faced the other but angled slightly toward the front wall as well. There were three rows on each side with every desk seating three people, and Cillian led them to the one situated in the top-right corner, furthest from the door. He generally preferred to have an overseer¡¯s view, and the visibility wouldn¡¯t be a problem since both the speaking podium and the projector were at the back of the chamber on a raised dais. Their instructor ¨C Mr. Odhran Hass, Cillian recalled from the schedule ¨C was already present, tending to the projector.

    To his surprise, it was an older model, a dead giveaway being a pipe, made from wood fiber and not usual copper, sticking up from the main body and then swirling to disappear into the wall. The apparatus itself looked like a black box with golden edges, more tall than wide, and, since it was clearly a limelight type, he knew there would be a quicklime candle secluded inside, heated up to produce strong illumination. And the stubby lens tube, pointing toward the front of the classroom, was connected to the box proper via a thin rectangular chamber, into which image panes were supposed to be inserted.

    All in all, the projector was pretty antique. In Lua, one could easily find newer models that used aether-powered illumination and therefore required no ventilation, so Cillian wondered why this old thing hadn¡¯t been replaced.

    The room soon filled in, but nobody else joined them at their desk. Nuala sat with some girl he didn¡¯t know.

    No signal preceded the start of class; instructor Hass simply locked the door, dialed down the rotary light controller, returned to the back of the room to stand behind the podium, and spoke, ¡°I welcome you all to the first class of the year. As you should know, I¡¯m Odhran Hass, but you will address me as instructor Hass or sir.¡± He paused so that everyone had a moment to register that the lecture had begun.

    ¡°This is a course on beasts and carnivorous plants. I want to clarify that it won¡¯t be your only class on these subjects. Hunting and cooking will also teach you invaluable lessons, but, in general, it will go like this: here you¡¯ll learn about biology, habitats, behaviors, strengths and weaknesses, natural rivalries, effective approaches to killing ¨C all manner of things, though mostly in theory.¡± The man was talking rapidly like he was in a hurry to cram them with information. ¡°Your hunting instructors will later teach you to apply this knowledge in practice. They will teach you that there is a big difference between simply disposing of a beast and hunting it for the resources it can provide. And in the cooking classes, you¡¯ll learn how best to de-aether and cook the meat, what vegetables can be prepared for human consumption at all, and why herbs are your best friends.¡±

    Eamon audibly yawned. There were quite a few sleepy heads in attendance. And the muted warm light, shining on the pastel green walls and acacia desks, together with the column emanated by the projector, only enhanced the languorous ambiance. Cillian had to resist an urge to yawn himself. It felt weird sitting in a classroom again after the excitement of the last couple of days.

    ¡°I think you can guess the topic of our first lesson,¡± instructor Hass said while sliding an image pane into the hollow bisecting the projection chamber.

    A picture of a batfox appeared on the front wall. Alive and snarling. And very big. But, having now met the real thing, Cillian wasn¡¯t impressed.

    ¡°Batfoxes. I will address the myths first. And what I¡¯m about to say you can generally project onto other species as well. There are a few examples of myths being close to the truth, but they are exceedingly rare.¡± He sounded a little frustrated. ¡°Batfoxes are not some sort of perverted evolution of extinct foxes, nor do they procreate with razorbats. As far as we know¨C¡±

    A blond fella at the front snorted. ¡°You don¡¯t say? How would it even¨C?¡±

    ¡°Quiet!¡± the man interrupted the interrupter. ¡°If you have something meaningful to contribute, you¡¯re free to do so. Otherwise, unless addressed, stay silent.¡±

    When there were no further ¡®clever¡¯ remarks, he continued, ¡°As far as we know, batfoxes can only come from other batfoxes. Unlike many other species, there¡¯s never been a confirmed occurrence of a batfox being formed purely from aether. And they cannot fly. Most they are capable of is a controlled gradual descent from a ridge or a tree.¡±

    The man sighed. ¡°Rumors and myths are unavoidable, but as representatives of Foerstner Group, it¡¯s your responsibility not to contribute to the public¡¯s ignorance. A myth could be useful if it inadvertently teaches laypeople correct procedures, but, unfortunately, there are many more that turn common men stupidly brave, making them decide that they can handle certain beasts on their own, thus stirring up even more trouble.¡±

    Instructor Hass slid the pane further, and the first image was replaced with another ¨C a baby batfox, next to an adult one, next to a human outline. ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯m going to say on the matter. Now we¡¯ll address their physical appearance and usual habitats¡­¡±

    An interesting lecture commenced, and Cillian found himself engrossed in it. True, there was a rake-load of details he¡¯d already read or heard about, but also a lot of new facts, nuances, and even statistics supposedly known only to Foerstner.

    What he¡¯d known mostly concerned the mundane ¨C batfoxes¡¯ excellent eyesight, their ability to easily climb any tree, a habit of randomly shifting back and forth for no discernible reason, and their general lack of stamina.

    And what he hadn¡¯t known ranged from curiosities, like the fact that a batfox¡¯s tail was always a shade of orange darker or lighter than its body, never the same, to truly vital behavioral information. For example, adult batfoxes apparently had a tendency to bury themselves into the ground in their ¡°liquid¡± forms when recovering from heavy magic use and then leap from there if presented with prey. Cillian didn¡¯t like the sound of that.

    The man then moved on to enlightening the rapturous audience about the species¡¯ unique aetheric ability. By that time there were no more lethargic faces behind the desks.

    Changing the firmness and elasticity of their bodies wasn¡¯t everything the batfoxes were capable of. Similar to many other beasts, older specimens developed a higher level of attunement to the aether, which allowed them to do more than younger members of the species. More magic, that was.

    Batfox¡¯s second-level ability was pure shaper type or, in other words, a localized control over the environment. Specifically, it allowed them to morph the air in a sphere around their bodies into a thick, water-like substance, which didn¡¯t make things float but did make breathing impossible and movement sluggish and awkward. Naturally, the creatures themselves were unaffected. The closer you got the thicker the substance grew. The range varied, but the largest reported to date was around 11 meters.

    Needless to say, getting close to an old batfox without a companion was most inadvisable.

    ¡°There is a famous illustration depicting a chevalier valiantly charging a bubbled-up batfox, swinging his companion¡¯s torn-off leg as a makeshift weapon. Impressive looking, no doubt. The company sued the illustrator for harmful propaganda. Never do that,¡± were instructor Hass¡¯ exact words.

    After that, the lecture soon came to an end, and, before sending them all with the wind, the man declared that there would be no assignments in his class; the only way to earn tokens was by doing well on knowledge tests and hunts.

    ¡°And you can also lose tokens if you fail particularly badly. There would be no warnings for the tests, so be prepared, always. Real life never waits for a convenient moment.¡±

    The students packed their bags and poured out of the room.

    ¡°Well, that was enlightening,¡± Eamon commented on the way to their next class, succinctly named ¡®Aether¡¯. ¡°They should¡¯ve called that course ¡®A million reasons not to become a chevalier¡¯. Hope I¡¯ll never meet me one of those things again.¡± The boy shuddered exaggeratedly.

    Cillian gave him a puzzled look. ¡°You do know that dealing with batfoxes and other beasts is part of the job, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Eamon rolled his eyes. ¡°Not necessarily. I know that¡¯s what chevaliers are most known for. Extermination. But there are many other roles they can play.¡±

    ¡°Aiming to be a diplomat then?¡±

    Eamon shook his head. ¡°A diplomat wouldn¡¯t be bad, methinks. Meeting new people, going to civilized places? Not a bad life, ye? And I can be very diplomatic. But what I really want is treasure hunting.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. It still involves traversing wilderness and encountering beasts.¡±

    ¡°It does, but a treasure hunter never travels alone and acts more as a scout than a muscle in his party.¡± Eamon sighed wistfully. ¡°But such assignments are rare, like proper rare, maybe one or two per cohort. Or so I¡¯ve heard.¡±

    ¡°Meaning you just have to rank high enough so you get to choose? Sounds like a plan.¡±

    Eamon laughed. ¡°Aye, just a couple of simple steps, and it¡¯s done. Easy, innit?¡±

    Unsurprisingly, the ¡°Aether¡± class, which began after 15 minutes of rest, was all about the nefarious substance. It always fascinated Cillian how one thing could be the foundation of human civilization, the source of so many breathtaking inventions, but, at the same time, make beasts go mad and attack humans indiscriminately and also turn their very bodies poisonous. There was some irony in that.

    Their instructor ¨C a stern man called Phelim Schwenke ¨C similarly to the previous class, began by outlining what they would and would not learn under his tutelage. It turned out that ¡°Aether¡± was mostly concerned with aether pertaining to its industrial uses, as opposed to its effects on flora, fauna, and the plane at large.

    They would kick off by studying different theories of humanity¡¯s origin and our relation to the aether, then push on to aether extraction, processing, and containment. But the bulk of their time would be dedicated to the final topic ¨C aether burning ¨C since chevaliers had to deal with it directly on a regular basis.

    ¡°The course will take half a year. There will be an exam at the end covering the first four topics, but your understanding of aether burning will be tested in a different way, which we¡¯ll talk about later. In today¡¯s class, we¡¯ll discuss the origin theories.¡± Instructor Schwenke eyed the less than attentive audience, their enthusiasm racked up during ¡®Bestiary¡¯ markedly diminished. ¡°You should know this, so let me ask you: us, humans, how did we come to be here and what role did aether play in it? There are two broad categories most theories fall into. What are they?¡±

    Oscar raised his hand before anyone else.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°It was our world, then the niss came and brought the aether with them. Or it was their world filled with aether, and we came, by our own will or not. Many believe the niss used magic to somehow transport us here.¡±

    ¡°And why is that? Why do all prominent theories suggest that humans and the niss couldn¡¯t have originated from the same world? We are both here now, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    It was Shauna who answered this time, without waiting to be invited. ¡°Because we don¡¯t have magic, don¡¯t even have elanroots, but everyone else does! Everyone else draws aether, especially the niss. We can¡¯t even put too much of the stuff inside or we die. So it is believed that our species simply couldn¡¯t have evolved in the same environment.¡±

    Another boy raised a hand and, after receiving the man¡¯s nod, added, ¡°There¡¯s also a lot of evidence that the world used to be different. For example, ancient texts talking about planets and stars and the Sun. And our ancestors evidently believed in it, to the point that we now use the measurements of time that make sense in the context of the knowledge from those tomes but not in the world as it is. Which suggests that either our world got altered at some point, by aether or otherwise, or this was never our world to begin with, and we came from elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°Or it might suggest that our ancestors were simply wrong. If we came from someplace else, how did we do it? If the niss came instead, how did they do it? And how does one move between worlds? Aether magic?¡± Instructor Schwenke clearly didn¡¯t expect them to reply. ¡°To be frank, the precise answers to these questions are less important than the process of actively searching for them to begin with.¡±

    He poured himself a glass of water from a decanter and pressed on, ¡°You might disagree with me, naturally, but I would be perfectly content if we never figured out the truth at all. It¡¯s because analyzing our history and the role the aether played in it has already resulted in several breakthroughs in aether application. Extraction, processing, burning ¨C all of these discoveries came from the experiments we undertook in order to figure out the connection, the hows and the whys. I know you all aspire to become chevaliers, but I implore you to be researchers at heart as well. By design, chevaliers are often the first to interact with new phenomena, so it¡¯s possible that one day you¡¯d find yourself¡­¡±

    The man kept waxing lyrical about the benefits of always taking time to explore and ask questions instead of mindlessly obliterating every obstacle. During the speech, his face shifted from stern to impassioned, and Cillian decided it was safe to tune him out. Maybe it was wrong to do so, but he really didn¡¯t like talking about matters when there was so little information to go by. Unless he was unaware of a recent, major development, it was all just speculation. He knew the theories; none of them provided sufficient explanations in his opinion. He would return to the man¡¯s wavelength once they started discussing practical things.

    Unfortunately, it never happened, and the lecture carried on in the same vein, with instructor Schwenke systematically introducing and then dismantling several widespread genesis theories. Cillian spent his time doing breathing exercises and recalling facts about batfoxes, mentally separating the truth from what he now knew was nonsense. At the moment it was all mashed together in his head.

    Eamon and Nuala, who sat with them this time, were clearly bored out of their minds too, because they alternated between chatting and doodling something the entire time. After their first class, this one felt underwhelming.

    They only resumed paying attention once instructor Schwenke mentioned assignments.

    The first one was something they¡¯d already been told about ¨C recharging the lighthouses. Although, they wouldn¡¯t get an opportunity to do it for a few weeks yet.

    Another assignment was long-term and would be used to judge their understanding of burning ¨C making a crude aether-powered motor. They would be provided with most but not all necessary parts, but the construction stage would be completely unassisted. The ¡°procure it yourself¡± list of components included a suitable elanroot.

    That should be interesting.

    Eamon seemed excited about the engineering parts of the upcoming project, while Nuala gave no indication of caring one way or another ¨C she was already gathering her things to abscond.

    They had two practical classes left today, and now it was the gym¡¯s turn. The cooking workshop was scheduled for before dinner.

    Cillian wouldn¡¯t normally be daunted by the prospect of performing physical activity, but in his current state there wasn¡¯t much he could actually do. Yesterday, when he¡¯d come for his evening ice pack and asked nurse Whelan what he should tell their gym instructors, she replied that injuries happened often and there was nothing to worry about. Unhelpful.

    He was mostly concerned about falling behind in terms of tokens, even more than at present, and making a bad first impression on the instructors, Rory Gehler and Aisling Haertel. He knew that in a class of 48 there would be those who received more of their personal attention, benefited more from their training, and he aimed to be one of those lucky few.

    A mix of both worries materialized in practice. Instructor Gehler didn¡¯t seem particularly scornful when Cillian approached after changing into the gym uniform. But the man also informed him that they would be awarded tokens for meeting certain requirements in a diverse set of exercises, and, given his inability to participate, he wouldn¡¯t earn any until he got better.

    Cillian was frustrated. Did that arsehole deliberately deal me a rib injury, instead of a simple black eye or something?

    Realistically though, there was nothing to be done about it now, other than what instructor Gehler had directed him to ¨C go to the pool and try walking first, followed by light swimming if the body permitted.

    There was a list of things to attempt ¨C an actual list, scratched on a board next to the pool ¨C to aid recovery in case of various injuries, like back pain, torn ligaments, and so on. Rib bruising wasn¡¯t on the list, but Cillian had been told to simply experiment with activities, and that as long as he only experienced ache, it was fine. Sharp pain was obviously not.

    And that¡¯s what he did. The pool was in a separate space and was as small as advertised ¨C a single, 25-meter-long lane, which could comfortably accommodate no more than three people. Being separated from the others, Cillian couldn¡¯t see what they were doing, but he heard instructor Haertel¡¯s introduction speech ¨C again, briefly describing the program ¨C well enough.

    Physical conditioning first. Eight weeks were usually dedicated to bringing everyone to the required fitness level. It goes without saying, there were always those who could and would embark onto the next stage earlier. Getting ahead of the competition was rewarded by the company.

    The said next stage involved combat.

    As a general rule, you never fight a beast in close quarters. You shoot it and shoot it again. If necessary, engage with your companion or entrap it first, then shoot it.

    But chevaliers, like Eamon had correctly observed, weren¡¯t limited to beast extermination; they also dealt with humans. There were many situations when the ¡°shoot first, ask questions later¡± policy could be detrimental to achieving one¡¯s goal, that was, doing whatever the company assigned you to do. Besides, despite the common people¡¯s belief to the contrary, chevaliers only had special rights when dealing with monsters. One couldn¡¯t just put a bullet or an arrow between the ears of another human unless specifically authorized to do so.

    For these and other reasons, they would be taught proper footwork, breakfalls, basic defense, including knife defense, basic strikes, grappling, standing and on the ground, takedowns ¨C you name it. Achieving proficiency was essential for one¡¯s future wellbeing.

    But for now ¨C warm up, followed by running laps, doing squat jumps, and lateral lunges. Then mountain climbers, box jumps, and various strength-oriented, body-weight exercises.

    Cillian was feeling a wee mollified. There were students in worse shape than him, surely, so they would be doing catching up, instead of leaving him in the dust. But he absolutely couldn¡¯t afford another injury and couldn¡¯t afford to let this one hinder him for long. So he diligently trudged in the water.

    Walking and the measured breaststroke both felt fine, but the front crawl was an instant no-go. He also had to stop frequently, as per instructor Gehler¡¯s recommendation not to let his breathing become too intense. He was mostly left alone, other than the man checking up on him twice, and he entertained himself by imagining what exercises the copious grunts and squawks jabbing from the main chamber corresponded to.

    It was a tedious hour and a half.

    Once the class concluded and after taking a quick shower, Cillian stood outside the gym, waiting for Aoife. Eamon slouched against the wall nearby, muttering uncharitable things about his choices in life and generally looking miserable. They waited and waited and waited some more. Cillian had only just begun wondering if it was possible that Aoife had already left when she finally came out, Sorcha and Moira in tow.

    ¡°Aoife.¡±

    The cailin in question stopped and looked up. ¡°Cillian?¡± She then nodded to Eamon and turned back to him. ¡°Is something the matter?¡±

    ¡°Do you have a few minutes to talk about yesterday¡¯s¡­ stuff? I want to elaborate on some things you mentioned. After lunch?¡±

    Sorcha snorted. ¡°Stuff, huh? You mean your threesome with Rory and Keefe? I heard it was rough.¡±

    A sudden hoot of laughter echoed through the hallway, then Eamon put a fist to his mouth and said, ¡°Sorry.¡± He giggled. ¡°Did you forget to mention some spicy details to me, Cillian?¡° And kept giggling. ¡±Now I can¡¯t help but picture it.¡±

    ¡°Sorcha.¡± Aoife¡¯s voice was disapproving. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you so you could make fun of Cillian. He was hurt. All three of them were.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s so funny.¡± The brunette smiled. ¡°Rory glares so much, Keefe clearly avoids them both, while Cillian just seems oblivious. It¡¯s a perfect love triangle.¡±

    ¡°Sorcha!¡±

    Cillian rubbed his forehead. ¡°I¡¯m just going to pretend I¡¯ve heard nothing. So, Aoife?¡±

    ¡°Hm? Oh, sure, we can talk. But how are you? You weren¡¯t at the gym. Is your injury that serious?¡±

    ¡°I was at the gym, in the recovery pool. The injury¡¯s fine, just a bruise.¡±

    ¡°So what happened?¡± It was Sorcha again, her tone solemn now. Why was she talking so much all of a sudden? ¡°I know what Aoife saw, just the aftermath, but I¡¯m curious about the exact¡­ steps.¡± She winked, the seriousness hadn¡¯t lasted long. ¡°Were you on top or¨C?¡±

    ¡°Alright, good talk.¡± Cillian started marching away. ¡°Where will I find you, Aoife?¡±

    ¡°Umm, either the rec room or repository, most likely.¡±

    ¡°Great. See you.¡± He wanted to fly up the stairs but had to slow down on account of his protesting ribs.

    Cillian could clearly hear Eamon¡¯s voice joining Sorcha¡¯s in merry laughter behind his back.

    ¡°Wait, Kil!¡± A few seconds later, his treacherous ally easily caught up with him, still exuding mirth.

    Bleedin¡¯ ribs hurt more than ever now.

    ¡°You won¡¯t repeat this threesome tosh to anyone, right?¡± Cillian asked.

    Eamon made a ¡°my lips are zipped¡± gesture, which didn¡¯t quite work due to the broad smile he failed to suppress.

    ¡°Course not, sham. You can count on me discretion.¡±

    <hr>

    Cillian couldn¡¯t escape the talk of his tryst with Keefe and Rory for the remainder of the day. Even though most students didn¡¯t know him, the trio stood out by virtue of being injured. The guys in the locker room had seen his bruised chest and put two and two together. He just hoped that the gossip wouldn¡¯t last.

    Thanks, Eamon. And Sorcha, I guess.

    Keefe refused to look at him, and Rory¡­ Cillian wished the gorilla followed the other boy¡¯s example. How could someone glower so much was beyond him.

    A couple of second-years showing up for dinner had helped with redirecting attention. Unfortunately, all the duo had done was collect the pre-prepared trays with food on a trolley and wheel it away. They¡¯d uttered not a single word.

    Someone had said that they weren¡¯t allowed to answer any questions from the first-years and had been encouraged not to speak to anyone at all. If there was any truth to that, Cillian didn¡¯t know.

    His talk with Aoife had ended up being a little dissatisfying. She¡¯d told him that Raskopfs were major players, particularly in the Firearms division of the company, and that Rory¡¯s uncle was on the Board of Directors. The gorilla choosing to go the chevalier route had come as a surprise to many since there was no love lost between the Firearms and the Companion. The two often competed for the same resources.

    The fella himself was something of a thug, which Cillian had already gotten a taste of firsthand, and didn¡¯t have many friends. By her own admission, Aoife didn¡¯t know him all that well and was only aware of his proclivities because everyone in the core kept an eye on everyone else.

    Overall, he hadn¡¯t learned anything terribly valuable, other than some vague rumors that Rory might be out of favor with his esteemed uncle, but nothing confirmed. Nothing immediately usable.

    Cillian still hadn¡¯t decided how to proceed. After lengthy consideration, he¡¯d dismissed the impulse to ambush the guy in retaliation. Tempting as it was, there was no reason to sacrifice all the progress he¡¯d made working on his temperament. Being mindful, not going anywhere alone, and biding his time seemed like the best course of action so far. An opportunity for some underhanded payback would present itself. Surely, the gorilla wouldn¡¯t be able to resist acting a dick toward a member of the staff again, at which point the academy might decide to ignore the wee little Cillian exacting revenge.

    Even though he didn¡¯t want another physical clash, he wasn¡¯t a big enough person to just let the matter drop. He¡¯d been bleedin¡¯ robbed!

    The skywalker was long powered down for the day, and now, in the gloom, Cillian found himself sitting on top of the mansard roof of the dormitory. The steep, dusky tiles had been tricky ¨C not to mention painful ¨C to navigate, but the dormer windows puncturing the lower slope and the limestone chimneys poking out from the upper had made the climb just about feasible.

    The sentries manning the towers had to have seen him, but no one had come to reprimand him as yet. Hopefully, they¡¯re all too busy playing cards or napping.

    It was unwise of him to engage in any sort of strenuous activity, Cillian knew, but he honestly couldn¡¯t bare another day glued to the ground. So the boy had manfully greeted his teeth and endured the discomfort. Besides, no one had ever accused him of being wise.

    Cillian wasn¡¯t much impressed with the view the vantage point afforded since the surrounding walls loomed taller still. Not by much but enough to prevent him from getting a good look at the settlement. He could see the pylons of smoke backlit by the scattering light from the buildings and lanterns, and that was about it. The dirty plumes spewing out of the chimney next to which he was perching didn¡¯t help either.

    But that was down Nullside. Heavenward of his position some activity was happening inside the perimeter. Rattling the entire way, a pair of cages were being rolled out of the yawning maw of the slaughterhouse. The amber glow spilling from the wide gate succeeded in creating oblong shadows but did nothing to betray the contents of the metal caskets; they were completely solid.

    Not that one had to be a detective to deduce what was locked up inside. The big giveaway was the accompanying students. And if that wasn¡¯t enough of a clue, a bear¡¯s paw etched on every face of both cages dispelled any other notions. The second-years¡¯ exodus had begun.

    According to Eamon, who¡¯d gotten the information from some inring kid, their seniors would be shipped off to the designated assignment posts one by one as they heal. In two weeks, none should be left on the premises. Cillian wondered if he¡¯d get a chance to pry some crucial advice from one of them. Unfortunately, both yesterday and earlier today when he¡¯d visited the infirmary, nurse Whelan kept him in the antechamber and didn¡¯t allow him to get even a glimpse of any injured cadets. And the iron gate leading down to the fourth underground level was firmly shut.

    Actually, why are they coming out of the slaughterhouse? Is there another way down? And why does the staff not want us talking to them?

    The side gate slid open, and the carts were pushed to meet the lone truck reversing through it.

    Cillian watched the guards load the cages and the students say their heartfelt goodbyes to the escorting instructors. Headmaster Gorman¡¯s bald head was distinct. He noted with wry amusement that the second-years weren¡¯t about to receive cargo treatment ¨C the farewells out of the way, they both climbed into the cabin. Their trip to the station would be comfortable, no doubt. Behold the benefit of no longer being considered useless by the academy!

    ¡°Hey, you!¡± A raucous call made Cillian turn around and look down at the yard. A flashlight poked another hole in the dimness. ¡°What are you doing up there?!¡±

    And that¡¯s my cue to leave.

    ¡°Nothing, chief! Just on the lookout for enemies of the company!¡± he shouted back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get smart on me! How did you even get there? Come down this instant!¡±

    ¡°Aye-aye!¡±

    Cillian threw one last look at the truck slinking away, carrying a couple of future chevaliers with it.

    ¡±Go n-¨¦ir¨ª an b¨®thar leat.¡±

    Good luck on your journey.

    Then, under the watcher¡¯s disapproving gaze, the boy clambered his way to the ground.

 Chapter 8. Stepping through

    Loud pounding jolted Cillian awake.

    Bang-bang-bang.

    He sat up.

    Bang-bang-bang.

    Indiscernible shouting was intruding on his domain from the hallway, as well.

    What in the aether?!

    More sudden raps drummed an obnoxious beat ¨C still some distance removed but getting closer. The boy heard his neighbors starting to scramble.

    Then it was his turn ¨C a man unceremoniously kicked the door and yelled for him to ¡°get up and get ready!¡±

    Cillian blinked stupidly, lightheaded, owing it to the abrupt snap from horizontal to vertical.

    Get ready for what?

    It was still inky black outside.

    Oh hell, now he remembered ¨C their second trip to the forest awaited. The first one had taken place yesterday.

    His feet touched the carpet and felt for the slippers. But in the dark?

    Cillian got up and took a deep breath, heading for the bathroom. There, he let the air out. And smiled. Because he finally could ¨C inhaling and exhaling, that was ¨C without wincing in pain. Unexpectedly, he felt much better than at any point in the last 10 days.

    More shouting came from further down the corridor. Right, I¡¯m supposed to hurry.

    He hastily washed up and, once done, for the first time glanced at the clock. The reading there made his mind stumble. The boy turned to face the window. In his befuddled state, it took him a long moment to comprehend the incongruity ¨C the morning was upon them, no mistake, but the world outside was still engulfed in darkness.

    The skywalker should be ramping up by now.

    There was no time to ponder the fact further; it wasn¡¯t unprecedented in any case. Cillian rushed to put on the pine-green gambeson that had been issued to him the day earlier. The thick garment was intended to be used as a shock absorber between the body and armor, but at the moment it served as the outermost layer of protection. The two layers of natural sheet wadding would keep him warm. Hopefully.

    The trio of leather straps fastened, their brass buckles forming a column down his torso, he sat on the bed and wriggled his legs into the black quilted pants, which were also provided as part of the special uniform.

    Cillian secured his small belt bag, stuffed the aether compass inside, and stormed out of the room.

    In the corridor, he was met with the confused faces of his immediate neighbors. A look to the left revealed that Eamon hadn¡¯t somehow missed the cacophony and overslept. The boys exchanged glances ¨C Eamon¡¯s bewildered and Cillian¡¯s mostly curious ¨C shrugged, and went downstairs, collecting Nuala on the second floor. Will there be breakfast?

    Apparently not. The dining hall emanated no signs of activity.

    Yesterday, they had spent from early in the morning until dinner in the nearby forest ¨C or a large, fenced-off section of it, at least ¨C as part of their wilderness survival training. They didn¡¯t actually do what he¡¯d thought they would ¨C learn to start a fire, set up camp, find water ¨C and instead concentrated on simply learning to move properly. Everything else would come later, the instructors had said.

    But even just moving proved tricky.

    It was generally inadvisable to run in a forest, with or without a companion, lest you wanted to get lost in a blink. The shining Everstorm stood sentinel far Heavenward, always, but you normally couldn¡¯t see it through the layers of canopy, and a stormchaser¡¯s readings were notoriously unreliable. As for the aether lines overhead, they had fooled many a traveler before: gaze at them for a minute ¨C they appear static; look away momentarily ¨C the smears shift, changing the skyscape completely. Also, even though many beasts overrelied on their aether sense, a good few still boasted excellent hearing, so avoiding aether burning while simultaneously making a lot of racket would be undermining your own efforts in staying undetected.

    Hence them learning to walk, pace measured and deliberate.

    Neither Cillian nor Eamon had felt at home during the venture, but Nuala had looked comfortable throughout, despite claiming that she¡¯d also never been to a forest before. The girl hadn¡¯t moved with grace, not exactly, but she could at least pick a good route from one tree to another and make the steps with her eyes looking forward, not down at her feet.

    Overall, Cillian hadn¡¯t minded the experience much; he¡¯d just been worried that it would set back his recovery. He really didn¡¯t care to relive the escalating pain of the first week in the academy. So far, it appeared he was in luck ¨C no significant new discomfort. He could only hope that today wouldn¡¯t be too taxing on his poor ribs either.

    Outside, a dozen instructors awaited them in front of the main building. Most Cillian had already met, but some were new. The headmaster wasn¡¯t among them.

    Once all students assembled, forming an amorphous blob, Owen Loritz ¨C their ¡°Wilderness Survival¡± instructor ¨C spread his arms wide, as if trying to embrace them all from a distance, and proclaimed in his usual stentorian voice, ¡°So good of you to join us! Prompt as ever! And don¡¯t be alarmed at the lack of visibility, my friends. In fact, better start getting used to it. As chevaliers, you¡¯d rarely have the luxury of going where there¡¯s existing infrastructure to conveniently light your path!¡±

    He gestured to his left. ¡°Form a line starting over there and move toward us. You will receive the gear. Hurry up! The forest awaits!¡±

    The still groggy students did as commanded.

    The line moved slowly; every student had to proceed before three instructors. The first one handed over rations ¨C among them, quarely minuscule leather canteens; another ¨C flashlights and stormchasers; and the final one ¨C Cillian wasn¡¯t sure. At first, he thought the things instructor Gehler ¨C Rory, that was, not Mairead ¨C was distributing were some sort of four-legged creatures. He was down the line and it was quite dark, in his defense. Then he realized that what he¡¯d mistaken for legs were just a limp band on one end and a handcuff on the other. An oblong metal plate with rounded corners spanned between the two, featuring a circular, brass protrusion in the center. There was a keyhole in it.

    ¡°What is this?¡± the first student to reach instructor Gehler asked while looking doubtfully at the contraption.

    ¡°Just give me your non-dominant arm, and I¡¯ll put it on. We¡¯ll explain later,¡± was the said instructor¡¯s response.

    Everyone watched as the handcuff part hooked tightly around the fella¡¯s wrist, and then the band followed ¨C higher up his forearm.

    ¡°Not too tight?¡±

    ¡°Err¡­ it¡¯s fine?¡±

    ¡°Stand back now.¡±

    ¡°Form groups as discussed yesterday once finished!¡± instructor Loritz chimed in.

    Cillian glanced around. Where was their fourth?

    The previous day, they¡¯d had a brief argument about who they should ask to be part of the team. Cillian advocated for someone who actually knew what they were doing in a forest ¨C he didn¡¯t know who it¡¯d be exactly, but there were a couple of cadets clearly more experienced than the others in all things nature. Eamon insisted they should try to persuade a third-ringer instead, since, between him, Cillian, and Nuala, their average rank was a measly 1,67. And Nuala just wanted to have a friendly face along, so there would be no tension.

    In the end, the trio had had to act quickly and asked another second-ringer Eamon said to have befriended, one Cathal Flanagan. He¡¯d been in a different group, so Cillian didn¡¯t know if the boy was any good, but he¡¯d acted friendly enough during the introductions.

    Eamon still fretted over their rank ¨C 1,75 now ¨C but the rest didn¡¯t worry.

    They still hadn¡¯t been told why they needed to separate into teams. A competition of some sort was Cillian¡¯s guess.

    ¡°Today is a rehearsal of the event that will take place the day after tomorrow,¡± instructor Loritz resumed his briefing once there were twelve separate parties mulling about. ¡°These things,¡± he pointed at this left forearm, ¡°imitate control gloves. They are not as heavy as the real thing, but you should start getting used to carrying weight here. They also have another function, which will be explained to you on Saturday. Additionally¡­¡± He gestured at instructor Haertel who had another crate at her feet, and she opened it.

    A dozen instructors got moving and one by one proceeded to pick up a¡­ What¡¯s this?

    It looked like a string with a head-sized glass ball affixed to it in the middle. The strange yokes collected, the men and women stepped up to their assigned groups. Patrick Sommer, who taught them environmental geology, took place next to Cillian¡¯s lot.

    ¡°The string gets tied to the belts of two people from your team. The glass ball then hangs in between them,¡± instructor Loritz explained. ¡°The string is elastic but will tear if pulled too far. And the ball is less fragile than it looks, but a good whack would still break it. Two people get to move freely, another two ¨C while attached at the hip, so to speak, and having to step carefully so as not to wreck the glass.¡±

    The tall man swept his gaze left and right over the skeptical faces and chuckled. ¡°Well, we have to improvise, don¡¯t we? As you are right now, you are not much use to anyone. Can¡¯t entrust you with a weapon, can¡¯t give you a companion, but we still need to teach you what we can. So these things¡­ not only you should get used to moving with a weight on one arm, but, more importantly, you must learn how to move close to a companion. The idea is not to make you and the one beside you inseparable ¨C obviously, this is not how companions work ¨C but to drill into your heads that you always have to keep your partner in mind.¡±

    He paused for emphasis.

    ¡°So what stops you from simply unlatching the string and carrying the whole thing in your hands? I know what you are thinking.¡± He grinned. ¡°There will be more instructors in the forest than groups, and on Saturday they will discretely follow and observe you. Moreover,¡± he pointed at the glass ball of the group nearest to him, ¡°this isn¡¯t the real thing either. The real thing will be a beacon. The specifics will be explained later, but I assure you, you¡¯d have no chance of losing your ¡®tail¡¯. You are seen violating the rules ¨C you are disqualified. Of course, if you are not seen¡­ Fair¡¯s fair.¡±

    He checked his timepiece and nodded. ¡°Who gets to wear the string is up to you. You can also rotate later. Decide now, and we¡¯ll proceed.¡±

    Cillian looked at his teammates.

    Eamon made a face. ¡°I don¡¯t dig it. We¡¯re supposed to stumble through the forest in the dark and with a glass ball for an unruly pet?¡±

    ¡°Two of you do,¡± Nuala said with an innocent smile, taking a step away from instructor Sommer.

    ¡°On no you ain¡¯t! Can¡¯t get out of it that easily!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a lady.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°This is undignified.¡± Her expression said she cared naught for dignity.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine with it,¡± Cillian said, eying the contraption at their chaperone¡¯s hands. ¡°Who wants to join?¡±

    ¡°Ugh.¡± Eamon stopped glaring at the smirking cailin. ¡°I¡¯m certainly not ¡®fine¡¯ with it; it¡¯s stupid, but whatever ¨C I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    Patrick Sommer took it as a signal to start tying the pair of them together. Well, not exactly tying ¨C there were big ring clasps at both ends, so they¡¯d be able to move the string along their belts.

    When he was done, Cillian and Eamon carefully experimented with the available range. It wasn¡¯t much, but two meters felt safe enough. Two and a half would be¡­ stretching it. Heh.

    ¡°Everyone ready? Off we go!¡± instructor Loritz set off toward the side gate, yet again. At this rate, they would never get to use the main one. Is it rusted shut or something? ¡°We¡¯ll separate once closer to the forest, and your respective minders will explain the rules of the upcoming event. Pick up the pace!¡±

    The instructors started jogging, and the students had no choice but to follow. So much for not taxing his still-recovering chest, Cillian thought, while making quick arrangements with the others on how to proceed. They decided that Nuala would run in front, to scout the ground ahead, Cillian behind her, and Eamon behind him, with Cathal floating alongside the pair in order to catch the ball or them if necessary.

    After a couple of minutes filled with ¡°Slow down, you¡¯re stretching it!¡± and ¡°What are you doing back there?¡±, they found their pace, and Cillian couldn¡¯t help but snigger at the absurdity of the situation.

    Scampering in low visibility and tied to another fella, feeling the glass ball bounce every each way at his rear, he wondered how he ended up in this position. On balance though, he¡¯d take this over what they¡¯d been subject to during the previous week and a half. Better awkward and in a little pain than bored.

    After the first day, which consisted of a rake-load of theory and some gym and cooking practice, the following days had crawled by in the same fashion, only with the initial excitement quickly wearing off. They¡¯d had three more Bestiary classes and three more gym sessions, with Cillian still having to spend the entire time in the pool. ¡°Aether¡± and cooking classes continued as well.

    In addition to that, they¡¯d also suffered through courses on oral and written communication, diplomacy, logic and critical thinking, environmental geology, general physics, history, world studies, and, finally, topping his personal ranking of tediousness ¨C ¡°Organizational Behavior and Management¡±.

    Needless to say, the start of the indigo surge, all throughout the five days of the gleambout and beyond, hadn¡¯t been fun.

    It was obvious that their program was frontloaded with theory. Still no archery or crafting or medical aid or anything remotely interesting. Well, Bestiary was fascinating, but the rest... It was just as well that they were only allowed to write home every couple of weeks ¨C there was nothing to brag to his oul man about, anyway. On the other hand, his chest was grateful. After seemingly growing steadily worse over the first week, to the point he couldn¡¯t even swim anymore, just walk, it¡¯d suddenly reversed trajectory on Monday as if operating on a schedule, same as him.

    Please don¡¯t do something stupid today.

    The wide open gate of the vehicle hangar swallowed the river of students and their accompanying instructors. The gambeson-clad procession trotted in between the two rows of mud-caked trucks and then spilled out of the maw on the other side, thundering their boots over the metal tongue extended across the outer wall¡¯s ditch. They were outside the settlement now and were heading toward the nearby trees.

    The dark forest awaited. This should be exciting.

    To be fair, the academy¡¯s opening salvo hadn¡¯t all been tedium and repetitiveness, some excitement had cropped up. Namely, their first earnings and first assignments. Cillian had something weighing down his pockets again.

    Instructor Hass wasn¡¯t kidding when he¡¯d warned them to be ready for knowledge tests at any time. Last Friday, he¡¯d invaded their gym class ¨C during the part when everyone was stretching and Cillian was pool-walking ¨C and made them take a written evaluation on batfoxes and specters, the topic of their Wednesday class. Cillian being in the pool hadn¡¯t exempted him.

    They¡¯d been afforded 10 minutes, but the questionnaire was mercifully short, and he could answer everything on it, even if he had to stand and write with the paper propped up against the wall. The effort had gained him a token the following Monday ¨C the maximum possible for this particular test. Nuala had also earned one, but Eamon had not. He¡¯d made a single mistake, and, apparently, that was enough to fail.

    ¡°One mistake is all you get in this business.¡±

    Also on Monday, Nuala and some others had earned their first gym tokens. One had to run 6 laps and after every 2nd lap make 10 burpees ¨C all in under 6 minutes. Only a handful of students had managed it, and Cillian figured even fully healed it would present a challenge for him. He wasn¡¯t exactly a runner.

    As far as he knew, no one had actually used tokens for anything yet, but he imagined opportunities would arise shortly.

    And as for the assignments, well, Cillian now understood where all the rumors about the students serving as unpaid menial labor were coming from. Cleaning the showers and locker rooms in the gym, waste disposal in the kitchens and the slaughterhouse, and cutting logs using a manually-operated hydraulic splitter ¨C that was as exhilarating as their current assignments went. Unfortunately, Cillian was too injured to do anything. Not that he¡¯d gotten a chance ¨C even such unpleasant chores came in limited supply.

    How could one earn bonus rewards for ¡°exceptional performance¡± when moping floors or some such was beyond him. The system was garbage. Given a two-person task, there was absolutely no incentive for a third-ringer to invite a ¡°lesser¡± to share the hardship and the booty, other than personal connection.

    While he was musing, they scuttered past the groves of withered trees and were now cuddling the edge of the forest proper, just five of them, with the other groups spreading across the expanse. An earthy and woody aroma assaulted their senses ¨C it somehow smelled musty and crisp at the same time.

    ¡°Whoa! This is incredible!¡± Nuala, half a dozen steps ahead of him, exclaimed. Cillian caught up and joined the girl in her admiration.

    A soft glow was radiating from the tree roots all around. Amber and green streaks traced the contours of the tendrils clinging to the ground, and some extended as far as a meter up the trunks. Each tree seemingly hid a little house at the butt, and the houses¡¯ inviting lights shone through the cracks.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Eamon uttered. Cathal knelt to take a better look.

    They¡¯d seen the pleasant shine the day before, to be sure, but, under the light of the skywalker, the picture presented had been vastly less impressive. And to Cillian¡¯s eye, it appeared that the intensity ramped up deeper into the woods.

    Instructor Sommer waited ahead of them, impatiently tapping his foot. ¡°Are you done sightseeing? We have a lot of ground to cover; no time to waste.¡±

    ¡°But, sir, why are they glowing so much more than yesterday?¡± Nuala asked, prodding one of the gleaming grooves with her finger.

    The man carefully scanned the surroundings before replying, ¡°You tell me. What¡¯s changed today?¡±

    ¡°The skywalker, obviously,¡± Eamon replied.

    Cathal straightened out. ¡°Do trees stop glowing when bathed in artificial light?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t stop, no. The glow simply subsides. But an even bigger contributing factor is burning. Before you set foot in the forest yesterday, we had gone ahead and scoured all the dirt. And by that I mean we¡¯d cleaned up the area of any and all trespassers, which involved a considerable amount of aether burning to attract them first. No magical life likes burning, trees included. And it takes some hours for them to return to their natural state.¡±

    ¡°Oh. So that¡¯s why all the trees close to the settlement are so¡­ shriveled?¡± Cillian wondered aloud.

    ¡°Indeed. Similar to all other living, aether-consuming organisms, some species of trees are more resilient to burning, but a long enough exposure will eventually lead to death, no matter the tolerance.¡±

    ¡°No wonder nature hates us,¡± Cathal muttered.

    Instructor Sommer studied the readings of his aether compass and said with a sigh, ¡°Might as well explain the main rule to you now.¡± The quartet¡¯s attention snapped back to him. ¡°And that rule is to move. You can only stop moving for 3 minutes every 30 minutes. And it applies to the Saturday¡¯s event, too. Any stops you make outside of these 3-minute spans are only allowed if they serve to advance you forward in another way ¨C be it climbing a tree to scout from above or briefly discussing strategy with your teammates. Emphasis on briefly.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be tailing you at a distance during the event. Today though, we¡¯ll move together in the rhythm specified. I¡¯ll wary the pace, starting with a bout of steady walking. And I¡¯ll explain further rules at each new stop. No flashlights for now. Move along!¡± He wheeled around, clicked his stopwatch, and began marching away. The students scrambled back into formation and took off in pursuit.

    The group¡¯s chaperone moved in front and to the left of his charges and ordered them not to follow in his footsteps and instead pick their own track. And that¡¯s what Nuala attempted to do. The initial hundred paces into the shimmering unknown were guarded by immature trees amidst a besprinkling of their larger relatives, as well as plentiful fern bushes and woody shrubs.

    But not long after, the towering trunks and their canopy took over, blanketing Cillian and his traveling companions. And just like that ¨C the Everstorm was no longer illuminating their path. Losing sight of the only constant on the ever-changing plane, in the dimness no less, disconcerted him more than the boy cared to admit.

    So he diligently followed Nuala¡¯s trail, the tug on his belt a constant reminder of the unwelcome hitchhiker.

    This particular region of the world was dominated by conifer forests, they¡¯d been informed. Flowing past the group, the magical equivalents of larches, firs, spruces, and pines competed for aether and nutrients enriching the soil. Most inhabitants here were of varying shades of green ¨C and none were too bright ¨C but some larches unabashedly vaunted their striking yellow-orange tufts right in the faces of the envious neighbors.

    Navigating between saplings, bulking trees, and soft and hard-stemmed bushes, all the while doing their damnedest not to slip on moss and fungi outgrowth proved dicey. Staying silent at the same time proved categorically impossible. For the younger members of their wandering band, at least. Instructor Sommer experienced little difficulty.

    The glow from the trees was helping tremendously.

    One particularly treacherous part was climbing down, Cillian soon discovered. An abundance of pits and mounds littered the forest floor, and occasional larger troughs hid where you least expected them. Once, he and Eamon had to hold each other by the forearms and clamber down side by side, the tether providing just enough leeway not to smash the ball into the ground. And aye, they weren¡¯t allowed to hold the string either; it had to hang. Cillian harbored doubts about the rule being enforceable on Saturday.

    Instructor Sommer kept leading them along the path known only to him, taking several turns for no discernible reason. When Cillian felt their allotted moving period was nearing its end, they crossed a small clearing, which, bizarrely, was darker than the tightly enclosed stretch they¡¯d just left behind, and took a short break.

    ¡°Three minutes and we continue,¡± the man declared. ¡°The next spell will be a notch faster, but I¡¯ll also lead you through some poorly lit areas, so it¡¯s time to explain the flashlights.¡± A bright lance pierced the murk and stabbed a nearby pine.

    ¡°What¡¯s there to explain?¡± Eamon asked before greedily attaching himself to the mouth of his canteen.

    ¡°Nothing beyond the fact that we¡¯ve modified each one to make their use detectable by an aether compass. You¡¯ve learned how compasses function, correct? In general terms if not the specifics. Normally, a beast¡¯s drawing is detectable on account of the process¡¯ effect on the surrounding aether. Aether burning, in contrast, doesn¡¯t create waves ¨C despite us sometimes likening the reaction¡¯s fallout to ripples ¨C and is more akin to a disease spreading through aether within a certain range. If it generates any observable disturbance, we can¡¯t measure it yet.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Cillian fished out his own flashlight from the belt and scrutinized it.

    ¡°For this reason, your flashlights have been equipped with an additional elanroot, the only purpose of which is to start gobbling up aether as soon as you turn on the light. You rotate the nub at the bottom ¨C and the hermetic capsule housing the root unseals, letting it resume its natural course of operation.¡±

    Cathal cocked his head. ¡°The hermetic capsule?¡±

    ¡°Aye. Until it runs out of juice or is sufficiently damaged, an extricated elanroot always strives to fulfill its main purpose ¨C to regenerate the body. Even making the objective impossible by placing the root in a severely confined space won¡¯t stop it from trying. Meaning, if we want to make the process controlled, we have to seal the root in an environment where it can¡¯t draw any aether unless we allow it. The details are unimportant right now. Suffice it to say, with our modifications, if you use a flashlight long enough and close enough to someone with a compass, they would be able to track you. And you don¡¯t want that.¡±

    A bout of silence ensued.

    Internally rolling his eyes, Cillian obliged the man¡¯s obvious desire to be probed further, ¡°We don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°You might¡¯ve already guessed that a competition awaits you on Saturday, and, aye, you wouldn¡¯t want another team to know where to find you or where you¡¯re coming from.¡±

    ¡°That so?¡± Nuala mused, plucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ¡°Are instructors¡¯ flashlights modified as well?¡±

    ¡°They are not.¡±

    ¡°And how long do we have before the use starts getting detectable, and from how far away?¡±

    The chevalier smiled at her. ¡°Find out for yourself.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t instructor Loritz say something about these things,¡± Cillian shook the string, ¡°being replaced with a beacon? I assume the name means they, too, will be traceable?¡±

    ¡°Correct. But not by the students. Only by us.¡±

    Cillian scratched his chin. ¡°How does that work?¡±

    ¡°Different elanroots, different drawing patterns. Your compasses can only detect what we allow them to detect. Simple as that.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    They proceeded deeper. Or so Cillian thought. For all he knew, the man might be amusing himself by dragging them round and round the same thicket of trees.

    As promised, their faithful flashlights, drawing flickering patterns on the branch mazes overhead and the shrubbery underfoot, came in handy almost immediately. Larches, already stripped off their garments, dominated the locale, their shine greatly diminished. The discarded amber needles crunched under their boots.

    It was amidst such a faded company that Cillian took his first stumble of the day.

    ¡°Whoa, Kil!¡± Eamon cried out. ¡°Be careful!¡±

    Luckily, he managed to catch himself on a trunk just in time. Chill seeped through his bare fingers, and he jerked his hand away. Aether! Why is it so frackin¡¯ cold?

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Nuala called out to them, peeping from behind another trunk and shining a ray right at Cillian¡¯s face. ¡°Do you want to be left behind? Catch up already!¡±

    They hurriedly did so.

    ¡°Cathal,¡± Cillian addressed the boy who was currently preoccupied with pushing his way through a shin-tangle of bracken. ¡°Once we stop again, can you quickly step away, say, 30 paces and check the compass? I¡¯ll shout once I turn on the flashlight, and you can count the seconds.¡±

    Eyes still on the ground, Cathal puffed out, ¡°Sure. Unless instructor Sommer says otherwise.¡±

    The man did say otherwise when they came to a halt, ¡°You can do it at a second stop from here. Right now I want you to turn your attention to that.¡± He gestured past the trees toward the widest glade they¡¯d encountered so far. Is there something there?

    ¡°Flashlights off, and check your compasses.¡±

    Two seconds of hesitant oscillation, then the arrows collectively swiveled to point in the direction of the clearing¡¯s center.

    ¡°Your compasses are basic ¨C no distance indicators, no species¡¯ identifiers ¨C but they guide you true: a small chest is sitting there, waiting. It¡¯s filled with stones and a simple drawing dud, which does nothing more than slowly siphon aether from the environment in order to be detectable. Let¡¯s take a closer look.¡±

    They emerged from the tree cover and stepped next to the wooden chest. It boasted a radial lock but, as instructor Sommer shortly demonstrated, was currently open. Inside they found an assortment of quarely smooth, circular rocks, three in total.

    ¡°The chest may or may not be in the same place on Saturday, who knows. It will be locked, but you¡¯ll all have the keys, one per team. The stones are your prizes. Collect and carry them until the end of the event, at which point they will be exchanged for actual valuables, but do not touch the dud or move the chest. And remember to close the lid when you¡¯re done, so the others don¡¯t see that it¡¯s already been looted.¡±

    To punctuate the words, the top half of the casket swung shut, and the man beckoned them forward. ¡°There are similar treasures scattered all over the area ¨C some are in clearings like this; some are not. There¡¯s no limit on how many stones you can collect, but don¡¯t try to fool us with fakes. We¡¯ll know, and you will regret it.¡±

    The next stint was the fastest yet, and Cillian¡¯s ribs made their displeasure known without delay. He cursed the gorilla for the umpteenth time, while both of his boots sank into the grass. He couldn¡¯t even see the dirt here; the whole nearby patch was overflowing with vegetation. The trees on all sides glowed brighter once more, making the artificial illumination no longer necessary.

    A few minutes into it, Nuala suddenly stopped and issued an order, ¡°Slow down; there¡¯s a ravine!¡±

    The boys cautiously approached, but instructor Sommer, already at the bottom, shouted at them, ¡°Don¡¯t stop! Hurry up!¡±

    Cillian faced Eamon. ¡°Sit and slide down? Wait, no, the ball will bounce on the ground.¡± He thought quickly. ¡°I know it¡¯s stupid, but let¡¯s put the belts around our shoulders or necks and slide.¡±

    Eamon shot him an incredulous look. ¡°What? Around our necks?¡±

    ¡°So when we sit the ball stays above the ground. Squat, hold hands, and slide. No one said the belts couldn¡¯t be moved.¡±

    ¡°I said hustle!¡±

    ¡°Alright!¡± Nuala took charge. ¡°We do as Cillian suggested. Move your belts! But not both at once!¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t we just carry them then?¡± Cathal wondered. ¡°The belts, I mean.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll ask once down,¡± Cillian replied, waiting for Eamon to finish.

    ¡°Man, it¡¯s like I¡¯m being collared! By meself!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you below. Cathal, stay with the doggies. Maybe slide after? Just don¡¯t crash into them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± Cathal laughed.

    ¡°Screw you!¡±

    Cillian had to admit that holding hands with another collared fella while a stern man glared at them ¨C at least he assumed the man was glaring as he couldn¡¯t spare a glance ¨C was quite funny. They descended without incident.

    ¡°We can do it, ay?¡± Cillian asked the instructor while brushing dirt off his pants.

    ¡°You can, so long as you actually wear it, not carry,¡± he replied with emphasis, clearly having overheard Cathal¡¯s suggestion.

    ¡°Do you want to take an opportunity to switch?¡± Nuala offered. ¡°Cathal and I can take it.¡±

    ¡°About time!¡± Eamon exclaimed. ¡°Put it around your neck, too.¡±

    ¡°You wish,¡± Nuala smirked.

    ¡°Cease your blabbering and switch quickly. We are behind the schedule as it is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go in front,¡± Cillian volunteered.

    The group continued on their way, and, as he stole a peek at the entangled pair, Cillian wondered if he and Eamon had looked equally ridiculous. Probably less, he thought. They were about the same height, while Nuala was much shorter than any of them, but especially Cathal, who had at least half a head on the other boys.

    Cillian soon discovered that being in front wasn¡¯t much easier ¨C he had to choose pathways that would suit his teammates while consciously not following instructor Sommer. He wasn¡¯t nearly as good at it as Nuala but got by well enough, in his humble opinion. And while power-walking no less.

    No longer focused solely on the girl¡¯s back and his footsteps, the boy realized that the tree roots and butts weren¡¯t the only glowing residents of the forest ¨C now and again he spotted bright, colorful slashes whiz from one leafy cover to the next. That, in turn, made him aware of the constant chirping hubbub they were drowning in.

    Cillian knew that insects were everywhere here ¨C when one species went to sleep, another unerringly took their place. Even within the confines of the academy grounds there was no escaping them. But 10 days of unending stridulation had taught him to block the noise from his mind. Now though, as they sank deeper into the green depths, ignoring it became all but impossible.

    There weren¡¯t nearly as many bugs yesterday, surely? Another thing to thank aether burning for.

    25 minutes of weaving around preceded the company¡¯s next break. When it came, it was abrupt ¨C instructor Sommer raised his fist. Cillian halted and raised a fist of his own.

    Once the stragglers caught up, the man gestured at a huddle of firs and undergrowth innocently lounging ahead. ¡°A trap.¡± They looked up. A beam of light guided their gazes toward a pigskin bubble dangling between a pair of trunks, about three meters above their heads. ¡°The tripwire.¡± The beam glided down to accentuate the skinny line skirting the ground.

    Even from relatively close, the setup was barely noticeable in the dimness.

    ¡°The bubble is filled with paint. Get splashed with even a single drop, and you¡¯re out. Fortunately for you, all traps are also detectable, same as the prize boxes, same as the flashlights. But even on the marginally more advanced compasses, which you¡¯ll get an opportunity to acquire tomorrow, you won¡¯t be able to distinguish between them.¡±

    ¡°And this trap wouldn¡¯t be here on Saturday, would it?¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°Likely not. Then again, maybe it¡¯s not worth the effort to move it since I highly doubt any of you even know where we are right now.¡±

    The man was dead right.

    Cillian glanced down at his compass. The arrow wigwagged randomly before settling to point neither at the trap nor at the only glowing flashlight. He looked up at their chaperone in askance.

    ¡°They do that. Single-target ones, that is. There is no rhyme nor reason as to which direction they choose when there are interfering vortexes ¨C sometimes they point at one target, sometimes at another, but more often than not you get total gibberish.¡±

    ¡°Grand,¡± Eamon muttered.

    ¡°In any case, how are you all doing on water supply?¡±

    ¡°Sill half full,¡± Cathal estimated after shaking his canteen.

    ¡°Same,¡± Cillian added.

    ¡°There¡¯s barely anything left in mine,¡± Eamon said. ¡°Spilled me some while trying to drink on the run.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve only made a couple of sips,¡± Nuala concluded their little inventory check.

    ¡°You should drink more, Ms. Rafferty. Our next stop will be at a stream, the only one inside the fence. You can refill your flasks there; it¡¯s clean enough. We¡¯ll proceed at a sedate pace for two stints.¡±

    Once they got there, after almost exactly 30 minutes ¨C Cillian suspected they¡¯d been zig-zagging to time their arrival ¨C instructor Sommer allowed the flashlight test to commence.

    Since Cathal was currently enjoying the leash, Eamon was the one who disappeared behind the entwined masses of orange and green. The boy¡¯s muffled shout came, ¡°30 paces! Ready!¡±

    At that distance, once Cillian turned the nub, it took 3 seconds for Eamon¡¯s compass to pick up the invisible whirlpool brought into existence by the extra elanroot. They tested at 50 paces next ¨C 3 seconds more. But at 70 and beyond, nothing could be detected at all.

    They refilled the canteens and trudged further yet, their slower clip giving Cillian the freedom to contemplate matters other than where to step next.

    Previously, it¡¯d always confused him how humans couldn¡¯t eat meat or vegetables without either painstakingly raising non-magical species for that purpose or meticulously draining the magical ones from aether beforehand but, at the same time, could freely drink water from a river with no aether treatment of any kind.

    Now he had a better idea, thanks to the ¡°Aether¡± classes. According to them, the omnipresent substance could exist in three different states ¨C elusive, agitated, and tainted. Elusive was by far the most common ¨C it was literally everywhere, with some places enjoying greater concentrations than others ¨C but, as the name implied, was also the least understood.

    The modern theory suggested that the elusive aether, also known as ¡°aethereal¡±, wasn¡¯t actually in the air or water because it wasn¡¯t entirely physical in nature. It didn¡¯t really move with air or water currents or interact with anything at all other than elanroots and, instead, operated by its own poorly discerned laws. You submerge your canteen into a stream, but when you lift it, the aether that was seemingly trapped inside the vessel will simply stay where it was ¨C still down in the water.

    Cillian couldn¡¯t quite wrap his head around the idea. How can we even detect it then?

    He took a careful sip on the move ¨C without succumbing to poisoning ¨C and wondered if on Saturday they would get more substantial water containers. The treasure chests would serve as natural convergence points, but, with such wee little canteens, so would the stream. Every group would have to get their drinking supplies restocked at least once.

    They hadn¡¯t been told some critical details, to be sure. Case in point being the pseudo-wristwatches with keyholes in them. Instructor Sommer appeared in no hurry to explain the purpose of the contraptions.

    The company continued in a similar manner for the next handful of hours, only making a single longer break to tuck into their food. Cillian had to carry the glass ball two more times ¨C first with Cathal then with Eamon again. They collectively decided Nuala should be their permanent scout while the guys would rotate.

    Cillian¡¯s chest hindered him more and more with each passing stint.

    During those hours, the group encountered two other types of traps ¨C sound and net. The former, if triggered, would announce their annoyance at being disturbed by blasting the ears of the culprits and everyone else unfortunate enough to find themselves in the vicinity. And the latter were just that ¨C nets dropping on top or scooping you up. One could be recovered from, but the other would spell the end of your run.

    Additionally, instructor Sommer revealed more rules about the upcoming event. They weren¡¯t allowed to leave the fenced-off area, which was obvious enough. Physical attacks on the other participants were also out of the question. It didn¡¯t mean that injuries wouldn¡¯t happen, the man cheerfully told them, but intentionally dealing an injury was grounds for immediate disqualification.

    And wrecking the ball was an automatic loss with all collected stones being voided. On a positive note, some unintentional roughhousing by a party that should remain unnamed (it was Eamon) let them discover that small bumps and knocks didn¡¯t pose a threat to the glass orb¡¯s integrity.

    The party in question (Eamon) apologized profusely.

    Quare and awkward or not, the three boys eventually grew accustomed to moving with the constant risk of falling over and smashing their lifeline. The trick, Cillian learned, was to perceive yourself and your intertwined companion as a single four-legged creature suffering a whopping hangover. You choose a slippery slab to plant your boot on or try to squeeze through a vanishingly small gap ¨C and the next thing you see would be the disappointed face of your spouse¨C ahem, scout.

    The most excruciating part of the entire trip came on the way back when instructor Sommer pulled a double-stint of deliberate, agonizing creeping. Their progress was so slow Cillian couldn¡¯t even think of it as walking; an hour was spent covering a hundred paces.

    Well, maybe he was exaggerating. Just a little. Still, all parts of his exhausted body were very happy to leave the forest behind.

    And none were more grateful than his long-suffering ribs.

    <hr>

    The next day after lunch Cillian and his teammates gathered in Eamon¡¯s room to discuss strategy. They had a light schedule today ¨C just two theoretical courses ¨C since the instructors had mercifully decided to give them a breather before the competition tomorrow.

    Eamon¡¯s room was still a mess, but with most of their members living on the third floor ¨C everyone but Nuala ¨C it made sense to gather somewhere upstairs, and no way Cillian was letting three people into his quarters.

    ¡°Okay, first things first, I won the lottery; should we do the assignment?¡± Nuala started the conversation, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

    ¡°Of course, why is it even in question?¡± Cillian asked. ¡°Obviously, it¡¯s your assignment, so you decide, but I don¡¯t see why you wouldn¡¯t.¡± He looked around and opted to stand, his back to the wall.

    It was the first time any of them had won. Admittedly, it was only the second lottery overall. Participating in a raffle where the prize was work felt a little bizarre, but with non-mandatory assignments being limited as they were, the procedure made sense. And, as one would expect, the lottery wasn¡¯t a simple one but rather weighted, that was, the higher your ring ¨C the higher the chance to win. The students had also been informed that the instructors could temporarily remove any name from contention whenever they wished.

    ¡°To make certain no one pulls ahead too much thanks to a stroke of good fortune rather than their skill.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Nuala replied, ¡°but it¡¯s a two-person assignment to wash a truck.¡± She made a face. ¡°And those trucks are huge. A lot of physical work when we should be resting. Who of you wants to join, anyway?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll join!¡± Eamon enthusiastically offered. Upon entering the room the boy had immediately jumped on the bed and was now lounging there with both hands behind his head.

    Cillian laughed. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of eagerness for cleaning from someone whose room looks like this.¡± He nodded at the collection of clothes, boots, and other bric-a-brac forming islands amidst the softness of the wine-colored carpet.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Cathal gnawed on his lower lip, sitting on the lone chair as he was, before continuing, ¡°we¡¯re doing this for the team, right?¡± He eyed them all. ¡°Assuming we spend the tokens on better equipment for tomorrow, it makes sense to have another second-ringer join Nuala to maximize the payout. No offense, Eamon.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on¨C¡±

    ¡°I would be happy to join, but I really do need to rest,¡± Cillian said. ¡°I¡¯m feeling worse than yesterday and don¡¯t want to push it. And I agree with Cathal ¨C he should be the one to help Nuala.¡±

    Eamon scrunched his face in a feigned hurt and opened his mouth to protest, so Cillian quickly pressed on, ¡°I mean, Nuala obviously has to do it since it¡¯s her assignment, but if you join her, you¡¯d take waaay too long. Half the time would be spent flirting and bantering, instead of working.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly capable of concentrating on the work, ye know,¡± Eamon answered a bit grouchily.

    ¡°Do you really want to wash a truck?¡± Nuala asked him skeptically.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the task that matters but the company.¡± The boy was all charm once again.

    The girl rolled her eyes and hid a smile. ¡°Oh yes, because shouting at each other over the noise of the hoses is what I consider quality time.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± Cillian added, ¡°you¡¯ve been complaining all day about being tired and sore. You should take it easy, man.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine!¡± Eamon raised his arms in surrender. ¡°No need to gang up on me, guys. Nuala and Cathal for this job, I dig it. Let¡¯s move on.¡±

    A moment passed in silence, then Cathal asked, ¡°So we agree to spend what we¡¯ll earn today on better equipment, right?¡±

    ¡°Depends on the wares,¡± Nuala shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be opposed to a better compass. I¡¯m guessing there will be multi-target ones. And maybe with larger ranges, too.¡±

    ¡°Some spy goggles wouldn¡¯t be amiss,¡± Cillian said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯d be allowed to bring my own or not.¡±

    ¡°Is there any point to them in the dark anyway?¡± Eamon countered.

    ¡°There is. The glow from the trees would silhouette a target, I reckon. The goggles are not to see the minute details but to detect movement across clearings. I imagine most treasures would be placed in open spaces. And also¡­¡± He pondered for a second how to phrase his next thought better. ¡°I propose ¨C and it¡¯s just a proposal, you understand ¨C that we go all in. In terms of tokens, I mean. Spend not just what you two will earn today,¡± he looked at Cathal and Nuala, ¡°but everything we have, provided there is something worthwhile to spend them on, of course. And aye, I know it¡¯s easy to offer this for someone who only has one token.¡±

    By this point, basically everyone ¡°knew¡± what had transpired between him, Keefe, and Rory because the latter hadn¡¯t been shy about spreading his version of events. Cillian had half-expected another assault, but, instead, the knucklehead had confined himself to sharing the tale of the dastardly Cillian stealing the tokens and attacking his honorable self like a rat when politely requested to give the string back.

    Keefe had been keeping quiet, apart from saying once that Rory was full of niss-shit. He evidently didn¡¯t appreciate being used. And Cillian just gave non-answers when asked. There was no point in trying to convince anyone since instructors clearly knew something nasty had happened and didn¡¯t care.

    It was old news now, in any case. The gossip had fizzled out.

    Nuala furrowed her eyebrows. ¡°You think it¡¯s a good idea?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¨C¡± Cathal began hesitantly.

    ¡°It¡¯s a terrible idea!¡±

    ¡°Hear me out, okay?¡± Cillian pushed off the wall to stand straight. ¡°I reckon these ¡®treasure hunts¡¯ would be a regular thing, not just a one-off. I also reckon that whatever ¡®treasures¡¯ we could potentially win would be much more valuable than anything we could buy with tokens earned doing measly manual labor, so it makes sense to exchange our tokens for a better chance at getting more treasures.¡± He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Remember what headmaster Gorman told us on the first day? Something along the lines of ¡®the tokens are for unlimited items, while the stones are for limited¡¯. And it makes sense, too, because there¡¯s a clear difference between cleaning trucks and doing well in a competition. Whatever the exclusive rewards are, I think we should have a real go at them.

    ¡°Besides,¡± he carried on, ¡°everyone seems to just sit on the tokens they have, waiting for something good to be offered, but there¡¯s no point to the tokens if you don¡¯t spend them. Early on, while we¡¯re all still new and the difficult classes haven¡¯t begun yet, is the time to act boldly, because we aren¡¯t really risking much. I mean, come on, we were literally given most of our tokens for free. It¡¯s not like they were hard-earned with sweat and blood. So while everyone¡¯s still hesitating, we should capitalize,¡± Cillian finished as emphatically as he could, eying the trio for their reactions.

    Cathal pressed his lips together and appeared to be mulling over the proposition. Eamon simply shrugged and kept blithely joggling his leg.

    ¡°I suppose it makes sense?¡± Nuala tentatively said, leaning back on her outstretched arms. ¡°Even though I did sweat quite a lot for one of them. But, come to think of it, yes ¨C these ¡®treasure hunts¡¯, as you call them, would likely have a bigger impact on our personal standings than regular assignments and written tests.¡± After she considered some more, the girl nodded. ¡°I¡¯m in. Provided that the equipment on offer actually serves to increase our chances. There¡¯s no point in buying multiple advanced compasses just because we could¡­ Although, nothing was said about splitting the party¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in too,¡± Cathal spoke up when Nuala didn¡¯t say anything else. ¡°It would be a bummer, like, to spend everything and not win anything, but then we just have to do well, right?¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Eamon sighed, ¡°I rescind my assessment; it¡¯s not a terrible idea. Consider me intrigued. How much do we have anyway? 3 for me.¡±

    ¡°3 as well. Nuala, you have,¡± Cathal looked at the girl, who showed him five fingers, ¡°5. Add Cillian¡¯s 1, which makes 12. Plus whatever we¡¯ll get for the truck ¨C likely 14 or 15 in total.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad we agree. What about our strategy?¡± Cillian attempted to move the discussion along. ¡°I think stealth is the name of the game, not speed.¡±

    ¡°For sure,¡± Eamon said. ¡°No way I¡¯m running for six hours. And no way we can keep the stupid ball intact for that long unless we are really careful.¡±

    ¡°The conditions favor stealth,¡± Nuala agreed. ¡°I think what we did yesterday worked fine. Have a scout with a better compass, two carriers, and one floater.¡±

    ¡°Scout,¡± Eamon scoffed playfully. ¡°You meant to say ¡®Nuala¡¯, aye? The princess who will be exempt from carrying the stupid orb?¡±

    ¡°Well if you guys didn¡¯t suck so much at finding a path and keeping a low profile¡­¡± She craned her neck and smirked at the boy.

    ¡°I¡¯ve no objections. Carrying the ball with the leprechaun looked awkward anyway,¡± Cillian nodded.

    Nuala wagged a ¡®V¡¯ at him and said, ¡°And no talking, guys. We should come up with some basic hand signals, like a raised fist for ¡®stop¡¯. And if you see a signal, repeat it, so everyone sees.¡±

    The next five minutes were spent doing just that ¨C they added gestures for ¡°Huddle!¡±, ¡°Trap ahead!¡±, ¡°Enemy sighted!¡±, and a few more to their arsenal.

    ¡°Speaking of enemies, I don¡¯t have to point out that no one said anything about smashing another team¡¯s ball, do I?¡± Eamon asked lazily, his eyes closed.

    Cillian was about to mention it himself. ¡°Aye, noticed that too.¡±

    ¡°Yes they did,¡± Cathal objected. ¡°No physical attacks are allowed¨C¡±

    ¡°No attacks on the students are allowed,¡± Cillian corrected. ¡°It doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t break someone else¡¯s beacon. Instructor Sommer would¡¯ve said so explicitly if that was the case.¡±

    Cathal frowned.

    ¡°I¡¯m not proposing we go hunting the others,¡± Cillian elaborated. ¡°I¡¯m saying we should expect attacks from the others. After all, you get your beacon wrecked ¨C your stones are up for grabs. Although, I¡¯m not sure how is it supposed to work. We just drop them?¡±

    ¡°An instructor would show up and take them,¡± Eamon shrugged, ¡°then put them somewhere detectable. Or just hand them over to whoever smashed your ball ¨C smashed your balls, hehe ¨C if that¡¯s what happened.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, guys,¡± Cathal said doubtfully. ¡°That seems¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not convinced either,¡± Nuala cut in. ¡°If you¡¯re allowed to break the others¡¯ beacons but not allowed to physically attack anyone, how are you supposed to defend? Just run away? The attacker would have a big advantage.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Cillian conceded after a pause. ¡°We¡¯re likely missing something, or, more precisely, deliberately haven¡¯t been told everything yet. But I still think there¡¯s going to be some way to confront one another, otherwise why the emphasis on staying undetected?¡±

    ¡°And we still don¡¯t know what the yokes with keyholes are for,¡± added Nuala.

    ¡°Something stupid, I bet,¡± Eamon said, rolling his eyes. ¡°The whole thing is just silly.¡±

    Their speculation carried on for another 40 minutes until it was time for Nuala and Cathal to leave for their assignment, at which point Cillian remembered his earlier concern about water.

    ¡°Wait,¡± he called out to the duo before they could depart. ¡°You reckon they¡¯d open the vehicle hangar on both sides for you?¡±

    Nuala asked, ¡°What does it matter?¡±

    ¡°You remember the minuscule canteens we were given?¡± They nodded. ¡°It¡¯s on purpose ¨C to make the stream another point of convergence. I¡¯m pretty sure we¡¯d be searched tomorrow so none of us takes anything we ain¡¯t supposed to. What I¡¯m saying is that if the trucks are parked outside the outer wall, which seems likely since they wouldn¡¯t want all that grime to be dripping on the inside, then maybe you could take a big waterskin from the kitchens, fill it up, and hide it somewhere in the woods.¡°

    ¡°Uhh¡­¡± Cathal and Nuala exchanged uncertain glances. ¡°How do you propose we do that?¡±

    ¡°And why?¡± the girl piled on.

    ¡°Well, maybe you could take a break to ¡®relieve yourself¡¯, Cathal, or something. Obviously, don¡¯t risk it if you¡¯re closely monitored. But there are going to be several large trucks and multiple groups hosing water on them and shouting at each other, so an opportunity might present itself. And as for the why ¨C I¡¯m of the mind that we should seek any advantage we can get, no matter how small. Particularly when it involves little downside. Look,¡± Cillian gently padded his chest, ¡°I¡¯m still not one hundred percent, none of us are third-ringers, and we don¡¯t have much experience navigating the wilds, so I¡¯m just saying that we¡¯re already behind when it comes to our earnings. We shouldn¡¯t pass by any potential edge.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Eamon said firmly. ¡°And there¡¯s nothing suspicious about bringing a waterskin with you. Washing a truck? It¡¯s thirsty work, that. And if you see a chance¡­¡±

    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll do it,¡± Nuala asserted before Cathal could say the opposite. She wheeled around. ¡°Let¡¯s go; we need to hurry.¡±

    They left, with Eamon¡¯s eyes following them out the door. Following Nuala¡¯s retreating form, to be precise. After a good ten seconds had passed, he suddenly asked, ¡°So. What do you make of him?¡±

    Cillian blinked. ¡°Who? Cathal?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Hardly know him. In good shape though.¡±

    An annoyed look crossed the other boy¡¯s face. ¡°Aye, everyone seems to be compared to me. Do you run marathons in yer free time?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you need to worry about fitness much; we have conditioning for a reason,¡± Cillian said, taking a step away from the wall. ¡°Want to go to the repo? Need to return a book, and I want to find something else to read.¡±

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯ll relax today. Too much running as it is.¡±

    ¡°And you wanted to wash a truck,¡± Cillian smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t strain yourself lying around.¡±

    Eamon repeated Nuala¡¯s rude gesture from earlier and yawned. ¡°Have fun!¡±

    Outside, Cillian took a cautious peek left and right ¨C you never knew these days ¨C gently shut the door, and went about his day.

    Tomorrow he will finally have something exciting to write home about.

 Chapter 9. Stepping in

    ¡°I hope you all got a good night¡¯s rest,¡± instructor Loritz said to the assembled groups of cadets, ¡°and you should hope that the day proves to be long and exhausting¨C¡± A cold gust of wind swept over the yard, interrupting the man and making Cillian wish for his old hat with fluffy ear flaps. ¡±Long ¨C because if you¡¯re done after just a couple of hours? It means you have failed. And as for exhausting ¨C it wouldn¡¯t matter if you last until the very end but have nothing to show for it, hiding in the bushes as you were the entire time, would it?

    ¡°And while you would undoubtedly prioritize collecting prizes, remember that what matters to us,¡± he indicated himself and his colleagues for emphasis, ¡°is how you do it. You¡¯ll be judged on your decision-making, initiative, teamwork, and what meager skills you possess.¡±

    Hurry up, man! Standing still in this freezer is frackin¡¯ intolerable. Cillian shuddered.

    Instructor Loritz made a ¡®go ahead¡¯ gesture at the other chevaliers, and they proceeded to step toward their respective groups. ¡°While you¡¯re being searched and equipped, I¡¯ll fill you in with the missing details.¡±

    At that, Cillian looked around, curious to see if anyone was trying to sneak one forbidden yoke or another past the metaphorical sniffing hounds. Their own group¡¯s waterskin was lying safely in a bush, courtesy of Cathal. Not exactly the most thrilling contraband, but every little bit helped. Whether they¡¯d be able to find that particular bush with no skywalker was another matter entirely.

    Patrick Sommer patted Cathal down, checking his pockets, belt bag, and even boots. Someone to their right protested in indignation ¨C Cillian missed what about ¨C while a girl in one of their neighboring bands cheekily told her chaperone that nothing was said about not bringing normal, unmodified flashlights.

    ¡°And you thought we¡¯d just let you take it?¡± was the woman¡¯s amused response.

    Damn, I should¡¯ve thought of that.

    Then again, a container of water was one thing, but an undetectable flashlight would likely be considered violating the spirit of the competition and taken away by their watcher anyway, initially smuggled in successfully or not.

    As for their other equipment ¨C 15 tokens had netted them a double-target compass, a single gas grenade, four aether duds, and a pair of binoculars (Cillian hadn¡¯t been permitted to take his spy goggles). They¡¯d been briefed that the grenade was designed for outdoor use and was mostly harmless to living beings, although the discharge duration could be iffy ¨C anywhere from 20 to 40 seconds. And the duds were devices that drew aether and did nothing else, serving only to confuse compasses. Three were basic ones ¨C they lasted for two minutes and, once let loose, couldn¡¯t be muzzled again. The last one was more sophisticated ¨C it could be turned on and off at will and had a total charge sufficient for 10 minutes of diversion.

    The foursome were now officially broke ¨C thankfully, a stormchaser and a stopwatch came for free ¨C but Cillian was confident it¡¯d be worth it.

    Owen Loritz was still talking.

    ¡°¨Cthese things,¡± he picked up one of the pseudo-wristwatches, ¡°are your collars. Each one has to be rewound with your team¡¯s key every 30 minutes. Fail to do that ¨C and it will loudly announce this fact to everyone around. That is, it¡¯ll start drawing aether the same way your flashlights do, in its own unique pattern. We detect it ¨C and you¡¯re out.¡±

    The man smiled at them before fetching a dreaded glass ball from the crate at his feet. ¡°Of course, with a collar comes a leash, and here are yours.¡±

    Cillian instantly noticed that the real beacon¡¯s orb was a wee smaller than the fake one¡¯s, but the mechanism above it, affixing it to the string, was, in contrast, larger ¨C it was where the device¡¯s own elanroot was likely contained. Taken together with a key fused to the bottom of the ball, the whole yoke resembled a head adorned with a cute little crown and a golden tie.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try to rip the key off. You¡¯d think it should be obvious, but alas,¡± instructor Loritz scoffed, ¡°experience taught us it has to be spelled out. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re all capable of figuring out the implications of the key¡¯s unusual placement. And, by the way, it also unlocks the treasure chests.¡±

    He put the beacon down and presented a small black pouch next. ¡°You¡¯ll also have these.¡± His long fingers untied the cord, and they were presented with the contents. Err¡­ Cillian didn¡¯t know what to make of it. Are these egg yolks? Four of them and somehow solid ¨C suffocating in copious amounts of wadding.

    The instructor snatched one ¡°yolk¡± and raised it in front of his face to be better seen in the light from a nearby lamppost. ¡°Gelatin paintballs ¨C your ammunition.¡± He tossed it up and caught it. The ball didn¡¯t fracture. ¡°Same as the beacons, they are sturdier than they look ¨C the shell was made thick ¨C but a solid hit would still crack it and release the paint.¡±

    Ammunition? Cillian traded curious glances with Eamon and Cathal. Nuala was too busy being handcuffed by instructor Sommer to join the exchange.

    ¡°Every team gets their own color, and every member gets a pouch.¡±

    Instructor Callum Hipke flitted from group to group, handing over their deadly rounds. Cillian peeked inside ¨C violet.

    ¡°As you¡¯ve already been informed,¡± Owen Loritz raised his voice, ¡°you¡¯re not allowed to physically attack the others. Instead, if you want to rob another team and kick them out of the running, all you have to do is paint their beacon in your color. From a distance,¡± he stressed the word, ¡°of at least two meters. Do not come closer than that to another team¡¯s beacon. Remember, we will be watching.¡±

    The man took a long look at them all, nodded in apparent satisfaction, and carried on, ¡°Only the beacon counts. You can protect it with your bodies if you wish. This is in contrast to the paint traps ¨C with them, anywhere on your body, gambesons and all, is instant game over. Although, they only eliminate the splashed members, not the entire team. Unless you get red ¨C the traps¡¯ color ¨C on the beacon itself.¡±

    ¡°What constitutes ¡®painting the beacon¡¯? Covering it entirely?¡± The question came from Oscar.

    ¡°No, a good smudge is enough. It¡¯s to imitate damaging a beast¡¯s elanroot. An observer will let you know right away.¡±

    ¡°What if they retaliate and paint our beacon before an observer can declare them ¡®dead¡¯? It¡¯d take at least a few seconds, I wager,¡± the boy persisted.

    ¡°Then you¡¯d get your beacon wiped clean with a solution we all carry. Not to worry, Mr. Magee,¡± instructor Loritz said wryly, ¡°we¡¯ve been doing this for a long time.¡±

    When no more questions cropped up, he again turned to address the students at large, ¡°So, what¡¯s with all these complications? Why not just make you fight it out ¨C go at each other hand-to-hand or something equally silly? It¡¯s a fair question.¡±

    Now it was Cillian¡¯s turn to have his personal space invaded by a pair of rough hands. Patrick Sommer patted his gambeson-clad chest, and the boy suppressed an instinctive urge to pull away. His ribs were still sensitive.

    ¡°I can assure you, killing beasts is not a contest of strength. Or, at least, it very rarely comes down to a contest of strength. Doing things our way,¡° instructor Loritz pointed at the boxes full of the beacons and flashlights, ¡±you learn to navigate the wilderness and watch your footing. You learn to stick together and operate as a team. You learn to keep your distance from beasts and that preparation and precision are key. After all, the best way to kill a beast is to pierce its elanroot, but if you can¡¯t, it¡¯s often preferable to send it scurrying into a trap.

    ¡°You can try to cheat ¨C and you might even be able to get away with it ¨C but, in the long run, the only thing you¡¯ll achieve is cheating yourself.¡±

    Satisfied that Cillian wasn¡¯t concealing anything unsanctioned on his upper body, their chaperone moved on to plundering his belt bag.

    ¡°And later, once you have some skills, the game will feature modified rulesets. For example, we¡¯ll eventually do away with paint and switch to using special bows and arrowheads. And you¡¯ll wear better protection, naturally.¡± Another inrush of wind brought an enticing flavor of burning firewood from the laundry house. The man glanced at his watch. ¡°There are a couple more points to explain; your team guide will handle it while escorting you to your starting position. You can equip the beacon there. The game will begin and end with a horn; you won¡¯t miss it.¡±

    Unexpectedly, the normally austere instructor then favored them with an affectionate smile, as opposed to his usual thin one. ¡°That¡¯s all you need to hear from me; we¡¯ll meet again in a few hours.¡± Even his voice had lost that trumpeting edge. ¡°And do try to enjoy yourselves, will you? It¡¯s a competition, true, but some stupidity is very much expected from you at this stage. Do your best, adhere to the rules, and you¡¯ll be fine. I wish you all good luck!¡±

    Their bodies poked where no poking was welcome and their ¡°collars¡± tightly secured, Cillian and his teammates set off after instructor Sommer. Back into the dingy forest ¨C for the third time in four days.

    On the move, he looked at the trio to gauge their moods. Eamon looked uncharacteristically somber while Cathal radiated waves of worry. Nuala though¡­

    ¡°Nervous?¡± she noticed him looking and asked, smiling, almost vibrant.

    ¡°Some,¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°You seem to be eager to hunt. Excited.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± she confirmed with a nod. ¡°We¡¯ll crush them! Right, guys?¡±

    Eamon didn¡¯t immediately start bantering with her, which was atypical. Nuala glided to run alongside and nudged him with her elbow, ¡°You alright?¡±

    ¡°M?¡± The boy let the breath escape him, the vapor briefly masking his taut expression. ¡°Oh aye, I¡¯m dandy; just drowsy is all. Hate waking up so¨C¡±

    At that moment, another group overtook them on their right, stomping. Cillian glanced that way and saw it was a single fella who was hammering the ground with enthusiasm and scowling at them. Or, more precisely, at him.

    Is this supposed to be an intimidation tactic? Aether, he really is a gorilla.

    Cillian noted Oscar and two girls on Rory¡¯s team. He thought one was Eithne but didn¡¯t know the other.

    The arsehole kept glaring until their mismatched paces separated the groups. At least the little circus act served to pull Eamon out of his funk.

    ¡°The gorilla still has a problem with you, Kil.¡±

    ¡°An astute observation,¡± he puffed out.

    ¡°Think he¡¯ll try something?¡± Cathal asked, anxious.

    ¡°Perhaps. Has to find us first.¡±

    Privately, Cillian was no longer sure what to make of the fella. The hateful glowers persisted, together with occasional rude comments, but still no follow-up face-to-face confrontation. The beast had been restraining itself for a reason unknown.

    ¡°Well, a gorilla should be right at home in the forest,¡± Eamon quipped.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the right type of forest,¡± countered Nuala.

    Their voyage among the shimmering and sometimes dancing lights toward their starting position would take a while, so Cillian used the opportunity to go over the rules of the contest one more time in his head.

    The key being an inseparable part of the beacon¡¯s royal attire meant they had to come bend a knee to it every half an hour to beg for the honor of having their collars rewound, which made prolonged separations infeasible. And only 4 paintballs per person granted them 16 total shots for 11 opposing teams. They obviously had to be conservative with the available ammunition.

    Whichever way you present it, any team-to-team tangles are going to look comical. What¡¯s more likely ¨C an unfortunate couple, having to lug their deadweight kid in between them, to successfully dance out of the way of an incoming projectile, or a jealous rival to paint the said kid¡¯s head from a distance?

    Cillian snorted quietly, unsure where these strange metaphors were suddenly coming from.

    Deeper into the woods, ensconced on all sides by the imposing trees and inexpertly wading their way through the shrubbery, the foursome listened to instructor Sommer explain the function of the emergency devices they¡¯d also been provided with. One aether grenade and one signal rocket per person.

    Both devices served as a precaution against an unlikely beast attack. The forests around the settlement ¨C and the fenced-off area in particular ¨C being subject to regular scrubbing didn¡¯t mean there was no chance of a few beasts wandering in. The fence was hardly impenetrable and covered only two sides anyway ¨C cutting off the bottom right ¡°corner¡± of the forest from the main body.

    In case of an attack, they were encouraged to use both the grenade and the rocket. The grenade was supposedly so potent that any beast would certainly pounce on it first, which would buy the necessary time for an instructor or security rep to reach them.

    Needless to say, using the emergency devices not in an emergency would be punished severely.

    At the designated spot, which wasn¡¯t marked in any obvious fashion, the group were told to sit tight and wait for the horn, since several other teams had to travel much further. Once alone, or at least without Patrick Sommer breathing down their necks, Cillian sought to climb a nearby tree.

    ¡°What are ye doing?¡±

    He ignored the question and approached the chosen specimen ¨C a typical magical pine, the kind he¡¯d grown familiar with over their previous excursions. The boy craned his neck up and exhaled through the mouth.

    Right, looks straightforward enough.

    After sweeping the area below the lowest branch ¨C Cillian really didn¡¯t fancy landing on a hidden rock and twisting his ankle ¨C he bent his legs and pushed up, reaching with both hands for the hefty appendage. His bare fingers clutched the top, the onrushing chill making him curse himself yet again for forgetting his favorite gloves back in Lua.

    The quartermaster could provide a new pair to Cillian, naturally. For a price.

    Maybe later.

    He tugged on the branch once, twice, and let go.

    Nuala was on his case in an instant, ¡°What? Not up to the challenge, Mr. Climber?¡±

    ¡°Gauging the soundness. It¡¯s my first time climbing a tree.¡±

    The bough was too thick to use as a makeshift pull-up bar, so Cillian made a step away from it, as if defeated, only to return with a vengeance in a flash ¨C one step forward and he sprang up, grabbed the appendage from both sides, and used the momentum to swing his right leg over it. Now hanging above the ground by three points of contact, he leveraged the leg hook to force both elbows atop the branch. A sharp kick up with his only free limb followed, and, once it flew back and gave him some boost, he clambered up the rest of the way.

    Not so different from scaling buildings.

    Even his ribs gave him little fuss. Cillian liked to imagine that all parts of his body had missed this¡­ this defiance of the downward pull of the plane. However, the gambeson wasn¡¯t a fan of the thuggish treatment ¨C it already looked roughened up.

    The hardest part safely behind him, conquering the trunk further up proved simplicity itself.

    Huh. It¡¯s even easier than climbing buildings.

    There was always another handhold in reach.

    Past the densest part of the canopy layer the adventurous boy went, until the welcoming sight of the opalescent aether streaks hailed him from above. Cillian waved at the Everstorm shining far in the distance.

    More notably, several floating clusters radiated warmth from somewhere that was actually reachable. Three groups of sky lanterns were tied to the unseen trees, marking the locations of the fence¡¯s corner, the stream situated further away to the Rim, and the Heaven edge of the artificial clearing sitting smack dab in the middle of this isolated area. Instructor Sommer had shared that it was the largest open space inside the perimeter.

    Now what?

    The starting horn blared, making him involuntarily tighten his grip around the trunk. It was quickly echoed by more horns spread throughout the green sea.

    ¡°Kil! Get back down!¡±

    Cillian eyed the Everstorm one last time.

    Now the game begins.

    <hr>

    They decided on where to go by eliminating the places where they didn¡¯t want to go, not yet.

    The group found themselves somewhere in the Null-Lem (or bottom-left) quarter of the area, relatively close to the fence, with what they¡¯d dubbed ¡°The Corner¡± awaiting further Lem and far Heavenward. Both ¡°The Center¡± and ¡°The Stream¡± were off to the Rim.

    None of them doubted that the central clearing would be a treasure trove, but they collectively agreed it was too early to head there. The same went for the stream and the hidden water supply. They still had full canteens, and no one wished to lug around a big waterskin. It would keep.

    Cillian offered to go Heavenward, parallel to the fence but keeping distance from it, and, for the lack of better ideas, everyone agreed. They rewound the ¡°collars¡± and set off. Eamon and Cathal took the first ¡°carrier¡± duty of the day.

    As the team¡¯s current ¡°floater¡±, Cillian clutched his compass ¨C of the basic variety ¨C in his left hand, ready to scurry over and assist the hapless pair at any moment.

    The march commenced, with Nuala setting the pace. Cillian began on the boys¡¯ right, maintaining a short distance. The forest was quite dense in the area, so the trees and shrubs had a tendency to voice their objections to the neat order, forcing the company to momentarily spread out. Those of them that weren¡¯t tied together, that was.

    Fifteen minutes of roaming the woodland while jumping at every suspicious snap zipped by in no time.

    Nothing.

    Cillian occasionally switched sides, glancing at the compass every so often.

    Eamon strayed into a low thorny bramble and cursed. Nuala shushed him.

    Twenty minutes.

    Still nothing.

    They pushed through one thicket after another, their heavy boots crunching on the grass, leaves, and twigs underfoot, expecting trouble the whole way. But only the usual sounds of the forest kept them company ¨C treetops shaking at the occasional outbursts of wind, sporadic fluttering of wings, and the incessant chirping of the most ubiquitous forest dwellers.

    Gradually, Cillian felt the tone of their silence starting to shift ¨C from very tense to a slightly more confused ¡°why¡¯s nothing happening¡± kind of tense. All of their expressions slowly relaxed, and their spines turned less rigid.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Evidently, there would be no immediate violence. The teams were likely stationed too far from each other for mayhem to erupt right away.

    Soon, their ¡°collars¡± vibrated, indicating five minutes until the scheduled rewind, and Nuala signaled a break. Silently, they appeased the agitated mechanisms. Performing the ritual was one of the two times when they were allowed to directly touch the beacon. Even still, picking up and rotating the key rigidly bonded to the glass ball felt awkward.

    ¡°This is anticlimactic,¡± Eamon commented, sallying forth once again.

    Nuala shot him a sharp look.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked defensively. ¡°There¡¯s no one around. The other teams are scattered all over. It¡¯s the only time we can guarantee that no one¡¯s listening, methinks.¡± A hand covered his mouth as if sharing a secret. ¡°Apart from our silent stalker, mind.¡±

    ¡°Or several,¡± Cillian added. ¡°They said there would be more chaperones than the teams.¡±

    A period of further trudging and winding around ticked by uneventfully. Then, while Cillian was gently pushing a sapling out of the way for Eamon and Cathal to safely proceed, Nuala suddenly signaled to stop. They froze. The girl waited, hesitating. She fanned out her fingers and waited some more, the other hand clenching the compass. Finally, the wide spread turned into a fist, twice, in rapid succession. Huddle up, Cillian recalled. He waved for the guys to advance so that the young tree could be gently returned to its unperturbed state.

    The three boys caught up to their scout, and, once near her, Cillian¡¯s compass picked up a target as well.

    Unlike his basic, watch-like implement, the one Nuala was consulting came in the form of an opaque metal sphere. They¡¯d tested it the day before, and its operation was curious ¨C the way to read it was not by sight but by feel. That was, upon detecting an object of interest, the mechanism secreted within would start pushing on the shell from the inside in the decoded direction. If presented with two targets, the compass would guide one way, then another, alternating the ¡°throbbing¡±.

    It certainly took some getting used to.

    Mr. Rowan Valentin, their chief of inventory, had also told them that this particular model could be further unlocked to give rough distance estimations utilizing the strength of the tug. But the group had lacked the tokens to spare.

    Nuala pointed a finger Heavenward and a notch to the Rim ¨C precisely where Cillian¡¯s own compass was beckoning him. Neither her finger nor his arrow moved ¨C so, a stationary target or someone pretending to be a stationary target.

    The cailin mimed going alone and taking a closer look. After receiving the boys¡¯ nods, she crept forward.

    Cillian took her place and organized the rest to look Lemwise and Nullside ¨C or what he thought were Lem and Null, in any case ¨C while directing his own attention Heavenward and Rimwise.

    They settled into positions and waited.

    This counts as making progress, surely.

    The silence stretched, with their nerves executing a hasty comeback.

    Shit. We haven¡¯t checked from how far away the treasures and traps could be detected.

    He squinted in the direction the girl had disappeared in. It was no use.

    ¡°Where is she?¡± Eamon eventually mumbled, looking over his shoulder.

    No movement, no foreign sounds, no girls with ponytails wearing colorful headbands.

    Is it 70 paces as well?

    Cillian had only just begun worrying himself when Nuala¡¯s triumphant face popped up in between a pair of old firs.

    ¡°It¡¯s a chest,¡± she informed them in a hushed tone. ¡°Nothing else seems to be around; I¡¯ve made a small circle.¡±

    ¡°In a clearing?¡± Cillian breathed out in relief and clarified.

    ¡°No, just sitting between the trees.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go then,¡± said Eamon. ¡°The faster we get it the better.¡± He turned to leave.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Cathal stopped him. ¡°How are we doing it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll step past it, you two come and pick up the stones, while Cillian stays behind.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cillian disagreed. ¡°I better keep close to them, in the event there are any shots to block. And we should reset the collars now, just in case.¡±

    ¡°Dandy. Let¡¯s get to it!¡± Eamon urged.

    They reached the chest without incident, and Cathal used the key to unlock it. Cillian meanwhile resisted an itch to peek over his shoulder and maintained vigilance. But no enemy showed up to pepper them with disgusting blue or orange.

    Violet¡¯s much better.

    Eamon cursed, ¡°Just one. Of bleedin¡¯ course.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t dally,¡± Nuala hissed. ¡°Grab it, close the lid, and we leave.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s exit the chest¡¯s detection area, and I¡¯ll climb up again. Make sure we haven¡¯t inadvertently strayed Lemwise or something,¡± Cillian offered.

    ¡°You¡¯re like a monkey yourself, Kil. How did that happen?¡± Eamon asked curiously.

    ¡°Later.¡±

    It turned out they had veered off course, but not by much.

    Maybe we should just trust the stormchaser, Cillian thought with a grimace. His ribs would certainly concur.

    Nuala was nowhere to be seen, but he knew what she was currently doing ¨C standing still at a good distance while holding the said instrument in one outstretched hand and her aether compass in another. Such was the requisite setup for the device to point where it was supposed to be pointing ¨C Heavenward ¨C with any degree of accuracy.

    A stormchaser relied on the fact that, generally, all aether tended to flow away from the Everstorm. However, even a small disturbance to the aether current in the vicinity was liable to screw the measurements. It didn¡¯t matter that the elanroot in their beacon had come from a shadow stalker ¨C one of the species whose entire thing was stealth, according to instructor Sommer ¨C and therefore its drawing didn¡¯t resemble a vortex at all and was so subtle as to be only detectable by specialized equipment because it had very little effect on the surrounding aether. Nuala still had to step away from the glass orb and keep an eye on the compass for any other upsets to the natural order if she wanted to have a chance of getting the correct result.

    The girl returned. The small, propeller-like mechanism on top of the stormchaser was back to spinning incessantly. She looked up at Cillian and pointed to her 6 o¡¯clock. He nodded in confirmation.

    Shortly after correcting their heading, the group came upon an incline. It was steep but climbable, and, with the vegetation being potentially slippery and obscuring the ground, they took no chances. Cathal and Eamon climbed up in parallel, on all fours, deliberately stretching the string to keep the beacon in the air, while Cillian chased them, ready to help.

    An equally steep descent followed the ensuing rocky plateau. Cursing, the intertwined pair slid down with the belts around their necks.

    ¡°Never seen doggies with two collars before,¡± Nuala ¡®whispered¡¯ to Cillian. Eamon threw mud at her.

    They took an opportunity to rest and switch carriers ¨C Cillian and Cathal this time ¨C and also discuss what to do next, since the comforting tree shine was beginning to diminish.

    Nuala said, ¡°If we keep heading Heavenward it¡¯d likely keep getting darker. Should we turn Rim now, toward the action?¡±

    When Eamon just shrugged, too busy sating his thirst, and Cathal didn¡¯t offer any input either, Cillian voiced his opinion, ¡°I¡¯d like to venture Heavenward a wee further. Dark places are good for hiding treasures, no?¡± He looked at the girl. ¡°Twenty minutes?¡±

    She peered into the tenebrous expanse through the binoculars. ¡°As long as everyone watches their footing.¡±

    ¡°Dark places are also good for hiding dangers, ye know,¡± Eamon pointed out but didn¡¯t disagree.

    ¡°Flashlights?¡± Cathal prompted.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s safe to use them on and off for no longer than three seconds at a time.¡± Cillian fetched his own. ¡°I mean, if someone¡¯s within 30 paces, they already know where we are.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Nuala nodded. ¡°Three seconds, unless a longer use is absolutely necessary. Beacon integrity is more important than secrecy.¡±

    The details agreed upon, the group again preemptively rewound their accursed pseudo-wristwatches and embarked further toward the fence.

    Since it was Cathal¡¯s second shift in a row, Cillian volunteered for the rear duty. They¡¯d discovered yesterday that trailing after the beacon was by far the hardest task since it required being switched on all the time. Case in point¡­

    He felt the increasing pull on the belt and hastened his pace. A dozen meters, then the taller boy in front eased off the throttle. Cillian adjusted to prevent the string from going too slack. The duo scrambled up a low mound together. A leafy branch slapped his forehead.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Cathal whispered.

    The group¡¯s pace grew even more measured and their steps even more careful as well-illuminated and dingy patches alternated, painting a crosswalk on the forest floor. The back and forth felt almost deliberate. At the same time, the surroundings were growing less suffocating.

    We must be nearing the fence by now, Cillian thought. Did the academy deliberately cut down the older trees here?

    They were still present in numbers, but the overall generation shift was unmistakable ¨C more and more brazen saplings cropped up, trying to push the oul fellas out of the way. The young bucks didn¡¯t glow nearly as much, for all their bluster, which accounted for the drop-off in radiance.

    Cillian made good use of his flashlight. Up ahead, Nuala, miraculously, didn¡¯t seem to need hers much at all. How can she see anything?

    His wondering was interrupted by the girl in question, who stopped and gestured for the rest to mimic her.

    It was another stationary point of interest, almost directly Rimwise. They¡¯d been lucky to skirt the edges of its detection zone.

    As before, Nuala went to take a look and soon returned with the news of a trap. The netting, she told them, was hard to spot. Prior to setting off again, Cillian temporarily handed the beacon over to Eamon and climbed a tree to assess their whereabouts.

    ¡°We¡¯re close to the fence; 300 meters would be my guess. Might as well turn now,¡± Cillian shared with his teammates while latching the string back to his belt. ¡°I reckon there¡¯s nothing interesting near the edges; the instructors wouldn¡¯t want us to fight over a treasure on the border, potentially attracting monsters to the area.¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Eamon argued. ¡°We¡¯ve come this far; should go check out the fence. I¡¯m curious to see if they chopped down the trees for it. There could be a path.¡±

    Cillian imagined how he would build a hypothetical fence in a forest. ¡°Aye, they must have. Unless they built it swerving around obstructions rather than straight. I couldn¡¯t see clearly from the top.¡±

    ¡°We can be bold and rush alongside it?¡± Nuala suggested. ¡°Then cut straight Nullside toward the central clearing?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s risky,¡± Cathal bit his bottom lip. ¡°What if someone¡¯s, like, sitting in ambush?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a big perimeter to monitor,¡± she shrugged. ¡°They¡¯d have to be quare lucky for someone to run across their ambush.¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be sitting near the ends of the fence but close to the middle,¡± Cathal insisted. ¡°Exactly where you propose we go.¡±

    ¡°See the fence first then decide?¡± Cillian cut in.

    They did. And discovered that the barrier was of the wrought iron, spiked variety. There were indeed gaps on both sides, sufficient for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder. Sporadic blotches of bracken blemished the otherwise naked soil.

    A cautious peek at both sides revealed¡­ nothing. Not a soul.

    ¡°Where is everybody?¡± Cathal asked what was on everyone¡¯s minds. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we have stumbled upon another team by now?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± Cillian replied. ¡°We¡¯ve been at it for what? Not even two hours yet? It¡¯s a big area.¡±

    ¡°So, we doing this?¡± Eamon sounded eager. ¡°I¡¯m starting to grow bored. All this creeping around is doing me head in.¡±

    Nuala looked at Cathal and Cillian with raised eyebrows.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s, uhh, not worth the risk,¡± Cathal said diplomatically. ¡°What are we even going to achieve by rushing? Why can¡¯t we just keep doing what we¡¯ve been doing so far?¡±

    ¡°My concern is about being seen as ¡®hiding in the bushes¡¯ by the instructors. Not engaging. You remember what instructor Loritz said?¡± Nuala argued.

    ¡°I do. I also remember him saying we would be judged on our decision-making.¡±

    ¡°I think we should stop talking and commit to some course of action, and I vote we run but be smart about it.¡± Cillian didn¡¯t necessarily think it was such a good idea either, but they were here now, weren¡¯t they? ¡°There¡¯s enough space for Eamon to run alongside us, blocking the beacon,¡± he continued. ¡°And it¡¯s anything but easy to accurately throw a paintball at a fast-moving target that is bouncing around all the time. In the dark no less.¡±

    ¡°If there¡¯s an ambush,¡± Nuala picked up after him, ¡°it¡¯d be a single guy jumping ahead to stop us, with his friends waiting in the woods to take their shots. We could just turn around and¨C¡±

    ¡°Why does it have to be a guy ambushing us? Couldn¡¯t it be a girl?¡± Eamon poked her.

    Cathal was growing frustrated. ¡°Aye, unless there¡¯s another one jumping to cut us off.¡±

    ¡°And leave their carriers unprotected?¡±

    ¡°I just don¡¯t see the benefit¨C¡±

    ¡°We need to start acting aggressively, get into the thick of things already. And we have a gas grenade, remember?¡± Nuala reminded him.

    ¡°Which would be wasted on some skirmish with nothing of value around!¡±

    ¡°Guys,¡± Cillian interjected once more, urgently this time, pointing to his left, ¡°We have a guest.¡±

    Like a specter, Patrick Sommer appeared out of nowhere. Eamon jumped.

    ¡°You have to stop standing around unless you¡¯re taking your meal break now,¡± the man told them calmly. His subsequent disappearance was just as abrupt.

    ¡°Aether. Forgot about him,¡± Eamon laughed nervously.

    ¡°We should go.¡± Cillian looked at Cathal, nodding toward the fence. The fella sighed but didn¡¯t argue further.

    ¡°I¡¯ll prepare the grenade,¡± Nuala assured him.

    They ran. Moving at least three times as fast as at any point previously.

    It felt good to travel over relatively clear terrain even if Cillian¡¯s ribs disagreed. They much preferred a slower clip.

    Ten minutes into the run, their compasses picked up something Nullside, but, before they could decide what to do about it, the signal vanished. Someone, then. It was the first sign of life they¡¯d encountered, spooky ghosts notwithstanding.

    There was nothing to it; they resumed the trek forward, pumping their legs even harder. For all they knew, another team had found them and was even now racing to intercept. But having no obstructions meant they could easily outpace anyone stuck in the woods.

    Apart from that small scare, the journey proved uneventful. The foursome ran close to their collective top speed ¨C considering the circumstances, that was ¨C for another five minutes, followed by a short stint at a more leisurely tempo. Then Nuala called for a dive back into the trees.

    They power-walked a good distance away before finally deeming it safe enough for a respite.

    The guys were all breathing hard. Eamon sat on the ground with his eyes closed, gulping air, while Cillian refrained from bending over ¨C he knew it¡¯d only hurt more ¨C and was feeling up his chest. On the run, a sharp pang had nearly made him stumble, but it felt better now. Cathal was hungrily demolishing his water supply.

    Nuala, naturally, looked like she could do it all over again. Bleedin¡¯ witch¡­

    Cillian drank from his own canteen, taking note of the meager leftovers. And they weren¡¯t even halfway done yet.

    Three minutes wasn¡¯t enough of a rest, so, with some prodding from Nuala, the team opted to start making small circles around a collection of trees, hoping it would prevent the specter from growing agitated again.

    Then, all too soon, another climb up a tree was in order. Cillian took much longer this time and, upon reuniting with the ground, shared their current position with the rest.

    ¡°The center clearing¡¯s sky lanterns are this way.¡± He drew a line on the ground, pointing predominantly Nullside but also back Lem. They¡¯d overshot a little. ¡°We¡¯re going there?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I have a feeling we¡¯ve missed a lot of action by skirting around,¡± Nuala said quickly. ¡°No objections?¡±

    When none came, even from Cathal, they headed out. It was Eamon and Cillian¡¯s turn to take care of the kid.

    The boy anticipated a long, monotonous walk before they¡¯d encounter any activity but was proven wrong when barely 200 meters later they stumbled upon an unmoving signal.

    As was the standard protocol by now, Nuala went alone to investigate. She was gone a long time, taking the maximum agreed-upon period of 20 minutes, before returning with an exciting report. How does she even find us again?

    ¡°There¡¯s a clearing with a chest,¡± the girl revealed. ¡°I haven¡¯t actually seen the chest, but it¡¯s there. But more importantly,¡± her smile grew wicked, ¡°I think it¡¯s a trap. And not an academy-made trap.¡±

    Cillian caught her meaning. ¡°You reckon someone¡¯s waiting to pounce on whoever shows up to claim the prize?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve caught a silhouette moving on the other side of the clearing, I¡¯m sure of it. I thought to attack them when they go after the chest, but they haven¡¯t. They¡¯re just sitting there. We should go now; I¡¯ll explain further on the move. We will ambush the ambushers!¡± Giddiness was all but pouring out of the girl.

    The boys exchanged amused glances.

    This time, they all edged toward the treasure together.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about how I would ambush someone in this situation,¡± Nuala resumed where she¡¯d left off. ¡°The fern is tall enough to hide in there, so ideally I¡¯d position myself and Cathal on two sides of the chest, lying in wait, with you two,¡± she indicated Eamon and Cillian, ¡±squatting in the trees with the beacon, well hidden, so no one finds you. But because we need to rewind the collars, we¡¯d have to return to you periodically ¨C unless someone comes along quickly ¨C which would give us away if the timing is unfortunate.

    ¡°So, instead, I would place all three of you on one side, with myself hiding on the opposite side. And when someone comes, I¡¯d attack and take them out or at least force them to scramble your way. You¡¯d be protected by Cathal, and, while I would have to rewind from time to time, this way I could circle around, not walk in the open, and still be ready to engage.¡±

    ¡°And you think that¡¯s how they set up?¡± Cillian asked once she took a moment to breathe. ¡°And they likely haven¡¯t looted the chest yet, lest an enemy¡¯s scout figures it¡¯s empty and doesn¡¯t call the carriers.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. After prey shows up and falls into their trap, they¡¯d bring their own carriers to the chest to loot it, and that¡¯s when we¡¯ll strike.¡±

    ¡°No, not exactly,¡± Eamon rained down on her parade. ¡°If they are smart, they¡¯ve already collected the stones and filled the chest with fakes, so it remains heavy.¡±

    ¡°Shit, you¡¯re right,¡± Nuala grimaced. ¡°The carriers would just sit where they are.¡± She sighed and swiftly remade her ponytail. ¡°Then we have to find them. The carriers, I mean. Once the hunters spring the trap, they¡¯d leave the carriers alone for a short time. We wait until they take out their victims, then attack the carriers in turn, and make out with the loot from both teams!¡±

    ¡°How do we find the carriers though?¡± Cathal spoke up.

    ¡°Nuala said she¡¯d seen them,¡± Eamon replied.

    ¡°No, she said she¡¯d seen a silhouette. One?¡±

    Nuala stopped hopping in place and visibly contemplated. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not sure. I saw movement; hard to say how many people.¡± The cailin then directed them further Lemwise. ¡°This way. We¡¯ll walk around the clearing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the central clearing, is it?¡± Eamon asked.

    ¡°No, there are no floating lanterns.¡±

    They kept to the fringes of the chest¡¯s detection area, diving in and out, until, eventually, Nuala motioned to stop.

    ¡°So, we doing this?¡± Eamon grinned at the repeat of his own question from earlier.

    ¡°I think the plan is too complicated,¡± Cillian threw in his opinion. ¡°What if no one else shows up? For how long are we going to sit in wait?¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Cathal sided with him.

    ¡°Alternative offers then?¡± challenged Nuala.

    ¡°We should be less ambitious and just attack them right now, not wait for someone else to join the fray,¡± Cillian proposed.

    ¡°I¡¯ve thought of that,¡± Nuala nodded. ¡°But the issue is getting a drop on them while the carriers are protected and they¡¯re all on edge, monitoring the surroundings. Odds are, they¡¯d spot us creeping up on them and flee. But if both hunters are otherwise occupied, the carriers wouldn¡¯t run far or else they would risk not being able to reunite later.¡±

    ¡°I have an idea,¡± Cillian said. ¡°It¡¯s simultaneously more and less dangerous.¡±

    ¡°Go on,¡± Nuala encouraged.

    Cillian gestured at her bag. ¡°You haven¡¯t lost the grenade, have you?¡±

    <hr>

    A tale of sacred pilgrimage and dastardly villains

    Four figures were sitting in the trees, removed a dozen strides from the clearing¡¯s edge, with their adversaries hiding half a hundred paces to the right, as claimed by the lone girl in their number. There was no certainty that the foes they desired the most were truly there, but the band had faith in their scout ¨C no less than two shadows crouched under the canopy, being vigilant and careful. Not vigilant and careful enough if one had the eyes of a batfox, evidently.

    The aforementioned fox had left the green haven and was now sneaking her way toward the glade¡¯s center, to all appearances unaware she was being stalked by the creatures equally horrid and dangerous.

    Looking left and right, she reached the object of her yearning ¨C sitting as it was on a small rise ¨C lifted it up in admiration for only a breath, and then, seemingly satisfied, silently, as was her nature, placed it back upon the throne, before heading back the way she¡¯d emerged from. Cautious and watchful as ever.

    Once in the safety of shadows, the quartet of faces, reunited, their eyes ablaze, nodded in mutual encouragement and proceeded to split. What are they planning?

    One duo ¨C two boys with a decapitated head dangling between them ¨C went to repeat the girl¡¯s sacred journey. Although, what kind of barbaric tradition demanded a head as a tribute?

    They reached the holy site uninterrupted ¨C for even if you were the type to collect the heads of your enemies as trophies, none should stand in your way when walking the path of absolution.

    Unless, of course, you try to defile the relic. Oh, Aether above! The deranged pair were performing the wickedness most foul! They were trying to mate the sacred artifact with the head! Have they not an ounce of humanity in them?!

    Enraged, their adversaries rose in defense of the relic. Monsters of the highest order they might be, even they couldn¡¯t abide by such sacrilege taking place before their very eyes. Two bodies rushed at the villains, mighty roars piercing the air, but, as proved often the case with the hearts most blackened, their atrocities come in many forms.

    With a devilish hiss, smoke filled the air from where the delinquents cowered, swallowing both friend and foe alike. Have they set the site on fire?!

    Cries of alarm and fury, clearly caused by these despicable acts, erupted from those left in the forest. A scuffle ensued, but who was fighting who? Would the heroes prevail?

    Alas, my friends, as proved often the case with the hearts most blackened, their tricks come in many forms as well.

    With the smoke gone, we were left with the scene of utter devasta¨C actually¡­ not a lot appeared to have changed at all. One protector remained rooted to the spot, very much alive, same as the relic.

    But where are the villains?

    <hr>

    Cillian was running for his life.

    Shit!

    It was proving to be exceedingly difficult.

    ¡°Caught you, bastards!¡± the pursuing girl yelled, gaining on them.

    Eamon chose this moment to act a fool ¨C he let go of Cillian¡¯s hand, drew level, and, seemingly forgetting about their shared burden, went right instead of left at the next thicket of trees.

    Double niss-shit!

    Cillian threw himself across and barely avoided crashing into the obstacle. ¡°Freeze, Eamon! DON¡¯T PULL!¡± He was stumbling.

    An orange ball smashed into his side, exploded, and drenched the gambeson.

    Thankfully, Eamon halted in time to keep the tether in one piece. Just about.

    Cillian caught himself on a trunk, but now the hunter was upon them.

    ¡°Oh fuck!¡±

    As agreed, the pair hurriedly linked their arms and began jumping around, preventing her from getting a clear look at the beacon.

    ¡°Stop fucking bouncing!¡± The girl¡¯s face was contorted in fury. To her credit, she kept the distance as mandated.

    Another paintball whisked past.

    She faked a lounge right and came from the left. Cillian watched in despair as their instinctive reaction to the feint brought them precisely where she¡¯d intended.

    An orange blur ¨C and the orb shook, no longer pristine.

    ¡°YES!¡±

    ¡°No no no!¡± Eamon shouted, his chest heaving.

    ¡°YES! Got you! You steamin¡¯ bastards!¡±

    Cillian didn¡¯t even know the girl¡¯s name, yet she¡¯d been doggedly pursuing them all through the smoke and then across their planned escape route. He¡¯d hoped that both enemy hunters would be too disoriented to mount a chase, but alas. Now their beacon was ¡°destroyed¡±. Not all was lost though; running away had always been a contingency.

    Come on, Nuala. Come on, Cathal. Get them!

    As if on cue, instructor Sommer materialized out of thin air again, but this time his specter act and words were received gratefully. At least, by the boys.

    ¡°Unfortunately for you, Ms. Adenauer, you¡¯re too late. Your team was eliminated a few minutes earlier.¡±

    Cillian whooped in relief and sagged to the ground.

    ¡°What?! Are you kidding me?!¡±

    His plan worked! Barely.

    ¡°YES! Got you! You, uhh, you rotten harpy!¡± Eamon was vastly more conspicuous in his celebration.

    ¡°I¡¯m not, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°Stop bouncing, man!¡±

    The boy did and instead triumphantly thrust his outstretched arms in the air.

    ¡°But I¡¯ve smashed them, sir! Smashed them! Right here!¡±

    ¡°I know. And your relentlessness is commendable. However, your teammates were much less successful in their altercation. Here,¡± the man gave Eamon two black pouches. ¡°Eight purple paintballs. Well done.¡±

    ¡°What alterca¨C?¡± The girl froze, stomped the ground in frustration, and seethed, ¡°Oh you bleedin¡¯ niss lovers, I swear I¡¯m going to¨C!¡±

    We get our ammo restocked? And a compliment from an instructor? How quare.

    She offered more choice words about the present company. Her ¡°worthless¡± allies, too, weren¡¯t spared from the barrage of insults.

    Next, their beacon got wiped clean in a hurry.

    ¡°She has some lungs on her,¡± Eamon commented, a note of admiration creeping into his voice.

    Amidst the girl¡¯s continued tirade, Nuala and Cathal caught up, both sporting huge grins, the defeated foes and a pair of chevaliers close on their tail.

    Instructor Rory Gehler handed over the main part of their prize ¨C the other team¡¯s share of stones ¨C then took the duty of escorting the disheartened group out of the forest and out of the contest. The locale immediately grew an order of magnitude quieter.

    Although, they could still hear the cailin ripping into her teammates.

    ¡°Stop smiling like simpletons and get going.¡± Their primary chaperone¡¯s attitude returned back to normal.

    They followed his order ¨C because an order it was ¨C but not before exchanging quick fist bumps.

    ¡°Onward to victory!¡± Eamon proclaimed.

    Nuala and Cathal laughed happily. Cillian eyed the shining surroundings, nudged his entangled partner, and, all together, they set off once again.

    The group might have more stones now, and they¡¯d even managed to increase their paintball supply.

    But the job was only half done.

 Chapter 10. Breakpoint

    They were still sniggering a couple of hundred paces away from the scene.

    Getting in on the action and coming very close to being eliminated felt exhilarating. Not to mention a sixfold increase in stones. Shame though they hadn¡¯t been allowed to talk to the orange team properly. Cathal recounted that instructor Gehler had been upon them in a flash, and he¡¯d forbidden any passing of information since ¡°dead men tell no tales¡±.

    Now they were heading somewhere Null-Lemwise again, chosen not with careful consideration but because it¡¯d been the team¡¯s trajectory prior to the interruption, and they wanted to put distance from the commotion.

    Nuala looked determined to keep marching further, but Cillian thought they needed to discuss what to do next, so he gestured for Cathal to catch up to the girl and urge her to huddle.

    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked once they all faced each other, then abruptly started doing sit-ups.

    ¡°Umm¡­ what are ye doing?¡± Eamon looked puzzled, giving voice to the boys¡¯ collective confusion.

    ¡°Never mind me. Cillian?¡±

    ¡°Right. So, where are we going? We should plan.¡±

    ¡°The plan remains the same.¡± She switched to stretching her calves. ¡°We¡¯re heading toward the action.¡±

    ¡°Haven¡¯t we just had action?¡± Cathal asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we, like, lay low for a time?¡±

    ¡°No. Six stones ain¡¯t enough; we need more. Act now while we still have plenty of energy, then take it easy in the final couple of hours, guarding our hoard of goodies.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all for more action, but¡­¡± Eamon shook his canteen at them. ¡°Hear anything? No. It¡¯s cause there¡¯s nothing. I don¡¯t imagine yers any better off. ¡®Sides,¡± he tapped his stomach twice, ¡°no breakfast. Don¡¯t tell me you ain¡¯t starving.¡±

    ¡°Now that you mention it, yes, I am,¡± Cathal quickly agreed. ¡°Find the waterskin and take a meal break?¡±

    Nuala stopped the exercising, scowled at them, then implored Cillian to take her side with those big brown eyes.

    ¡°I agree with you in principle,¡± he made a placating gesture, ¡°but in practice, the initial nerves and adrenaline from the ambush are wearing off, so I¡¯m starting to really feel my ribs. Climbing, running, jumping around ¨C too frackin¡¯ much.¡±

    ¡°Aye, Kil, yer breathing shallowly. You alright?¡± Eamon asked in concern.

    ¡°For the hundredth time, it¡¯s Cillian. And I¡¯m fine, more or less.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s switch now,¡± Cathal offered.

    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t turn it down. And we need directions anyway.¡±

    ¡°Yer going to climb again? You¡¯ve just said¨C¡±

    ¡°Aether, Eamon, I¡¯m not falling apart, in little pain is all, I can cli¨C¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s walk further,¡± Nuala interrupted. ¡°We¡¯re being louder than usual; I don¡¯t like staying here. Then you can switch and climb, Cillian.¡±

    The girl wheeled around and, without waiting for an acknowledgment, strode away. The trio remained rooted to the spot in silence, eyes glued to her retreating back.

    ¡°I understand nothing,¡± Eamon finally proclaimed. It served to trigger them to hasten after her.

    A few hundred paces later, Nuala halted again and waited for them to catch up. ¡°Sorry, just a bad feeling,¡± she shared sheepishly.

    Eamon promptly engaged her in some good-natured ribbing, quietly, while Cillian handed the wardship over the troublesome mog to Cathal and crept a short distance away to a naked larch, which, despite the indecency, still put the neighbors to shame on account of its impressive stature. The boy kicked the trunk to make sure the bark wouldn¡¯t crumble, took five big steps back, rolled his shoulders, and rushed. A jump off the ground with the left leg, a powerful push off the tree with the right ¨C and he was dangling in the air like a pendulum.

    Two-thirds up the trunk, Cillian cleared most of the obscuring canopy and was able to spot the center clearing¡¯s sky lanterns, blithely dancing in the wind. They¡¯d overshot again, wandered too far Lem this time. Although, he privately hoped Nuala would agree to change their destination.

    Satisfied, Cillian tore his eyes away from the captivating lights and¡­ came face to face with a forked tongue and a pair of big yellow eyes.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± he yelped but didn¡¯t lose his grip while the intruder, startled, scurried further up, disappearing on the other side of the trunk.

    ¡°Cillian?!¡±

    He didn¡¯t respond. An involuntary shudder raced through his body. He made an effort to still himself.

    A deep inhale with his eyes closed.

    Exhale.

    It¡¯s alright.

    ¡°Cillian?¡± Nuala¡¯s voice, less worried now.

    He showed her a thumbs-up without looking, not realizing that she couldn¡¯t see it, shook his head, and began the descent, making an effort not to rush and chiding himself mentally. Stupid. Of course there are small animals here. It would be impossible to get rid of them all. And pointless.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Cillian said, eying his agitated teammates, once safely back on their level. ¡°Just a reptile. Surprised me.¡±

    ¡°A reptile?¡± Eamon looked up the larch. ¡°Big?¡±

    ¡°No. Huge eyes though. Don¡¯t know what it¡¯s called.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Nice squeal by the way.¡±

    ¡°The reptile made that sound, not me.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°Where to?¡± Nuala nudged them both. ¡°Someone might¡¯ve heard you; we should make ourselves scarce.¡±

    ¡°You agree about the water?¡± Cillian clarified.

    ¡°It¡¯s three against one, no?¡±

    ¡°Aye. Just thought you might want another go at convincing us. The midpoint is this way.¡± A vague gesture somewhere at his 10 o¡¯clock. ¡±Where¡¯s the waterskin though?¡± he addressed the question to Cathal.

    ¡°If we¡¯re on the Lem side of the area, then we¡¯re on the right side. That I¡¯m sure of,¡± the bigger boy answered. ¡°Head Nullside to the very edge then search from there? We¡¯ll see the hangar, so it¡¯d be easy to find. I dropped it at the edge of the forest proper.¡±

    No one disagreed, so they set off without further discussion.

    In defiance of Nuala¡¯s ominous expectations, precisely nothing occurred for a sizable stretch. Just same old woods and same old sounds.

    On the way, while bowing to pass under a sturdy bough, Cillian experienced an eerie sensation that they¡¯d somehow returned to the very beginning: the forest was quiet, dense, and glowing bright, and he himself ¨C a floater once more.

    Promoting the impression, they soon got wind of something openly advertising its location. Naturally, an investigation was called for, necessitating yet another brief separation. Nuala went and Nuala came back, but that¡¯s when the illusion broke ¨C she brought word of an already looted chest amidst the trees. It couldn¡¯t be the one they themselves had liberated earlier; not far enough Lem. At least, no trap had fallen on their ignorant heads.

    This chapter of their story was just a filler ¨C a fretful but otherwise tedious period of plodding through the underbrush, along with silent questioning if, by some miracle, there was no one else left in the forest with them.

    Maybe the others took each other out, Cillian mused wistfully. Or, more likely, they¡¯re in the same boat as us. Looking for water, but the stream is down Rimwise, so they¡¯re all congregating there.

    He tried to force himself to remain focused on the surroundings and footing, but his mind kept getting away from him. The empty stomach and the dull yet persistent ache in his chest contributed to the distraction.

    Walk around a mound, step over a pit, place one foot in front of the other, again and again and again. Rewind the collars, then repeat. That¡¯s how their journey went.

    Look, dad, I¡¯m a poet now.

    Finally, following an eternity of green nothing, the group began closing in on the side from which they¡¯d entered the forest in the first place. The settlement¡¯s walls became visible in between all the trees. Or, rather, the torches blazing on top of them served to guide the lost souls.

    Nuala led the group to the very edge, then alongside it ¨C to a place roughly opposite the bulging form of the vehicle hangar. ¡°Somewhere here, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I can take the beacon while you search,¡± Cillian suggested.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯ve got it,¡± Cathal replied and without a slither of hesitation pointed at a random copse of trees. ¡°See those? There¡¯s a pair that are almost coiling around each other; that¡¯s the spot. Somewhere in the bushes below.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll fetch it,¡± Cillian said, already covering the distance. Nuala took his place as the carriers¡¯ guardian.

    It took some prodding around blindly ¨C the greenery refused to give up its secrets without a fight ¨C but he soon found the waterskin. Thumbs-up to the loitering guys ¨C and they moved to join him.

    The waterskin in question turned out to be hefty, easily one and a half liters, and resembled a curving eggplant but made of taut leather. The shape and the lone strap suggested that it was meant to be carried as a sling bag across one¡¯s chest. And likely meant to be used from that position as well, since holding it felt awkward.

    ¡°Finally!¡± Eamon practically dragged Cathal behind him, stepping around the trees to where Cillian waited. ¡°Come on, Kil, fill me up!¡±

    He grabbed the strap to put it over his head. ¡°Please never say these words to me ever aga¨C¡±

    SNAP!

    They both froze and whirled their heads at the sound.

    A dark figure rose from a jumble of vegetation just a dozen paces away, a smaller one at its back. Both shadows rushed in.

    Fuck! was all Cillian managed to think before the larger form bellowed and threw a thing at them.

    ¡°Oh crap!¡±

    The projectile was big, clearly not a paintball, but Cillian didn¡¯t have time to study the details ¨C he instinctively swung the waterskin by the strap and let it fly.

    The two objects collided midair ¨C the boy would later be amazed at his aim ¨C something audibly tore, and then red exploded everywhere.

    Cathal yelped. Someone else, too.

    Cillian leaped into the bushes and saw Eamon drop behind the closest trunk, the beacon scraping the hard surface. Don¡¯t smash it!

    ¡°Teag!¡± a female voice shrilled.

    ¡°DON¡¯T! Fuck! STAY AWAY!¡± her partner roared in warning and anger. Nearby, water was spilling. Lots of loud cursing in an assortment of voices.

    Cillian rolled out of the feeble cover and jumped to his feet, fumbling for a paintball. Stupid pouch!

    The picture before him made the boy pause.

    The bulky fella¡¯s lower body was smeared in red, disgust and wrath on his face, and he was breathing heavily. The girl, in contrast, appeared completely unblemished. But the biggest eyesore stood further right ¨C Cathal. Unlike the attacker, Cillian¡¯s teammate was positively drenched in paint from head to toe. And the vile fluid had bestowed little mercy on the entwining duo of trees next to him either. The same trees behind which Eamon had found shelter, stretching the string to the limit.

    Amazingly, while the part of the tether closer to Cathal was dribbling scarlet, the beacon itself, Eamon, and Cillian were not. At a cursory glance, anyway.

    Shocked silence reigned, while everyone processed the events and pondered how to proceed. It had all happened so fast.

    Cillian laughed. He couldn¡¯t help himself. That was some astounding teamwork on their part.

    I threw the waterskin; it smashed the thing and redirected it away from us but closer to Cathal, who had enough presence of mind to stand tall and try to shield the beacon, while Eamon dragged it low and partly around the trunk. Is that what happened?

    He kept laughing.

    Cillian had never intended to catapult the projectile away; it¡¯d been a knee-jerk reaction. Eamon, in all likelihood, harbored no notion of protecting the beacon and merely lunged for the nearest cover. And as for Cathal ¨C odds were, the boy had no time to do anything at all; the bubble exploded right in his face. And then he remained upright despite Eamon¡¯s best efforts to pull him down. Simply because he was that much heavier.

    Or maybe Cathal had shielded them deliberately. Remarkable composure, if true.

    Teagan glared at Cillian, not finding any amusement in the situation.

    ¡°Are they done?¡± The cailin ¨C he recognized Moira now ¨C peeked from behind the broad back.

    The participants traded uncertain glances. Then Eamon found his footing again, cursing heartily, and that sound broke the deadlock.

    Nuala charged into the tussle with an ear-splitting war cry!

    She¡¯d been further away from the action but now rushed at their assailants with a stick, and for a moment Cillian thought she would swing it at Moira, but, instead, the girl used the impromptu weapon to scoop up some paint from the ground and hurled the drops at the other cailin, who squeaked and threw herself to the side, blindly throwing a green paintball in retaliation.

    ¡°Not her! The beacon!¡± Teagan shouted. Cillian stepped in front of their precious cargo.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Someone else rose from the bushes deeper into the forest and frantically waved their arms in the air. ¡°Truce!¡±

    ¡°What are you doing, Aoife?!¡±

    Right, he should¡¯ve guessed when he¡¯d recognized Moira and Teagan.

    Aoife and Sorcha manifested, their own burden dangling between them. The former was dragging the unwilling latter.

    ¡°Truce!¡± Aoife repeated once the duo got closer.

    Nuala paused, one end of the stick dipping into the paint again, half crouched. ¡°Truce?! You¡¯ve just ambushed us!¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Aoife showed her open palms, ¡°and it didn¡¯t work. We should adapt to the situation.¡±

    ¡°What situation? What stops me from painting you all red right now? You¡¯ve foolishly come near me.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you fully grasp the situation yourself,¡± Aoife replied calmly. ¡°Your weapon is very short-ranged and far from accurate, while your anchors can¡¯t move.¡± She pointed at Cathal. ¡°He¡¯s been eliminated, so you have to switch him with another before you do anything else. He is dead. Can¡¯t jump around now.¡±

    ¡°We should finish them off,¡± Teagan seethed, ¡°not give them an escape route.¡±

    ¡°Hush. You¡¯re dead too, Teag, remember? And we could finish them off, but that would highly depend on the timing and accuracy. I don¡¯t imagine Nuala would just stand idle. We might end up eliminated ourselves.¡±

    ¡°It was stupid to leave our hiding place, Aoife,¡± Sorcha all but growled.

    ¡°And if Nuala killed Moira while we hid? We¡¯d be left without support for the rest of the contest.¡±

    Cillian looked at Nuala. She looked back at him, shaking her head. He shrugged. ¡°I say go for it. Could serve us well in the future to have some goodwill with another team. It¡¯s just the first of many events, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Is it even allowed? Come to think of it, how is it allowed to carry a trap with ye? We were told not to displace anything!¡± Eamon demanded an explanation.

    ¡°Teaming up is allowed, several others did it,¡± Aoife confirmed. ¡°And as for the trap, we were only told not to displace the chests. Nothing was said about the traps.¡±

    ¡°And how did you find us?¡± the boy plowed on.

    ¡°If we all agree to a truce, we should move someplace else first, then we¡¯ll talk. The confrontation wasn¡¯t exactly discreet.¡±

    A series of uncertain non-verbal exchanges crisscrossed the space. Cillian focused on Nuala again and nodded, ¡°They¡¯re fine.¡±

    She huffed but, after a moment of deliberation, acquiesced, brusquely, ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Her consent seemed to decide it. Eamon relaxed.

    ¡°Great!¡± came from Aoife.

    Hot on the heels of her proclamation, instructors Patrick Sommer and Mairead Gehler popped up uninvited. How do they keep doing this? First, the chaperones examined them all, paying special attention to the beacons, then their team¡¯s personal stalker addressed the two victims, ¡°Mr. Baessler, Mr. Flanagan. Since the academy is in sight, you can find your own way back. Make sure you don¡¯t drip the paint all over the place. Submit your outfits and gear for cleaning as soon as you are able.¡±

    He then unclasped the string from Cathal¡¯s belt, quickly wiped it clean, and relayed it to Cillian.

    ¡°Sorry, Cathal,¡± he addressed his fallen teammate, who still hadn¡¯t said a single word since the havoc had erupted. Because of shock, anger, or something else, Cillian didn¡¯t know.

    ¡°Aye, great work, Hal! Saved all of us,¡± Eamon joined, making as if to clap the boy on the back but then thought better of it.

    ¡°We¡¯ll make sure to find you once we win!¡± Nuala consoled with a smile.

    Cathal, after wiping the smear off his forehead, sighed and finally said, his voice unsteady, ¡°You guys better find more treasures, aye? Six is not divisible by four.¡± He shook his head and cursed at the drizzling paint. ¡°Aether, just my luck.¡± He turned to leave.

    Yea, him not leaking all over is a tall order.

    The other team were saying their own goodbyes to Teagan. Moira whispered something too hushed to discern.

    Soon enough, the two boys shuffled out of the forest, not quite together but not quite separate either, while the chaperones melted into the background.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Sorcha started pulling away.

    Aoife resisted. ¡°Hold on.¡± She addressed Cillian, ¡°You with us?¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± Eamon squatted next to the puddle of red, in the middle of which their waterskin lay. ¡°Bollocks! It¡¯s unsalvageable. Look!¡±

    Indeed, the cork had deserted at some point. And once the water level had decreased, the nozzle sagged, letting the crimson menace penetrate the fortress and defile the innocent contents. No matter how little paint had managed to sneak in, Cillian wouldn¡¯t be drinking it.

    ¡°We should fish it out anyway,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s the academy¡¯s, meaning, Foerstner¡¯s property.¡±

    ¡°Null! We should¡¯ve given it to Cathal to carry back.¡± Nuala regarded the withdrawing figure.

    ¡°We¡¯ll leave it here, then retrieve it once the whole thing¡¯s over. Give me,¡± Cillian gestured at her stick.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it.¡± She proceeded to drag the waterskin out of the puddle nozzle first, not caring that even more paint was stealing its way inside.

    Cillian located the cork, which was squeaky clean, somehow, and gingerly pushed it where it belonged. He really didn¡¯t care to get penalized because they¡¯d returned the waterskin with some part of it missing. He wouldn¡¯t put it past the academy to do it.

    Fuck, what a disaster.

    <hr>

    They retreated Heavenward, away from the edge, and before long halted next to an old tree stump, overgrown with moss. The whole way no one had said anything, but now the hush broke.

    ¡°So?¡± Nuala turned to face the green team, arms crossed, as soon as everyone found a place to rest. ¡°How did you find us?¡±

    It was Sorcha who answered with a scoff, ¡°Wasn¡¯t difficult. You were being too clever. And that boy ¨C Cathal, was it? ¨C didn¡¯t even try acting low-key. You noticed the other students washing the trucks nearby, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°So you just saw him hiding the waterskin?¡± Nuala clarified.

    ¡°Teagan did. Said your boy jumped at shadows all the way to the forest. Very subtle.¡±

    ¡°That prick,¡± Eamon muttered, taking a seat on the ground and forcing Cillian to do the same.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Moira looked down at him from where she stood next to the stump.

    ¡°I meant Cathal, of course,¡± he grinned. ¡°Funny though how your boy self-eliminated. Ah, the look on his face.¡±

    ¡°You¨C!¡±

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t start anything,¡± Aoife pleaded. ¡°We don¡¯t want to attract unwelcome attention.¡±

    Eamon raised his arms in mock surrender.

    ¡°Do you have any water to spare?¡± Cillian changed the subject, eyeing the waterskin hanging below Moira¡¯s breasts. She sent him a scornful glower. What?

    ¡°We do. We can share with y¨C¡± Aoife started but was interrupted by a forceful ¡°No¡± from both her remaining companions.

    She glared at them. ¡°I was about to say,¡± her tone turned dangerous, ¡°that we can share with them for a price. I¡¯m not an idiot, thank you very much.¡±

    ¡°How did you smuggle yours?¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t,¡± Sorcha smirked. ¡°Like I said, you tried to be too clever. We were only forbidden from bringing any additional water, so we brought an empty waterskin instead. Then immediately made to the stream and filled it while everyone else¡¯s were still full.¡±

    ¡°And your chaperone allowed it?¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t she? We didn¡¯t try to hide it during the pat down, and she said nothing. The skin was empty.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s yer plan any better than ours? There¡¯s still a risk,¡± Eamon defended their honor.

    ¡°Because it worked?¡± Moira asked, turning her nose up at him.

    Cillian didn¡¯t want to keep bickering. ¡°What do you want,¡± he addressed Aoife, ¡°for filling our canteens?¡±

    ¡°You have six stones, or so I¡¯ve heard,¡± Sorcha chipped in. ¡°Not divisible by four, apparently. How about we help you with that? Give us two,¡± she finished with a smile.

    Eamon looked outraged, ¡°Ye can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°We can trade the stones?¡± Cillian wondered in surprise, asking no one in particular.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Sorcha replied. ¡°No one¡¯s forbidden us to.¡±

    ¡°How about a dud instead?¡± Nuala offered.

    ¡°Too cheap.¡±

    ¡°One stone would be enough,¡± Aoife declared. Sorcha opened her mouth to object, but her fellow carrier ¨C or anchor, as the ¡°greens¡± were calling it ¨C didn¡¯t let her. ¡°One. They would never agree to more.¡±

    The brunette grimaced, ¡°One stone and one dud then.¡±

    Cillian, Eamon, and Nuala exchanged glances. The latter took the initiative, ¡°Deal.¡±

    ¡°Wha?! That¡¯s a robbery!¡±

    ¡°The alternative is to trudge to the stream right now ¨C a prime spot for an ambush ¨C and I¡¯m not sure we can survive another. That, or go thirsty.¡±

    Cillian said, ¡°I agree, Eamon.¡±

    ¡°Aether. Their team is full of third-ringers, and now we give them more stones.¡±

    ¡°The day¡¯s not over yet.¡±

    Eamon didn¡¯t say anything to that, and Nuala took it as a signal to commence the trade.

    The canteens refilled and one basic dud transferred over, they proceeded to discuss other matters.

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®devastated¡¯?¡± Nuala asked while munching on a sandwich.

    Aoife had just finished regaling them with a tale about Liam¡¯s team and Oscar¡¯s ¨C the one with Rory in it ¨C joining forces right from the horn and going on a warpath down the middle early on. Because of their detour toward the stream, they¡¯d only witnessed the tail end of it.

    ¡°Just that,¡± Aoife shrugged. ¡°I think they took out at least two other teams and looted most of the chests in the area. There were three in the center clearing alone ¨C all empty now; we¡¯ve checked.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± was all Cillian could say to that.

    ¡°Early on the teams didn¡¯t have anything to steal though,¡± Eamon commented.

    ¡°Less competition is valuable by itself,¡± Aoife countered.

    ¡°I think they are cheating somehow,¡± Moira shared her opinion. ¡°Oscar and Liam are friends, so it makes sense for them to collaborate, but how did they band so quickly? How did they find each other?¡±

    ¡°They could¡¯ve agreed where to meet beforehand,¡± Cillian pointed out. ¡°That¡¯s not cheating.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But Teag said that Oscar had brought communicators to the academy, so I¡¯m wondering if they¡¯re usi¨C¡±

    ¡°A communicator?¡± Eamon interrupted her, causing the girl to scowl at him again. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t mentioned it before,¡± Sorcha said curiously, dragging her eyes away from the compass. ¡°Isn¡¯t it useless though?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ve only just remembered it; Teag mentioned it offhand.¡±

    ¡°Hello-o! What¡¯s a communicator? Care to enlighten us lowly ones?¡±

    ¡°What? Can¡¯t discern the meaning of the word by yourself, you amadan boy?¡±

    ¡°Moira!¡± Aoife chided. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you?¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± the girl lost steam and mumbled but still shot daggers at Eamon.

    ¡°I think my oul fella mentioned it once,¡± Cillian said in the ensuing lull. ¡°Two parts ¨C transmitter and receiver ¨C I think? But I don¡¯t know how they function.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s experimental. Wireless communication,¡± Aoife explained. ¡°Not too different from how aether compasses work ¨C detecting a vortex at a distance ¨C but significantly more fine-tuned. In theory, you could make a device that allowed you to start and stop drawing intermittently and with precision or even employ different elanroots with their own drawing patterns to transmit a binary code, then use a sophisticated ¡®compass¡¯ to receive and decode it.¡±

    She took a bite of her own sandwich and chased it with water. After two heartbeats of silent munching, her explanation resumed, ¡°But Sorcha¡¯s right, that¡¯s the theory. In practice, I don¡¯t think there are any models with ranges exceeding half a kilometer. But more importantly, unlike a compass, any hypothetical receiver device would have to use aether burning to power itself, and it would have to stay turned on the entire time, which is liable to get you swarmed anywhere where there isn¡¯t a skywalker shining from above. And within any sort of civilized settlement, there would be too many overlapping vortices to receive anything.¡±

    ¡°Perfect for this situation though,¡± Sorcha said, considering. ¡°No risk of being swarmed and very little interference. I hadn¡¯t thought of that.¡±

    ¡°Yes. And it would be a very Oscar thing to do ¨C use a seemingly useless toy to his advantage,¡± Moira concluded in satisfaction.

    ¡°Aye. Provided that he somehow smuggled it to the academy, then smuggled it here, and is also capable of using it without anyone being the wiser,¡± Cillian noted doubtfully.

    ¡°There are ways around all of that,¡± Sorcha shook her head. ¡°And who said no one sees him using it? Favoritism is expected here, second-ringer,¡± she emphasized meaningfully.

    ¡°Point.¡±

    More speculation about the other teams¡¯ activities followed ¨C Nuala gleefully recounted the story of their skirmish with the ¡°oranges¡± ¨C after which, by an unspoken agreement, both groups began to dust themselves off and prepare for departure. No one wanted to remain idle for much longer.

    Before separating, they agreed on the truce extending until the ending horn, in case their paths crossed again. Still, truce or not, no information on each other¡¯s immediate itineraries was volunteered. Not that Cillian¡¯s team had anything planned.

    The ¡°greens¡± decamped first, heading Heavenward. The trio of cailini gave off a determined air, to his eye. Although, Moira still looked a wee grumpy; she likely didn¡¯t consider the Teagan/Cathal trade awfully fair.

    Once they were out of earshot, Nuala spun around and suggested, ¡°Rim?¡±

    ¡°Rim,¡± Cillian nodded. ¡°Been all over Lem already. All the way, you reckon? Or turn toward the center?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s any point in going to the center anymore.¡± Nuala looked thoughtful. ¡°There could be more chests scattered around the middle though, like the one where we ambushed the ¡®oranges¡¯. Oscar couldn¡¯t have gotten all of them, surely.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s play it by ear then. Go Rimwise and decide on the move depending on what we encounter.¡±

    ¡°Good enough.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t the stream down Rim?¡± Eamon asked. ¡°An ambush spot, and we agreed we didn¡¯t want to get ambushed again. Ring any bells?¡±

    Nuala shook her head. ¡°We don¡¯t have to get close to it anymore; our canteens are replenished, so it¡¯s different.¡±

    ¡°Come,¡± Cillian urged, ¡°we¡¯ve dallied enough. Glory awaits.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Or an ignoble end.¡±

    Aye. One or another.

    <hr>

    Huh, that¡¯s¡­ very convenient, Cillian thought while listening to Nuala¡¯s account of an unlooted treasure in the woods.

    They¡¯d only been traveling for 10 or so minutes when it¡¯d made itself known on their compasses. Too good to be true?

    According to the girl, the chest was filled with something ¨C real stones or fake remained to be seen ¨C and there were no obvious signs of disturbance. No footprints, no broken branches ¨C no nothing.

    And no reason not to check it, certainly. Cillian was just being paranoid.

    Turned out, he had indeed worried unnecessarily. They crept to the chest, monitoring the surroundings and ready to bail the entire time, but the treasure didn¡¯t transform into a pit of snakes or something even more wretched, like their classmates. The group simply picked up the stones ¨C two of them this time ¨C and skedaddled.

    Riding their luck even further, they opted not to head directly Rimwise but rather arch toward ¡°The Center¡± first.

    The course altered, Cillian and his allies journeyed in silence, tensions high, and, in turn, were kept company by the same oppressive silence all around.

    Close to the ¡°top¡± of the agreed upon detour, they encountered another chest ¨C devoid of the riches, unfortunately ¨C along with plentiful signs of ¡°violence¡± ¨C paint was splattered all over, of sickening blue and yellow hues.

    Eamon entertained himself by putting his investigator hat on and strutting back and forth ¨C as much as the ¡°leash¡± allowed ¨C while twirling an imaginary mustache. The fact-finding mission led to nothing, alas ¨C in the end, the boy cited insufficient evidence as a reason for his inability to deduce who had come out on top. Not that it mattered. At least, the empty chest served as confirmation of the green team¡¯s report, so venturing any further that way wasn¡¯t worth it.

    Back on the path leading Rimwise they went, the forest not offering anything out of the ordinary. Really, Cillian was getting thoroughly sick of the place; the hours spent here felt like days. He was exhausted and sore, and his concentration dropped to an all-time low.

    Just as the boy contemplated the likelihood of Nuala agreeing that they¡¯d done enough for one day, the cailin of his thoughts raised a fist. Cillian didn¡¯t even notice it at first and only stopped when Eamon tapped him on the shoulder.

    It was yet another point of interest, forward and right, raucously advertising its presence. They wasted no energy on exchanging words or gestures; the dance was well-known to all at this point. After rewinding, Nuala detached herself with a nod while the boys crouched and prepared to wait for her to come back.

    When the girl faded into the labyrinth, Cillian looked up at the sky ¨C indigo smears dominated the battlefield, but a surprising amount of violet troops were giving a valiant showing as well. The two legions were soundly trashing all other colors. A promising sign? The boy closed his eyes and relaxed ¨C stupid, he knew ¨C but it felt good to let all the tension gradually vent. He could practically hear the hiss.

    Cillian should have known better, of course, than allow himself to imagine that they would collect one or two more stones and then merrily hide until the end, enjoying snacks and swapping childhood stories.

    Aether always punished sappy hopes such as those.

    The first sign that something was amiss came when he opened his eyes and caught sight of¡­ the ghost, Patrick Sommer, studying them from up close. A small nod. Alarmed, it was Cillian¡¯s turn to tap Eamon¡¯s back but, when he wheeled around, of the man there was no trace left. At once confused, he cast about, trying to catch sight of the interloper again.

    What was that?

    Instructor Sommer had remained unseen from the start.

    A mistake? A deliberate move?

    The next sign took the form of vanishing rather than appearing. His compass, previously pointing in the direction Nuala had gone, had its arrow now slack, the end touching the surface. The object they¡¯d spied was drawing no longer.

    That could not be misread ¨C the traps and treasures here did not just shut off.

    Cillian motioned Eamon to be still, then rose, his nerves flooding back in a hurry. He listened intently ¨C breathing, their own, nothing else. Then, a soft crunch.

    A number of things happened at once.

    The boys spotted a figure on the right, in the dark, very close. Discovered, it dropped stealth with a snarl and readied to lunge.

    ¡°OH SHIT!¡±

    Cillian scrambled back.

    ¡°AMBUSH!¡± barged in a blaring shout ¨C Nuala? ¨C together with her thundering footsteps.

    The stalker froze and wasted a heartbeat by looking her way.

    Eamon¡¯s flashlight pierced the murk, revealing¡­

    The gorilla!

    ¡°FUCK!¡± their enemy cursed, shielding his eyes.

    Eamon yelped and jerked to get moving, but Cillian grabbed him. Too close; he¡¯d catch us with ease.

    ¡°What the¨C! Let go!¡±

    His eyes not leaving the beast, Cillian moved faster than ever ¨C prepared the ammo, and, once Rory lowered his hand, threw the paintballs right at his face. One, then another, one more!

    ¡°GO!¡±

    Only two found the target ¨C no matter. Time to leave!

    The beast spat and roared, then rushed at them blindly and fell, but the pair barely noticed ¨C their legs were already propelling them Lemwise with maddening pace.

    The timing worked great ¨C Nuala caught up, out of nowhere, taking her place by their side. The trio sprinted away.

    She yelled again, ¡°FLASHLIGHTS ON! WE¡¯LL OUTRUN THEM!¡±

    ¡°The fuck are you screaming about?!¡± clamored Eamon.

    ¡°It¡¯s on purpose,¡± she wheezed. ¡°Don¡¯t use them!¡±

    ¡°What?!¡±

    ¡°Keep running, go to the edge; I¡¯ll catch up!¡±

    Before they could protest, she slowed and veered off.

    ¡°Where are ye going?!¡±

    Cillian couldn¡¯t risk peeking behind and opted to trust her. He pulled Eamon by the arm to stop him from blasting off in pursuit.

    ¡°Rot! What in the null is she doing?!¡±

    ¡°Bleedin¡¯ run, man!¡±

    They did.

    Minutes or mere seconds later ¨C he didn¡¯t know ¨C the girl rejoined them, face set. Not a sliver of fear on it, only joy.

    ¡°Wha¨C¡± Eamon stumbled, but Cillian caught him. ¡°What have you done?¡±

    ¡°No talking, just run. Follow me!¡±

    So they ran.

    Fuck, what a disaster.

 Chapter 11. Run to completion

    Cillian didn¡¯t know how no one had fallen yet. The trees disappearing behind on their left and right, the soft glow, the snapping of branches, and the thuds of their passing ¨C in his mind, everything faded, reduced to the form of the girl up ahead and the path she was taking them through. Nuala, as sure in her footing as ever, was the one thing that mattered right now. Do not let her go.

    Five steps, then a leap ¨C just a small one ¨C over some hollow. More steps. Dart to the side, barrel through bushes. And all the while hold on to Eamon doing the same on the right. Their arms were linked as if soldered together with a low-melting alloy. The beacon kept kicking the pair, spurring its prize horses onward.

    They¡¯d long reached the edge and were now rushing along it, the less dense vegetation helping their pace.

    Alas, for all Cillian¡¯s want to stay in the flow, sharp pain lanced through his chest and he swore. And just like that, the spell cracked and he got acutely aware of how rapid and depthless his breathing had grown. Then all awareness rebounded.

    Yelping, Cillian tripped.

    He didn¡¯t even see what it was, merely felt a tug on his toes, and was stumbling.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Eamon cursed.

    But Cillian wasn¡¯t a climber for nothing ¨C one learned how to hang on.

    Dropping down, his left arm outstretched, he grappled a tree blurring past, both knees bent, and hugged it like one would a brother.

    The tree, the momentum, the blond boy holding tight, and between them ¨C Cillian, a human anchor.

    An instant to brace himself.

    Pain.

    An awful pull on his right arm, an awful pull on the left. The grip yanked Eamon back with a vengeance.

    Briefly, both boys left the ground. Briefly, they both howled. The sudden stop overwhelmed them, the strain on their clasp something fierce. But they didn¡¯t let go.

    The ground raced to meet him, and Cillian let it ¨C crumbled down with a whimper. Being abused like that sucked.

    For a moment, everything stilled. Until the moaning intruded.

    The aftermath was not very pretty.

    Cillian, his face kissing the bark, could only gasp for air through his chest¡¯s terrible throbbing. Nearby, Eamon writhed miserably.

    Nuala appeared, saying something to them, but her words held no meaning. Just sounds.

    His vision a blur, Cillian willed himself to turn and concentrate on the beacon. Ten seconds it took for the world to stop swimming, but what he saw swelled him with a scintilla of triumph. The boy would¡¯ve sighed in relief if he could.

    It¡¯s fine; the string didn¡¯t snap.

    That done, Cillian sagged and rested his forehead on the trunk, the pervading cold numbing the pain. He spied a big purple patch adorning his legs. What the hell?

    It took him entirely too long to comprehend what it was ¨C the one remaining paintball must¡¯ve bounced out on the run from the still-open pouch. Not important right now.

    Cillian heard shuffling around. Nuala, sweet Nuala, pried him off the tree and sat him down on his arse, checked the beacon, then rewound both the boys¡¯ collars. He only felt it, still dazed, breathing raggedly. Unable to force enough air into his ravenous lungs.

    ¡°I hate to say this, guys, but you have to suck it up. We can¡¯t stick around. Drink, and let¡¯s go.¡±

    He knew she was right but didn¡¯t want to get up. Eamon made a rude noise.

    ¡°Come one, we should be¨C Fuck! Guys, I can hear them! How have they found us so fast?!¡± Nuala hissed in frustration. ¡°They should¡¯ve followed the duds then be at a loss where we went! Up! Now!¡±

    This time, they both did as were told, knowing, if caught, there would be a rout. The trio started shuffling away.

    ¡°Shit, guys, I¡¯m sorry. I hoped we¡¯d outrun them here while they¡¯re still looking for us in the dense part.¡±

    ¡°Deeper,¡± croaked Eamon. ¡°Go deeper and hide.¡±

    They picked up the speed, but nowhere close to the old one. His chest burning, Cillian ran, imagining that the racket they made could be heard all the way back in Lua. Look at me, dad. See how happy I am?

    Heaven-Lemwise now, they went further and further, all remaining caution abandoned. Any moment, he expected to hear their howling pursuers, closing in on the kill. But minutes elapsed, and still they were kicking. Neither shouts nor paintballs came soaring at them from behind. Had they gotten away? Cillian didn¡¯t dare hope.

    The peace was a lie.

    And soon, he was proven correct; fate wasn¡¯t so kind as to let them escape. Their foes found them from another direction.

    Cillian, so focused he was on his footsteps, barely slowed down in time to avoid crashing into the frozen Nuala.

    ¡°Hide!¡± she urged and ducked low, using a pine as her cover. Wobbling like a pair of drunkards, the boys did the same.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this! How in the aether?¡± She whirled her head front and back, then peered through her binoculars. ¡°I see movement; they¡¯re cutting us off!¡±

    Another team? Cillian squinted in an attempt to make out what she¡¯d seen. But it was way too dark for him to succeed.

    Wait! Rory couldn¡¯t just follow us endlessly; he had to rewind at some point. Likely why he¡¯s dropped off. They¡¯re switching?

    ¡°We hide?¡± Eamon panted, looking resigned.

    ¡°No point. They somehow know where we are. We run to the fence, then speed alongside it.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cillian wheezed, thinking fast, an idea tugging at the back of his mind. ¡°Back to the edge, then¨C¡± a breath, ¡°then to where we were ambushed.¡±

    ¡°You have a plan?¡± Nuala implored.

    ¡°An inkling. Let¡¯s go!¡± He scrambled to stand, swaying. ¡°We¡¯re not going down like some hares. To glory!¡± His attempt at encouraging was scarcely inspiring.

    Eamon barked an unhinged laugh, ¡°There¡¯s no way.¡±

    ¡°Say it!¡± Cillian shoved the boy to make him get going.

    ¡°Fine¡­ Or to an ignoble end! Happy?¡±

    He was. Cillian felt strangely elated. Or was he simply lightheaded?

    Whatever it was, a jubilant shout at their backs left no time for debate.

    The would-be prey sprang up and scurried away.

    But isn¡¯t turnabout a fair play?

    <hr>

    The idea was fickle, born out of assumptions.

    One: they were being tracked. Nuala was sure of it.

    Two: their opponents took turns. Team A ¨C both hunters in pursuit, the rest lagging behind. And Team B ¨C all members together, keeping apace with A¡¯s carriers and taking a parallel course. The teams would switch if the job was not finished before a rewind was needed. The goal? To run the victims down, to never relent.

    Cillian thought it was plausible, given the way the chase was unfolding and if communicators indeed were in play.

    One final assumption: Rory¡¯s team was on support at the moment, galloping somewhere close to the edge.

    Cillian wanted to force a shift in the narrative, and to do that they needed a weapon. But before anything else, the trio had to gain time. Nuala, as always, came through.

    She first led them Lem, down a deep trough, then, out of sight, cut sharply left, hoping to make the predators hesitate. Cillian recalled the dud that was still in his bag. Nothing to lose. He fetched it, enabled, and let it fall to the ground in their wake. Double bluff. They wouldn¡¯t think he was guiding them true, would they? Whatever. Even a moment of wavering was better than nothing.

    They sprinted Nullside. There was a chance of running straight into the other pursuers, but some risk had to be taken.

    Just don¡¯t fall, just don¡¯t fall, Cillian kept on repeat in his head. At this point, he was running on desperation and fear. His grip on Eamon was as much for moral support as for safety. One way or another, soon our ride will end.

    They reached the edge and took another sharp turn. The hangar came into sight. Final stretch!

    Somehow, they got there, to the scene of the ambush. Cillian, gasping, expressed ¨C more with gestures than sounds ¨C his doubtlessly brilliant plan, while Nuala compelled him and Eamon not to sit down.

    Embarrassingly, he could only stand there and pant; Nuala handled all preparations. The girl took out what scant paper she and Eamon possessed ¨C previously holding their food ¨C used one to wipe the semi-dry paint from the waterskin, as best she could, and the rest ¨C tightly wrapped the sheets around the narrow part of the vessel, just enough for a handle, paint free. Then unclasped the strap and threw it away; it would only get in the way.

    The next part ¨C Nuala approached him. ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Cillian rasped. ¡°I¡¯m of no use anyway; can¡¯t go much further.¡±

    There was no time for discussion. He offered the girl his end of the string and she took it, latching it to the belt. Then rewind, and back toward Rim, headlong to danger!

    Cillian carried the waterskin awkwardly, upside down, the cork firmly in place, one hand on the ¡°handle¡±, another holding the ¡°top¡±, his own paper protecting him from the menacing red. He jogged at the rear, keeping some distance.

    Almost there, almost there! Come on, where are you?!

    Just trees, shrubbery, and more stupid trees. They should know we¡¯re coming, no? However they do it.

    The pair in the lead had to wait for him twice. First ¨C to climb up an incline, not major, but he still took it ponderously. Next ¨C to descend.

    He kept forcing his legs to obey, both hands busy, afraid of falling again. Until, finally, movement ahead! Sounds first, then the rest.

    ¡°Bleedin¡¯ rot, Kil, they¡¯re here! You said they went Heavenward! Fuck fuck fuck!¡± Eamon played his part perfectly.

    His shout collided with a furious bellow charging the opposite way. Cillian couldn¡¯t discern the words, but the voice¡­ Rory! Yes! It¡¯d been a coin toss who they¡¯d meet first.

    Crying out in alarm, Cillian¡¯s teammates hit the brakes, pivoted, and back at him they hightailed, at full tilt. He met the duo¡¯s gazes as their paths intersected, and just like that ¨C he was diving into a tangled boscage of green, armed but unaided.

    Waiting.

    Pounding footfalls. Or was it his heartbeat? So close.

    Be patient. It¡¯s too early. Where where where?

    He all but vibrated in anticipation and worry.

    Why is it when you want them, they seem to take ages?

    At last, a hulking body appeared, just a few meters left, and, not spotting him, kept sprinting away, in pursuit. Cillian jerked, No! Stay still, blindin¡¯ tool!

    Then Oscar dashed on the right, much closer, but the boy¡¯s gaze, too, did not go astray. His entire attention was aimed at the scarpering prey.

    Nothing to see here!

    And now, the main course. Cillian had to wait even longer.

    They weren¡¯t in any great hurry; both girls likely believed this time the doom would surely befall the powerless quarry. And they were dead right, specifics aside. He was the hunter now.

    Once they stepped past him, Cillian eyed their backs, took a deep breath, and burst out. The waterskin in his outstretched hands, he used the very last vestiges of strength left and, with a roar, was upon them.

    The girls heard him, spun, and freaked out. Nonetheless ¨C credit to them ¨C they still managed to slip to the side even if their panicked expressions were shouting, ¡°Oh crud!¡± He pulled out the cork and showered the closest cailin with the waterskin¡¯s blood.

    Yes!

    ¡°YOU BEAST!¡±

    Right on her ponytail.

    ¡°You rottin¡¯ ogre!!!¡±

    She shrieked and shook her head wildly.

    Null! There was an imminent danger of her unwittingly flinging a droplet at him.

    His job wasn¡¯t done yet.

    ¡°Freeze! You¡¯re dead! It¡¯s red paint!¡±

    She didn¡¯t. The furious girl kept swearing and frantically sweeping her hair.

    Right, he should¡¯ve expected this.

    Cillian let go of the ¡°handle¡±, took two hurried steps back, tightened his grip on the waterskin¡¯s bottom, and swung it forcefully up. From the nozzle more lethal rounds were sent flying. The other girl dived! It didn¡¯t help.

    Their beacon got splattered with red! Victory! Yes!

    ¡°NO!¡±

    All at once, Cillian deflated ¨C just dropped right where he stood.

    The cold grass welcomed him. He raised his hands and eyed them ¨C no paint anywhere. Good.

    Aether. Is this the moment when I black out, like in a story? The boy spluttered a laugh, which swiftly transitioned into a bout of hoarse coughing.

    Spent, he wriggled there, hacking and snuggling the dirt.

    In the background, one girl was raging. At him, at herself, at the world. Then he felt another approach.

    She quietly inquired, ¡°You alright?¡± Her voice, surprisingly, conveyed no resentment.

    He couldn¡¯t make any intelligible sounds. So she waited. The worst passed, and he lifted his head.

    ¡°Aye, I¡¯ll just¡­ stay here, you know,¡± another cough, ¡°the day¡¯s lovely.¡±

    She chuckled, then grimaced, noticing splashes of paint on her braid. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t say so myself. Aether, to end it like this¡­ You¡¯re Cillian, right? I¡¯m Sloane.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°Hi, Sloane,¡± was his woozy response. ¡°Red¡¯s a good color on you.¡±

    ¡°Oh get nulled. It¡¯s not a given you got to us first.¡±

    Whatever. He had enough for one day.

    My heroic paintball fight. Heh. What a rake-load of crap.

    The injured boy wished no more than to be on his way.

    <hr>

    Cillian was taking a long, hot shower, washing away all the grime and sweat of the relentless hours. If only fatigue and pain could be erased just as easily.

    The almost scorching spray felt so, so nice; he wished to stay here forever. It was fortunate that the academy didn¡¯t insist on ¡°toughening them up¡± with ice baths or something.

    The boy shook his head. Null. What was I thinking about again?

    His heedfulness was slipping.

    Right! The forest, the paintballs ¨C all that jazz.

    Try as he might to reflect on the events of the contest, his mind kept getting distracted, this time finding the tiles and the shower head fascinating. He¡¯d been using his unit¡¯s bathroom for two weeks now ¨C objectively, there was nothing interesting about it.

    After a couple more minutes of fruitlessly attempting to regulate the flow of his thoughts, not just that of the water, Cillian gave up. Whatever. It was better to postpone any analysis anyway. Something was just nagging at him. But he stayed where he was; not yet ready to face the cold and dim world.

    It had taken Cillian far longer than he¡¯d hoped to extricate himself from the accursed woods. First, he and the girls, Sloane and Eithne, had to wait for the word to arrive ¨C which group had come out on top ¨C with instructor Hass keeping them company. And such great news they¡¯d shortly received: the purple team had decisively won, hurray to them! Not the entire competition, of course, but one particular tussle.

    Then, as much as he might have wished to finally bow out and go rest, he¡¯d still had five minutes or so left on the collar. Technically, he was yet in contention. Unwilling to give the instructors an impression that he was a quitter, Cillian made a token effort to catch up to his fellows, never straying far from the edge. Predictably, Nuala and Eamon were gone long ago. So he affected a crestfallen air, as if his heart desired to keep going, hid a tired smile, and slouched away, hoping Liam¡¯s team, too, his teammates had left chewing dust.

    A lonely trek back to the academy grounds and getting ticked off the list at the gate later, Cillian had found himself back in his room. He¡¯d packed the uniform and the gear to submit them for cleaning and hopped in the shower, where he remained ever since.

    But all good things had to come to an end. Wearing only a bathrobe, he reluctantly exited the warm sanctuary and proceeded to spend entirely too long gazing longingly at the bed. Unfortunately, he couldn¡¯t yet enjoy its tender embrace as there were things in need of attention.

    Cillian¡¯s itinerary included the laundry house at the top, so that¡¯s where he went. Then, a visit to the ¡°Supplies¡± was in order, and, upon entering the space, the good quartermaster silently gestured for him to deposit the muddy equipment on the counter before the boy could even open his mouth. Thank aether he wouldn¡¯t have to scrub the abused waterskin personally. Since it was their first outdoor class of the year, all cleaning and maintenance would be done by the staff. And for free.

    Small blessings.

    After that ¨C the infirmary. Nurse Whelan didn¡¯t admonish him for setting back his recovery, but Cillian wasn¡¯t blind ¨C she clearly wished to give him a piece of her mind. Instead, the woman simply examined him, asked what he¡¯d done, and graciously allowed to leave with an ice pack. He promised to promptly return it.

    As Cillian had expected, he found the other unfortunates in the recreation room, Cathal included. When he entered, all eyes turned to him. Two dozen people or so, likely not everyone, a case in point being the cailini he¡¯d eliminated with his valiant charge. Painting their heads red hadn¡¯t been too nice, he just realized, as he could¡¯ve easily ¡°killed¡± them by targeting anywhere else. Eithne ¨C the swearing girl ¨C in particular, had suffered a waterfall. No wonder she¡¯d been so enraged.

    Well, she has a lot of hair and, surely, doesn¡¯t need all of it. Can just cut it if the paint doesn¡¯t come off.

    Satisfied with his impeccable logic, Cillian joined Cathal, who was waving at him. Somewhat surprisingly, opposite his teammate Teagan was sitting.

    ¡°Are you alone?¡± Cathal asked once Cillian dropped next to him on the sofa and applied the ice pack, sighing contentedly.

    ¡°M? Oh, aye, I¡¯m alone.¡±

    They stared at him, expectant. He blinked back, sleepily. Riiight, they¡¯re waiting for an update. What¡¯s wrong with me?

    ¡°Sorry, still feel kind of dazed. Light in the head, you know?¡±

    Cathal carefully appraised the body part in question.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Just this thing,¡± Cillian tapped the pack. ¡±My chest was alright, and I made it not alright. Bleedin¡¯ moron¡­ And just tired in general, I suppose.¡± He leaned back on a cushion. ¡°Give me a second, and I¡¯ll fill you in.¡±

    Following a few moments to recall the competition¡¯s progression, he began delivering an abbreviated account, ¡°Let¡¯s see. Uhh, we went Heavenward a wee to take a meal break, both teams together. Then bought water from you,¡± he directed his gaze at Teagan, ¡°for a single stone and a dud. After that¨C¡±

    ¡°What?" Cathal interjected. ¡°Why would you need to buy water? And for a stone? We had¨C¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Cillian repeated, waving him off. ¡°We got it back and then some. Umm¡­ bought water ¨C cause ours was ruined; some paint got inside ¨C then what? Yea, after the trade, talked some more and then split. Aoife¡¯s team went further Heavenward. Although it might¡¯ve been just to get out of our sight, I suppose. And our team went Rim. You know, because by that point we¡¯d been all over the Lem side and¡­¡±

    He trailed off as his wandering eyes landed on a collection of identical pamphlets scattered on the low table separating the sofas. ¡°Huh. What is this?¡± He picked one of them up.

    ¡°No no no, finish the report first,¡± Cathal urged.

    ¡°Right,¡± Cillian said distractedly. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s the priz¨C Hey!¡± The impatient boy plucked the brochure from his hand.

    ¡°The report?¡±

    Cillian eyed the other copies. ¡°Fine. Where was I? Uhh¡­ we went Rimwise, looted another two stones ¨C they were just sitting there ¨C then got jumped by Rory. Almost jumped by Rory, I should say,¡° he quickly amended at Cathal¡¯s alarmed expression. ¡±Noticed him at the last second.¡±

    Or more like instructor Sommer alerted us. Right, that¡¯s what¡¯s been bugging me. Why did he help us again? He didn¡¯t believe it was a coincidence.

    ¡°How did you deal with him?¡± Teagan prompted, now, too, leaning forward with interest.

    Cillian scratched his forehead. ¡°It went something like this: Nuala left to investigate a signal, but it was a trap. Actually, I don¡¯t know what was there exactly as she had no time to explain. But, basically, she got lured away while Rory crept up on us. We noticed him, threw paintballs at his face, Eamon also blinded him briefly, and we scampered away.¡±

    Cathal asked, ¡°And Nuala?¡±

    ¡°She caught up. I guess she¡¯d already realized something was fishy and was hurrying back¡­¡±

    His mind meandered again. Suppose the twatwaffles used the communicators to keep in touch with each other. But how were they tracking us?

    It was anything but trivial to follow someone through a dark forest.

    ¡°And?¡± Cathal nudged him. ¡°If you¡¯re alone, does it mean Nuala and Eamon got away?¡±

    ¡°Aye. We ran for some time, grabbed the waterskin ¨C we left it lying there ¨C then turned around and attacked them. With the paint from the waterskin, I mean. I¡­ I gave the beacon to Nuala since I couldn¡¯t run any further; the chest was frackin¡¯ killing me. We met them headlong, Nuala and Eamon turned around again, while I hid in the bushes and waited for Rory and Oscar to run past me. And when I saw their carriers, I jumped them. That¡¯s it. We beat them, cheers and celebrations.¡±

    Cathal looked surprised and a little confused. Cillian supposed it was fair; his tale was hardly bursting with details.

    Teagan was frowning. ¡°So you beat Oscar? And why did you need to use the paint from the waterskin? You didn¡¯t have any paintballs left?¡±

    Cillian thought about it. ¡°We did. Quite a few, actually. I¡¯m not sure¡­ I suppose because it¡¯s difficult to strike a beacon with a paintball, but the red paint counts anywhere? You did the same to us, no?¡±

    ¡°Aye, but we had time to prepare, while you, if your account is true, were on the run. You could¡¯ve done what you did using your paintballs.¡±

    ¡°I suppose¡­ yea, I reckon that, at first, I just wanted to eliminate Rory. And Oscar, of course. But later changed my mind. Maybe. Honestly, I don¡¯t recall my precise thought process at the time.¡±

    ¡°But you kicked Oscar out of the competition? You are sure?¡±

    ¡°Umm, yea? Had the instructors declare it and everything.¡±

    Teagan sat back with an expression that Cillian had never seen on him before. The boy was smiling happily.

    ¡°Good. Steamin¡¯ cheaters. And Liam?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Cillian shrugged and snatched the brochure back. ¡°Now, what do we have here?¡±

    ¡°I think the others should be just about finished, right?¡± Cathal asked, relaxing into his own cushion, but Cillian barely heard him, too preoccupied with the contents.

    Prizes and prices. Oooh, the good stuff.

    ¡°There was an instructor here earlier ¨C forgot her name ¨C she told us this list doesn¡¯t include everything. We can ask for other rewards, and these are just popular examples,¡± his teammate commented. ¡°She made this big speech how we ¨C and by that she clearly meant the losers ¨C should aspire to do better next time and so on and so forth, and that while it¡¯s in Foerstner¡¯s best interests to help everyone here become a chevalier, it¡¯s also in Foerstner¡¯s best interests to give more help to those who succeed more ¨C you get the idea. In short, do better and earn more stones because the tokens are for common items while the stones are for limited. Just like the headmaster said. And oh, she also told us that anything not on the list will be considered on a case-by-case basis.¡±

    ¡°I get it. Thank you.¡± Cillian¡¯s eyes hurried down the lines.

    Lot one: Personal training. Makes sense, I suppose. The instructors have limited time.

    Lot two: Extracurricular classes, e.g. inner workings of steam technology, ethics, social psychology, creative arts, marine science, etc.

    That¡¯s a quare list. How¡¯s art helpful? And marine science? Couldn¡¯t it be summarized with ¡°Don¡¯t ever come near the ocean unless you want to get eaten?¡±

    Lot three: Right to expedite. Huh? What does it even mean? Expedite what?

    The enumeration went on, interesting items galore. Additional power exposure hours, accompanying the staff on special hunts, rare materials for armor (including those harvested from beasts), personal phonograph, access to imported literature (Imported from where?), exchanging the stones for real money to spend in the settlement, luxury food (That¡¯s just stupid), increased quota of the academy¡¯s craftsmen¡¯s dedicated hours ¨C to name just a few. Cillian¡¯s two personal favorites were: meet and greet the instructors¡¯ companions and a flight on a hot air balloon. The latter was no doubt a foolish waste of resources, but he liked heights, sue him.

    It¡¯s been entirely too long without any meaningful climbs.

    One item baffled him though ¨C More letters home? How is that limited? He voiced his confusion aloud.

    Teagan grudgingly explained, ¡°How do you think our letters get sent? There¡¯s no telegraph line between us and Lua. It¡¯s too far, would require too many relays, too many powerful elanroots, meaning, too many vulnerable connections. The idea was considered at one point but then scrapped. We can send letters every two weeks because that¡¯s how often we get trains from Lua carrying provisions.¡±

    Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. ¡°Okay. But how could we send more frequently then?¡±

    Teagan shrugged, ¡°Using the line running from here to the nearby O¡¯Driscoll¡¯s farm, where we have an outpost, would be my guess, and it isn¡¯t cheap. Foerstner and O¡¯Driscoll have a compact of mutual defense in case of monster-related emergencies, and, as part of that compact, the connecting arm was built so that the academy could urgently contact the outpost instead of waiting for a train to arrive. Then O¡¯Driscoll would take over the delivery from there. They are much more built up in this region, and they run trains back to Lua regularly.¡±

    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s a dangerous dependency if I ever saw one.¡±

    ¡°They depend on us in other areas much more than we depend on them,¡± Teagan stated vehemently.

    ¡°If you say so.¡± Cillian reread the offered rewards. ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t understand half of these things. What¡¯s ¡®power exposure hours¡¯? And ¡®special hunts¡¯?¡±

    Teagan supplied an answer again, ¡°You should wait until you figure out your weaknesses before you spend any stones. And the list will start making more sense as the year progresses.¡±

    Has he been enchanted by a willowdream? Cillian looked up at the fella in puzzlement. Why is he suddenly so helpful?

    Admittedly, he hadn¡¯t meaningfully interacted with the bushy-browed boy ever since the train.

    Cathal, who¡¯d been anxiously keeping an eye on the door, turned back and said, ¡°We should see how many stones we get first.¡± Then quieter, ¡°If any at all.¡±

    Actually, there aren¡¯t any willowdreams in the region. It¡¯s all conifers, remember?

    Cillian¡¯s teammate was right. It was premature to pick any prizes right now. Besides, the current state of his mind was somewhat in question.

    Cathal and Teagan kept up a sporadic conversation, and drowsiness began sneakily ensnaring him again. The low hum of the surrounding discussions together with the wispy melody spilling out of the gramophone in the center of the chamber conspired to put him out of commission. When someone reduced the overhead illumination and ignited the fake fireplaces, all shaped like enormous diving helmets, it was the final blow to his consciousness. The last thing Cillian perceived was a girl approaching their cozy nook and asking if they had any news to share. He graciously left the retelling of their team¡¯s glorious adventures to the others.

    Finally, some frackin¡¯ rest.

    Cillian only awoke, unwillingly, when a hand prodded him on the shoulder, none too gently.

    ¡°Mhm¡­¡±

    The prodding persisted.

    ¡°G¡®way.¡± He swatted blindly.

    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll split the stones between those awake. All in favor?¡± the botherer asked with a laugh, jabbing him again. What an annoyance. ¡°Unanimously!¡±

    ¡°I know where you sleep, man,¡± Cillian mumbled, then yawned, eyes still closed. ¡°I¡¯ll murder you.¡±

    ¡°Empty threat. I doubt ye can pick a lock, unlike meself. It¡¯s you who should be wary.¡±

    ¡°You can pick a lock?¡± a girl asked.

    ¡°I can do anything.¡±

    ¡°Aether, you¡¯re obnoxious. Bring good news, at least?¡± Cillian finally mastered enough energy to peel his eyes open. Eamon was lounging on the couch to his right, displacing Cathal further away.

    ¡°We survived. Good enough for you, ye nobleship?¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°And what?¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°How many what?¡±

    Cillian shook his head in irritation, blinked a few times, and at last copped on to the fact that the irksome buffoon wasn¡¯t the only addition. Nuala grinned and waved at him, her hair damp, from a sumptuous armchair to the sofa¡¯s right, while Moira was sitting next to Teagan.

    ¡°Nuala, help me out here. How many? And how are you,¡± he looked at Eamon, ¡°so cheerful all of a sudden? Last I saw, you were like a corpse yourself.¡±

    ¡°Please, I was just pretending to be tired so you wouldn¡¯t feel bad about being the team¡¯s weakling.¡±

    ¡°Nuala?¡±

    ¡°33. Technically, 21, but taking our average ring into account ¨C 33. We were simply told our total, without elaborating how it was calculated.¡±

    ¡°33,¡± he nodded. ¡°Good.¡± Then, less decisively, ¡°Good, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, and 33 divided by 3 is 11 apiece,¡± Nuala smiled.

    ¡°Not you too.¡±

    Cillian then looked at Moira. ¡°How did you do? And where are the rest?¡±

    She sighed, ¡°I¡¯ve just finished recounting. Our total, post adjustment, is 35. And Sorcha and Aoife are likely still showering.¡±

    Nuala added, ¡°Liam¡¯s team did best ¨C 44.¡±

    ¡°Some of this stuff is stupid,¡± Eamon waved a brochure. ¡°Have you seen it?¡± He addressed Cillian. ¡°Luxury food? Hot air balloon flight? What is this bollocks?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking of taking it. The flight, I mean.¡±

    Eamon eyed him weirdly. ¡°You¡¯re joking?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯ve never been on one, and I like heights. Gone a couple of times to an airship restaurant, but it¡¯s in the city, not wilderness, and fully enclosed to boot.¡±

    ¡°Umm, okay, it¡¯s your stones, Kil.¡±

    ¡°Stop calling me that already.¡±

    ¡°Kili?¡±

    ¡°Nuala, take him away.¡±

    ¡°Complaining to the nanny, are you?¡±

    Cillian rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re either purposefully being very annoying or I¡¯m simply too tired to deal with you.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s always annoying,¡± Nuala supplied.

    ¡°The correct word is delightful.¡±

    Their bickering was interrupted by Sorcha¡¯s arrival, who dropped into another unoccupied armchair.

    ¡°Shit, where¡¯s my ice pack?¡± Cillian remembered it and fumbled around.

    ¡°I¡¯ve taken it to the infirmary,¡± Cathal said.

    ¡°Oh, thank you.¡± He then turned his attention to Nuala. ¡°By the way, forgot to ask, what did you do after? How did you get away from Liam?¡±

    She shrugged, ¡°We just ran to the fence and then Heavenward. He never showed up. Made circles close enough to the fence to use it as an escape route, if needed, but deep enough so no one could see us. And that¡¯s it; the horn came.¡±

    ¡°He was only willing to go after us with an advantage,¡± Eamon smiled. ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t talk it down, Fionnuala; our journey was properly inspiring.¡±

    ¡°Nuala. Fionnuala is entirely too long.¡± She pointed an accusing finger at the boy. ¡°See what I had to deal with? He¡¯s been like an overexcited puppy ever since the finale.¡±

    ¡°Liam hunted you?¡± Sorcha asked. ¡°How did you do overall?¡±

    Cillian laughed lightly. ¡°We¡¯ve just finished recounting,¡± he imitated Moira¡¯s voice. Her and Teagan¡¯s expressions conveyed that they didn¡¯t find it too witty. It probably wasn¡¯t. ¡°Sorry,¡± he winced, ¡°not my best self at the moment.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s your chest?¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°Fin¨C I don¡¯t know, will have a better idea tomorrow. And I¡¯m just woozy for some reason. I think I told Sloane that red looked good on her right after dumping red paint on her head.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Eamon chortled. ¡°Sloane is one of Rory¡¯s teammates?¡±

    ¡°Aye, the blonde one.¡±

    ¡°Truly, a virtuoso of compliments, you.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re both blonde, Cillian,¡± Nuala noted, quietly sniggering as well.

    ¡°Oh. The nice one then. The other wasn¡¯t so nice, called me mean names.¡±

    ¡°Going to complain to the nanny again?¡±

    ¡°Oh niss take you, Eams. You know what, I¡¯ll go to my room before I make hames of things again.¡± Cillian grabbed a pamphlet, stood, and squeezed between all the encroaching, colorful furniture. Once behind the sofa, he thumped Eamon on the shoulder, gently, and added, ¡°And well done, guys. We did great.¡±

    ¡°Yep. That was the craic, wasn¡¯t it? But why are ye leaving? Come on, Kil, we should celebrate!¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s better, isn¡¯t it?¡± he countered. ¡°Sunday, and we can finally go to the settlement. How are you planning to celebrate here?¡±

    ¡°Aoife has already offered to celebrate properly tomorrow,¡± Sorcha said. ¡°She¡¯s big on stuff like that.¡± Her tone suggested that she herself wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°Grand! See you all tomorrow. I really need to lie down now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not even evening,¡± Nuala remarked.

    Cillian¡¯s eyes instinctively searched for a window, but there weren¡¯t any. Right, underground.

    He couldn¡¯t remember ever feeling so dopey. When not langers, that was.

    ¡°See you at dinner then. Bye!¡± The boy waved and teetered away. His brief rest seemed to have made him more exhausted, not less.

    ¡°So we should divide by three for real then?¡± Eamon tried one last time.

    Cillian just lifted a hand again and wiggled a ¡°V¡±, not looking back.

    Was it a little rude to leave like that? Perhaps. But he longed for the bed. And, more importantly, needed some time removed from the noise.

    Tomorrow. Tomorrow we celebrate.

    A pang in the chest made him grimace.

    Aye. He really needed a damn break.

 Chapter 12. Cooldown

    No one spoke as they descended the gentle slope separating the academy from the settlement proper.

    A dozen more eager steps, and the clear sky above Cillian¡¯s head was replaced with a towering muster of twined branches and vines, together weaving a bizarre archway. The thing was so wide a couple of trucks could comfortably snuggle there side by side and so deep it took him five purposeful strides just to cross to the other side.

    Talk about a quare introduction.

    ¡°Whew,¡± Eamon let out a stupefied breath.

    Past the ¡°entrance¡± awaited further surprises.

    To the left of the wide road the foursome were currently occupying, loomed what Cillian could only describe as a ¡°stacking house¡±. A single-story, concrete dwelling sporting a gable roof had been replicated four times, each copy scaled down and given its own unique reddish hue, and then the resulting ¡°building blocks¡± piled on top of one another in the descending order of volume.

    The structure looked taller than it actually was, and the eyes of everyone in the company gravitated to it. Cillian craned his neck up to see the tip. Nice touch having the topmost ¡°house¡± turned 90 degrees ¨C whereas the triangle faces of the roofs adorning the three lowest levels looked at the road, the one above them stared straight at the academy.

    A pillar of dirty smoke rising from the brick chimney and the encircling waist-high picket fence completed the ensemble.

    ¡°Where to?¡± Eamon asked with a big, happy smile.

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Nuala replied. ¡°We know nothing about the place; let¡¯s go explore.¡±

    Cillian was still gazing around, curious. Cathal just shrugged.

    They weren¡¯t the only ones venturing into the streets; the others were, too, hurrying to take advantage of the first offer of freedom. They¡¯d agreed to meet Aoife¡¯s team in a pub called ¡°In Ruin¡±, but that was for later. At the moment, the group wanted nothing more than to wander.

    And so further they went, the weird architecture keeping them company.

    Next in line to take them aback was a tree house proudly standing on the other side of the street. While in Lua one could occasionally encounter metal tree houses, this one appeared to be an actual, if withered, trunk. Juniper, if Cillian wasn¡¯t mistaken. It had seen better days but was still massive, reaching five floors in height and serving as a pole for the golden staircase to snake around. Barely any branches remained, but the root¡¯s sprawling tendrils still clang to the ground with all their might.

    ¡°Hey! Hey! Hey! Our valiant chevaliers and chevaliers-to-be, make sure to visit the traveling restaurant! Blink, and we¡¯ll be gone! Only two more weeks! Don¡¯t miss out on the chance! New cuisine in every new settlement! You¡¯ve never tasted anything more exquisite! Hey! Hey! Hey!¡­¡±

    Up ahead, raising a haze of dust and spewing steam from its depths, crawled a caravan. It was shaped like a cozy, two-story house with a big circular veranda overlooking the road, from which a harlequin-dressed man was exuberantly singing the virtues of the ¡°only restaurant braving the wilds¡± through his excessively polished speaking trumpet.

    Eamon snorted in derision, and Cillian agreed. Utter niss-crap. There¡¯s no way this thing actually traverses the dimness under its own power.

    The moving contraption somehow didn¡¯t look out of place.

    He had expected a slice of Lua and instead found himself in an amusement park. The groups of young men and women sweeping their heads left and right while sauntering deeper into the colorful medley of buildings only added to the impression.

    The one blemish on the otherwise lighthearted atmosphere was the iron bars and/or shutters guarding each and every window in sight. Most of them were wide open, not expecting a raid, and yet their presence reminded him that no matter the appearances he was still in the middle of nowhere.

    ¡°On your left!¡± someone called out from behind them then rushed past on a bicycle, ringing the bell. Cillian instinctively stepped aside and watched the cyclist swirl to the right and swiftly disappear under a building ¨C a feat that was possible because the ground level of the structure took the form of a single expanding loggia guarded by a succession of arches flowing one into another.

    And here¡¯s something more traditional.

    Well, not entirely. The tower sticking up from the far end of the building wasn¡¯t exactly typical ¨C it was tipping, and quite severely at that. Its steep pyramid roof topped by a rooster-shaped wind vane cast a curious shadow over the heads of the pedestrians underneath.

    ¡°Who even lives here?¡± Cillian wondered as the restaurant-on-wheels trudged noisily past. ¡°There¡¯s not much to do around these parts, is there?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s mostly Foerstner¡¯s soldiers ¨C I¡¯m sorry, security forces ¨C and their dependents,¡± Cathal responded. ¡°The academy¡¯s personnel alone wouldn¡¯t be enough to clean up beasts and maintain the facilities like lighthouses and relays, right?¡±

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Cillian pondered. ¡°Likely a contingent from O¡¯Driscoll too. And maybe even the rest of the Big Four if Foerstner allowed it.¡±

    ¡°Ha! No chance of that!¡± Eamon exclaimed. ¡°A staging ground for sabotage? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    As the group kept distancing themselves from the academy, the outlandish designs proved to be unable to maintain the pace, and so the carnival feeling gradually gave way to a more serious one. After an intersection, the street assumed the image of a typical business lane found somewhere in the midring in Lua ¨C lofty windows decorated with artful trims, fake columns at the corners, real columns supporting central balconies, and, as for the people¡­ elegantly dressed people were everywhere.

    Two weeks spent sitting in classrooms or running around in the forest had almost made Cillian forget that there was a civilization awaiting beyond the academy walls.

    ¡°Bakery?¡± Eamon asked in surprise, eyeing one of the signboards. ¡°If they import flour from somewhere, why is that the only thing we get is sandwiches? Where¡¯s our sweet pastry?¡±

    ¡°You want to come in?¡± Nuala asked.

    ¡°I want to, aye, but ain¡¯t going to. An arm and a leg it would cost, mark me words.¡±

    The same building advertised a rake-load of services, among which were massage, a bookstore, and a barbershop. Cillian hadn¡¯t even considered that he¡¯d need a haircut at some point during the year. He lifted his campaign hat ¨C worn for the first time since it¡¯d been issued ¨C swiped the growing locks off his forehead, and pushed it back. Aye, and pretty soon, too.

    Eamon was scrutinizing one of the porches. ¡°Is it a real monster ye think?¡±

    Nuala snorted, ¡°No. It¡¯s a humanoid frog, dummy.¡±

    ¡°How do ye know it¡¯s not real?¡±

    The only remnants of the festive construction were the peculiar entrances on either side.

    A pair of stone, uhh, frogmen in pink suits and cute little fedoras lounged atop the roof that had stolen Eamon¡¯s attention. Their legs were dangling over the edges, and their hands were playing lutes. Another porch was stylized as a yawning maw of some bear-like monstrosity. And yet another front door hid behind a pair of trees ¨C not real but erected entirely from spiraling metal girders ¨C serving as guardsmen.

    It was as if, lacking the means to build further up, the architects had elected instead to embrace a more, dare he say, untamed theme. Closer to nature. That Foerstner would ever do something like that was unexpected (after all, only a small step separated untamed from uncivilized), but, since coming to the academy, Cillian had learned that many of his notions about the company were simply ignorant.

    He itched to climb the flamboyant buildings ¨C they were practically begging to be inspected from all sides ¨C but reason stayed his hand. He¡¯d woken up in pain, his ribs making their vexation at the rough treatment known. There was no gym tomorrow ¨C the instructors had graciously allowed them time to recover ¨C but even if postponed until Wednesday, Cillian imagined he would be relegated to the recovery pool, yet again.

    They turned left at the next intersection and found themselves on a street filled with shops ¨C seemingly every building sported one on the ground level. The shopfronts with their large display windows were eye-catching and inviting. Some even spilled outside ¨C ornate tables and shelves showcased wares under canvas awnings stretching above them ¨C trying to entice the gullible young lads and lasses to set foot inside.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a great idea to buy things so close to the academy,¡± Nuala warned. ¡°They expect us rich ¡®chevaliers-to-be¡¯ to come here today, so the prices¨C¡±

    ¡°Rich chevaliers?¡± Eamon scoffed. ¡°Who¡¯re you talking about?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s how we¡¯re perceived, like it or not. And most are rich.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re provided with everything we need though,¡± Cillian said. ¡°What¡¯s there to buy?¡±

    ¡°Not everything,¡± Cathal disagreed. ¡°I need razors, didn¡¯t think to bring any.¡±

    ¡°Why haven¡¯t you asked the quartermaster?¡±

    ¡°I have, but it was too late. And now I don¡¯t have any tokens to spare. Any tokens at all.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t buy anything today,¡± Cillian said. ¡°I¡¯ll share.¡±

    Wise or not, the group still ended up wandering into several stores, just to look. Although, Cillian had to resist an urge to embark on a buying spree in one particular shop that didn¡¯t appear to have any core theme. It sold everything under the skywalker ¨C from musical instruments and gramophones to typewriters and timepieces, from cryptexes and extendable spyglasses to airship models and oracle cards. Also something the owner dubbed ¡°charms¡±, which looked like random assortments of junk to Cillian.

    In spite of her earlier words, Nuala did make a purchase ¨C a wishing bottle of all things. A tiny oblong jar with a cork and a pendant inside. Cillian peered through the smooth glass and saw that the suspended bauble was a bronze shamrock lacking the top leaf. He looked at her questioningly as she put a single bract on the counter, ¡°What¡¯s that? And haven¡¯t you just said¨C¡±

    ¡°Whisht! Don¡¯t let Eamon hear or he would never stop taking the mickey.¡± She checked the surroundings. The aforementioned boy was nowhere to be seen, too busy browsing the aisles on the other side. ¡°I don¡¯t have this one, and it doesn¡¯t cost any more than in Lua.¡±

    They¡¯d been allowed to bring money to the academy, but only 100 scions of worth overall. His own allowance, and he suspected Nuala¡¯s too, came mostly in bracts, so Cillian was a proud owner of almost a thousand of them. But today only 50 scaly coins stretched his pouch. They¡¯d had to relinquish the whole sum on the first day to the staff and were required to request a portion when needed. He supposed a single bract for a wish bottle wasn¡¯t unfair.

    Curiosity sated, the group soon left the shops and turned to walk Nullside once more, quickly coming in sight of the wall. The settlement was indeed compact, in this direction especially. The drop in wealth he¡¯d expected to see the further they ventured from the academy was present but not that significant. Truly poor, in all likelihood, could not afford to move here to begin with. And why would they want to?

    Cillian adjusted his burgundy neckerchief ¨C he was still getting used to it ¨C and made way for a passing motorwagen. Wearing his dress shirt, vest, corduroy jacket, and wide-brimmed hat, he blended with the passing residents nicely. Discounting the useless golden trinkets sprucing up the clothing of some.

    The architects adapted, but it seems there are folk who left Lua behind only for the city to never leave them.

    In this less ostentatious part of the town, they found a tanner, a pharmacy, and, predictably, a so-called disorderly house. Among other shady enterprises offering entertainment.

    Aoife had told them the pub she¡¯d invited them to was for drinking, not eating, so come lunchtime they bought food from a vendor chosen at random ¨C small pieces of grilled meat on skewers (de-aethered magical meat, needless to say, as opposed to the much more expensive non-magical variant), salads, fried potato strips, roasted peas, and Nuala even braved the shop¡¯s specialty ¨C jellied eels that the cook had caught in some local river all on his own. If one chose to be generous and believe his words.

    They ate on their feet, walking and sharing impressions.

    ¡°It¡¯s not what I thought it¡¯d be,¡± Eamon mumbled, his mouth half full. ¡°Some areas are pretty quare while others feel like we¡¯re still in Lua.¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Cathal agreed. ¡°The effort required to transport all the necessary materials alone¡­ You¡¯d think there should be, like, at least some log buildings on account of all the trees around¨C¡±

    ¡°The tilting tower is wood,¡± Cillian noted.

    ¡°It¡¯s the image,¡± Nuala added. She then stuffed one curling eel into her mouth, chewed, and made a face. Cillian laughed. ¡°Look at us, we are Foerstner! We spread civilization wherever we go!¡±

    ¡°More like a bait,¡± Eamon nodded sagely. ¡°To make the other three waste more money. Can you imagine O¡¯Driscoll grudgingly spending fortunes on prettifying all their farms because they can¡¯t afford to look barbaric in contrast? Ha!¡±

    The group didn¡¯t have to ask for directions to the pub; they simply stumbled upon it after traversing Lemwise for barely 10 minutes. A walk under a shoddy overpass connecting two buildings facing each other, and there sat ¡°In Ruin¡±.

    Oh, so that¡¯s why it¡¯s called that.

    The whole establishment was housed on three concrete platforms, in turn ¡°floating¡± above the ground, courtesy of the metal ¡°tree stumps¡± underneath. Bridges connected the central ¨C and biggest ¨C ¡°isle¡± to its two siblings, and wide stairs beckoned the passersby to ascend. The main building was three stories tall, its brick dark and worn, like it¡¯d been peppered with bullets by an angry mob. The wide balcony on the second floor was missing a small section of the railing, and the wooden signboard on the roof¡¯s face vaunted a sizable crack and was hanging precariously as if about to fall off.

    Eight water towers devoid of their legs ¨C did it make them water shacks? ¨C all similar in general shape but widely varied in proportions, stood left and right, four apiece, serving as private booths. They too looked shabby and tired, their paint chipping, and small holes littered the walls.

    The icing on the cake was a pair of flickering street lanterns.

    If not for the ¡°stumps¡±, each likely costing an augustman¡¯s ransom, and the fact that the stairs and the bridges were made of steel grating, it would indeed look derelict.

    Two people stood on the balcony: one very familiar ¨C Shauna, the girl who¡¯d screamed murder for not getting the ring she believed she deserved ¨C was smoking and coughing, while another ¨C a fella, probably local, given his late 20s appearance ¨C kept laughing at her.

    The group transitioned indoors. The hazy and somewhat bitter ambiance consumed them immediately, and Cillian noted that the contrast between expensive and ¡°found in a garbage heap¡± was still going strong.

    Walnut floors, exhausted to almost nothing. On the other hand, a collection of hororohoruru heads mounted on the wall to the left ¨C their angry, owl-like eyes wide and pink, rich tufts of indigo hair weaving spirals above them like the world¡¯s fluffiest eyebrows. Heavy tables and chairs, once polished, now drained of all color and boasting numerous battle scars. But at the far end ¨C a bar, dark, imposing, and unquestionably cared for with love, not to mention all those shiny bottles engulfed in its depths.

    Aoife and her underlings ¨C Or is Sorcha in charge? ¨C waited upstairs, together with two guys and a girl whose names Cillian had probably heard but couldn¡¯t recall. They shared three combined tables, free seating aplenty.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Aoife waived with a smile. ¡°You¡¯ve made it.¡±

    ¡°You thought we wouldn¡¯t?¡± Nuala inquired, taking a chair.

    ¡°I invited more people, but I fear not many would show. It¡¯s already 20 minutes past the agreed-upon time.¡±

    ¡°Told you no one would come for a drink at this hour,¡± Sorcha said, nursing her porcelain mug, white and with an arrow-pierced deer depicted in gold.

    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s Monday, as you well know. Can¡¯t go on a lash into the night.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it likely most just don¡¯t want to celebrate?¡± Cathal asked, dropping down across from the unknown cailin. ¡°I mean, how many teams have actually won anything? Four?¡±

    ¡°We are not celebrating the results of the competition,¡± Aoife said defensively, ¡°but rather our induction into the academy; I¡¯ve informed everyone as such. Late, I know, but it¡¯s not like we had an opportunity earlier.¡±

    ¡°Like anyone would buy it,¡± Eamon scoffed from his seat next to Nuala.

    Cillian was still standing, examining the blackboard on the far wall, listing the drinks on the menu.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Sorcha agreed. ¡°Everyone¡¯s still moody, and it¡¯s way too early.¡±

    ¡°People are understandably upset, not moody. Anyway, introductions!¡± Aoife changed the subject. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you guys have met properly, so! These are Ciaran, Declan, and Maeve,¡± she pointed first at the two dark-haired, tall boys, who looked like brothers, then at the girl. ¡°And these three are Nuala, Eamon, and Cathal. The boy looming is Cillian.¡±

    She looked up at him, ¡°You can sit; a waiter will come by shortly.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Cillian said distractedly, then did just that, finding himself next to Teagan. ¡°What are those?¡± He pointed at the right side of the board. ¡°The Bronx? Ramos Gin Fizz ¨C a whole scion?!¡±

    ¡°Cocktails, obviously,¡± Shauna approached, apparently done destroying her lungs. ¡°The Bronx is a mix of gin, wine ¨C flavored with herbs ¨C and orange juice. Don¡¯t know the other one. And just so you know,¡± she looked at Sorcha, ¡°not everyone¡¯s moody. We¡¯re here, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Moody bitch is your default state, Shauna,¡± Sorcha retorted.

    ¡°Alright!¡± Aoife said louder than necessary. ¡°Uhh, choose your drinks. The gin¡¯s good, so is the beer. I¡¯m not a fan of cocktails myself.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try the fizz,¡± Shauna declared, glaring at the brunette. ¡°Broadening my experience is the reason I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve already spent eight bracts on that pink cocktail,¡± Ciaran noted. ¡°Almost two scions wasted in the first half an hour?¡±

    The girl rolled her eyes, ¡°Who cares? Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t smuggled more than allowed.¡±

    ¡°No comment on that. But what I am going to point out is that almost everyone in this town is Foerstner-affiliated. You¡¯d risk them blabbing to the personnel about a dumb blonde conspicuously spending too much money every time they see her?¡±

    ¡°Screw you, Ciaran, I¡¯m not going to spend everything in one place. Good luck keeping the tally.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re a low-ringer, Shauna,¡± the fella shook his head as if disappointed in her.

    Eamon clearly didn¡¯t like that remark, ¡°Like the ring means anything. Yer one of the losers, ain¡¯t you?¡±

    Before Ciaran could respond, Declan took the bait, almost growling, ¡°We got jumped by those cheating shitehawks, and I heard you had skirted by ridiculous luck.¡±

    ¡°What? Who told you that?! We tangled with three different teams and came away winners, hardly luck. We just don¡¯t suck. Unlike some.¡±

    ¡°Guys¨C¡± Aoife tried to interject once again while next to her Sorcha smiled and sipped from the mug.

    ¡°Teagan told us what happened,¡° Ciaran said. ¡°They had you there; you got away thanks to a fluke. And then Eithne and Sloane simply grew complacent.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t put words in my mouth, Ciaran. I said it could¡¯ve gone better, nothing more.¡±

    ¡°You dig that? We deserved to win.¡±

    ¡°We did get lucky though,¡± Cillian said. Eamon shot him a glare. ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± he continued, ¡°I would know since I was the one who bounced that paint bubble away, and, believe me, I had no intention of doing so. Didn¡¯t even comprehend what it was, just reacted on instinct.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s skill, not luck.¡±

    ¡°Eh,¡± Cillian made a so-so gesture. ¡°Even if you chalk it up to skill, the fact that I was even holding the one object heavy enough to redirect the bubble was, undeniably, luck. I picked up the waterskin three seconds before they ambushed us. That said, we also did well before, during, and after the ambush, so,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Anyway, in all likelihood, luck would even out over the course of the year.¡±

    No one said anything to that, and Aoife treated him with a grateful look. He hadn¡¯t played a mediator for her; pointless squabbles exhausted him.

    A waitress approached to take their orders at last. Cillian opted for beer, same as Nuala and Cathal, while Eamon chose a cocktail.

    When the woman left, Aoife attempted to kick start the conversation again, ¡°Have you looked around? What do you think of the town so far?¡±

    ¡°I like it,¡± Nuala replied confidently. ¡°It¡¯s livelier than I¡¯d imagined. More entertainment, too. We saw massage, cafes, a variety show¨C¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget a whorehouse,¡± Eamon nudged her.

    Nuala cringed, ¡°Aye, that too.¡±

    ¡°Not a whorehouse. A disorderly house. Fully legal,¡± Ciaran corrected.

    ¡°You would know, would you,¡± Shauna taunted.

    ¡°Just pointing out the difference.¡±

    ¡°Huh, these whorehouses are legal?¡± That was news to Cillian. ¡°I thought they were all the same, simply bribing whoever needs to be bribed.¡±

    ¡°Not a whorehouse,¡± Ciaran repeated insistently. ¡°Disorderly houses are sponsored; they¡¯re good for morale. There are many armed men and women here, in the middle of nowhere, and no matter how ¡®lively¡¯ the place appears, it¡¯s not Lua.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡±

    The drinks arrived, and the discussion moved away from whores and their legality, or lack thereof.

    ¡°There¡¯s also a shop selling vinyl records,¡± Aoife shared with them when Nuala described the route they¡¯d taken. ¡°It¡¯s further Rimwise down that shopping street. And a tailor, too. Even this far from Lua people still try to keep up with the latest fashion.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Eamon scoffed, ¡°What fashion? Everyone¡¯s been wearing the same stuff for ages.¡±

    Shauna looked at him as if he was pitiful. ¡°Maybe among your blue-collar pals that¡¯s the case.¡±

    ¡°Ouch. Are you going to let this slide?¡± Sorcha egged Eamon on with a sly smile. Aoife kicked her lightly under the table, earning a scowl. Cillian just sighed.

    Cathal voiced what was no doubt on the minds of the others, too, ¡°You seem to know a lot about the place, Aoife. How come?¡±

    She took a moment to think, then began carefully, ¡°We all know a lot about it. I mean, those with family and friends being Foerstner for a long time. I¡¯m afraid some of you are at a disadvantage.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we know everything other than the things that actually matter,¡± Shauna seethed. ¡°I can¡¯t believe auntie Noreen didn¡¯t tell me about these stupid competitions!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a tradition,¡± Moira objected, speaking for the first time. ¡°To enter more or less blindly.¡±

    ¡°Niss take tradition. Did that stop Oscar from cheating? He clearly prepared.¡±

    ¡°Still lost though,¡± Ciaran observed with satisfaction.

    ¡°Unlucky, you said it yourself. And he¡¯ll still have those communicators in the later events. What a prick.¡±

    ¡°Do we know that he cheated?¡± Cathal asked uncertainly. ¡°Or is it just a guess?¡±

    ¡°He cheated,¡± Declan affirmed. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the communicators with my own eyes.¡±

    ¡°And the instructors don¡¯t care? Surely, if you know, they must know as well, right?¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t cheating also a tradition?¡± Cillian played the niss¡¯ advocate. ¡°Our team kind of cheated, too. I bet many did.¡±

    ¡°You mean your waterskin?¡± Declan scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s nothing. And even disregarding the communicators, Oscar must have enlisted help from their chaperone, at a minimum. How else could he have tracked us down so easily? I refuse to believe he¡¯s just that good at following a trail or whatever.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re all automatically assuming it¡¯s Oscar¡¯s doing? Not Sloane¡¯s or Rory¡¯s?¡± Cillian was curious about that. Moira had mentioned something similar during their truce meeting.

    Declan dismissed the idea, ¡°I don¡¯t know what your beef with Rory is, but he¡¯s a straightforward guy. He wouldn¡¯t scheme and plot ¨C that¡¯s Oscar¡¯s forte. He¡¯s fierce competitive.¡±

    ¡°Except Rory did plot to ambush me; invited Keefe along to soften me up. Granted, not much of a plan, but still.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what you say,¡± Ciaran challenged. ¡°Even if true, smuggling in communicators and arranging some kind of deal with an instructor is on a different level.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Aoife attempted to bring an end to the subject. ¡°As instructor Loritz said, we¡¯re here to learn. Cheating in a competition would only hinder you in the future.¡±

    ¡°Ugh,¡± Shauna made a disgusted noise, then finished her off-white cocktail and looked at her. ¡°We¡¯ll see how you sing come the end of the year when Oscar and his cronies claim all the best assignment posts.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t how it¡¯s going to develop. The academy¡¯s main concern is producing the best chevaliers possible, not¨C¡±

    ¡°The academy is not some nebulous, impartial entity, Aoife, it¡¯s a collection of individuals, and their main concern could easily become whatever someone with leverage wishes it to¨C¡±

    Oh, bother.

    Cillian sat back as the girls kept bickering.

    It was as good a moment to zone out as any, so he let the vigorous back-and-forth fade into the background. Instead, the boy turned to the side to observe other people in the pub.

    Close to the staircase, a group of women inhaled perfumed smoke sticks and blew soap bubbles at the passing men, laughing and fluttering their eyelashes coquettishly. The bubbles burst against the walls, releasing their fragrance: jasmine, lilac, heliotrope.

    One of the ladies found her feet and toasted, ¡°Sl¨¢inte is t¨¢inte!¡± The group cheered and drank.

    Cillian smiled. Health and wealth, aye. Add adventure to the list, and it¡¯ll be perfect.

    Everyone here looked middle age or younger ¨C not a single senior patron in sight. Maybe it was due to the type of the establishment. Although, come to think of it, he couldn¡¯t recall seeing any older people on the streets either. He noted a few curious glances sent their way, but no more than that. Seemed like the settlers weren¡¯t much in awe of the latest crop of future chevaliers.

    Cillian sipped his beer, turned the other way, and began ruminating on the competition and the information already shared at the table. To tell the truth, he wasn¡¯t much in the mood for celebration. The chest still troubled him.

    Their team hadn¡¯t really talked about the event, not in detail. He wanted to take a look at their actions, what they had and hadn¡¯t done well, but such a discussion would have to wait for when they were alone. And not gallivanting. Also, he didn¡¯t know if mentioning the help they¡¯d received from instructor Sommer to the others was a good idea. Had more teams benefited from their chaperones as well? Was it a big deal or not?

    Maybe Patrick Sommer had known about his colleague helping Oscar¡¯s team and hadn¡¯t liked that. Tried to even the odds? The staff not caring about Rory¡¯s assault on Cillian and selectively assisting some students was not abnormal. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t even that upset about it, despite finding himself on the receiving end twice. That was just how things worked.

    Cillian was more confused by the hand they had been lent. Why would anyone aid a group of low-ringers? And Shauna¡­ he¡¯d forgotten about her until today, but she was certainly one of the ¡°elites¡± yet was still relegated to the second ring. There was also the case of Mairead Gehler putting Rory in his place, violently, not caring about his family being a big deal in the corporation. And now he learned that some important information had even been deliberately concealed from his upper-class counterparts. Why wouldn¡¯t their families attempt to leverage any and all possible advantages?

    It appeared it wasn¡¯t quite as simple as those up top bullying the culchies at their feet; there was more nuance to it. Obvious in hindsight, but Cillian had lacked a reason to contemplate the dynamic until now. At school, he hadn¡¯t interacted with his peers much ¨C not since the incident and if one didn¡¯t count face punching ¨C and at his father¡¯s workplace he¡¯d mostly witnessed the aforementioned ¡°bullying¡±.

    He was likely overthinking things, but Cillian couldn¡¯t help but be wary of a possible repayment that could be demanded of them in the future if such favors continued. Maybe he should ask Aoife¡¯s opinion later; the girl had been nothing but pleasant and helpful so far.

    That decided, Cillian forcibly switched gears to ponder another matter. He wanted to write to his father in the next few hours since the deadline was 8 pm. The two minuscule passages he¡¯d managed to scribble the previous evening wouldn¡¯t cut it.

    He was three paragraphs down into this impromptu letter-composing session, purely mental for now, when his musings were rudely interrupted by Cathal nudging him and asking if he wanted a refill. The waitress was here again, expectant. He looked at his empty pint glass ¨C Huh ¨C and gestured for the woman to go ahead. Being a bit of a lightweight, Cillian knew it would be his last.

    Thankfully, at some point the group¡¯s conversation had stopped resembling angry chickens clucking at each other and turned mellower.

    He heard Maeve¡¯s voice for the first time, talking about something with Declan, while Nuala seemed to be quizzing Aoife on what in her opinion were the best prizes to purchase. And Shauna was gone, which undoubtedly helped ease the tension.

    Sorcha meanwhile quietly fetched something from her bag and looked hopefully around the table. She caught his eye and offered up the object with a questioning eyebrow. He realized it was a miniature chess set. Of course.

    ¡°You seriously carry chess with you?¡± Cillian asked.

    ¡°As opposed to carrying it unseriously?¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±

    She shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m bored; this isn¡¯t really my scene. Aoife¡¯s just a tyrant who wouldn¡¯t take ¡®no¡¯ for an answer.¡±

    He gave her a skeptical look, ¡°I doubt that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t let her sweet demeanor fool you. She¡¯s like a selkie ¨C all cute and fluffy on the outside but hiding a raging monster inside.¡±

    ¡°Never seen one.¡±

    ¡°Yes you have; you¡¯re observing it on a prowl right now. They are perfect impersonators, see? Currently, she¡¯s luring poor Nuala into¨C¡±

    ¡°This selkie can also change her mind about sharing the rosemary essence with certain forgetful brunettes.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s her teeth,¡± Sorcha smirked. ¡°We¡¯ve spooked her; now she¡¯s going to¨C¡± Aoife glared at her. Sorcha theatrically cleared her throat, turned back to face Cillian as though nothing had happened, opened the chess set, and asked innocently, ¡°Well?¡±

    He bounced his gaze between the girls, uncertain. ¡°Suure,¡± he dragged out. ¡°Although, I¡¯ve yet to last more than 20 moves against you. Don¡¯t know how much it¡¯d help in alleviating your boredom.¡±

    ¡°Even bad players sometimes make interesting moves,¡± she cocked her head, eying him, ¡°or at least funny ones.¡±

    ¡°Ha-ha. You should be a comedian.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps one day,¡° the girl nodded.

    ¡°Huh?¡± Is she for real?

    They assembled the pieces, and Cillian set things in motion ¨C pawn to d4. Sorcha instantly responded by meeting the offender head-to-head with a pawn of her own.

    The Queen¡¯s Gambit then. I give you c4.

    She took the undefended pawn without hesitation. The gambit accepted! And just like that, the boy had lost a piece but successfully deflected one of her central pawns to the wing.

    He had done some studying after the humiliations first on the train and on a couple of later occasions in the rec room.

    It didn¡¯t help him to win, to be sure, but Cillian considered his showing respectable.

    ¡°It was a warm-up,¡± he said. She just reset the board with a content expression.

    During the second game, Shauna popped up again, with a tobacco pipe this time, taken from aether knew where. She offered it to the others with a devilish grin, and Eamon took her up on it. Cillian expected the mucker to start coughing, but he simply smoked for half a minute like it was something he did all the time, then returned the pipe to the wavy-haired girl.

    ¡°Not bad.¡± He exhaled one last time and proceeded to smack his lips as if tasting the residual smoke.

    At Nuala¡¯s inquiring look, Eamon said, ¡°Father smokes. I do too sometimes but don¡¯t make it a habit.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun,¡± Shauna complained. ¡°And you two aren¡¯t either,¡± she shot a judgemental look at Sorcha and Cillian. ¡°Why are you playing chess? And is that tea you¡¯re drinking? Go get a real drink, Sorcha, we¡¯re celebrating!¡±

    ¡°My idea of celebration does not involve getting langers or lifting my skirt at random guys to bum a smoke.¡±

    Shauna scowled, ¡°Right, why am I even speaking to you. You wouldn¡¯t know fun if it hit you in the face.¡±

    ¡°Mhm, go have more fun then. And try not to get pregnant in week two,¡± Sorcha replied, her face neutral.

    Now the blonde looked downright pissed. ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from you. By the way, how¡¯s Seamus doing? Or was it his brother?¡±

    Sorcha wasn¡¯t impressed ¨C the girl made a move, glanced up in disdain, and echoed the sentiment expressed by Ciaran earlier, ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re a low-ringer, Shauna. Very smart to believe in rumors with no substance.¡±

    ¡°P¨®g mo th¨®in, you rancid witch!¡±

    Ciaran stepped in, ¡°Have I missed something? Why are you two so catty to each other all of a sudden? I¡¯ve witnessed you squabble several times in the past two weeks.¡±

    ¡°Ask the geebag over there,¡± Shauna spat, jerking her head in Sorcha¡¯s direction, who just shrugged, eyes firmly on the board again. ¡°What, nothing to say? That¡¯s right, you better watch your mouth or who knows what I may accidentally let slip in turn.¡±

    When the brunette calmly kept playing, unfazed, Shauna angrily muttered something, whirled around, and stormed away.

    ¡°Whore,¡± was Sorcha¡¯s goodbye to the fleeing cailin.

    ¡°Sorcha,¡± Aoife sighed in a manner that sounded strangely resigned. Cillian was mildly surprised she hadn¡¯t tried to intervene.

    ¡°What? You know I¡¯m right. She only wears knickers to keep her ankles warm.¡±

    Loud sniggers were the table¡¯s reaction to that. Nuala and Maeve included.

    ¡°Why do you keep doing this?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s Shauna. Do I need another reason?¡±

    ¡°Teagan!¡± Ciaran called out to the boy, who was approaching with Moira on his arm. Cillian hadn¡¯t even noticed their absence. ¡°Help me out here. What happened between Shauna and Sorcha, you keep track?¡±

    ¡°Sorcha¡¯s sitting right here; ask her.¡±

    ¡°Like she would tell me anything. Come on, you must know something.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. Some conflict of interest or such; that¡¯s all I¡¯ve heard. None of my business.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about it, Teag,¡± Moira chided.

    ¡°I¡¯m only repeating what Sorcha herself said; it¡¯s not a secret.¡±

    ¡°Conflict of interest, huh? Between the families?¡± Ciaran looked at the girl of his inquiry, who¡¯d just finished proving her superiority to Cillian yet again. She paid the fella no mind.

    ¡°I brought games,¡± Aoife said in the silence that followed. ¡°Shall we play?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°The skywalker lights up, and the town awakens,¡± the overseer proclaimed. ¡°Everyone but you, Eamon.¡±

    ¡°I knew it,¡± the boy grumbled, then dropped his card on the table face up to reveal¡­ a gentleman. ¡°It¡¯s becau¨C¡±

    ¡°Whisht. You¡¯re dead, don¡¯t speak,¡± Aoife added.

    Eamon grimaced, glanced at his empty glass, cursed, and pushed back off the table, the chair¡¯s legs scraping the floor. ¡°I¡¯m going to mingle.¡±

    Once he left, Ciaran said, ¡°Grumpy, ain¡¯t he? But I say he had the right idea, and the rotfangs shut him up.¡±

    ¡°Go on, eliminate me this time,¡± Sorcha rolled her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re being played for fools.¡±

    Ciaran looked at the other grave faces ¨C a rotfang infestation was a serious matter ¨C searching for support. ¡°Round two. I accuse Sorcha of being a filthy backstabbing rotfang!¡±

    ¡°Backstabbing, really?¡± The accused rewarded the accuser with a bored look. ¡°Killing humans is in their nature; how is it backstabbing?¡±

    ¡°Dishonorable, then.¡±

    ¡°Haven¡¯t we just done it?¡± Moira asked.

    ¡°Aye, and Eamon paid with his life because we didn¡¯t follow through. She¡¯s one of them.¡±

    ¡°Or it¡¯s a misdirection.¡±

    ¡°No. Look at her smug eyes. And Eamon dying? A misdirection is too obvious, so she¡¯s doing double misdirection. She makes herself look guilty to avoid being accused.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem to work that well,¡± Teagan remarked.

    ¡°I think she just wants out of the game,¡± Cillian voiced his opinion. ¡°I¡¯m voting nay.¡± Sorcha frowned at him.

    Already a trio of upstanding citizens were dead. With both rotfangs still on the loose and only a chevalier and a quartet of civilians remaining, the situation was growing precarious.

    ¡°I vote aye,¡± Nuala said. ¡°She does look suspicious.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just my face.¡±

    Moira hesitated, ¡°Isn¡¯t it more likely that Ciaran¡¯s deliberately deceiving us?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. Look at it logically ¨C why would I immediately go after my cousin? Makes no sense.¡±

    ¡°So quick to defend yourself,¡± Sorcha commented nonchalantly.

    Moira voted ¡°nay¡± anyway. But Teagan and Maeve both said ¡°aye¡±, and with four people voting in unison, the outcome was determined.

    Sorcha gave them a pleased smile before revealing that she, too, was a gentleman. Or lady.

    Some bickering ensued, accusations were thrown around ¨C Aoife gave them time to vent ¨C but soon, the all-powerful overseer restored the order, ¡°It appears the good people of Luasville made the wrong choice, but not all is lost, the town can still be saved. For now, the skywalker dims, and the citizens go to sleep. Sweet dreams, everyone.¡±

    This is proceeding really quick, Cillian thought. Declan had been murdered in cold blood right away, then Shauna erroneously eliminated, followed by Eamon and now Sorcha.

    And it kept proceeding with the same decisiveness, unlike the session before. This round, it was Cillian¡¯s turn to die in the dark, terrified and alone.

    He wasn¡¯t guilty of anything!

    Another day and night cycle went by.

    In the end, they discovered that Moira and Nuala made a surprisingly effective team of vicious rotfangs. He suspected that Teagan, despite ostensibly being a chevalier, had also played along somehow. Still, he appreciated Moira¡¯s acting in particular ¨C ¡°hesitating¡± to accuse an innocent (Sorcha) while pointing a finger at another innocent (Ciaran) so he could be killed off shortly after?

    Neatly done.

    The rest had been a formality.

    At that point, Cillian decided to get some fresh air. He excused himself and went outside. Eamon was there too, talking to an unfamiliar oul gent while animatedly pointing somewhere Rimwise.

    ¡°Oh, Kil, how did you fare?¡± He thanked the man and joined Cillian on the steps.

    ¡°It¡¯s Cillian. And it went terribly. I was slain mercilessly and without reason.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Serves you right! Should know better than accuse me!¡±

    ¡°Just get over it already.¡± He smiled and bounced on his toes to keep warm.

    Should¡¯ve grabbed my jacket and hat, too, Cillian mused, eyeing the other boy¡¯s relaxed posture.

    ¡°Say, Kil,¡± Eamon began in a quare voice, subdued all of a sudden, darting his gaze to the side.

    ¡°M?¡±

    ¡°Umm, you don¡¯t, ye know, have any other plans for today, perchance?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± A short pause. ¡°Should I?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t mean to imply nothing. It¡¯s just, umm, the good man over there told me about various interesting places. I mean, romantic places ¨C for a couple or a potential couple to pay a visit, ya feel me?¡± Eamon¡¯s eyes shone with yearning and hope.

    ¡°You¡¯re not my type.¡±

    ¡°Oh niss take you, Kil! Obviously, I meant Nuala. Could you, ye know, make up some reason and detach yerself once we leave?¡±

    ¡°Oh. A romantic walk in the woods wasn¡¯t enough for you? But there were such pretty lights¡­¡±

    ¡°If I never see that damn forest again, it would be too soon.¡±

    Cillian automatically looked Heavenward, but the walls barred the view. ¡°I thought you were happy enough yesterday.¡±

    Eamon snorted, ¡°I was. With the result and the fact we were finally done. Really happy. For a time, at least.¡± He glanced up at the sky and exhaled. ¡°Sometimes I think I¡¯m not built for this¡­ this chevalier business.¡±

    ¡°What? It¡¯s been two weeks. A bit premature to make conclusions, don¡¯t you think? Our companions are not even in sight yet.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But it¡¯s only going to get more difficult, innit? With each week. If I ain¡¯t comfortable going to a safe area while monitored by an armed instructor, then¡­¡±

    ¡°But you did well. And none of us were comfortable.¡±

    ¡°Nuala was.¡±

    ¡°Point. None except Nuala then.¡±

    ¡°You were, too, Kil. Right at home! Climbing trees, suggesting plans, taking initiative.¡±

    ¡°And next time it would be someone else,¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°You give it too much weight. Like I said, can¡¯t make any conclusions after one competition with blindin¡¯ paintballs, man.¡±

    ¡°Yea yea, I dig it. Don¡¯t mind me, just naggins¡¯ talk¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°Want to do well, is all.¡±

    ¡°Aye, aren¡¯t we all¡­¡±

    The double doors abruptly flew open and merry laughter spilled onto the porch. Eamon smiled at the heartwarming sounds. Or maybe it was at a scuttered man supported by two of his fellows, all three stumbling out of the building.

    A bit early to be pissed, no?

    When the boy next turned around, the somewhat gloomy air was already gone and his eyes had a determined glint to them. ¡°Our best and brightest¡­ Bah! Ye know what? I will do well. I¡¯m certainly better motivated than the pampered tools we have for classmates.¡± He eyed Cillian curiously. ¡°But why are you here, Kil?¡±

    ¡°Hm?¡± Cillian blinked. ¡°Outside?¡±

    ¡°In the academy.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Uhh, just want to explore the world, I suppose. Kind of sick of being cooped up inside the walls.¡± He wasn¡¯t about to talk about his other reasons. ¡°Which is ironic considering we are currently behind the walls as well.¡±

    ¡°Come on, this can¡¯t be all there is to it,¡± Eamon nudged him. ¡°Ye realize you ain¡¯t fooling nobody with the way you always hide yer back in the lockers and showers, aye?¡±

    Cillian grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t want to think about it.¡± Three seconds slipped by before he continued, ¡°Let alone share. Uhm, sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°Nah, Kill, I feel ya. No pressure. Only curious.¡±

    A slightly awkward silence stretched between them nonetheless.

    Rubbing his hands to mask his annoyance ¨C at himself or the other boy he didn¡¯t know ¨C Cillian clumsily redirected the spotlight, ¡°And what about you? I know you said you wanted to be a treasure hunter, but there¡¯s no need to become a chevalier for that, ay? As far as I know, most hunts are not solo efforts but expeditions. With researchers and other staff. A clatter of roles to choose from.¡±

    ¡°Err¡­¡± Eamon looked away, contemplating. Right, would he even want to tell me now? ¡°Truth be told, we ain¡¯t doing too well. Not just our family, I mean, but the entire department.¡±

    He did, evidently.

    The department?

    Cillian¡¯s brows knitted in a frown, ¡°How do you mean?¡±

    The boy dithered for a moment, glancing at the closed doors, but decided to elaborate, ¡°Well, okay, Kil, get this. We were supposed to reproduce that bleedin¡¯ alloy that the Hierarchy discovered yonks ago ¨C know what I mean? ¨C but we¡¯re running behind schedule and over budget, massively, and now rumors are flying around that Heavenly Steel are about to beat us to the punch. So the entire department is on thin ice; no one¡¯s safe. But especially not the low-level laborers¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s their frackin¡¯ specialty. Heavenly Steel¡¯s, that is.¡±

    ¡°Aye. But you think any of the higher-ups give a null? So we figured why not try getting into the academy? The company wouldn¡¯t touch the parents of a chevalier, would they? Seemed like a long shot, but here I am.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Better motivated, indeed.¡± Cillian searched Eamon¡¯s face. ¡°Well, for what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here. Without you, I would struggle to even find a team.¡± And wasn¡¯t that a sad little fact.

    ¡°Come on, Kil, you¡¯re a great craic.¡±

    Riiight.

    The talk petered out for a while as the pair watched another group of eager customers pour into the establishment, including several men and women wearing their Foerstner neckerchiefs or scarves.

    Eying the newcomers, Cillian wondered if being sent here was considered to be a punishment for the company¡¯s security lackeys. He imagined that living in such a small place was bound to get tedious on the double.

    These ones looked happy enough though.

    ¡°What about Cathal?¡± Cillian broke the hush.

    ¡°Hm? What about him?¡±

    ¡°You want me to make like a tree so you can woo Nuala. But what of Cathal?¡±

    ¡°Oh! Take him with you, ¡®course, but so it doesn¡¯t look like a setup. Some urgent call to attend to.¡±

    ¡°Ha! I can try doing it, but you¡¯re overestimating my acting abilities.¡±

    ¡°No, no, I¡¯ve already thought of everything! Get this: you forgot that yer razors all broke when you threw your bag so now you don¡¯t have any to spare and, actually, need some for yerself, so the two of ye better hurry before all the shops close down for the day.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t throw my bag around,¡± Cillian noted seriously.

    Eamon rolled his eyes, ¡°It dun¡¯t matter! Say the gorilla stomped on it for all I care.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°But if Nuala sees through the charade, don¡¯t blame me.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t. And, uhm¡­ by the way, you ain¡¯t, err, into her, are you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Definitive! But, you mean, at all? Not yer type?¡±

    ¡°Not the time.¡± Cillian leaned on the railing. ¡°Frankly, I don¡¯t understand how you¡¯re planning to accommodate a relationship. The load is about to increase drastically, I reckon, and it¡¯s not insubstantial to begin with.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always space for romance, Kil.¡±

    Their conversation got intruded upon by Sorcha, who walked out of the pub with her bag, fully dressed.

    ¡°Oh, Sorcha dear, how did you fare?¡± Eamon asked, grinning.

    ¡°You call me that again and I¡¯ll kick you in the balls.¡±

    ¡°Sorry!¡± he raised his hands. ¡°Just a joke.¡±

    ¡°If I threatened to kick you too, would you stop shortening my name?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I wouldn¡¯t believe ye. I do believe her though.¡±

    ¡°Smart boy. And to answer your question ¨C yes. Mum has finally allowed me to go home.¡± If the girl rolled her eyes any harder they would make a full orbit.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you two had such a dynamic,¡± Cillian professed, a wee bemused.

    Sorcha sighed, ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s just easier to give in than to be subject to her silent disapproving looks. She¡¯s a full-shamrock master of them; you don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like.¡± She shuddered dramatically, presumably remembering a past incident.

    ¡°Aoife disapproves of you not wanting to celebrate?¡±

    ¡°Not wanting to socialize. I keep telling her that playing chess is a two-person activity, ergo, should count as socializing. But she¡¯s too dim to understand such wisdom.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯ll see you later. Don¡¯t drink yourself into oblivion.¡± She waved and marched toward the platform¡¯s exit.

    They watched her go. Once her footsteps had faded, Eamon asked, ¡°What about her?¡±

    ¡°M?¡±

    ¡°Do you like her?¡±

    ¡°Uhh, she¡¯s fine?¡± Cillian shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know; my head¡¯s full of other things. Haven¡¯t thought about cailini.¡±

    Eamon scrunched up his face dubiously. ¡°That¡¯s a rake-load of bollocks. Come on, you know me object of interest, now share yours.¡±

    ¡°Object, huh? And I¡¯ll notify you, honored sir, once I acquire one. Good luck on your date.¡±

    <hr>

    Turned out, they didn¡¯t have to invent anything.

    After playing ¡°The Landlord¡¯s Game¡± with the anti-monopoly ruleset ¨C Cillian hadn¡¯t known such a variation existed; he¡¯d only been familiar with the traditional monopoly, but, apparently, the game could be played cooperatively, in which case the session was won if the players managed things in a way that the one with the least scions ended up with twice the amount everyone had started with ¨C the group naturally began to disperse.

    Shauna disappeared on her own yet again, then Moira and Teagan ambled off together. And when Cillian¡¯s team said their goodbyes and Nuala expressed her desire to keep exploring for a couple of hours longer, he used the opportunity to pronounce that he had enough entertainment for one day and was heading back. Cathal concurred. Because he really thought so or because Eamon had gotten to him too ¨C was to remain a mystery forever.

    ¡°So, he got to you too?¡± Cillian asked as they left the would-be couple behind.

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±

    ¡°The fella plans his date like a military campaign ¨C secure support from the allies, prepare the field of battle, launch a surprise attack.¡±

    The pair shared a laugh.

    They deliberately traveled back through unfamiliar streets rather than rehearse the route they¡¯d taken before. On the way, Cillian noticed that the hydrants located at almost every intersection, betraying the presence of the hydraulic power network, were evergreen in color, as opposed to the dull bronze attire they favored in Lua.

    Interesting. Do they still use a lot of hydraulic equipment here?

    One would think that the residents burned so much aether as to make any ideas about minimizing the fallout unrealistic. Beasts would come, regardless if you used a hydraulic crane or a much more convenient aether-powered alternative.

    He might be wrong though.

    As they left the concealment of the masonry labyrinth and emerged onto the humble slope, nothing was left to obstruct the view of the looming academy walls and a duo of water towers flanking it at a respectable distance.

    The contrast between the lively streets at their backs, full of comforting lights and laughter, and the threatening guard towers ahead, hushed and tenebrous, was disconcerting. Apart from the two boys and another trio of students, also shuffling back toward the main gate, not a soul was wandering up or down the slope. As if there was a rule that forbade crossing the invisible border.

    But no matter what, he couldn¡¯t deny that the place was starting to grow on him.

    Now that we aren¡¯t being kept away from the general public like some vile monsters.

    Once they¡¯d been ushered into the stone enclave, Cillian led the other boy to his room, where he unearthed a spare shaving razor. And when the grateful Cathal retreated, his thoughts finally returned to the letter.

    He glanced at the clock ¨C there was still time. So he sat down and began writing afresh, discarding his yesterday¡¯s miserable scratches and electing to open with something lighthearted.

    Hey, oul man, how are you faring?

    Did you know that there¡¯s a variation of uncle Finley¡¯s favorite board game where everyone works together for the greater good? Let me tell you about it.

    The game goes like this¡­

 Chapter 13. Penetration test

    An arrow nocked, Cillian took a deep breath and raised the bow slowly, simultaneously drawing the string. Standing straight and looking downrange, he judged that it still wasn¡¯t right ¨C an uncomfortable tension in his biceps attested to it. He tried pushing the elbow back just a tad more, then reassessed, A wee better? They¡¯d been told it should feel as if you could hold the pose all day, especially with these lightweight bows. Cillian wasn¡¯t sure about that, but his wrists, forearms, and shoulders seemed more at ease.

    At that point, Mairead Gehler stepped up to his front, having finished with Cathal, looked him over, and asked, ¡°Why are you hesitating?¡±

    Not sparing a glance, Cillian murmured, ¡°Is it weird that I feel like I should tilt the bow?¡± He demonstrated the words by slightly rotating his left arm clockwise, pivoting the weapon.

    ¡°It¡¯s called canting, and no, it¡¯s not weird. Proper alignment is a must, but the rest is up to you. Although, you should lean forward a little together with the cant. Yes, just like that. Maybe tilt down your head even more, almost as if resting it on top of the string. Your right eye should be directly above the nocking point so you look straight down the shaft.¡± He did as instructed. ¡°How does it feel?¡±

    Cillian contemplated, then let the bow down and raised it back up, trying to settle into this newly discovered position from the beginning. He succeeded, mostly ¨C a conscious effort to move the elbow back was required ¨C but, once set, it felt good. Yes, with the middle finger now lightly scratching his face, it felt better than anything he¡¯d attempted before ¨C his back was clearly doing most of the work. Cillian smiled and nodded in thanks.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand and smile. Loose!¡±

    He rotated left, lining up with the target. Up and down was more difficult though; he had to basically guess.

    Not quite, not quite¡­ There!

    He released the string ¨C the arrow went flyi¨C Oh. Cillian cursed.

    Instructor Gehler let out a soft laugh, ¡°Yes, I was curious if you¡¯d remember it. You do well not to squeeze the bow with a death grip, but you also need to actually grip it. Can¡¯t just rest it like that with all your fingers spread. Under tension the bow stays in place, but, unless you properly hold it, it will jerk when the arrow¡¯s released, skewing your aim.¡±

    He fetched another arrow from the quiver, conveniently attached to the bow itself on the other side of the sight window, and repeated the process, this time tightly snuggling the bow between the thumb and the forefinger. He was unsure what to do with those fingers left; wrapping all of them around the leather grip made the hold overly rigid. So he ended up curling the trio until their tips lightly kissed the handle¡¯s front.

    Cillian set himself, aimed, and released.

    The arrow whisked forward and, in the wink of an eye and with a barely perceptible sigh, sank into the target block. The sound was pleasant, he thought, yet disappointing. Whatever the slab was made of, he¡¯d been hoping for a satisfying thwack and not this whisper. The arrow¡¯s fletched tail protruded far to the left and above the painted circle.

    ¡°Not quite there.¡± Instructor Gehler narrowed her eyes and peered at the distance. ¡°You likely didn¡¯t pay attention, but your bow arm lurched left on release. Not much, but enough to tell me your posture is not entirely correct. Try again, but don¡¯t shoot.¡±

    He made the stance, and the woman examined him closely from behind ¨C touched the upper back, the shooting arm¡¯s elbow, and both shoulders, her hand lingering on the left one. She tapped it twice. ¡°You squeeze it too much. Relax, let it sag a little. Yes, good. Now try ¡®pushing¡¯ it forward, towards the target, without moving anything else, as if you¡¯re trying to lengthen your entire arm.¡±

    Lengthen my arm?

    Cillian tried. He didn¡¯t feel any different, but she seemed to see something. ¡°Yes, I think this is better. Now go again!¡±

    He aligned with the target once more, accounting for the fact that his previous shot had gone too high, and let go of the bowstring, propelling the arrow to its freedom. A brief flight¨C Yes! Below the circle this time, but horizontally he was spot on!

    ¡°Better. Next time pay attention to your posture after the release, too. It should remain more or less the same ¨C your bow arm should only be pushed forward, not to the side, and your shooting arm should stay where it is, not wobble all over the place. Now try replicating the deed. Remember, consistency is your goal. You¡¯re doing well though, so keep it up!¡±

    With these parting words and a gentle clap on the back, the woman flitted toward his neighbor. Cillian nocked another arrow, ran through the steps in his head, and drew the bow.

    <hr>

    It was intriguing watching the others. Most stood completely upright, but some, same as him, preferred to lean forward and cant. Most took their time to aim, but one fella released right away. Apparently, there were people who could shoot instinctively, like throwing a rock ¨C they didn¡¯t really aim; just did what felt right ¨C but the majority couldn¡¯t. Most also intensely concentrated on the task. Even Eamon, who was occupying Cillian¡¯s lane at the moment, for once wasn¡¯t joking or flirting with Nuala ¨C a rare sight these past couple of weeks since their impromptu first date.

    ¡°You¡¯ve picked it up fast,¡± Cathal said from the bench to his right. ¡°Or have you had some training before?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he shook his head. ¡°It just feels¡­ methodical, you know? I like it. You do things properly ¨C you get the result.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to me,¡± Cathal grimaced. ¡°Any advice?¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Cillian glanced at him. ¡°You want advice from a guy who¡¯s had two brief shooting sessions in his entire life?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing much better than me. I¡¯ve yet to even hit the block.¡±

    ¡°Uhh, no, I have nothing to tell you that hasn¡¯t already been said. I don¡¯t do anything special, just find the anchor point and shoot. Besides, you have stones and tokens, aye?¡±

    Cathal nibbled his lip in worry. Cillian didn¡¯t quite understand why he was so down. It was their first class. Like in the forest, they were supposed to experience troubles.

    As far as he could see, Eamon and Nuala were doing decently enough. Ahh, that¡¯s likely the issue. The former was silently cheering about his latest shot, while the latter appeared to be trying to imitate that one guy who loosed without aiming. Maybe she¡¯d discover that she was also one of the lucky ones. Personally, Cillian couldn¡¯t even fathom the idea of somehow hitting the target without properly lining up the shot.

    Nuala missed. By a lot. It deterred her none.

    He looked at his bow, hanging horizontally on a wooden stand along with two others. His was at the top ¨C not that it made much of a difference as they had all started with the same model. A simple recurve bow, the design of which made Cillian think of a soaring eagle with the wings spread to the fullest extent and the feathers at the tips fanned out wide. It was an elegant weapon, and he¡¯d taken a liking to it right away.

    They¡¯d been informed that from now on the archery lessons would take place three times a week and that they could also purchase additional access to the range and equipment at certain hours in exchange for tokens. However, there would be no instruction, only a staff member to observe. The stones though would net you a personal training session with either Mairead Gehler or Cormac Hafner ¨C their other instructor, who was even now making the rounds.

    Cillian had yet to spend a single stone. Not for the lack of options but for the lack of urgency. Aoife had shared that she and Sorcha would keep the stones until they obtained their companions, much later in the year. As far as he could tell, it was a common strategy among those 16 students who actually had some funds on the ledger. Thankfully, unlike the tokens, the stones couldn¡¯t be stolen (since the victors had relinquished them to the academy), so there was no need to rush.

    One exception he¡¯d heard about was the same fella who¡¯d advised Cillian to hold on to his tokens until he gauged his weaknesses ¨C Teagan. According to Eamon, the everlasting fountain of rumors, the boy had requested help from a craftsman with some project ¨C a gift to Moira on her birthday, which had taken place last week. What exactly the project was and how much it cost Cillian wasn¡¯t privy to, but, apparently, Teagan was a budding tinker, who in the past had constructed various curios like puzzle boxes, where you had to rotate and slide geometric shapes to unlock a secret, hourglasses, and figurines of non-magical animals. He¡¯d also made Sorcha¡¯s miniature chess set for her birthday.

    Cillian had trouble picturing Teagan¡¯s meaty hands performing intricate carvings or whatever, and it was interesting that the fella was willing to spend the stones on something so outwardly frivolous. Although, he himself was still entertaining thoughts of buying a hot air balloon flight, so...

    Apart from the stones, Cillian was a proud owner of five whole tokens. He¡¯d earned one for another Bestiary test; one more ¨C for finally completing that first gym challenge that the others had undertaken earlier; and the rest ¨C for an assignment in the Slaughterhouse, helping out to remove the tainted aether from dry-aged meat.

    Eamon had reluctantly accompanied Cillian on that one, and it¡¯d been enlightening. Previously, he¡¯d only ever dealt with an already de-aethered meat, but on that day he¡¯d witnessed the entire process and found out why some cuts came in such weird shapes. The assignment also coincided with them receiving a more thorough lecture on the nature of the three aether states. So, while the elusive aether¡¯s transition to agitated still remained a bit of a mystery, the nature of the tainted one became clearer.

    Beasts drew in the elusive aether with their elanroots, then distributed it throughout their bodies ¨C into the muscles, skin, bones, and even organs. At some point during this process, the elusive aether stopped being elusive and transitioned to physical, colored the creature¡¯s particular flavor. Tainted. Poisonous to humans and non-magical animals. Tendrils of such aether were akin to tendrils of fat ¨C they were everywhere and they were sticky, very difficult to carve out without an unacceptable amount of waste. But if you just dry-aged the meat, instead of dealing with it fresh, then the tendrils would gradually contract, shrinking into easily removable clumps. Not to mention that meat also tended to get more flavorful and tender when aged.

    Honestly, Cillian was more confused with that last fact than with the de-aethering itself.

    The assignment had taken a little over four hours. Four hours for three tokens. Cillian had decided not to agonize over spending them. He needed to be careful to always have some on hand for the competitions, but other than that? Perhaps he¡¯d even take up the offer of the additional archery practice. He liked it well enough.

    Speaking of tokens and them disappearing, he spotted Rory along the right wall of the range, doing quite well ¨C Bastard ¨C judging by the arrows sticking out of the corresponding target block. Oscar, on the neighboring lane, was confidently drawing the bow back. A moment to aim, then release ¨C a good shot. How many here had received prior tutelage?

    Both of them had become the focus of most everyone¡¯s quiet resentment after the events of the competition. Clearly, people didn¡¯t like being taken out unfairly and liked even less that nothing had been done about it. Cillian thought it amusing ¨C privileged bemoaning other privileged.

    His eyes drifted left until they landed on Sloane.

    Also amusing was the fact that no one seemed to bear a grudge against the cailini involved.

    Liam though ¨C Oscar¡¯s friend and co-conspirator ¨C was a different matter. While the other two boys were mocked for cheating and failing anyway, the attitude toward Liam was more respectful. Success trumped everything else, evidently.

    The mood wouldn¡¯t last, but for now Cillian was enjoying some peace as Rory had switched to tormenting his detractors. Just recently, he¡¯d brawled with a fella named Padraig, according to Eamon¡¯s mysterious sources again.

    The knucklehead still sent Cillian loathsome glares promising retribution, however, at least twice a day.

    Bring it, acushla.

    A loud whistle interrupted his musings. ¡°Bows down, everyone!¡± Cormac Hafner ordered. When all the shooters complied by hanging their bows on the nearest stands, he looked them over and continued, ¡°Now go fetch the arrows. Pull them out gently. Yes, I¡¯m talking to you, Ms. Adenauer.¡±

    The target blocks weren¡¯t even a quarter down the range, but it still took some minutes for the students to fetch the stuck arrows one by one, find all those scattered around, secure them in the tube-shaped leather holders, also attached to the stands, then plant themselves on the benches.

    Meanwhile, instructor Hafner positioned himself roughly in the middle of the room breadthwise, and, once everyone finished, began lecturing, ¡°I¡¯ve noticed many of you experience target panic. It¡¯s when you can¡¯t release the arrow without flinching, or, more commonly, can¡¯t release it at all. And it¡¯s perfectly normal, a lot of people face that. The reasons why it happens don¡¯t really matter ¨C perfectionism, overthinking things, or, as is often the case in real combat situations, apprehension at taking another¡¯s life ¨C whatever the cause, there¡¯s a solution that generally works well.¡±

    He briefly disappeared into the arsenal chamber and came out with a longbow. ¡°Look at the handle. See here, at the front, there¡¯s a thin nail I hammered in, not fully, ages ago.¡± The man demonstrated the truth of his words by strolling parallel to the benches with his arm outstretched. ¡°Serves no practical purpose, but it gives me something to put the tip of my middle finger on, like this.¡± He mimed nocking an arrow and raised the bow without drawing the string. ¡°I aim, I scratch the nail, and I shoot.¡±

    Lowering the weapon, he explained, ¡°This is a so-called psychological trigger. In other words, through countless repetitions I conditioned myself to always loose the arrow right after scratching the nail. I scratch it ¨C I shoot. No matter the circumstances ¨C it could be in the safety of the archery range or while facing down a raging beast. By using such a trigger, you decouple yourself from the context of the situation, from your own internal doubts and struggles ¨C from everything. Shooting becomes an instinctive reaction, and that¡¯s what you want.¡±

    He let the bow slide down until the tip touched the floor. ¡°Obviously, it¡¯s just an example, you can use anything you wish; there¡¯s no need to mutilate the handle. In fact, you¡¯re forbidden from doing it. As another example, I know a gal who lightly twitches her right ear as a trigger. My point is ¨C find what works for you and stick with it. It could be very useful even if you think you don¡¯t suffer from target panic because you wouldn¡¯t really know until you find yourself in a dangerous situation, at which point it would likely be too late.

    ¡°Makes sense? Great. It¡¯s the first group¡¯s turn again!¡± He motioned for them to take positions.

    Cillian got up. Psychological trigger, huh. He considered what to use. He couldn¡¯t twitch his ears, but because of the way he¡¯d been positioning his fingers on the handle, a nail would actually work for him. However, was it really a good idea to rely on a modification to the bow? The academy would issue them personal bows later, sure, but would he never have to use someone else¡¯s?

    He picked up his weapon, checked that both the leather hood, filled with some kind of cellular rubber, and the gripper parts of the quiver were still securely attached to the limbs, fetched six arrows from the holder, and carefully slipped them into the quiver. By the time he reached the shooting position, Cillian had made his decision ¨C a jerk of his right pinky toe would trigger a shot. Not something he did normally, and no one would be able to spot it.

    He tested it with the first arrow. Drew the bow, aimed, twitched the toe, and released straight away. Felt a little quare but otherwise fine. He shot five more times. Fetched fresh arrows, sent them all flying, got new ones again. It was lots of fun, and the trigger was definitely helping. His aim was improving ¨C the shafts had formed a tree grove in and around the circle.

    Cillian knew it was just the beginning ¨C a close, stationary target, a lightweight bow, bright illumination, perfect footing, and no pressure. It would get progressively harder.

    He smiled and loosed another arrow. He was looking forward to the challenge.

    <hr>

    The day was exciting not only due to the start of archery lessons but also because they¡¯d been promised a live beasts demonstration, up close. At lunch, instructor Hass had come and informed them that the Bestiary class would take place later than scheduled, at 7 pm, next to the Slaughterhouse. That was where they were heading now, after having dinner, with Cillian walking beside Sorcha and Cathal ¨C not uncommon these days since Eamon was often eager to pull Nuala someplace away.

    He didn¡¯t begrudge his friend ¨C was Eamon a friend now? ¨C this newfound comfort. However, it had made the first couple of days a bit awkward, since neither he nor Cathal were as talkative and couldn¡¯t carry a conversation the way the other boy often did all by himself.

    When Cillian had remembered that only third-ringers could testify in case of another assault on his person, he¡¯d started tethering himself to Aoife¡¯s group, which often included far more than four people, dragging Cathal with him. The girl was the center of attention ¨C not in the same way Shauna often was but in a more subdued manner. She didn¡¯t do much of anything really, and still people constantly revolved around her.

    Sorcha was typically content to walk on the periphery of the group unless Aoife interlinked arms with her. Cillian enjoyed the brunette¡¯s running commentary on an assortment of topics. Commentary, usually biting in nature. As was the case right now.

    ¡°He¡¯s good with a bow, but he never actually graduated, did you know that? ¡®Facing down a raging beast¡¯,¡± she imitated instructor Hafner¡¯s voice and scoffed. ¡°I wonder if he¡¯s ever come across real danger.¡±

    The girl, evidently, held a dim view of their second archery instructor.

    ¡°Never graduated?¡± Cillian asked.

    ¡°Yes. The other instructors are retired chevaliers themselves; it¡¯s supposed to be a requirement. He isn¡¯t. I don¡¯t know the details, but he dropped off sometime during his second year and had to serve out the term through one of the contingency routes. Even my parents didn¡¯t know how he landed a position here. You noticed he¡¯s much younger than the rest?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Cillian shrugged, ¡°So long as he teaches me well.¡±

    ¡°Shooting dummies, maybe.¡±

    Several instructors already awaited them at the destination, standing before the hangar¡¯s closed doors. The skywalker was at its dimmest, providing only a modicum of illumination, and no beasts were in sight. All they knew was that there would be two creatures, of the species they hadn¡¯t studied yet, and that both weren¡¯t from the area but rather specifically transported here for teaching purposes.

    ¡°You see this?¡± instructor Hass noticed them, raised a long, thick stick, and pointed at the line tracing a crescent in the gravel surrounding the hangar. ¡°Form in two rows behind it and don¡¯t step closer.¡±

    They waited a few minutes longer for everyone to gather and for the class to begin. Eamon and Nuala joined them, the former nudging Cillian on the elbow from behind.

    On time, Odhran Hass addressed the students, ¡°We will roll out one beast, examine it, roll it away, then deal with the other. I¡¯ll tell you about them, show their features in detail, and we¡¯ll have further discussions in class later.¡± He gestured for one of the guards to get going, which prompted him to head into the Slaughterhouse through a side door.

    ¡°These particular species have been chosen because they are common and dangerous. Wherever you head for your eventual assignment, you¡¯d meet them sooner rather than later. And there will be more demonstrations in the future, but never for monsters that frequent these parts,¡± he vaguely gestured around, ¡°since you¡¯d likely encounter gutlisks, thistledors, and the rest before the year¡¯s end anyway.¡±

    After clearing his throat, he continued, ¡°Now, as you can guess, the academy being erected close to the lands that have been farmed for generations wasn¡¯t a coincidence. Beasts getting periodically thinned out all around means much less of a chance of encountering truly unstoppable creatures. At the same time, it also means we have to deliver many exemplars from far-flung regions of the plane, which not only vastly complicates logistics, but, more relevantly to you, often plays havoc with the schedule. We showcase the beasts upon their arrival since holding them long-term is a huge and unnecessary risk, so be ready to sometimes be called to have unscheduled Bestiary classes.¡±

    The clanks of the heavy double gates getting unlocked disrupted the peace, and instructor Hass stepped to the side. ¡°We were fortunate in this instance ¨C only a short delay.¡± As the doors began slowly swinging open, he gestured at the widening gap and the onrushing torrent of amber light, amidst which the silhouettes emerged, ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to a grootslang ¨C one of the many examples of aether not caring about perceived physiological limitations. Don¡¯t get fooled by its ostensive sluggishness, or it will be the last thing you do.¡±

    Cillian expected roars but heard only the rattling of metal and the wheels crunching on the gravel. A cage was being pushed out on an enormous platform cart, and, apart from the bars, it also sported thick shafts sticking out left and right as if trying to pass for a palanquin. Four men accompanied the cart ¨C two were pressing from behind while the rest ambled forward between the massive handles.

    The cart stopped, well within the hangar¡¯s glow, and he got a first glimpse of the monster inside. No roars had erupted because the creature was slumbering. It was facing them, and what immediately caught Cillian¡¯s eye was the beautiful bronze hue of its scales ¨C they were large and reflective, but it was a dull shine.

    Grrrrrrrr¡­

    ¡°Is it¨C is it snoring and drooling? The niss-crap is this?!¡±

    The indignation in the fella¡¯s voice ¨C whoever he was ¨C made everyone laugh, even the cage¡¯s keepers.

    Only the beast remained unamused. Its guttural growling did not pause, and Cillian swore that, even standing a good dozen paces removed, the vibration penetrated his bones.

    The grootslang had lost consciousness in the process of trying to tear the cage apart ¨C its two muscular front legs, thick as a grown man¡¯s torso, had paws gripping the bars, eight hefty claws scraping the metal. That wasn¡¯t its most striking feature though. No, the honor was reserved for six wicked tusks, growing three apiece from both sides of the mouth, filled with fangs, and therefore preventing the cavity from fully closing. The long, forked tongue and the somewhat triangular, blunt head hinted at some distant connection to reptiles, perhaps. The way the tusks curved made them resemble a rib cage, shattered in the middle. In place of a nose, the creature had vertical slits, and, while both eyes were currently closed, Cillian imagined them to be narrow and yellow. Because it would fit. He also noted the absence of scales on its wide, powerful chest. Instead, both it and the head were covered in rust-colored fur.

    Instructor Hass gave them a few heartbeats to appreciate the sight without comment but soon issued a command to turn the cart sideways. Careful maneuvering was required, after which they got a good look at the thing in profile, and Cillian right away realized his mistake ¨C those weren¡¯t the beast¡¯s front legs; they were its only legs. The large torso seamlessly flowed into the equally large lower body, which in turn transitioned into the curling tail, like a crocodile¡¯s.

    The creature looked disproportional. The legs were too long and meaty for it to be able to comfortably crawl along the ground, while the lower body was nothing more than a lump of dead weight. How did it even move? Physiological limitations, my arse.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand ¨C it seems whole; why is it unconscious? Are we interrupting its nap time?¡± asked Eamon, instigating more sniggers.

    ¡°We put it to sleep deliberately, of course,¡± instructor Hass replied.

    ¡°Huh. How do you even make a beast like this go to bed early?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a¨C¡±

    ¡°Did you sing it a lullaby?¡±

    ¡°Stop babbling, eejit,¡± Cillian heard Nuala mumble.

    ¡°Oh, I get it! You made it attend our ¡®Aether¡¯ cla¨C!¡±

    ¡°If you cease your useless commentary, Mr. O¡¯Leary, I will be happy to explain.¡±

    The boy zipped his mouth shut.

    ¡°Told you.¡±

    The man eyed him sternly. ¡°There are two general ways. The first one is cutting the beast¡¯s connection to the aether for a long enough span. It¡¯s reliable but requires special equipment that you can¡¯t carry around. The second is sedatives. Notoriously unreliable. Requires the right dosage of the right sedative, injected into the right place. Some work for multiple species, but never believe anyone who attempts to sell you some kind of universal narcotic; there¡¯s no such thing.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t aether non-physical and permeates everything?¡± a girl far to the left of Cillian questioned with her face scrunched up in confusion. ¡°How exactly do you ¡®cut the connection¡¯?¡±

    ¡°The agitated aether interacts with the aethereal, so you could¨C¡± the man abruptly stopped and grounded the stick. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter at the moment, does it? You¡¯ll learn the specifics soon enough. We shouldn¡¯t dally; the monster here can wake up at any moment.¡±

    ¡°Let it!¡± Rory shouted.

    Instructor Hass ignored the call and poked the grootslang at its flank, then pushed the stick in with his whole ¨C not inconsiderable ¨C weight, but the scales refused to give. ¡°See? The scales are very thick while the body beneath them is pure muscle. It¡¯s a typical specimen ¨C around ten feet from the head to the tail, 520 kilograms. It can move much faster than humans; thankfully, only in short bursts, two to five seconds. It¡¯s this species¡¯ aetheric ability. Not flashy, but a beast this size and strength can do a lot of damage very quickly.¡±

    Grrrrrrrr¡­

    He signaled to rotate the cart until the hideous mug was expelling the foul breath right at their faces again. ¡°While the tusks and claws look fearsome and are indeed very dangerous, in all likelihood it would first use its tail to stun or kill you, then pounce on top to tear you apart. Believe it or not, a grootslang can lift itself on its arms and whip the tail around faster than you can blink.¡±

    Wonderful image. And these are arms, not legs then.

    ¡°You should wake it up,¡± Rory urged again, smiling eagerly.

    ¡°I could, but I wouldn¡¯t.¡± Instructor Hass briefly glanced at the boy. ¡°Do not fret, Mr. Raskopf, our next guest is very much awake.¡±

    At that moment, Cillian caught something out of the corner of his eye, and he wasn¡¯t the only one. Multiple students turned right to look at¡­ shapes striding parallel to the gathering half a hundred paces away. The skywalker was fully powered down now, and with him standing in the light of the hangar, the figures in the dark weren¡¯t recognizable, but their general outlines were ¨C it was a man wearing a fedora and his companion.

    A quadruplet, even on all fours reaching the chevalier¡¯s shoulders; a long, skinny tail ¨C that was all Cillian could confidently tell. He¡¯d seen companions before and in much better lighting conditions, to be sure, but this was the first time any of the instructors had demonstrated theirs, no matter the visibility. It made him irrationally excited, and all the pair had done was appear from somewhere and swiftly vanish behind the Slaughterhouse. Where do they even keep them? Underground, too?

    ¡°One of our safeties for tonight, in case things go null,¡± instructor Hass explained, observing the shift in the students¡¯ attention. ¡°Eyes on me, please! Let¡¯s discuss how to kill a grootslang, shall we?¡±

    That was enough to snap everyone¡¯s heads back to where he wanted.

    The stick pointed at the head, ¡°The obvious place. Its elanroot sits right behind the nostrils, 8 to 10 centimeters deep. Since the face is unarmored, from the front you could kill it with a well-placed shot from a rifle. However, given the tusks, it better be a very well-placed shot indeed.¡± He dragged the stick lower. ¡°As this helpful fellow is showing us, its chest also lacks scales, but it¡¯s very thick anyway. Our general advice? Unless your guns pack a heavy punch, don¡¯t waste the ammo. Grootslang is one of those monsters that don¡¯t have many vulnerable points. Especially when it turtles up and borrows the tusks into the dirt.

    ¡°But there is good news, too. For one, they are dumb. Old or young ¨C it doesn¡¯t matter. Also, slow. Outside of their signature bursts. And, of course, having a companion by your side changes the dynamic completely. But since all companions are different, more specific instructions are premature.¡± Instructor Hass followed up that statement by beckoning one of the loitering guards to approach.

    The man bravely confronted the sleeping monster face-to-face, and the students shuffled left and right to see better. He raised his rifle high, bracing it against his shoulder.

    ¡°Protect your ears!¡±

    A flash and a deafening crack were followed by a metallic chick-chuck as the guard flung the gun¡¯s lever forward and back to eject the spent round. Not that anyone paid much attention since the grootslang¡¯s head snapped back and the newly drilled tunnel belched sickly yellow blood. Then, the monster¡¯s entire body started trembling. The massive paws gripped the bars, making the cage and the cart rattle. The gargantuan arms shook like tree trunks during a groundquake, their claws akin to roots desperately clinging to the not-so-stable surface.

    Shit!

    Half a ton of meat and dense bone tissue suddenly coming to life and threatening to break the confinement was enough for the students to collectively take a startled step back.

    The beast didn¡¯t roar or express defiance in any other way. After five seconds of convulsions punctuated by the tail lashing out uncontrollably, it slumped down with a gravel-scattering whump, never to move or consume aether again.

    Good frackin¡¯ riddance.

    The grootslang¡¯s eulogy took the form of pitiful squeals of the wheels dancing back and forth. And even they terminated shortly, eerily leaving the body in the same pose they¡¯d first seen it, as though the monster had merely returned back to its slumber. The still frothing hole notwithstanding.

    ¡°The death throes were pretty lackluster,¡± instructor Hass commented, ¡°because it¡¯d been deprived of aether for a long time and only recently reconnected with it. The convulsions could be much more violent¡­¡± He shook his head, seemingly ridding himself of unpleasant memories, and sighed, almost regretfully. ¡°A good beast is a dead beast. You can go touch it now, two at a time, but do not dawdle.¡±

    The man¡¯s words resulted in immediate tussling for positions, and when Cillian¡¯s turn finally arrived, he first stepped to the grootslang¡¯s front and gingerly brushed the tusks. They felt how they looked ¨C strong, heavy, and deadly. The scales, on the other hand, from up close had an appearance of polished wood, but to the touch were like cold stone. He walked to the back of the cage and peered at the tail next ¨C the rows of sharp triangular ¡°teeth¡± proudly fencing the area indeed made it strongly resemble a crocodile¡¯s tail, if somewhat mutated.

    Are they also semi-aquatic?

    A sound of rapid drumming of talons on metal violated the sanctity of his mind, and Cillian involuntarily shuddered, whirling to look inside the hangar.

    Oh, hell no.

    His eyes darted from one object to another until a large, tarp-covered box snatched all of his attention.

    Shit. It couldn¡¯t be an acromantula, could it?

    ¡°Come on, Kil, move!¡±

    He didn¡¯t have to wait long to find out.

    The first cage was rolled back inside, and the one he¡¯d espied took its place. The vibrating tarp was removed, revealing a myriad of thin, crisscrossing bars. Inside, sat a monster ¨C not a dreaded acromantula, but something that made the damn overgrown spiders look almost friendly in comparison. Dozens of eyes stared back at them ¨C the two main ones glowed a baleful orange with black vertical slits for pupils, while the rest were scattered all over the skull and had the colors inverted, orange on black. The light reflecting off them gave the head a particularly unsettling look, even discounting the rest of the creature¡¯s hideous body.

    The beast hissed angrily and opened its mouth impossibly wide.

    Tap-tap-tap.

    And what a body it was. A huge serpent, coiled up, also supported by eight spider legs growing from below the head and each ending in inky-black talons. Cillian recognized the species at once ¨C a blackmera. He couldn¡¯t discern it right now but knew that the beast¡¯s tail was actually three separate tails seamlessly slotting in together. The grown-ups were highly venomous and freakishly fast. The legs should have hindered its movements, but the opposite was the truth ¨C if the descriptions he¡¯d read were to be believed, a blackmera could glide like a motorized boat along a river and selectively use its legs like oars to add even more energy or make rapid, implausible turns.

    The talons kept tapping. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

    Other than that, the monster stayed motionless.

    Cillian hated acromantula, but this thing wasn¡¯t any better.

    Eamon whispered in his ear, ¡°Rory should be happy; he¡¯s no longer the ugliest bastard around.¡±

    Cillian guffawed. When everyone glared at him, he raised his hand in apology, ¡°Sorry,¡± then blindly swung it back to thwack the moron.

    ¡°A blackmera,¡± instructor Hass broke the ensuing silence. ¡°Their greatest weapon is their speed. But they are also smart, stealthy, have deadly poison, and can climb anything ¨C a nightmare to deal with if you don¡¯t know how. It¡¯s pretty useless trying to pelt it with arrows or bullets since they move incredibly fast, can pivot on the spot, and also have plenty of variability in the elanroot placement. Even if you wreck five of its legs and a dozen eyes, it would still keep moving and assailing you.¡±

    He rattled the cage with the stick, and the creature quivered and snapped its jaws at the offending object, then retreated all the way to the back, hissing. ¡°Thankfully, their weaknesses are also significant. Blackmeras hate strong vibrations, and their hairy legs are pretty flammable. Set it on fire and watch the beast lose its mind. Just don¡¯t stand anywhere near when it happens. Also, no webbing. It¡¯s really much more of a serpent than a spider. The main danger is letting it get a grip on you ¨C with eight formidable legs and the body wrapping around, there would be little chance of escape.¡±

    The man pounded the cage again, but, instead of stopping after a couple of hits, kept at it until the blackmera flared up in a hissy fit and hoicked up its tail, fanning it out into three.

    ¡°There it is.¡±

    The newly emerged appendages lashed out over the top of the head and struck the cage¡¯s wall, but instructor Hass didn¡¯t flinch, continuing to bang on the metal, faster and faster. The blackmera seethed even louder, then threw itself forward, crashed into the wall, shook it off, and immediately leaped sideways, without turning ¨C another unnerving impact rocked the steel confines. And all the while bang-bang-bang resonated around ¨C the sound a twisted reflection of the creature¡¯s own tapping.

    Without any prompting, a guard approached carrying a blazing torch to Mairead Gehler, who was waiting to the side of the throng, and she dipped an arrow into it before raising her bow and releasing the string so fast Cillian could barely keep track of her actions.

    A flash streaked past, through a small hole, and right into the tangle of legs.

    The limbs erupted instantly.

    Heaven! They can¡¯t be that flammable, can they?

    The next few minutes were extremely disturbing.

    The blackmera didn¡¯t shriek, which somehow made it worse. Open-mouthed, it kept exhaling, rapidly and forcefully, all the while trashing uncontrollably. The nauseating stench flooded his senses and played havoc with his recently filled stomach.

    Cillian didn¡¯t have any sympathy for the monster, but there was something gut-wrenching about watching a caged, helpless creature have its legs go out in flames. He noticed Cathal looking away and heard Eamon make retching sounds.

    Was the arrow coated in something?

    And, for all that, the blackmera still wasn¡¯t dead ¨C it kept fighting to endure another moment, albeit much less vigorously.

    Two guards came in and overturned a basin full of water on top of the cage.

    A steam tide rushed out with a sizzle and drenched them all in that awful smell.

    Thanks a lot.

    ¡°A resilient beast,¡± their teacher muttered, his tone verging on admiring, then took a proffered rapier from a colleague, and, one hand on the pommel, another ¨C wrapping the grip, nudged the shivering creature¡¯s mouth open, and skewered it.

    The twitches continued.

    ¡°Damn you. Carry it away and deal with it.¡± He retrieved the dripping blade, passed it over, and turned to face the students again. ¡°The root must be somewhere at the base of the tail then; it¡¯s one of the common locations. Obviously, don¡¯t leave a blackmera alive in the field, make sure you destroy the elanroot. As a general rule, spider and serpent-like monsters regenerate quickly. It¡¯s also the reason it was awake in the first place while the grootslang was not.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s their aetheric ability?¡± asked Keefe.

    ¡°¡®Dome of Silence¡¯, same as the acromantula, but, unlike our favorite spiders, blackmeras are loners and so their domes do not merge. You shouldn¡¯t rely on this logic though ¨C there are other seemingly related species that have no similarities whatsoever save for their looks.¡±

    ¡°Is setting a blackmera on fire the only way to incapacitate it?¡± the stocky boy continued, not sounding pleased at the idea.

    ¡°Crushing works too, if your companion is capable of it. Obviously, you could inflict enough damage to it in whatever manner you deem fit. Fire is simply the most expedient option. And it also works to keep them away.¡±

    As the cart with the spasming creature was noisily wheeled away, more questions followed. Was there an antidote for the poison? Why hadn¡¯t it used its ability? Who were their natural enemies? And what about the dome¡¯s radius? Instructor Hass answered a few but soon declared that it was too late and they would continue the discussion tomorrow.

    ¡°When¡¯s the next session?¡± Oscar made one final inquiry.

    ¡°Hopefully, in two weeks¡¯ time. But we¡¯ll see.¡±

    The hangar¡¯s doors closed with a resounding clang, serving as a signal for the crowd to begin to disperse. It was suddenly very dark where Cillian stood.

    No more monsters. But the stench lagged behind.

    Frackin¡¯ spiders.

    ¡°Hey, you alright?¡± Eamon tapped him on the shoulder.

    ¡°M? Aye, I¡¯m dandy. Just dandy.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re heading to¨C Hey, where are you going?¡±

    Cillian dedicated a minute trying to find the companion and its master from earlier, but they weren¡¯t around anymore. Disappointed, he rejoined Cathal and the two lovebirds, who were waiting for him amidst the departing backs of cadets, instructors, and guards.

    ¡°That was¡­ something, innit?¡± Eamon commented, turning to amble away. ¡°A batfox seems downright cuddly to me now. It¡¯s me new favorite.¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Cillian said, wearily glancing back at the Slaughterhouse. Not seeing the blackmera actually die made him uneasy. ¡°You can always outrun a grootslang. But a batfox? I ain¡¯t so sure.¡±

    ¡°Blackmera is the worst,¡± Nuala stated definitively. ¡°Those creepy eyes¡­ brrr.¡±

    ¡°It could be beaten with a loud enough¨C,¡± Eamon clapped, ¡°¨Cracket! Hardly impressive.¡±

    ¡°If a blackmera is using its ability, you¡¯d need to be, like, under the dome and very close to it,¡± Cathal said. It was a fair observation.

    If only acromantulae shared the same weakness¡­

    Cillian shook his head.

    It doesn¡¯t matter.

    They traded opinions all the way to the dormitory. Once near the doors, Eamon halted. ¡°By the way, Nuala and I are heading to the kitchens to cook for a couple of days in advance. You wanna join?¡±

    ¡°I already did it yesterday,¡± Cillian replied.

    Pulling on the handle, Cathal said, "Told you."

    ¡°I hate you both. When did you even find the time?¡°

    ¡°We should go,¡± Nuala urged, ¡°it¡¯s already past 8.¡±

    ¡°Have fun,¡± Cillian waved them off, yawning. ¡°I¡¯m going to lie down and relax. My soft bed misses me.¡±

    ¡°Traitor.¡±

    As he watched the pair go, Cillian wondered what the academy was planning to do with the dead beasts. Were they about to get roasted grootslang on the menu?

    He climbed up the steps.

    Or would it be a fried blackmera?

    The acrid stink still lingered in his nostrils.

    After all, it was already medium rare, was it not?

 Chapter 14. A bruteforce approach

    The ram kept hammering down ¨C wham-wham-wham. Even through the ear protection, the thundering noise was uncomfortable to the present cadets, who were all standing next to the giant machine, easily two grown men in height, and watching the armorer at work. Cillian could feel the concrete floor tremble with each pound, despite a layer of timber blocks underneath the behemoth. The steam, periodically coming out of an outlet at the top with a hiss, wasn¡¯t helping visibility either.

    Still, there was something fascinating about the heavy ram¡¯s rhythmic dance up and down, the anvil¡¯s utter refusal to budge no matter the onslaught, and the man¡¯s peaceful demeanor in the face of it all ¨C he kept calmly holding a red-hot slice of steel between the ferocious combatants and periodically pressing and letting go of the pedal, shaped like a metal frame snaking around the anvil, with his booted foot.

    They weren¡¯t allowed to use the machine or, in fact, any heavy equipment, and wouldn¡¯t be for some time. Right now they were being walked through the steps of making a backplate for an orgeshi ¨C one of the typical companions.

    It was their second class. During the first, the man had demonstrated a hydraulic shear in action. It looked like a guillotine, but wide instead of tall and made for chopping metal plates rather than heads, and was powered by an aether motor.

    Overall, there was an interesting mix of technologies in the workshop and the academy in general ¨C Cillian recalled the limelight projectors in several classrooms and a mechanical calculator (residing in the kitchens, of all places), which used cogwheels and a gear system to count whole numbers and required you to turn dials to enter input parameters.

    The instructor finished hammering down the edge to draw it out on one side of the piece, carried the abused yoke to the coal forge ¨C strongly resembling a simple fireplace, only made from cast iron and raised above the deck about a meter ¨C heated up the opposite edge until it grew fiery hot, and returned to the steam-powered monstrosity to continue the good, if graceless, work.

    Last time, he¡¯d first split a big steel sheet in two with the hydraulic shear, cut out the precise shape using a combination of a manual shear and a cold chisel with a hammer ¨C the students had practiced the techniques on various scraps after ¨C then ground down the edges with an aether-powered belt sander, and now was tapering the said edges.

    Wham-wham-wham.

    Even though plenty of windows, not to mention the numerous fans and ventilation pipes, circulated the air constantly, it was still almost unbearably hot. The forge, the boiler, and the steam from the hammer all heating up the place saw to that. Their heavy aprons, gloves, and protective goggles and earmuffs also weren¡¯t helping.

    Realistically, as instructor Pfenning himself had told them, it was unlikely they would need to perform any complex metalworking on their own during their careers ¨C Foerstner¡¯s armorers would handle everything ¨C but it was still paramount, he¡¯d insisted, they knew everything that went into creating a companion. Besides, it was unwise to leave dents in the armor for long if there was equipment available to hammer them out by yourself without waiting for an armorer, on account of something he¡¯d called ¡°companion imprinting¡±.

    It hadn¡¯t been the first time Cillian heard the ¡°i¡± word being thrown around, but, as ever, no explanation had followed.

    The man had only said that they would receive a proper lecture on the subject during their ¡°Companion theory¡± classes, which wouldn¡¯t even begin until the second half of the year. Additionally, he¡¯d revealed that the armor¡¯s primary purpose wasn¡¯t actually for protection and left it at that.

    Cillian wasn¡¯t the only one to have noticed that the academy was quite stringent in what information regarding companions they divulged to the students, even though all of them had been chosen and signed the contracts.

    Wham-wham-wham.

    Eventually, instructor Pfenning disengaged from the hammer, examined his work closely, then, satisfied, led them to one of the many metal tables with an anvil welded to it and some kind of bowl welded on top of the anvil in turn. He looked up at them and said, ¡°Now I¡¯m going to dish it. Because the edges are thinned out, a lot of it can be done cold; only the thick part needs heating up. I need an assistant to hold the piece.¡±

    Before the man even finished speaking, Cillian stepped forward. There weren¡¯t many of his counterparts he had to contend with since the metalworking classes were staggered ¨C only eight students took part at any given one. Of the relatively well-known faces only Teagan accompanied him.

    ¡°Take those black jaw tongs, both of them,¡± instructor Pfenning told him, gesturing toward the nearby wall. A rake-load of tools were neatly arranged there ¨C the aforementioned tongs of various shapes and sizes, a myriad of hammers, saws, chisels, dollies, and many more instruments Cillian didn¡¯t even know the names of. He fished out the two pairs and returned.

    ¡°Hold them wide and parallel to each other. We¡¯ll start with the outer edges and slowly work our way in. Your task is to hold the piece steady and move it along. Also, on my command, you will release and resume gripping, understand? Parts of it I¡¯ll do holding by myself, other parts we¡¯ll do together. Questions?¡±

    ¡°What are we aiming for?¡±

    ¡°Our goal is to curve the piece so it¡¯ll be easier to work with on a ball stake later, where the actual shaping will be done. Just pay close attention to what I¡¯m doing and you¡¯ll understand; there¡¯s a pattern to it. Ready?¡±

    ¡°Ready.¡±

    At that, Cillian¡¯s life turned into vibration and metal filings, flying everywhere, for several long minutes. Bang-bang-bang ¨C the sound was quieter and more hollow somehow. He quickly realized that the man wasn¡¯t even striking that hard; there was no need to tense up his shoulders so much. He could hold the piece with his arms alone and let them shudder on impact.

    He released the hold when ordered and watched the instructor position the plate over the flat part of the anvil, letting one side drop on it while supporting the other in the air, and keep striking again and again. They were going for a gentle C-shape, Cillian realized, and, once directed to grip again, he started to move the piece between the strikes with more confidence.

    Strike. Move to the left a wee. Another strike. Move left once more. Then hold in place. Bang-bang-bang.

    It was difficult to tell how long he¡¯d been doing this, but after nudging the piece to the side and slightly forward one more time, another precise hit landed, and the man paused their work. ¡°Alright, good job! Give someone else a turn.¡±

    Cillian yielded the place and the tongs to another boy, who received the honor of holding the steel plate vertically while instructor Pfenning operated another piece of machinery. He could guess its purpose by just looking at it ¨C a freshly ignited oil lamp on a low shelf; a big, lemon-shaped canister above the flame on four legs; and an elastic pipe traveling from the side of the canister to point directly at the flame.

    A turn of the valve later, the apparatus whistled to life and a jet of steam blew the flame in a long thin line to the side.

    The armorer issued instructions, and the boy slowly moved the plate, tracing small but expanding circles, heating up the middle part. The task accomplished, the pair returned to the dishing table and proceeded to hammer the future backplate down yet again.

    Cillian usually liked such orderly, meticulous activities, but the heat and the noise made him wish for the class to conclude. Maybe the main purpose here was to make them appreciate the amount of effort that went into making armor, or, in other words, how much they owed the company.

    Bang-bang-bang.

    He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

    <hr>

    It wasn¡¯t.

    An emergency pulled most of the instructors away. What kind of emergency? Aether only knew as nobody saw fit to apprise them of the details. It had to be something serious though, since it also affected their schedule the following day. The two morning classes turned out to be their only classes.

    The recreation room was brimming with relaxing students taking advantage of the unexpected break in the grueling routine that was their life in the academy. The end of the indigo surge had crept up without notice ¨C they¡¯d been enjoying the place¡¯s hospitality for seven weeks and some change by this point. Seven weeks full of lectures, physical exercises, and occasional monster dates (¡±We meet them and get to know them and then never hear from them again, you dig?¡± was how Eamon had justified the name).

    ¡°Raise,¡± the boy said and placed a small rock in the middle of the table.

    Cillian glanced at him. Ordinarily, it wasn¡¯t difficult to tell when Eamon was bluffing, but this time he was making an effort to remain stoic. The expression looked wrong on his face.

    ¡°I see your one and give you two.¡± Nuala added a couple of her own rocks to the pool. The girl, on the contrary, could bluff with the best of them. Cillian caught Eamon grimace, then it was his turn.

    ¡°Call.¡± Two more pebbles into the pile.

    They were playing for real money, but nobody wanted to bet bracts, let alone scions, and nobody had brought any berries to the academy either. Not to mention that all of their money was currently locked up somewhere. So they had to improvise ¨C a piece of paper to keep track and rocks collected from all over the grounds ¨C each representing 10 berries ¨C to give betting some much-needed tactile sensation.

    Patrick was playing with them ¨C the fella Cillian had met on day one but hadn¡¯t interacted with since ¨C and he folded. Eamon though ¡°called¡± and stayed in the game. They completed the round with two follow-up ¡°checks¡±. After the starting bets, then a round when everyone had abstained, and now this one, the riches at stake equaled exactly 100 berries ¨C one whole bract.

    Cathal, their dealer, set the top card aside, and, shortly, a figure wearing a royal mantle and carrying a scepter with a heart-shaped finial reinforced the line on the table. The card¡¯s dominant color was more burgundy than pure red, and the heart sported barely perceptible veins as if it were a leaf and not just a simple geometric shape. Suspicious.

    Eamon grimaced again and ¡°checked¡±; Cillian inwardly laughed. The boy was too easy.

    Nuala raised by one; he raised by two. Eamon folded; Nuala ¡°called¡±.

    The final colorful illustration didn¡¯t improve Cillian¡¯s odds ¨C he¡¯d hoped for a ¡°full house¡± but had to settle for a ¡°two pair¡±. Also, he didn¡¯t like the satisfied smile on the face of his one remaining opponent. Discerning if she was bluffing or genuinely happy at a good hand was beyond him.

    Nuala turned the mound into a mesa by adding two more rocks. Cillian felt in his bones he was making a mistake but ¡°called¡± anyway. The mesa crumbled.

    He should¡¯ve listened to his intuition.

    Quad. The cailin had a niss-damned four of a kind.

    ¡°Thank you for your generous donation, Mr. Shea,¡± Nuala laughed.

    Cillian shook his head self-deprecatingly. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve had a single quad my entire life.¡±

    ¡°This just means you fold too early.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll deal this time,¡± Eamon said sourly. ¡°Can¡¯t afford to lose me any more.¡±

    They played again. During the game, Nuala nudged Eamon to share his impressions about his second metalworking class ¨C all four of their group had finally had it. A good move, Cillian mused, seeing the boy perk up.

    The other day, Eamon had raved about the principle behind hydraulic systems ¨C something that Cillian hadn¡¯t been taught back in school. Apparently, if you had a U-shaped tube with a narrow piston plugging it on one side and a wider piston, say, twice the area ¨C on the other, then whatever pressure you applied to the narrow piston would be transferred undiminished through the fluid and push on the wider one from below at all points equally, therefore multiplying the exerted force by two.

    And they said humans couldn¡¯t do magic.

    This time, the boy began gushing about the steam hammer.

    ¡°It ain¡¯t the latest model but still a double-acting one. Get this: in a single-acting hammer, the ram is raised by the pressure of the steam injected into the lower part of the cylinder, and it drops when the pressure is released, so the force of the blow is limited by the weight of the yoke. In this one though, the steam alternates between raising the ram and pushing it down, enhancing the blow.¡±

    They all made appreciative little noises like it was the most interesting thing they¡¯d heard all day.

    ¡°So it¡¯s like,¡± Cathal pointed up vaguely, ¡°state of the art?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Eamon snorted, ¡°not even close. There are double-frame hammers that look like an arch instead of a half. But, more importantly, me oul fella has a compressed air power hammer at work; they are much better than the steam ones. Safer, too.¡±

    ¡°It seems like the academy doesn¡¯t bother replacing the tech with newer one if it still does the job,¡± Cillian noted.

    ¡°They really should replace the blowtorch though,¡± Eamon said. ¡°Portable models are not that new. The one here looks like someone made it from scrap.¡±

    ¡°Wait, were you there when Emer burned her hand?¡± Patrick asked, tearing his gaze away from the cards on the table.

    ¡°Burned her hand? With the blowtorch?¡± Eamon shook his head. ¡°Nah, it must¡¯ve been a different group.¡±

    ¡°Aye, she had to go to the infirmary. I don¡¯t think it was too bad, but with the constant archery and gym classes, it could be a real blow.¡±

    And didn¡¯t Cillian know it. Thankfully, he hadn¡¯t suffered any new injuries despite the instructors¡¯ sadistic enthusiasm in throwing them around ¨C his and Nuala¡¯s fitness levels had been proclaimed satisfactory a week before and since then they¡¯d been learning the basics of unarmed combat.

    ¡°Did she take off her gloves?¡± ¡°Who¡¯s Emer?¡± Cathal and Cillian asked at the same time.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Patrick replied. ¡°I¡¯ve shared all I heard. And Emer is a fiery redhead.¡±

    Cillian tried to recall the girl but couldn¡¯t, and it must¡¯ve shown on his face. Nuala enlightened him, ¡°She was in our group during the initial tour, asked a lot of questions.¡± When it didn¡¯t help, she rolled her eyes. ¡°Honestly, Cillian, it¡¯s been eight weeks, and you still don¡¯t know the names of our classmates.¡±

    ¡°Seven weeks. And I know plenty.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? Yesterday, you spent an entire minute describing the guy who had to leave the workshop because he felt ill, instead of simply saying it was Riordan. You remember my name, don¡¯t you?¡± she teased.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have problems with my memory, Niamh, I¡¯d simply never heard about Riordan before.¡±

    Nuala smiled, then, fluttering her eyelashes innocently at him, said nonchalantly, ¡°I understand. And now that I think about it, it¡¯s not surprising you don¡¯t know many others since you¡¯ve been spending so much time in the company of a certain brunette recently.¡±

    ¡°Cathal¡¯s blond.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb.¡± Her smile turned predatory. ¡°You think we haven¡¯t noticed you and Sorcha being awfully friendly toward each other?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nora, you¡¯re still number one in my heart.¡±

    Eamon snorted, ¡°He ain¡¯t going to tell you nothing. I¡¯ve tried.¡±

    Cillian sighed, ¡°You¡¯re seeing things that don¡¯t exist. It¡¯s your fault anyway ¨C that we often join their group.¡±

    ¡°And you, of course, hate it,¡± Nuala nodded sagely.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡±

    Eamon coughed loudly, tapped Cillian¡¯s knee, and indicated for him to look up at the door, ¡°Speaking of the niss¡­¡±

    Sorcha was there, casting about. After spotting the sitting group, she headed for their little alcove.

    Everyone at the table went quiet and watched her purposeful stride. Once close, the girl glanced over their faces, arched an eyebrow, and asked, ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Nuala grinned. ¡°Just discussing Cillian¡¯s tendency to ignore things around him when his attention is preoccupied with¡­ something else.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have an assignment?¡± Cillian cut in, not ruffled in the slightest.

    ¡°We do, but Aoife¡¯s bullied us into accepting a last-minute change of plans¨C¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t bully people.¡±

    ¡°¨Cwhich is pretty infuriating, but is of no great surprise to me. She discovered that not a single first or second-ringer was selected for this assignment and foolishly decided to take it upon herself ¨C take it upon ourselves ¨C to rectify the situation. And then, adding to the insult, she sent me on an errand to collect some repellent low-ringer to join our team.¡±

    Cillian blinked. ¡°Err, what are you saying, exactly?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m saying that we¡¯ve booted out one of our former schoolfellows to make room for someone else.¡±

    The girl was looking at him while saying that, but he still felt the need to clarify, ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m talking about that boy over there,¡± she pointed at the opposite corner of the room without looking.

    Cillian glanced that way but instead caught sight of Nuala giving him mirthful eyes. Stupid cailin. He turned back. ¡°Sure. When do we leave?¡±

    ¡°You have 30 minutes. Swing by the arsenal first ¨C they allow us to take bows ¨C then meet us outside.¡±

    ¡°Huh? But that¡¯s great!¡± He jumped to his feet, now very eager all of a sudden, and waved his friends goodbye, ¡°See you guys later.¡±

    He was already three steps away when Eamon caught up to his abrupt departure, ¡°Hey, we ain¡¯t finished the game, Kil!¡±

    Shit. Cillian looked down at the cards that were still in his hands. He whirled back, leaped to the table, and dropped them. ¡°I fold.¡±

    ¡°Someone¡¯s eager,¡± Nuala commented.

    ¡°Bye-bye.¡±

    While he was hastily walking away again, Cillian heard his friends laughing but didn¡¯t pay it any mind.

    Take a bow? After just four weeks of training? That was out of the murk.

    He smiled in anticipation. Can¡¯t frackin¡¯ wait.

    <hr>

    The man in the arsenal was very stern. He informed Cillian that a record had been made of the state of the bow and the number of arrows issued and also gave several warnings about treating the situation seriously and only using the bow if given permission.

    It didn¡¯t dampen Cillian¡¯s excitement one bit, and, after quickly dropping by his room to don the now well-familiar pine-green gambeson and grab the compass and the goggles, he was striding toward the side gate, where the others were already gathered, carrying a black canvas bag, its elongated and slightly curving shape at the ends betraying the contents.

    ¡°Cillian!¡± Aoife beckoned him over. He approached and greeted the people in their little group ¨C the four usual faces and¡­ Desmond, was it? One of the fellow second-ringers. Good for him.

    ¡°Did you decide to take a nap on the way?¡± Sorcha asked. ¡°You¡¯re almost late.¡±

    ¡°Came as fast as I could. Had to listen to a lecture on ¡®proper conduct¡¯,¡° Cillian waved her away. ¡±Anyway, we¡¯re recharging the relays, aye?¡±

    ¡°Only a couple,¡± Aoife said. ¡°There¡¯s a good number of them, hence so many winners. Even still, I don¡¯t think it would be enough.¡±

    Teagan shook his head, ¡°They probably don¡¯t all run out at the same time, likely even deliberately staggered.¡±

    ¡°Do we know how far we¡¯re going?¡± Cillian asked, looking at Aoife. The assignment was meant for three people, so he assumed he would be together with her and Sorcha.

    ¡°Not yet, but we¡¯re about to find out,¡± she nodded at instructor Haertel.

    The woman climbed atop a crate, whistled, and addressed them, ¡°Your task is to replace the spent tanks and bring them back to the academy. Protection will be handled by the escorts and the onsite security. Do not use your bows unless explicitly permitted, understand? We allow you to bring them for a different reason. Believe me, we don¡¯t require help from newbies to kill beasts. Any questions?¡±

    ¡°Why do you even need us then?¡± someone asked.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°We don¡¯t. But it¡¯s a learning opportunity for you, so we bring you along. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°What about the emergency? Has it been handled?¡± the question came from Maeve, a girl from Shauna¡¯s team.

    ¡°It¡¯s ongoing and unrelated. Any relevant questions?¡± No more came. ¡°Get moving then. Follow your keepers.¡±

    Instructor Schwenke turned out to be theirs. It was the second time meeting the man in the last few hours, since they¡¯d suffere¨C sat through his ¡°Aether¡± class earlier. He led Cillian, Sorcha, and Aoife into the vehicle hangar. A row of identical ten-wheeled trucks featuring two pairs of double wheels at the back ¨C the same model that had greeted them on the initial arrival to the settlement ¨C awaited their riders.

    They climbed into the cargo bed of their choosing, already loaded with eight haggard-looking cylindrical tanks, tightly strapped to the floor, and made themselves as comfortable as was feasible.

    Not at all, in other words.

    Death machines, Cillian thought, pulling a face. Not because of the machine gun rising above the passenger side on some kind of ring-shaped mounting apparatus, but because of the so-called seats. Bags filled with soil? His arse soon concurred with the visual assessment. At least, there was a makeshift handle ¨C a taut rope winded around the perimeter.

    ¡°I see we move up in the world,¡± he told the girls once everyone dropped down. ¡°Last time they carried us in tombs.¡±

    Instructor Schwenke heard him and said, ¡°The paths to the lighthouses and the areas around them are potentially much more dangerous. The relays are manned around the clock ¨C beasts come, beasts die ¨C so the road should be relatively clear.¡±

    ¡°All of them are manned all the time?¡± Aoife asked.

    The man shook his head, ¡°No. But enough so the crews could quickly respond to hostilities in the neighboring ones.¡±

    They took off ¨C first drove Rimwise parallel to the wall and the trees, then until the looming trunks gave way to the open air, turned left, and spat exhaust at the settlement in farewell. A long line of trucks stretched ahead, and a few smaller, boxy-looking vehicles with big wheels and no roof rode parallel to the column on both sides.

    This was quite an expedition.

    One hand gripping the rope, another ¨C on top of the bag in his lap, hopping up and down and shaking side to side, there wasn¡¯t an opportunity for any long, coherent discussion, so Cillian busied himself with eyeing the surroundings. Still in range of the skywalker, the visibility was good, but the view wasn¡¯t offering them anything spectacular.

    A dirt road, coughing up dust in their passing. Sweeping fields of tall bracken, some patches deep green, absorbing most of the light, others ¨C dull yellow, shining merrily. A forest ¨C the same one they¡¯d competed in ¨C and another ¨C further away on the opposite side. Curiously, no cables in sight. Cillian knew there had to be some. Were they buried? The massive water pipe keeping apace with the road was unmissable though.

    With the wind in his face, he had to shout to be heard, ¡°Are the cables underground?¡±

    Aoife answered, ¡°Here ¨C yes! But it largely depends on the area.¡±

    ¡°Is it because of the birds? Do they nibble on the cables or something? I haven¡¯t seen many here!¡±

    ¡°No! It¡¯s because of the mountains and the large open grasslands. The wind is¨C¡± They bounced, ¡°¨Cthe wind could be quite merciless! And the cables are well insulated!¡±

    ¡°Leakages still happen, Ms. Lafrentz,¡± instructor Schwenke informed her, half shouting himself. He was sitting with his back to the cabin, his flat cap somehow remaining in place. ¡°In the air or underground, insulated or not, there¡¯s no stopping beasts from chewing on the cables once in a while. As for the birds¨C¡± a particularly large bump interrupted him; they all jumped again. ¡°Later!¡±

    Sorcha was sitting peacefully with her eyes closed. Surely, she couldn¡¯t be sleeping.

    They soon rode past the first relay; no one stopped for it. Contrary to Cillian¡¯s expectations, it wasn¡¯t tall, but, beyond that, the details were hard to distinguish ¨C the structure stood some ways off the road.

    Absent anything else to occupy his noggin, he thought of what was expected of them. Agitated aether. They were carrying agitated aether. After the most recent series of lectures, he¡¯d finally understood how something they¡¯d been told was non-physical could be contained and used as fuel. Father had actually explained it to him before, Cillian recalled, but back in those days, right after the incident, when he¡¯d accompanied his oul fella to work for two weeks straight, he hadn¡¯t been in the best of mental states. Neither of them had been.

    Ahem. Anyway.

    Elusive aether ¨C aethereal ¨C was non-physical and ever-present. However, once drawn into an elanroot ¨C or a magical plant¡¯s root ¨C while most of it transformed into the tainted state, a portion of it spilled. Like a parched man gulping too much water at once and, consequently, hacking some of it back out. Unlike the water though, the spilled aether ¨C which materialized in what was believed to be an intermediate state between the elusive and tainted ¨C didn¡¯t go to waste. It escaped the elanroot semi-physical and vibrant ¨C agitated ¨C bouncing off other agitated and elusive aether particles and bleeding out its energy, which inevitably led to a breakdown into the elusive state once again.

    Those were the words of the man sitting with them right now. He¡¯d emphasized that a lot of it wasn¡¯t proven, but the model worked in practice, which made it good enough for Foerstner Group.

    And good enough to change the world.

    A blaring of a horn unceremoniously shuttered Cillian¡¯s ruminations: three blasts ¨C short, long, short. He perked up. What was that?

    Straight away, a couple of boxy vehicles riding to the side of the column ¨C Cillian decided to call them ¡°knuckles¡± ¨C veered to the left and started putting distance between themselves and the trucks, their hopping headlights confronting the murk. He jumped to the opposite wall to get a better look, lightly smacking Sorcha with his bag in the process. She grumbled.

    200 meters away from the main body, the knuckles resumed driving parallel to the convoy, the lead vehicle accelerating, separating. Two more knuckles headed that way, but, halfway between the trucks and the runaways, they, too, thought better of it and turned right, now ¡°tailing¡± the first pair.

    ¡°This is the danger of having so many aether-powered vehicles in one place. A routine occurrence, nothing to worry about,¡± instructor Schwenke commented out loud before finishing almost to himself, ¡°So close to the settlement though¡­ someone¡¯s been slacking off.¡±

    Unhinged cackling was their first clue as to the nature of the threat.

    Cillian eyed his bag uneasily but made no move to retrieve the bow. Both girls were now watching intently as well.

    All four outriders ignited their mounted floodlights, bathing the strip in warmth, and he spotted them immediately. To be fair, at that distance he could only see shapes, but the characteristic shrieks mixed with crazed laughter let him know exactly who it was.

    Nargacugas. Red-and-black hyena-like creatures. Notoriously long-lived, therefore, potentially very powerful, but they weren¡¯t much of a danger when young, and Cillian doubted there were any old specimens skulking around. But they could still rip you apart and laugh at your suffering if you were complacent. At least, the sounds they made ensured you would recognize them anywhere, darkness or not.

    Cursing, Cillian remembered the goggles that were literally on top of his head, pulled them down, and adjusted the magnification just in time to see the beasts galloping at the knuckles, only a handful. But then the lead transport stole his attention again as it suddenly wheeled left and rushed at the nargacugas almost headlong, only a smidge to the side. The creatures ignored it, kept running forward, not a one changing course. What the hell?! They appeared determined to attack the vehicle pair that was further away from them. Why? The rest of the detached motorwagens hit the brakes and briefly vanished behind the raised haze, but the convoy kept moving, albeit slowly.

    The vanguard opened fire.

    Cillian instinctively ducked at the rattling staccato but kept his eyes above the wall. Not to be outdone, the vanguard¡¯s partner joined at once, the pounding on his ears doubling in intensity, and he saw the beasts die to the crisscrossing fire, their hysterical laughter, if anything, growing louder. One was hit at the flank so hard it careened sideways. Another ¨C got its legs shot under it and crashed to the ground head first, flipping over and over. More bullets hit the body; red blood gushed out as if lava. He watched enraptured, wishing the truck would stop leaving the scene.

    The fire ceased after mere seconds, and, showing no hesitation, both knuckles turned and fled, now racing to reunite with the convoy.

    Only three beasts remained. One was on its last legs, limping forward, but the other two looked completely unharmed, clearly not even thinking of stopping, uncaring of the fallen siblings. Through the onslaught, they¡¯d kept running at the rearguard, who were still not engaging ¨C the collision felt imminent! Then, something changed. The beasts slammed on their own metaphorical brakes. Only 50 meters away from their prey, both of them pivoted and, all of a sudden, attempted to take off in another direction ¨C after the retreating motorwagens ¨C and that¡¯s what the rear gunners had been waiting for. The killing resumed ¨C muzzle flashes and shrieks, audible even through the merciless cracking, announced the remaining creatures¡¯ demise.

    When the dust settled, there were no more laughs. Only the knuckles converging to finish the job, and the horn ¨C letting everyone know the danger had passed.

    ¡°Resume your places,¡± instructor Schwenke said calmly. ¡°Fun¡¯s over.¡±

    Once they did, the man eyed them and asked, ¡°Do you understand what¡¯s just happened? Ms. Vogt?¡±

    Sorcha answered, contemplative, ¡°They must have some potent burning devices, to manipulate the beasts. They turn them on and off.¡±

    ¡°Correct. And what are the drawbacks, Mr. Shea?¡±

    Cillian¡¯s goggles returned to the higher and hairier ground. ¡°Attracting beasts from all over and not just those you want to?¡± He nodded to himself, gaining confidence. ¡°Motorwagens burn aether too, so to redirect the monsters¡¯ attention, you¡¯d need to use a very potent root, which means a large fallout radius.¡±

    Instructor Schwenke agreed, ¡°True. Anything else? Ms. Lafrentz?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s unreliable. Not all beasts rush at the source of the burning. Yes, it irritates them ¨C or, perhaps, ¡®irritates¡¯ is not a strong enough word ¨C but many run away or become cautious or do something else entirely. Anything but what you want them to do.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. It generally works well with young and dumb beasts, which is often the same.¡±

    ¡°What elanroots do these trucks use?¡± Cillian asked, only just noticing that at some point their own gunner had taken position inside the ring and was now climbing down.

    ¡°A combination of several, actually. You¡¯ll learn about it later in my class.¡±

    The trip continued. From there, it proved uneventful. After the convoy crossed the bridge spanning the only river in the area worthy of the designation, more and more trucks began peeling away ¨C to head to their assigned targets. Cillian and his partners had to await their turn until only three teams remained, the outriders¡¯ numbers dwindling as well. When their personal death machine finally deflected off the well-trodden path and began closing in on the relay, the headlights gave him a first good look at the structure.

    It was a plain, concrete building, one floor and a flat roof housing a multiple-barrel rotary gun emplacement. More notably, two rings of wide trenches surrounded the building, which, together with the narrow windows currently locked behind metal shutters, gave an impression of a casemate or an entrance to a bunker.

    Two people were waiting for them, and they¡¯d rolled out a carpet ¨C wooden platforms bridging the trenches. Nice of them.

    Instructor Schwenke jumped out, approached the man in charge, and shook his hand, ¡°Sean, was it? Situation?¡±

    ¡°Greetings, sir. All quiet, no problems since Monday.¡±

    ¡°Not even sightings? That¡¯s unfortunate.¡± Their chaperone addressed the loitering trio. ¡°Unload four tanks. And be careful with them.¡±

    No one moved to provide assistance. Cillian and the girls exchanged glances.

    ¡°I guess we should estimate the weight. If it¡¯s fine, then you can roll them to the edge and I¡¯ll pick them up.¡±

    ¡°Big strong man, are you?¡± Sorcha teased.

    ¡°You can take the heavy duty, be my guest.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine with the arrangement. You should work to justify the afforded privilege.¡±

    They climbed in again and Cillian tried to lift a tank. Doable, no more than 30 kilograms. He felt a liquid sloshing inside. Huh. Wasn¡¯t it supposed to be gaseous?

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to help me,¡± Sorcha told Aoife. ¡°Go give Cillian a hand so he doesn¡¯t drop it.¡±

    One by one, they unloaded the tanks into the cart that someone had helpfully wheeled near the truck.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it; you go hold the platforms, just in case,¡± Cillian said.

    When he at last pushed his way through the low entrance into the building, he discovered that it was indeed a bunker, stretching two floors below the ground. He also saw more machine guns on heavy weapon mounts overlooking the windows. More importantly at the moment though, there was a simple pulley lift system; they didn¡¯t have to carry the load downstairs. Instructor Schwenke shadowed them but offered no comments, other than revealing that their destination lay at the bottom.

    The said destination turned out to be a very basic room, like everything else about the building. Its single prominent feature stood at the center ¨C a big steel cube with a smaller reddish-brown pyramid on top. A rake-load of flexible pipes ran all over the quare contraption. The cube¡¯s walls weren¡¯t solid; Cillian could see the tanks secreted within through the intricately carved patterns. Separately, each shape meant nothing, but, together, they formed a shamrock.

    He opened his mouth to speak, but instructor Schwenke nipped his question in the bud, ¡°Don¡¯t. You wouldn¡¯t yet understand the mechanism behind it, and I¡¯m not interested in rushing your education.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d been planning to ask, but whatever.

    ¡°All four panels are easily removable. First, tighten the knob at the top of the spent tank, see? Counterclockwise. Then unscrew the regulator, disconnect the pipe, remove the tank, put a fresh one in place, tighten the regulator again, and open the knob. Simple.¡±

    It was simple, and, while they worked, Cillian contemplated. How did relays function? He knew they received and resent binary-encoded messages and used powerful elanroots to do it. He also knew that, while inside Lua more and more cables appeared overhead each year, communication between settlements was still a rarity. Relays required constant protection and resupply, and, judging by their journey here, had to be placed every couple of kilometers. But he had no idea about their internal workings.

    What had been his train of thought before the attack? Right. Agitated aether. A semi-physical substance that interacted with some materials, proven by the very fact he was holding a container full of the stuff right now. The set of ¡°magical insulators¡± included all non-magical trees ¨C the ones with normal roots ¨C and several metals. The fascinating part was that bones, skin, hair, blood ¨C basically everything ¨C from non-magical creatures, including humans, also counted among the number.

    It was like some parts of the world really didn¡¯t like magic, which many considered to be another point in favor of the ¡°we are not from here¡± group of origin theories.

    Supposing the pyramid housed an elanroot, then what? How did it help transmit a message almost instantly over a long distance? Agitated aether was the key, that much was obvious. They¡¯d learned to capture it, learned how to prevent it from returning to the elusive state, learned to use it. The obvious thing to do when you had an elanroot and a tank full of aether was to feed the latter to the former, but elanroots drew elusive aether in, not agitated. And even if you could do it, what would it accomplish exactly?

    Cillian shook his head to clear it. Instructor Schwenke was right. He didn¡¯t have enough knowledge yet.

    They finished the job, collected the not-so-empty tanks ¨C they didn¡¯t seem to weigh any less than the fresh ones ¨C returned outside, and loaded them into the truck. Their chaperone pronounced they could take a breather and explore while he talked to the personnel. Cillian looked around skeptically ¨C a whole lot of nothing saluted him. Except for the Everstorm, shining bright far to the Heaven.

    He realized it was the clearest he¡¯d seen the phenomena so far. The Everstorm was such a constant in his life, in everyone¡¯s lives, that he rarely paid it much mind. Usually though, its visibility was either obstructed by buildings or trees or diluted by light from all over. Or both. But here and now, nothing was hiding it, and, for some reason, the sight made Cillian think of home.

    ¡°You alright, Cillian?¡± Aoife asked from his right. ¡°You seem down. Not happy with the assignment?¡±

    ¡°M? Oh no, just thinking of father.¡± After briefly glancing at her, he felt compelled to elaborate, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ fascinating to me that, even as far as he is right now, we both can see the Everstorm. I don¡¯t know¡­ probably doesn¡¯t make a lick of sense, but it¡¯s like,¡± he gestured around vaguely, ¡°usually, when two people can see the same object at the same time, it means they¡¯re relatively close to each other. You both see a tower? Just make the right turns and you¡¯ll meet soon enough. So I¡¯m just thinking that, in a way, even when I¡¯ll be away doing aether-knows-what aether-knows-where as a chevalier, when I look up, I¡¯d be able to see the Everstorm and know that my oul man and home are not that far off.¡± He stole another peek at the blonde. ¡°Sounds quare, I know.¡±

    Aoife hummed, ¡°Never thought about it like that, but I understand what you¡¯re saying.¡± She searched his face and seemed to hesitate before asking, ¡°And¡­ what about your mother?¡±

    He looked away. ¡°Dead. Acromantulae attack a few years back.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry about that.¡± It was such an empty platitude, but he thought she meant it. ¡°So much protection and it still fails.¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± Cillian cleared his throat and scrambled to change the subject, ¡°By the way, I¡¯ve never thanked you for inviting me, so ¨C thank you.¡±

    ¡°Sorcha invited you.¡±

    ¡°I know, and I should thank her too, but it was your idea to invite some poor low-ringers to share the booty, so to speak.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. I¡¯ve never liked the system.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the grump anyway?¡±

    ¡°Very funny.¡± Sorcha popped up on Aoife¡¯s right.

    ¡°Aether, woman!¡± Cillian barely refrained from shouting. ¡°How are you¨C? Are you walking under a ¡®dome of silence¡¯?¡±

    She gave him scathing eyes, ¡°Have you just compared me to an acromantula?¡±

    ¡°I had a blackmera in mind, actually. They got sharp tongues, you know.¡±

    ¡°This is what I get for inviting an idiot along,¡± she sighed. ¡±Haven¡¯t you been planning on thanking me, not insulting?¡±

    ¡°Right, sorry. Thank you, Ms. Vogt, for allowing this lowly barbarian to partake in such a glorious venture. However, I must point out that without me you¡¯d have to carry the tanks by yourself.¡±

    ¡°No. Without you, Lorcan would have carried the tanks. To be fair, he is an idiot, too. So now I¡¯m thinking it would¡¯ve been better to invite Nuala and share the burden between us.¡±

    Cillian smiled. He didn¡¯t know why he enjoyed needling her so much. It was a new feeling. ¡°You have cables for arms. Aoife and Nuala would¡¯ve been forced to do all the work.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m stronger than Aoife.¡±

    He looked them over; their arms were hidden below the unflattering gambesons. ¡°There¡¯s no way. Can¡¯t see it now, but I know from the gym and archery classes she actually has meat on her arms. You ¨C don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Spend a lot of time watching us, do you?¡±

    He shrugged, ¡°Kind of. You two, Oscar, and another guy ¨C Oisin, I think? ¨C are the best shooters. I¡¯m trying to figure out what you do differently. Instructor Gehler says I have good form, but my shots with a heavier bow are inconsistent.¡±

    ¡°Oscar has likely been training for years. As for me, I¡¯m just more talented than you, there¡¯s no mystery.¡±

    ¡°Could be. And Aoife?¡±

    Sorcha made a face. ¡°Ugh, that girl,¡± she said as if Aoife wasn¡¯t there, ¡°is good at everything. It¡¯s disgusting.¡±

    Aoife patted her friend on the head, ¡°Shh, everything will be alright, little one.¡±

    Sorcha gave Cillian a long-suffering look as if to say, ¡°See what I have to put up with every day?¡±

    ¡°Everything, really?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s exaggerating,¡± Aoife replied. ¡°Greatly.¡±

    ¡°She sings and plays three musical instruments.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Aren¡¯t there creatures you could lure to sleep with music?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I keep telling her she can become the first chevalier-bard and should embrace the theme, not shy away from it.¡±

    Aoife sighed, ¡°Mother insisted I learn to play music. I¡­ I don¡¯t hate it but don¡¯t really love it either.¡±

    ¡°Carrying an instrument with you seems impractical anyway.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what the companion¡¯s for; she could just use it as a pack mule.¡±

    Instructor Schwenke chose this moment to interrupt their conversation, ¡°Break¡¯s over; we should go.¡±

    With no goodbyes and little ceremony, they all piled into the truck and set off on their way.

    The trip to the next target didn¡¯t take long ¨C not the neighbor, but the neighbor¡¯s neighbor. The structure looked identical, other than the windows, which were open, and a man on the roof. Expecting trouble?

    ¡°Problem?¡± instructor Schwenke dismounted and asked the lead man among the welcoming party. ¡°You are¡­?¡±

    ¡°Braden Conran, sir. Nothing serious, just nargacugas acting up.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­ we¡¯ve been attacked by a small pack of them close to the settlement, too. Interesting.¡±

    Cillian and the girls were already unloading the cargo. The mood was tense, not overwhelmingly so, but they still hastened to repeat their actions from earlier ¨C go down, replace the tanks, come back up. When they were about to exit the building, two men entered and took positions at the guns along the far wall. Instructor Schwenke exchanged some words with them, then addressed his charges, ¡°Wait here, and don¡¯t come out until I call you.¡± He went outside; the heavy door cut them off from the rest of the world with a slam that brooked no arguments.

    ¡°You¡¯d want to cover your ears, youngsters, and give us space,¡± one fella, himself looking scarcely 25, told them cheerfully.

    Sorcha scoffed, ¡°You¡¯re barely older than us.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the experience that matters, sugar,¡± he winked at her. She rewarded him with such a loathsome face Cillian felt the urge to apologize on behalf of men. They still followed his advice, and not too soon, as gunshots erupted prompting them to hunker down. Not from the gunners inside or the one on the roof but somewhere further away. He couldn¡¯t see anything from his place behind the guards but thought he heard cackles. It might¡¯ve been his imagination.

    The assault ended quickly ¨C one lengthy barrage followed by two brief bursts.

    Silence.

    Even still, it took five more minutes of sitting on their haunches for instructor Schwenke to collect them.

    ¡°Come,¡± he said and gestured outside, ¡°I¡¯ve got a surprise for you. Get the bows and rejoin me. We don¡¯t have much time.¡±

    Curious, the trio went to comply, and on the way to the trucks Cillian heard wheezing laughter intermingled with hacking and gurgling. It was a terrible sound but a weak one. Dying. No source was in sight.

    They fetched the bows and moved to link with the chevalier, who in the meantime had gone further off and was now being illuminated by the roof¡¯s spotlight like an actor on stage. 60 meters away from the relay, four twitching bodies, accompanied by two unmoving ones, lay. As he neared, Cillian winced at the raw sounds and the sickeningly sweet metallic aroma.

    ¡°Step no closer,¡± instructor Schwenke commanded, then nodded at the truck and their escorting knuckle, ¡°You can thank the good men over there for providing you with this opportunity. Precision shooting.¡± Cillian copped on to what was coming. ¡°Finish them.¡±

    Right. Should¡¯ve guessed earlier.

    It wasn¡¯t about improving their archery skills or accustoming them to danger. It was about taking a life.

    But what if we haven¡¯t met any beasts?

    ¡°Ms. Lafrentz, you go first.¡±

    Aoife¡¯s expression was troubled. ¡°Umm¡­ these are young ones. Wouldn¡¯t they succumb on their own very soon?¡± The quivering creatures were indeed the size of an ordinary dog. It was a trick of his mind, Cillian knew, but now that he¡¯d seen the trembling bodies covered in blood, he perceived their cries as pitiful rather than terrible.

    ¡°Ms. Lafrentz¨C¡± the man began, but Aoife made a ¡®halt¡¯ sign, bit the inside of her cheek ¨C Cute ¨C and said, ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s foolish, I know.¡± She then bounced on her toes twice, took a deep breath, nocked an arrow, raised the bow, and released ¨C all in five seconds.

    With a quare gnashing sound comparable to grinding one¡¯s teeth very hard, the arrow buried itself right below the nargacuga¡¯s left eye. It slumped, and the wheezes and jeers of the remaining beasts briefly intensified as though they could feel their fallen comrade¡¯s final agony.

    ¡°Good shot. Mr. Shea?¡±

    Cillian glanced at Aoife, who stood frozen, her bow arm still raised. ¡°Are you¨C?¡± The girl closed her eyes, slowly let the air vent, and snapped out of it.

    Satisfied she was okay, he turned his attention to the remaining creatures. Nothing personal, fellas. With this thought, he drew the bow and took aim ¨C only to promptly discover that was a lie.

    A sudden surge of ugly joy shot up his body and made him shiver.

    What in the aether?!

    He narrowly avoided gasping and wavered, not liking the rush one bit. But the training, brief as it¡¯d been, came to the rescue ¨C he twitched his right pinky toe and let the string go. His aim wasn¡¯t great ¨C the arrow missed the head and instead pierced the neck of his chosen prey. The ensuing gurgling didn¡¯t help his rising confusion.

    Cillian lowered his arms and stood dazed, only vaguely aware of Sorcha calmly taking her shot. His pounding heart and rapidly pulsating lungs were attempting to break out of their bony confinements.

    Did I frackin¡¯ revel in it? The boy puzzled over his inner state. It was more than a little concerning. He hadn¡¯t experienced anything remotely similar back at the lighthouse or when Mairead Gehler set the blackmera on fire right in front of his face. What was different this time?

    The answer was obvious.

    Me. I am the one doing the killing ¨C that¡¯s what.

    Cillian had thought that he¡¯d made peace with his mother¡¯s death ¨C beasts come, they kill and destroy (because that¡¯s what they do), and blaming them was akin to blaming a groundquake. Frankly, for a long time he¡¯d been angrier at the city guards and Foerstner rather than at the monstrous spiders.

    But apparently not.

    He rubbed his suddenly clammy forehead in a vain attempt to entice the clarity to come back. Deriving some sort of sick pleasure from a baby nargacuga¡¯s death because acromantula had taken a parent from him years prior made as much sense as stomping on the ground in raging delirium because its tremors had dared to lay waste to your house. Stupid and served no purpose.

    I should treat it like cleaning. Unpleasant but satisfying once the job¡¯s done. Nothing more.

    Something to keep an eye on in the future.

    He returned to the present right when the last of the survivors went quiet ¨C instructor Schwenke had attended to it.

    ¡°Good job, everyone.¡± He waved at the gunner from their truck, who was idling nearby, a great hammer in his hands. ¡°Faol¨¢n, if you¡¯d do the honors¡­¡±

    The man came closer. Cillian braced himself.

    Wham-wham-wham-wham. Where the armorer struck with precision and finesse, this was simple brute force.

    ¡°Get used to it, cadets. It¡¯s your life now.¡±

    The splattering gore punctuated the statement.

 Digression 1. Cillians notes

    Aether

    <h2>States</h2>

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Elusive aether. Aethereal. It¡¯s everywhere and permeates everything, even this very piece of paper, even my very own eyes. Huh. That¡¯s pretty quare. Benign in nature and doesn¡¯t really do anything. Kind of like Cathal.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Agitated aether.</li>

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">An elanroot consumes elusive aether and spits some of it back out in disgust. Understandable. I wouldn¡¯t want to drink it either. If it permeates everything, imagine what dark and nasty holes it frequents.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Agitated aether is semi-physical. It interacts with itself, aethereal, and magical insulators. In theory, I could gobble up some in my mouth and keep it there. That¡¯s even quarer. Maybe I should shove it down the knucklehead¡¯s throat.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Used in relays somehow. Mixed with some liquid?</li>

    </ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tainted aether. Aye, that¡¯s bad stuff. Do not eat.</li>

    </ul>

    <h2>Burning</h2>

    Still no clarity on the subject. Mr. Dryshite* says a burning¡¯s fallout is best imagined as an increase in the aethereal¡¯s temperature spreading from the burning elanroot like a disease. Admits that he pulled this explanation out of his arse. Not confirmed in the slightest. Some fallouts are more severe than others. They run ¡°hotter¡±.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Tech

    <h2>Aether compass</h2>

    An elanroot guzzling elusive aether creates a vortex (unless it doesn¡¯t. Apparently, there are stealthy creatures who consume aether in a different manner). The vortex is detectable. If aethereal is non-physical, how could changes in it be observed and measured? Sounds like bollocks to me. No explanation so far.

    <h2>Communicator</h2>

    A transmitter-receiver pair. Used by cheating cheaters who cheat. Sends a binary code by either intermittently start-stopping aether drawing with a single root or employing several roots with different drawing patterns. Maybe I should buy one. For research purposes.

    <h2>Stormchaser</h2>

    Also known as ¡°I work whenever you don¡¯t need me¡± device.

    Piece of niss-crap. Relies on the fact that aethereal in general flows away from the Everstorm. Makes sense. But even the smallest of disturbances turns it useless. Legendary Foerstner Group¡¯s craftsmanship. Makes me concerned about my future companion.

    Addendum

    * As of after the relay run, Phelim Schwenke is no longer a dryshite. He¡¯s actually alright. The crown now belongs to instructor Von Brandt. May the niss devour his face.

 Chapter 15. Out of aether. Out of control

    Cillian squatted, swiftly straightened up, repeated the process. He twisted left and right, rotated both arms, jumped a couple of times ¨C it felt uncomfortable, but he¡¯d get used to it. The worst thing was the heat. Aether, it was hot in there. Unsurprising, considering the mask currently enveloping his entire head, not to mention the rest of his attire. To the right Eamon stood, still maskless and barefoot, but otherwise dressed the same.

    For their first and only competition so far, they¡¯d been outfitted with padded gambesons, long enough to cover the tops of his thighs, and quilted pants ¨C nothing else. This time, Cillian wore both of them too, but, rather than being the outermost layer, they served the purpose originally intended for them ¨C an intermediary between his soft body and the unyielding armor.

    On top of the gambeson, several protective pieces added to the overall load: a cuirass for the torso ¨C in form similar to a sleeveless shirt but made from thick, hardened leather ¨C strapped tight; a pair of vambraces, also leather, reinforced with longitudinal strips of metal; and thigh guards ¨C cuisses, Cillian had heard someone call them ¨C molded entirely from steel. No pauldrons or greaves though ¨C his upper arms and lower legs were relatively undefended. Real chevaliers often had both, and some preferred, justifiably, to put even more separation between their juicy flesh and sharp claws. But such drastic measures were unnecessary for this occasion.

    He took off the mask, sighing in relief, tugged on the suffocating gorget, and glanced left ¨C at Nuala. The girls were equipped in the same general fashion: form-fitting gambesons and pants ¨C check; vambraces and cuisses ¨C check; wide collars produced from some poor serpent¡¯s skin ¨C you better frackin¡¯ believe it. But in place of a cuirass she wore an article that strongly resembled a strapless, leather dress: up top ¨C it covered her breasts; and down below the piece terminated in a battle skirt, open in front and assembled from many overlapping bands, bonded by the power of friendship. Friendship looking suspiciously like rows of brass rivets.

    ¡°You stare any more intensely and someone might get jealous,¡± Nuala teased him.

    ¡°Eamon¡¯s distracted.¡±

    ¡°I meant Sorcha.¡±

    This again, Cillian rolled his eyes. There was nothing between them, nor did he want there to be anything. Like he¡¯d told Eamon from the start ¨C it wasn¡¯t the time. Frankly, he was amazed at how his friends, and Moira and Teagan for that matter, managed to squeeze their relationships into the schedule. But he¡¯d stopped trying to convince anyone of anything and was just glad that Sorcha, who knew of the teasing, didn¡¯t make a big deal of it either.

    He watched Nuala put on her own, almost identical, mask and, try as he might, couldn¡¯t contain a small laugh. The whole ensemble looked good on her, but the mask spoiled the fierce picture. The soft garment coated her head and the top of the gorget like a second skin. Very thick skin, too ¨C formed from several layers of wool. Only her brown eyes were exposed through a single oblong hole. It also featured a kind of half-mask, of a glistering material ¡°donated¡± by another snake, sewn on top of the wool, covering the girl¡¯s lower face, starting with the wide part of her nose and going down and around all the way to the back.

    A muzzled animal blinked at him.

    ¡°You look ridiculous,¡± Cillian chuckled.

    She sighed and, voice slightly muffled, replied, ¡°Not what a girl wishes to hear. Do you say things like this to Sorcha as well?¡±

    It was the boy¡¯s turn to sigh. ¡°She says ¡®things like this¡¯,¡± he parodied her, ¡°all the time herself.¡±

    ¡°She is allowed,¡± Nuala chided and looked in a mirror, her brows wrinkling in displeasure. ¡°I do look ridiculous. Feel ridiculous too.¡± She proceeded to mess with her ponytail, which jutted out from the hole at the back. ¡°How should I even wear it? And with a hat on top? Urgh!¡±

    ¡°I think you look great, esty,¡± Eamon interjected, fully dressed now. ¡®Esty¡¯ was his most recent attempt at a loving sobriquet, and it seemed to be working. At least, Nuala hadn¡¯t punched him yet like she had when he¡¯d tried ¡®honey¡¯, ¡®sweetheart¡¯, ¡®acushla¡¯, and many more. ¡®Esty¡¯ meant ¡®star¡¯, Eamon had enlightened Cillian yesterday. What ¡®star¡¯ meant in turn no one quite knew, but, according to the old texts, stars existed at one point, and they were shining and striking.

    Fitting, I suppose.

    The time of the scheduled assembly was nearing, so Cillian pulled the mask back on, soon joined by an aviator-style hat and a pair of goggles (not his own, alas), grabbed the gear, and, together with Eamon and Nuala, headed outside. Cathal was already waiting there.

    His gear included: a recurve bow with a draw weight of 11,5 kilograms; two hip quivers, each filled with a dozen special arrows featuring the heads made from a combination of foam and rubber; a small canteen, again; a double-target compass; a stormchaser; and a belt bag. No flashlights ¨C in fact, nothing burning or drawing aether ¨C and no binoculars either. He had six more arrows in the quiver attached to the bow ¨C only 20 arrows had been issued for free, the other 10 and the mounted holder he¡¯d rented with the tokens. His right hand also sported a finger tab ¨C a leather patch covering his three shooting digits ¨C to make drawing the bowstring more comfortable. He likely didn¡¯t need it with such a lightweight bow, but over the last several weeks of training with heavier ones he¡¯d grown accustomed to it.

    Cillian was tokenless again, but the approach had paid off before, so he wasn¡¯t too worried. And he still had plenty of stones left, only a couple had been spent on personal training with Mairead Gehler.

    They¡¯d been progressing steadily in the archery classes. Light bows and short distances. Light bows and longer distances. Heavier bows and shorter distances again. All very sensible, he thought. More recently, a group of thriving cadets had transitioned to shooting non-stationary targets. No matter how slow and predictable the moving dummies were, they presented a real challenge to Cillian and Nuala. Everyone struggled with them. Ergo, using the stones to obtain additional instruction.

    Eamon and Cathal had enjoyed less success. The former could land good shots, but inconsistently, and was often unduly impatient, while the latter suffered from overthinking. They both had forked over their stones for personal training as well.

    To Cillian¡¯s mind, the competition had come way too early ¨C the skywalker being lit for the duration would undoubtedly help ¨C but still, with less than a quarter of the cohort having received any practice with the marks that didn¡¯t just stand there and took abuse, he expected a pitiful showing. A ruthless part of him rejoiced at the fact ¨C incompetent opponents improved his chances ¨C but two of his friends would be at a disadvantage.

    I should probably feel more distraught on their behalf. But he wasn¡¯t.

    Like last time, the instructors awaited them in front of the academy¡¯s main building. Outside, it was misty ¨C as if they needed an extra challenge. A haze rose high above the ground, and, courtesy of the skywalker, it had a slight beige tint to it. Cillian could smell dampness in the air, but no rain was expected.

    Unlike last time, informing them of the rules didn¡¯t take long. There would be no strings, no beacons, and no ¡°collars¡±. Treasures remained ¨C stones again, the chests already unlocked and vastly more numerous ¨C and traps too, unmarked, so they¡¯d have to be careful. Team-ups were permitted, but everyone would begin on their own, and the game would end when either all but one participant were eliminated or the allotted time elapsed.

    ¡°Finally, there¡¯s this.¡± A crumpled mess in instructor Loritz¡¯s hands unfolded into a¡­ harness. The thing glowed.

    Eamon made a face. ¡°Oh grand, more weight. That¡¯s what we need.¡±

    A duo of bright circular targets gave life to the otherwise dull set of intersecting straps and brass buckles. Two stones peeked from within a pair of small pockets.

    ¡°It¡¯s a very basic implement, made right here in the academy,¡± the man tapped one of the circles. ¡°The rim¡¯s copper; the cover on both sides is tapered pig skin. As you should know by now, both materials are insulators, and in between them we injected copious amounts of agitated aether. It¡¯s highly compressed, hence the glow, just like in lamps. Very inefficient, leaks a lot, but it should last long enough to serve our purposes. Come,¡± the man beckoned Oscar, who was hovering closest to him.

    They stood and watched as the harness snaked around the boy¡¯s already burdened torso. One target made a home for itself right above his solar plexus; the other ¨C on the opposite side.

    Owen Loritz gave both a good tug and, satisfied, pushed Oscar away. ¡°Here are your targets. One piercing hit ¨C and the skin would burst. If either of the targets stops glowing ¨C you¡¯re out. You¡¯d feel the warmth leaving. Obviously, only arrows are allowed, no body-to-body contact, no shielding them with your arms. And be careful with snapping branches.¡±

    The instructors swarmed the students and began turning everyone into walking flashlights while the main man carried on his explanation, ¡°You get two stones for every opponent you eliminate. If you get eliminated yourself, you only surrender to your ¡®killer¡¯ your starting stones and those collected from the treasure chests; all other earnings stay with you. In other words, putting an enemy down is a guarantee that you won¡¯t walk away empty-handed. Must have stung last time, eh?¡±

    Once precisely 96 yellow lights had been added to the overall illumination, instructor Loritz brought his brief speech to a close, ¡°I know you haven¡¯t had much training yet; you don¡¯t really know what you¡¯re doing. Well, everyone starts from zero, and it will be a good lesson to you lot. Remember, you might barely know how to draw a bow without falling over, but so do your opponents. You just have to be slightly better than them.¡±

    With that, he glanced at his wristwatch, favored them with a genuine smile, and concluded, ¡°The game starts and ends with a horn. Good luck, and don¡¯t forget to have fun!¡±

    Cillian felt a jolt of excitement at the words. Have fun? He fully intended to. It was all down to him today ¨C no teammates, no awkward, fragile glass orbs, no stupid paintballs ¨C just the bow and his skills, however lackluster.

    30 arrows, should make them count.

    Spurred by the instructors, the armed and armored crowd began trudging towards the forest, excited murmurs aplenty.

    It was almost time.

    <hr>

    Cillian stood, his back to the fence. On the left was the fence¡¯s corner, about 70 paces away, and on the right ¨C a boy, at half again that distance. He¡¯d been wondering how they¡¯d be positioned, given the fact there were 48 of them and only about two dozen members of the accompanying staff. The answer turned out to be simple ¨C place everyone along the perimeter of the area and keep an eye on several students at once so that no one got a bright idea of giving themselves a head start.

    Would there be more overseers in the woods? If not, it could open up some interesting avenues.

    Earlier, both Nuala and Cathal, among numerous others, had been led somewhere along the tree line, so he assumed not everyone would start at the fence ¨C some would be waiting near the edges of the forest. As for Eamon ¨C Cillian had lost track of him on their journey. It was difficult to recognize anyone since they were all dressed the same and had their heads fully covered.

    He thought the fella on his right ¨C was it Declan? ¨C didn¡¯t have to be placed quite so close; there was plenty of space. It had to be a deliberate move to try to stir up an immediate confrontation. Should I oblige? Cillian contemplated how to act.

    Almost half a hundred participants seemed like a lot, but the area was large, and they couldn¡¯t track one another. He knew the instructors had to have ways to keep tabs on them, but his issued compass was only attuned to the treasure chests. So it might be a while before he stumbled upon someone else if he let the guy go. Not to mention the mist ¨C thin at the moment, but who knew how it might change.

    Go on the offensive then, Cillian decided. This time, he wasn¡¯t in pain, and his physical shape was better than ever, thanks to the weeks of conditioning. Granted, the others were also enjoying the benefits, but he was among the better archers, and moving fast instead of creeping around would surely help with not getting shot.

    He glanced down at the light source affixed to his front ¨C it stuck out by half a centimeter, if that, but, in combination with the relatively fragile pig skin, would make climbing difficult. Below it, on the gambeson¡¯s belt, was where he¡¯d secured the compass ¨C a trick they¡¯d been shown on the way. Since the model was a ¡°tug¡± type, one didn¡¯t have to touch it to feel the pull and be able to tell the direction. Convenient, when both hands were needed for something else.

    The starting horn blared, and the game began.

    Let¡¯s do it!

    No time to second-guess himself ¨C Cillian turned right before the ¡°echoes¡± of the repeating blasts even ceased and sprinted at maybe-Declan at top speed.

    The boy, already halfway behind the closest tree, stalled mid-step. Looked sideways, looked back at the forest. 70 paces! Keep hesitating! Alas, the would-be victim did not oblige ¨C he jolted, stepped on the pedal, and fled deeper into the woods. Cillian dove in as well, cutting diagonally, hoping to intercept.

    So close to the fence there were fewer trees, and the skywalker made all the difference ¨C following was a child¡¯s play.

    Submit to your fate, mucker!

    He was gaining.

    The guy stumbled, cried out, caught himself on a tree, hopped on one foot for a second, glanced back, and, cursing loudly, resumed running. Foolish. He had targets both front and back; might as well turn around and start shooting.

    Closer, just a smidge closer. Now!

    At 40 paces, Cillian skidded to a halt, nocked an arrow, drew the bow, and let loose, not even aiming, just launching high. Then immediately duplicated the process, pointing even further up. The first arrow sailed in an arc and thumped a trunk to the right of the scampering boy, the second ¨C flew over his head and struck the ground, ten or so paces ahead. Both arrows fell down; their soft heads unable to penetrate.

    Likely-not-Declan ducked, but Cillian was shooting no more; he¡¯d only hoped to spook and delay and was again on his way.

    30 paces!

    The fella saw him coming and leaped behind one of the rare junipers, fumbling for an arrow. Whoever the boy was, he¡¯d chosen not to splash cash on a bow quiver. It was almost too easy.

    Cillian gained another dozen steps before stopping, fetching an arrow, drawing the bow, and waiting, in the clear, no thoughts of hiding. To his judgment, there was no point. They¡¯d trained with these bows and arrows the day before to get a feel for them, wearing the gambesons but no armor. Then everyone had taken turns posing as a straw man to be shot at by the vengeful instructors in the stomach and arm from 35 paces away. While by no means pleasant, it hadn¡¯t been too bad ¨C padded cloth combined with soft arrowheads made it tolerable. And, in any case, odds were, the guy had chosen to run instead of fight for a reason. Robin Hood, he was not. The risk and possible pain were worth a better position.

    ¡°Come out and play!¡±

    No movement. No sounds.

    ¡°Oh come on, man, I¡¯m as shit as you are at this!¡±

    Still nothing.

    ¡°Sissy, are you? Face me like a man!¡±

    He cringed at the words. Perhaps his goading needed some polish.

    Cillian was breathing loudly, the arrow tip quivering. Maybe-Declan seemed intent on just sitting there. So he let the bow down, made three quick steps circling the overgrown hiding place, and raised it again. Null it, he thought and shot at the trunk. A dull thud, a muttered curse, then the guy finally stepped out into the open, already aiming.

    Resisting an urge to cower down, Cillian fetched and nocked another arrow, raised the bow, and almost lost it when an enemy projectile smashed into his left side. For all his bravado, he¡¯d fully expected the guy to miss, and the sudden pain wasn¡¯t a joke. He had to strain to not drop the bow.

    Barely holding a scream and sucking air through his teeth, he retaliated ¨C lined up a shot, twitched the toe, and released. The boy ducked, and the arrow soared overhead. Not allowing a moment¡¯s reprieve, Cillian made two steps forward and to the side ¨C trying to get a clearer shot ¨C fished out another arrow from the mounted quiver and aimed. Declan saw that and went stock-still, half-crouched.

    And here lay the problem. How were you supposed to shoot someone at their front or back when all you could see was their profile?

    A step to the left ¨C Declan-or-not pivoted, following the motion.

    Another step ¨C another adjustment.

    Yea, this wouldn¡¯t work.

    On a hunch, Cillian paused. The pair stared at each other. Five seconds ticked by ¨C he kept doing nothing. Outwardly confused ¨C although with the goggles and the mask who could tell for certain ¨C his quarry, painfully slowly at first, began rising and reaching for an arrow with his right hand. Cillian still didn¡¯t move, calculating, This is closer than my ¡®point on¡¯ distance; should aim a wee lower. Finally straight, Declan, now moving faster, lowered the bow and, grasping the newly fetched arrow, got to the business of nocking it, bringing his right shoulder forward to do so.

    My thanks to you, mucker.

    Realizing what he¡¯d just done, the fella froze as if petrified by a basilisk¡¯s stare, and Cillian didn¡¯t let the opportunity slide ¨C his fingers relaxed and the arrow shot forward. At that distance it took less than a heartbeat ¨C a loud pop announced his success.

    Declan yelped.

    The agitated aether, no longer constrained, began quickly evaporating, and the light faded, leaving nothing but the despairing boy in its wake.

    ¡°NOOOO!¡± he pawed at the now lifeless circle. ¡°This can¡¯t be happening! No!¡± Was he trying to contain the leak with his hand?

    Cillian waited.

    ¡°Bleedin¡¯ shite!¡±

    More useless scraping.

    ¡°Damn you!¡±

    He waited.

    The fella¡¯s bow got flung to the side.

    Ouch. This wouldn¡¯t fly well.

    ¡°Who even are you?! What is your problem with me?!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, man. And, please, stop shouting!¡±

    At least, the futile ministrations finally ceased.

    I¡¯m not really sorry.

    Cillian approached. Cautiously. As not to spook a skittish hare.

    ¡°Nothing personal. And I¡¯m Cillian. Give me your stones and five arrows, please.¡± The rules allowed them to replenish the stock at their fallen opponents¡¯ expense.

    ¡°What?! Niss take your bleedin¡¯ stones, Cillian! Niss take you!¡± He kept fuming and cursing while tearing off the hat and the goggles. They both flopped to the ground. Cillian warily eyed the surroundings.

    Next, the boy¡¯s two stones joined the discarded gear. Forcefully.

    Frackin¡¯ toddler.

    Thankfully, he¡¯d run out of steam and things to throw before anyone could find and attack them. Stopping the cussing, he gulped a mouthful of air, and, at last, got a hold of himself.

    Phew.

    Head down, his next words were no longer angry, ¡°Just give me a moment, okay?¡± Instead, he sounded hoarse and resigned.

    ¡°Sure¡­ You alright? What¡¯s your name?¡± The eyes were familiar, but it wasn¡¯t Declan.

    This was the wrong thing to say ¨C Definitely-not-Declan fired up again, took a few more labored breaths, and seethed, ¡°Riordan. And how ¡®alright¡¯ do you think I am?! I¡¯ve just been eliminated from the contest! I leave with nothing!¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Cillian wiped his goggles. ¡°Thought you were someone else. We have metalworking together.¡±

    ¡°Someone you hate or something? Couldn¡¯t give me five bleedin¡¯ minutes before attacking,¡± Riordan muttered.

    ¡°No, just thought I should take the opportunity. You know, if I were you, I would keep the head gear in place while in the forest. You still have a target on your back, literally.¡± Getting shot in the head without protection could be lethal. No wonder they¡®d been ordered to masquerade as airship pilots.

    ¡°You are not my bleedin¡¯ mother! Just leave me alone.¡±

    ¡°Will do. The arrows?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting to it! Heavens¡­¡±

    Soon, fully loaded again, Cillian left, unable to bring himself to feel any compassion for the guy. It was a competition.

    What now? He looked around, heading back toward the corner of the fence, pondering. Well, it worked out alright. Should I keep it up? Rushing into things wasn¡¯t his preferred method of operation, but he suspected Riordan wouldn¡¯t be the only one who could be easily chased down if one was willing to pursue recklessly, not taking cover even when shot. Given the fact the majority weren¡¯t any good with a bow, exchanging safety for speed seemed like a reasonable gamble.

    His mind made up, Cillian picked up the pace.

    Fast and furious it is. Let¡¯s see how far I can push it.

    <hr>

    Cillian slowed, crouched down, and listened. The mask and the hat muffled sounds significantly, but he could still hear a battle ahead; they weren¡¯t subtle. He spent 15 seconds watching intently, then, seeing nothing, resumed advancing forward, carefully now. Not even ten steps later, a light briefly shone through the mist before disappearing again behind the foliage. He ducked and fetched an arrow, straining his ears ¨C a thump, treetops shaking, another thump, vigorous footfalls.

    A defiant shout.

    Good enough to mask his approach. He crept closer.

    After defeating his first opponent, Cillian had returned to the fence, hoping to spot some of the others who¡¯d started out there, but no luck ¨C everyone had long left. Not surprised, he¡¯d reasoned there could be more confrontations like his and Riordan¡¯s taking place nearby and ventured parallel to the Heaven fence, close to it but not in the open, his stride purposeful.

    On the way, he¡¯d heard birds chirping, twittering, while sitting high on the branches and not caring one bit for his passage below ¨C in stark contrast to the previous times, when the only bird sounds had been those of their hasty departures. The place on the whole felt completely transformed: bright instead of dark; the glow from the trees barely noticeable under the skywalker¡¯s radiance; and with every feature of the forest bathed in a thin haze, making Cillian think his goggles were foggy.

    The amber shine popped up again, getting closer. He could see the figure now ¨C a girl was scurrying in his general direction, darting from one grove to another. An arrow sailed over her head, and she dove behind a sturdy larch, spun around, and quickly readied a response ¨C raised the bow without drawing, made two steps to the right, then pulled the string straight back and waited. Cillian waited as well. A girl with a bow quiver, using the set arm draw, not the swing draw. Who is she? While he mused, the blonde cailin let the arrow fly and sprang back behind the tree. A projectile whisked through the spot she¡¯d just occupied.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Maybe you should give up on archery; it¡¯s not your thing!¡± she taunted her attacker, who he still couldn¡¯t see, while preparing another arrow.

    This was his chance; the girl¡¯s back was exposed to him. Cillian slunk forward, ever so gently, to get to the distance from where he could sight the tip directly at the target light, without having to aim higher or lower. He raised the bow, mentally congratulating himself for being so stealthy. Too frackin¡¯ soon ¨C she wheeled around, one of her hip quivers whacking the trunk in the process, saw him, and dropped. He let loose at her sudden movements ¨C the arrow hit the larch, bounced off, and tumbled down on her head, a few flakes of bark as its honor guard.

    ¡°Why me?! What do you all want from me?!¡± Even while hollering she was already in motion, but Cillian was raising his bow as well. It was a race.

    The race that got promptly interrupted by a shaft whistling right past his face. He yelped in surprise and clumsily fell backward, at the last moment releasing everything and landing on his outstretched limbs. The girl took the opportunity to shoot him. He pushed with his right arm and rolled left; the arrow came short. Grabbing the bow, he scrambled to get up and find cover.

    Stupid! Shouldn¡¯t just assume there¡¯s no one else. He heard another muted thwack.

    After taking two deep breaths and ensuring his lights were still whole, Cillian peeked from behind the hefty pine he¡¯d hastily employed as a shield. Who¡¯d shot him? The arrow had come from his right, so it couldn¡¯t have been whoever was harassing the girl. A four-way fight then, maybe more. Great. He could see no one in the mist; even his original target was missing now. With dread, Cillian made a one-eighty, fully expecting to be shot any moment, but no, she wasn¡¯t sneaking up on him from behind. Recalling the plan from before ¨C to move fast ¨C he got going, sprinted to where he¡¯d last seen her.

    An arrow punched the ground behind him. Shit!

    Fifteen paces.

    Where is she?!

    Five.

    Cillian barrelled through the tall fern surrounding a copse of naked larches, glanced once to the right trying to spot his other assailant, turned forward again, and almost crashed into a skirt-wearing shape. ¡°Double niss-shit!¡± was his eloquent reaction.

    She sidestepped and didn¡¯t hesitate ¨C raised the bow intent on shooting him at point-blank range. Cillian danced out of the way, presenting his flank to her. An arrow hit her in the left leg, and she cried out in pain and crumbled. Oh, frack this! He instinctively ducked, his eyes angrily sweeping the greenery for the prickwaver who¡¯d dared to intrude upon their intimate moment. We were just getting to know each other! He saw a gleam, which vanished at once.

    ¡°Oh I¡¯ll kill that bitch,¡± the girl growled, crawling behind a cover.

    Cillian should¡¯ve shot her. What was he waiting for? Then, before the idea had even had a chance to fully develop, he blurted out, ¡°An alliance?¡±

    She snapped her head at him, ¡°What?! You¡¯ve just tried to shoot me too!¡±

    Talk about a quare role reversal.

    ¡°Temporary alliance. Until we deal with the bastards. Then we part ways.¡± Cillian pointed first to where he¡¯d come from, then to where she¡¯d been shot from. ¡±No matter who gets the kills we split the stones in half.¡±

    She took her sweet time to consider it.

    ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Cillian Shea.¡±

    ¡°Mm, I¡¯m Eithne.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry about the hair.¡±

    ¡°Sorry?! It was weeks ago!¡±

    Cillian raised the bow and shot an arrow, then another ¨C in two directions where he thought the aggressors might be, aiming to hit trees ¨C and began quickly refilling the quiver.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Eithne pointed her bow at him awkwardly, still sitting on the ground.

    ¡°Just making noise. You in or what?¡±

    ¡°Why? Why not just shoot me right now?¡±

    ¡°Aye or nay, Eithne, we don¡¯t have time!¡±

    After another long hesitation, she replied, rising to her feet gingerly, ¡°Fine. But the bitch first.¡±

    ¡°Alright. Here¡¯s my genius plan: I rush and engage her while you quietly stalk closer, then we both bombard her together. Sounds good?¡±

    ¡°Sounds flawless. I like the idea of you getting peppered with arrows.¡±

    He gave her a dirty look, which, sadly, she couldn¡¯t see on account of his goggles, and said loudly, ¡°Great, let¡¯s get to it!¡± Then, in a whisper, ¡°Scream when I shoot.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Cillian quickly drew the bow and shot into the ground right in front of her.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    ¡°Bwaha!¡± he gave his best attempt at an evil laugh. Null, that was pitiful. ¡°Can¡¯t believe you bought it, stupid whore!¡± And, with no more words, he was off, another arrow in hand.

    ¡°You motherfucker! We¡¯ve made a deal!¡± She caught on. What a bright spark.

    His target was closer than Cillian had anticipated, and she heard him coming ¨C her head made a brief appearance from behind a tree. He slowed to a walk, his bow arm relaxed, baiting her. She didn¡¯t vacillate ¨C it took her only a heartbeat to fully relieve herself of the cover, take aim, and release. He expected it ¨C turned sideways and let himself be hit. Oh hell! Should¡¯ve turned the other way, tool! Cillian raged at himself for hurting the same side twice and allowed the pain to fuel his deranged scream.

    ¡°Aaaarrggghh!!!¡± He rushed at the girl like a madman.

    That, she clearly didn¡¯t expect but still managed to scramble out of the way. They were strictly forbidden from making deliberate head shots, especially from up close, so he aimed at her leg. She jumped to the side ¨C and he missed. Then she shot him in retaliation, also down low. He hopped backward, avoiding it, all the while not presenting his lights. The girl was doing the same.

    They repeated the sequence one more time: his shot ¨C grazing her lower back; her shot ¨C right at his left thigh guard. Where are you aiming, woman?!

    ¡°Be careful, will you?!¡±

    ¡°Drink acid, pigshit!¡±

    Cillian didn¡¯t know how long he could keep it up; the cailin was faster than him. He could already see that her next shot would precede his. Any moment now, princess, where are you?! He was doing his best ¨C ¡°the bitch¡± was firmly onto him, her back turned toward Eithne. If the damn girl was coming at all.

    His opponent hissed in frustration, then faked a shot and rushed to her right, trying to get at his rear. Null! And just like that, they¡¯d missed their best chance.

    Another exchange of violence followed ¨C this time they released and hit each other¡¯s flanks simultaneously. Ouch. His poor left side suffered again! Cillian mentally thanked the cuirass and the gambeson.

    Their pained groans and cusses announced a brief lull in the struggle. Credit where it¡¯s due, the girl recovered remarkably quickly, but by the time she straightened up, her doom had already arrived. She nocked an arrow, oblivious, while he just stood there, not turning his head or doing anything else that might spook her. With the arrow now pointing at his stomach, the cailin gloated, ¡°What? Outdone by a little pain? That¡¯s what you get for stealing my ki¨C¡± Her whole body jerked forward.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    In the background, Eithne shouted in triumph, laughing heartily, ¡°Yes! Take it, you nasty hag!¡±

    ¡®The hag¡¯ in question stumbled but caught herself, then whirled around. ¡°What?!¡± She spotted her killer and screeched, ¡°You can¡¯t do it! You¡¯re dead!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not! It was the stupidest ruse ever and it still worked on you! Will teach you a lesson!¡±

    ¡°You whore, I¡¯ll tear your hair out! You¨C!¡±

    ¡°Eithne, come on, there¡¯s another one, we shouldn¡¯t dally,¡± Cillian urged his short-term partner to move.

    ¡°I think he left, and I need her arrows, almost ran out. She¡¯s been hunting me from the beginning, can you believe it?¡± You don¡¯t say. What a savage. ¡°Gimme.¡± Eithne approached the fuming girl, who reached forward, seemingly contemplating strangulation.

    ¡°You better not do anything stupid; I can see a guard,¡± he warned her, nodding left. And he could; it wasn¡¯t a bluff. The ¡®specters¡¯ weren¡¯t nearly as subtle now as they¡¯d been in the dimness.

    She stopped and glared in the indicated direction. Eithne pushed her goggles up and insisted, ¡°The arrows, bitch.¡±

    The ¡®deceased¡¯ girl hissed, ¡°I know you. You¡¯re one of Oscar¡¯s whores, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Shut your mouth, I¡¯m nobody¡¯s anything! Now arrows, please.¡± Eithne stuck her hand out, palm up, then addressed him, ¡°Cillian, go stand on a lookout. She¡¯ll drag it out, I can feel it.¡±

    ¡°Be a pal and grab me half a dozen as well.¡± He walked a few paces away, refilling the bow quiver.

    A careful examination of the misty locale yielded serene trees and the somewhat trampled undergrowth. He spied nothing untoward.

    Where was the other one? There were no lights and no sounds, apart from those made by the girls, who kept up their barrage of snide comments about one another. Cillian leaned on a tree and relaxed. Fast and furious also meant tiresome.

    That went well. The boy smiled.

    Of course, aether chose to immediately punish him for the stupidity.

    ¡°Behind you!¡±

    He startled, made to turn around, and cried out in sudden pain ¨C yet another arrow hit his left side! Frackin¡¯ why?!

    Growling, Cillian crouched low and saw Eithne line up a shot at him. She shrugged, unapologetic, ¡°The agreement was to ¡®team up until we deal with them¡¯. Shauna¡¯s down, the guy ran away ¨C they¡¯re dealt with, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Oh, you rotten cunt¡­

    Blood surged into Cillian¡¯s head like a discharging geyser.

    I¡¯ll crush your¨C!

    She let the arrow fly, and he threw himself to the side on one arm and two knees, awkwardly, not letting go of the bow. The arrow smashed into his left shoulder, and a beastly gnarl broke free of his throat yet again.

    The geyser turned into a tide of molten lava. He looked up, his eyes narrowing of their own accord and all sensations diminishing¨C

    ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s nothing personal, but it kind of is.¡±

    ¨Cto be replaced by an intensifying throbbing of his heart, each beat gradually adding more and more pressure to the inside of his skull.

    Pressure and heat.

    His vision clouded with anger.

    It was a familiar feeling. So very familiar.

    Hello, my old friend.

    And so very comforting.

    Someone else¡¯s quiet voice ¨C father¡¯s? ¨C was saying something. Urging him to breathe. Urging him to let go.

    Cillian didn¡¯t want to listen. He began trembling.

    ¡°Snake.¡±

    The girl only shrugged again, tracking his every move, her mocking expression fueling the fire even further.

    Control yourself, mucker!

    Still kneeling, he tried to hold on to his crumbling composure. He could feel himself simmering. ¡°And what are you going to do now?¡± came out in a snarl. Self-talk was doing jack shit.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. How about I shoot you again?¡± The wrinkles around her blue eyes disappeared. She was no longer smiling.

    Using such a casual tone was her final mistake.

    ¡°Go ahead, cunt. You miss this one and I¡¯ll be on top of you.¡± He noted her now empty bow-mounted quiver.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll make sure not to m¨C¡±

    Cillian rushed her (if the action could even be called that) ¨C he sprang up and leaped sideways, howling his lungs out. She made a surprised squawk, halfway between a yelp and a laugh, scurried backwards, then fell ¨C Shauna tripped her, cackling maniacally. Eithne¡¯s arrow shot skyward.

    He loomed over the swearing girl, swung his leg, and booted the bow out of her hands.

    She yowled and tried to crawl away.

    Cillian¡¯s simmering turned into boiling, her pitiful cries only adding to his rage.

    He aimed his bow at the light on her front. At full draw, from this distance, it would really fuck her over.

    Good.

    Pointlessly baring his teeth under the mask, Cillian roared with an ugly glee and released the string. YES!

    NO!

    At the last instant, he jerked the weapon away ¨C the arrow pummeled the ground far to the left.

    The girl whimpered.

    Cillian squeezed his eyes shut, tore off his head gear, and folded in half. WHAT THE HELL?!

    Someone was whooping and clapping.

    He roared again and kicked a nearby trunk.

    What the fuck?!

    He gasped.

    What the fuck is wrong with me?!!

    Knuckles of both hands pushing into his head until it hurt, Cillian swayed in place as if drunk, heaving.

    Calm the hell down!

    With a groan, he craned his neck to face the sky, both eyes still closed, and inhaled. One long draw. And when it felt like nothing else could possibly fit, he paused and forcefully sucked in just a tad more.

    Only then did he let the air go.

    Now repeat!

    A simple technique. Taught to him yonks ago by his uncle. A double inhale followed by a long exhale cleared out any residual waste from the air sacs in his lungs and, more importantly, helped to calm down.

    Aye, great technique. The one Cillian had been so sure he would no longer need.

    Frackin¡¯ joke.

    The pressure in his skull eased off a little.

    Good. Now repeat!

    So he stood there and breathed, uncaring of how it looked to the girls or their chaperones. Some things took priority.

    Only when his head no longer threatened to burst, did he feel brave enough to peek.

    The first thing he saw was Eithne sitting on her arse and staring at him, wide-eyed and stiff. He supposed it was fair; his reaction had been hardly proportionate.

    Shauna kept clapping.

    ¡°Nice show, tarhead!¡±

    Cillian winced.

    Ignore her.

    He rubbed his forehead, gaze dropping to the ground, still not entirely calm but no longer incensed.

    The diminished sensations flooded back.

    In control. I¡¯m in control.

    He was in the forest; it was just a competition; and he was no longer a resentful boy of 14.

    I¡¯m in control.

    ¡°Why?¡± Cillian croaked. One word, but it¡¯d come out husky regardless.

    Who am I even asking? Eithne?

    Myself?

    ¡°Why did you do i¨C?¡±

    ¡°Why?!¡± the girl shrilled and leaped to her feet.

    Whoa. He took a step back.

    ¡°You rat dare to ask me why?!¡±

    Clearly, whatever her feelings about his, uhh, unusual response, she wasn¡¯t one to remain subdued and cowered for long.

    Cillian raised a calming hand, dimly aware of the hypocrisy of the action. ¡°Haven¡¯t we done well? We could¡¯ve kept working toge¨C!¡±

    ¡°Screw you!¡° It was her turn to lay into him. ¡°Should phrase your deals better! And you dumped paint all over my hair!¡±

    ¡°It was weeks ago, you said it yourself!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it¡¯d happened so long ago I no longer cared!¡± She swatted at him and he dodged. ¡°I meant you should¡¯ve apologized weeks ago! I spent ages washing it all out! So yes, screw you, you rat bastard!¡±

    Oh.

    ¡°That¡¯s, uhh¡­ aye.¡± He put distance between them, finding himself standing over his bow which he couldn¡¯t even remember discarding. ¡°Aye. That was my bad.¡±

    That didn¡¯t mollify her one bit. They exchanged heated glares.

    Calm down. She does have a point. Of a sort.

    Another inhale.

    The revelation that someone might have a legitimate reason to be pissed at him felt like a bathtub full of icy water being overturned on top of his head.

    Aye, you ain¡¯t the only one with grievances, mucker.

    Cillian swallowed. ¡°I apologize, Eithne. Really, I do. For the hair and,¡± he gestured around with a grimace, ¡°for this.¡±

    The girl just huffed and said nothing. Shauna looked on with undisguised fascination. Eithne noticed and rewarded her with a glower, before turning her back to them both, searching for her own flown-away weapon.

    Her rear looked very enticing.

    Ah, whatever.

    Cillian picked up his bow and shot her.

    ¡°THE FUCK?!¡±

    From a half-draw.

    The girl kept her footing.

    ¡°You still back-stabbed me, you know.¡±

    She spun around and made two furious steps toward him.

    Shit.

    Before getting anywhere near, however, Eithne stopped and snapped her head sideways. ¡°Why are you¨C?! ARE YOU NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?!¡± Her banshee impression was on the money.

    Their keepers, a man and a woman loitering between a pair of firs, shook their heads. Cillian recognized neither. Judging by their pleased smiles though, the dicks were clearly enjoying the show.

    The girl practically frothed at the mouth.

    ¡°Oh, this is beautiful,¡± Shauna, without her goggles but still sitting, cracked up. ¡°Poor little plaything.¡±

    Eithne fumed, gave her a contemptuous glare, and spat the words, ¡°Look who is talking, slut. And you broke the rules, no body contact is allowed! Also, guess what, I have a kill under my belt ¨C you! While you leave with nothing. Again.¡±

    Shauna dismissed the insults, rolling her eyes, ¡°It¡¯s a game, I don¡¯t give a null. Did you see me cry about the result last time? How did Oscar punish you for your failure, anyway? And what will he do now, after you lost again? And to the very same tarhead!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show you punishment¨C¡±

    Alright, it was time to flee¨C ahem, make a strategic withdrawal.

    Cillian snatched his fallen mask, hat, and goggles, strode to Eithne, and tore the stones off her harness. A little too enthusiastically, perhaps¨C

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    ¨Cthen repeated the deed with Shauna, who simply scowled and gave him a wiggling ¡°V¡±.

    ¡°Deal¡¯s a deal.¡±

    He pettily threw one of the stones behind the traitor and immediately began jogging away.

    Only after making two dozen steps, Cillian remembered he hadn¡¯t grabbed any arrows.

    Whatever.

    Shauna shouted something encouraging at his back and laughed.

    Eithne cursed him, and something crashed into a trunk to his right.

    Aether!

    Cillian kept running.

    Honestly, at this point he wasn¡¯t sure who was the crazier one here. Mad. All of them.

    Frackin¡¯ cailini.

    <hr>

    Cillian¡¯s sophisticated strategy of the kind ¡°when in doubt ¨C rush¡± had to be put on an indefinite hold.

    At first, it was because there was no one and not a thing to rush at ¨C a very dull hour followed the overly exciting beginning, during which he neither encountered anyone else nor found any treasure chests. Well, technically, there was one, but, to his thinking, it could hardly be called ¡°treasure¡± when it contained none of the said treasures ¨C some bastard had beaten him to the punch.

    They¡¯d been promised more points of interest to compensate for their inability to track one another, so where were they?

    Granted, he really needed that period of doing nothing exciting to collect himself. To get his head back in the game.

    Then, just when Cillian opted to head toward the pre-agreed spot to meet with the others, the fog began thickening. As he pushed his way through the shrubbery, the change grew from imperceptible, to easily dismissible as existing only in his head, and, finally, to undeniable, in a matter of minutes. 30 paces became his new limit of vision.

    It¡¯d happened entirely too fast.

    Cillian felt vindicated in his choice to act aggressively from the get-go, but the satisfaction proved short-lived, soon to be replaced with unease. Not fear ¨C not exactly ¨C but a part of his mind rebelled at the idea of being squeezed by the walls pressing in on him. He, of course, knew those weren¡¯t real walls and that the forest beyond them remained as vast as ever, but his heart rate elevated and his breathing grew shallower all the same.

    He was getting thoroughly sick of these rapid oscillations in his levels of stress. What the boy wanted was a nice, uneventful second part of the competition. Rack up a few more stones and get out.

    Stopping abruptly, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, deliberately, seeking to cleanse his body of the quare agitation. That¡¯s a new one. Cillian had never known himself to be claustrophobic. Wracking his brain for more memories, he couldn¡¯t come up with anything similar. Perhaps, it was something else then, not just being confined.

    How about brisk and less furious? Just for a spell.

    And that¡¯s how he found himself treading through the semi-opaque, white ocean in the direction of the spot where his and Aoife¡¯s teams had held the truce meeting last time. Or, at least, Cillian hoped it was the right direction ¨C he¡¯d spent almost 10 minutes painstakingly climbing a tree, being very careful with the target lights, and, thankfully, the guiding sky lanterns burned bright enough to shine through the fog.

    Damn useless stormchaser.

    On the way, he wondered if anyone would actually be there. Unsurprisingly, Aoife had been the one to offer a team-up, and they¡¯d all agreed but with an understanding that it would be optional, since the circumstances could preclude some from joining. The meeting was scheduled for three hours after the starting horn. Although, as none of them had been allowed watches, Cillian didn¡¯t know if it was time or not. He assumed he was coming early, but it wasn¡¯t like he had any better ideas.

    Over the next half an hour of marching, the feeling of being alone in the woods kept amplifying. Not only could he no longer hear the birds, but even his own footsteps, which Cillian knew from experience were not silent, barely reached his ears. The spooked boy increased his pace to a jog one more time, maintained it for 200 steps, slowed down, and finally stomped on a fallen branch ¨C nothing but a muffled crack.

    Alright, this ain¡¯t natural. Cillian stopped and carefully scanned the surroundings. The sphere of his visual awareness had also shrunk once again.

    20 paces. The looming barriers were bright and impenetrable, and the skywalker, too, was only discernible as an amber smear on the ceiling. White, featureless room.

    His prison cell.

    Shit.

    While fogs weren¡¯t uncommon in Lua, he¡¯d never been in one that infused him with so much disquiet.

    A thought, a fleeting suspicion entered his mind but swiftly departed. He got an inkling there was something obvious he was missing.

    It¡¯s all in my head. I now know a bunch of creatures who use fog for concealment, so I¡¯m imagining things.

    Cillian realized he was sweating and gripping the bow overly forcefully. A sudden urge, a need, to pull everything off his head, to free it from any obstruction overwhelmed him, but he resisted and, instead, hoisted the bottom of the mask above his mouth, gulped the cool air, and tried to ease up his painfully rigid spine.

    The plane is full of real monsters as is, without me conjuring up more in my foolish noggin. The area¡¯s fenced off, and there are at least two dozen armed men and women in here with me. He himself wasn¡¯t defenseless either. Cillian palmed the small bag on his belt, containing the emergency devices, then sized up the nearby pines for another climb ¨C he had to make sure he wasn¡¯t going in circles.

    The stormchaser kept spinning endlessly.

    The effort proved worth it. Even though his course required little correction, just leaving the worst of the canopy below filled him with relief beyond measure. What¡¯s with that frackin¡¯ fog?

    The line of flaming torches mounted on top of the settlement¡¯s wall appeared as if distant boats with their pale lamps gliding along one of Lua¡¯s many channels on a misty morning.

    Cillian laughed at his idiocy. Why had he become so worked up all of a sudden? Aye, even the air seemed sweeter and somehow more filling up here, but that wasn¡¯t a good reason for this¡­ undignified floundering. He was just spooked by his recent outburst of anger. That was all.

    He still stayed there, gazing around, one arm hugging the trunk, for entirely too long.

    And when the bracken-covered ground finally greeted him again, despite the exertion, Cillian felt livelier than at any point since the fog had first pervaded his senses. He was at peace and ready to press on.

    Back to the grind.

    One foot in front of another, eyes forward, bow at the ready.

    Ignore the walls. They don¡¯t matter.

    And so he merrily went.

    For five minutes.

    Aether gave him five whole minutes of calm, during which he made good progress, getting closer and closer to the intended target. But then¡­

    The horn bellowed.

    What? Cillian froze.

    It¡¯s too early!

    He cast about ¨C alas, neither the forest nor the fog volunteered any explanations.

    A mistake?

    Cillian lifted his left boot to get moving, but the horn erupted again. A longer blare. The boot came back down.

    Eh?

    Another blast. Shorter again.

    A realization hit him stronger than any arrow before. Not the endgame signal. The alarm one.

    His heart jumped from ¡°everything¡¯s fine¡± to ¡°run!¡± mode at once. But no time was allotted to him to even properly panic, because, at that same moment, Cillian became aware of the shouts rapidly coming his way. The bubble of nervous confusion popped in an instant, leaving him wishing he was cocooned in it still.

    Human shouts were followed by deep, inhuman growls.

    He saw the flickering lights first, then their bearers ¨C a girl and a guy ¨C fleeing as if niss were upon them.

    It finally clicked. It should¡¯ve clicked earlier, but that was their whole damn thing, wasn¡¯t it? Making everything fuzzy, including your mind. The pair were being chased by¨C

    ¡°ALPHYNS! FUCKING RUN!¡± The fella was wildly waving his arms.

    Oh shit shit shit!

    Cillian didn¡¯t need any further encouragement ¨C he turned around and bravely hightailed out of there. Deeper into the woods.

    The fog receded right before his advance, impossibly fast. Because it wasn¡¯t fog at all, damn it!

    The grenade! I need the aether grenade!

    Five seconds of unsuccessful fumbling ensued, and he let out a slightly crazed laugh. I¡¯m going to die because I couldn¡¯t open my stupid bag on the run. Bleedin¡¯ press studs!

    He got a faceful of branches and leaves for his inattention.

    Wait, what am I even doing?!

    ¡°What are we doing?! The protocol is to run from the forest, not into it!¡± Cillian shouted, trying to grab the galloping boy.

    ¡°Be my guest! I only need to outrun you! They¡¯ve cut us off!¡±

    ¡°And what, you want to run away from the big guns?!¡±

    ¡°Stop yapping and run, idiots!¡± the girl yelled at them both.

    Cillian risked a peek over his shoulder, spied no monsters, and decided to save the grenade.

    What else do I know of the alphyns? He tried to think, but his mind was a mess. I¡¯ve even passed a test on them with flying colors; I should be an expert!

    They muscled their way up a mound, and he yanked on the copper circle on his torso and ripped it away.

    They¡¯re a big trouble ¨C that Cillian knew with no doubt. Very helpful.

    He threw the glowing target behind him.

    Just great. Like the day wasn¡¯t already going to hell.

 Hiatus notice. IRL problems. Apologies.

    Yeah. Have been laid off from my job, completely out of the blue. Knew that things weren''t going well, but damn. Sucks.

    I''d been content to keep writing Brummagem despite it not gathering much attention cause it''s my first book, but now I''m in a bit of a pickle. So while I still have money, I''ve decided to go hard at trying to make writing my actual paying profession and that means I can''t just spend months and months slowly cooking up Brummagem. I need smth more "to market" and yeah it sucks thinking like that but what can you do. Thankfully, I have an idea and a high level outline for a time loop standalone story, which I thought to write much later as a palate cleanser but now decided to move forward. So yeah, this is my rambling apologies. In theory, it should be a quick detour before I return to Brummagem. Regardless if I succeed or have to find another job.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Sorry, guys. No one''s more devastated by this shit than me.