2-5

Koji Kotter sat in the Builder’s factory with a scowl more sour than old grapes. Reba’s station was empty once again. And so it was now up to him to finish their day's quota of chains… again.

She returned home at an ungodly hour after escaping with his brother. He had a mind to give them both an earful about it. Reba was far too young to be staying out so late. He found her that morning asleep under the pile of kids he had amassed. So he looked the other way.

And it cost him.

Of course, it wasn’t Kreo’s fault. He didn’t return with her, but even if he had, this was a Reba habit. Far from the first night she had snuck away from him, and it would be far from the last. But at the very least, he was hoping Reba would’ve expended all her energy for eloping and would have a decently productive day at work.

He was disappointed as he was often disappointed by his daughter’s actions.

He tried to steady his patience, but only ended up dragging his massive hand down his own face.

“Aiyo, Koji.” One of the Builders greeted him with soot and a cobweb in his hair. “Chains again? You know, I could’ve sworn she was right there behind us when we walked in this morning.”

“Yep.”

“Hey, no worries. She’ll come around. All kids do eventually.”

“Yep.”

The man saw that Koji was in no mood for idle conversation, shrugged, and went back to his own station.

Koji struggled with the individual chain links. Each one was barely the size of his own finger. He would constantly make the spaces between them two big or make mistakes too small for his eyes to see. Looking at the chain he had in his hand, it was misshapen and unsturdy. He groaned and erased it.

Reba going missing happened so often that he would forget to be worried about her. Late nights. Missing work. And never explaining where she’d been or what she’d been doing.

He realized that she had gone too far with too long a leash. This had to stop, or else something bad would happen. He could feel it in his bones, an approaching storm making his blood hot and humid. Besides, it wasn’t his job to be making these chains.

“That’s it. It’s time I start disciplining her for real.” He exploded from his chair,  chain in his hand, ready to find that girl and bring her to justice.

“Hey, Koji, pick up the pace! We’ve got a deadline on those chains!” One of the other workers shouted at him.

“Uh… right.” He sat back down and continued working.

The Blacksword’s Tourney was held in the Ardor District, near the king’s palace in the middle of the city. It was a district known for its markets and side shows, where traveling Ishai would perform and where the main attractions of its festivals took place.

It was always bustling with foot traffic, but today it was suffocating with people. The tourney was one of many in Armonia around this time of year. Merchants, travelers, and those seeking cheap entertainment would gather to make a display out of hopeful young warriors looking to become Archas Knights. They flooded the streets selling their wares, provoking customers, and loitering around the grand coliseum.

Archas Knights were a group proclaiming to be welcoming of all individuals regardless of class, affinity, or archaea. They only sought the strong. And strength came in all forms, as they would say. The caveat being that in order to participate in the determinations, one needed to be invited by someone with status enough to vouch for them. And so each high family and each Archas Knight were given one invitation, signed by the King to be filled in with whatever name they chose.

Though people as common as Reba Kotter often went unnoticed by these high families and Knights. The only way someone like her could come across an invitation was to participate in a tourney like the Blackswords.

Some boisterous individuals, instead of doling out their invitation as a political favor, would make a show of it. For example, a tourney where the winner is rewarded with an invitation from Seventh Shield Cicily Ardentia Blacksword. So he would watch and laugh and drink as the city practically created a party around him. And Armonia allowed it because they could charge for entry and for permits to sell around the arena.

The city would fill even more with foreigners, noble and destitute, believing they had what it took to take home the prize. But there was only ever one winner. And they weren’t even guaranteed entrance into the Archas Knights. They would win a chance to try out, and then if they passed that, they had to complete a grueling training regimen at Sachaea Academy to even be considered for an Armonian Knighthood. It was always daunting to be at the foot of the mountain, which is why Reba was glad she was not competing.

The line of hopefuls was half a district long. Reba strolled by them, trying not to leer at their exotic outfits and arrogant gaits. While others entering the coliseum picked on them as if they were observing race animals. These people rode by in their gilded carriages, top hats shielding their indifferent faces as they whispered and snickered, ”That one looks promising, but that one looks like she crawled out of a dirt hole. Is that a Selplian? Is she competing? I hope not.”

Reba grumbled. Stares shifted in her direction, and she ignored the comments. In truth, she had been loitering exceptionally close to the line. She was always curious about the people who compete in these tournaments, how they fought, and they’re archaeas. In fact, she was working out in her head who she thought would win the whole thing by their looks. It was a fun game while she toiled around with while waiting for the Ardentia to show up.

Though she really wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be meeting Ardentia Kimble at the front entrance. He didn’t leave any instructions past “Meet me at the Blacksword’s Tourney.”

“Did that mean to meet him outside or inside? Am I just supposed to find him somehow in this giant coliseum?” she murmured.

She rushed her way to the front of the line, where a scribe was taking down the names of those reporting to fight. He was a long-faced man with a paper-thin mustache and a large, purple and gold hat. He meticulously wrote on his long list as a few white-cloaked guards pretended to be statues, melting into their armor.

Reba smacked her hand on the table to get his attention. “I’ve got a meeting with Ardentia Kimble. Has he arrived yet?”

A pause.

Everyone gawked at her. The scribe, the guards, the people in the line. Even a few pets stopped and stared. 

The silence was shattered by a mountain of laughter from all directions. It lasted for some time, and Reba could only sit there under her sloth face and wait for them to finish.

“Ay, you’ve got a meeting with the second shield? The scribe laughed. “And King Armonia is baking me cookies tonight as well.”

It started drawing more jeers from the guards, turning Reba into their personal comedy show. “What does he need his shield polished?”

“Well, you’re certainly dressed the part, ain’t ya. You run to all your dates looking like that?”

Her face melted into a flustered mess, crossing her arms as if it would hide her dirty, sleeveless tunic. “It's true. He wants to thank me personally because I slayed a spirit last night. And he told me to come meet him here for a reward. Thank you.”

Her audience held their breaths. Then more laughs. “You? A builder slaying a spirit. That’ll be the day, ay? The day I shoot lighting from my bum.”

Reba grimaced, wanting to punch each and every one of them in the mouth. But instead, she stormed away from them before her anger took over. Their laughter only increased in volume.

“Something the matter?” A voice behind her said. A chill stopped her, and she turned to see Ardentia Kimble standing behind her as if he were always there in his fine pressed leather suit and dark hair.

The laughing stopped.

“When did you get here?” Reba stammered.

“Just now. What?... Oh, I see. Some people say I startle them when I enter a room without greeting them first. I shall fix the situation now…Good morning. Now, shall we take a step inside? I’d really like to find my seat before the tourney begins.”

Without waiting for a response, he stepped in front of the guards as they scrambled to part for him to enter. The scribe turned shifty-eyed, his mouth an O. As she stepped by him, Reba made sure to make the ugliest pig face she could before following the Ardentia inside.

The inside of the coliseum was vast. The architecture was carefully manicured with the finest of earth-born clay. It seemed to go on for centuries in all directions as they walked through a maze of pillars. The muffles of a crowd deeper inside cast a brisk white noise above them.

At a point, they came onto some stairs that were lined with guards—These ones with clearly more discipline than the ones out front. They were dressed in silver white armor and cloth with the Armonia sigil upon them. They stood to attention when Kimble passed them by.

The Second Shield meticulously paced himself, each of his footsteps striking the same sound and distance between. Reba ogled the guards, never feeling the world stop for a man as it did now. While he was the tree, she was the lead attached to it. But even that made her feel a strength she never had before.

“My apologies for being somewhat late. I have many heads, and I must feed them all.”

“What?” Reba questioned.

“A play on words, my dear. Though one I’ve only come up with a moment ago. I see it did not have the intended effect, so I’ll never say it again. What I meant was I have many jobs and often find myself too busy for my own good.” He half smiled.

Reba was still confused by his comment, and she was thinking she’d have to try harder to understand his speech than she did with her uncle. “Archas Knights can’t be that busy, since I’ve got to slay spirits in my own backyard.”

Though he raised an eyebrow at her bluntness, he didn’t hesitate to respond. “Slaying spirits these days is the least of my worries, unfortunately. Many heads, Many hats. I find myself occupied with many things half as dangerous but twice as frightening.”

“Like taking your time to watch a tourney?”

“Ah, yes! So glad you understand.”

Reba frowned.

“Like watching a tourney. As the new headmaster for Sachaea Academy, I have to constantly keep an eye out for new candidates. That includes whatever young man or woman who will be leaving this tourney with Blacksword’s only invitation. And any others that may be deserving.”

“You’re the headmaster of the academy? I didn’t know that.” 

“I suppose in many places word travels like drying paint. But trust me, it's old news by now. So old, I wish it were over already. Because now I must keep up pretenses and pay attention to tourneys like these for the youth that will one day protect our charmed walls.”

“I’m sure you’ll find lots of things to watch here. The tourney’s always a great show.”

“Oh? Do you come often?”

“Yeah, well, my uncle brought me once a few years ago, and now I sneak in every year. I mean… I come to watch every year.”

Kimble glanced at her but purposefully ignored the correction. “Then I’m glad to help continue the tradition.”

After what felt like a lifetime of walking, the two arrived at their destination atop two more flights of stairs. An opening of light led to a small balcony overlooking the arena of thousands. The muffled sea of voices erupted through the opening as crowds cheered, eager for the bloodsport to begin.

The balcony was set for two, with a seat prepared for both of them. They were wooden with velvet pillows on the rests. Far more comfortable-looking than the steel seats Reba was used to, which would cook under the sun if they were placed here.

She stepped out with a full view of the battle arena from above. Usually, when she stole her way in, it would always be in some corner where she could hardly see. And in a battle, it was essential to have a full view of the battlefield. Here, she could make out every face in the entire arena.

Most notably, they were even above the balcony of Cicily Blacksword himself, and he had a seat for a king. He was surrounded by drink, food, and women, mostly Piam, with dark hair and ghostly pale skin. His own armor was jet black, making his grim expression all the more haunting. He seemed bored as he waited for the fighting to start, along with everyone else.

He stole a glance at Reba with a sudden smile. She reared back, eyes wide and flustered again. Then, behind her, Ardentia Kimble bowed to him. Blacksword hefted a mischievous smile and waved his hand in the air, triggering some mysterious bells to ring around the arena. That was the sign for the beginning. The tourney was starting.

Kimble took his seat, leaving Reba to awkwardly sit next to him. She crossed her arms, unsure of how long she was supposed to entertain the Ardentia before her reward. Though if now wasn’t an appropriate time to ask about it, then she didn’t know when would be. 

“So about that rew…”

A pair of servants bowed their way onto the balcony behind them. One of them was holding a wide platter of something that smelled of sweet grave. The steam poured over into Reba’s ears, crashing her train of thought.

“I didn’t know if you were hungry or not. But regardless, I have procured us some snacks.”

“Snacks?” Reba’s eyes turned to stomachs as the servant unveiled the source of the smells. Basilisk Whale Skewers. The reddened brown meat was covered in a coaxing white meat gravy. Her tongue began to cry, drooping from her lips.

She looked at the meat and then the ardentia and then to the meat and then to the ardentia and then back to the meat…

“Feel free,” He said.

Within seconds, three of the skewers were being annihilated by a rabid beast. They were just as savory as she had always dreamed. She didn’t know which god to thank for this, so she said “thirteen thanks” to include all of them.

Ardentia Kimble didn’t partake himself. While she was busy eating, Kimble paid close attention to the current duel happening down below.

It was a match between a Fanain and an Ishai. Lightning vs Fire. Based on archaea alone, lightning archads had a sharp advantage due to their long range and pinpoint accuracy. When fire archads fought, they used wide movements which left them open to swift, direct attacks.

The Ishai boy flipped and twisted, narrowly dodging the lightning flying at him. This boy was skilled. It took foresight to dodge a lightning archads attacks. Much of the time, the element was far too quick to react to. One had to see where the light would land by the movement of their opponent's fingers. The lighting always shot from the points of the Fanians' bodies. Finger tips, elbows, toes. Something about lightning made it hard for them to summon it from their palms. And so they relied on precise finger movements, which were hard to see from afar.

The Ishai boy, who was only dressed in silk shorts and bandaged heels, flowed his body in every direction, giving the Fanain a hard time. He couldn’t aim. But the fire archad didn’t have to. The wildness of the flame was enough to catch the child of Fana even without aiming. And for the Ishai, his flames only seemed to get bigger the more he moved.

The flame archad flung himself like an arrow at his opponent, making a small target. The Fanain tried to aim, but the charge was quick, and the dancing style of the Ishai allowed the boy to quickly catch on his palms and swing his feet for a rounded kick to the head. The fanian narrowly managed to get a hand up to prevent a premature end to the fight.

He leapt back.

There was a stall. The Ishai celebrated, pumping up the crowd at his small victory. The Fanain worked his fingers in a claw, but he didn’t appear frustrated. The opposite. He was completely calm, as if he had expected to be hit.

“That Fanain boy is right to make a good knight,” Reba muttered, mouth full of meat.

Kimble regarded her without taking his eyes off the battle. “Do you think so? This crowd may not agree with you on that front.”

She swallowed. “Who cares about the crowd? I mean, look at em. He’s only making it look like he’s getting overwhelmed, but he never overextends. Never spends too much energy. The Ishai is going to tire himself with all those flips and such. But the other one, he’s just waiting for a mistake, which is why he never seems bothered when he gets hit. He has a plan, and the best fighters are always the ones who have a plan.”

Kimble then turned his attention to her as she hurried to wipe the gravy from her lips. “Out of curiosity, if it were you down there, how would you deal with the fire archad?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never fought another archad in a real fight. I’ve sparred with my uncle a few times, but he’s a builder too, so not much like the real thing.”

“Well, it is much easier than facing down spirits, I assure you.”

“Well, you might be right…” She hesitated and then stood to get a closer look at the fighting. “Ishai are always showy. They like to make big movements and scream like they’re performing a show all the time. This one is the same, focused more on how he looks than on his opponent. I’d let him throw one or two sloppy overhands unchecked. Might even let one graze me to make him comfortable. Then, when he throws the next after wearing himself out, BAM! Right to the heart.”

A sharp burst of lighning cracked through the arena. The Fanain boy’s finger rested on the Ishai’s chest. The final blow had been struck. The flame archad crumbled to the floor, and the battle was decided.

Reba roared a vicious scream along with the rest of the crowd. “THAT’S IT! YEAAH!” Then she realized who was sitting next to her. “Mm. Sorry.”

As the victor walked towards the exit, two Havi rushed the field. One grabbed the Ishai while the other chased after the Fanain. Within a minute, the loser regained enough strength to walk away under his own power.

“So then,” Kimble stroked his hairless chin. “I believe the next match will be a Magman and an Esmerai. How would you fare against either of them?”

“Earth archads like to control the battlefield since they can move the earth and all. They’re dense as boulders, though, and they can’t aim the giant rocks they throw very well. Should be able to cover myself with a big enough shield and attack from afar with a crossbow or something like that. Esmerai is mostly the same. Get too close to them, and you’d be the frosty side of a snowflake. A pole arm would do nicely. And I don’t imagine they can stop a conjured brick aimed at their heads.” 

“Quite. But say they see you first, and you have no weapon prepared. What do you do then?”

“Preparation is a builder’s greatest tool, and trust, I’m not just any old silly builder. If I’m caught without a weapon conjured, then I might deserve to get iced.”

“So then you’d live your whole life with a weapon for every conceivable situation on your back? I don’t see any weapons on you now.”

“No, but…” Reba frowned. “What is this, some sort of test? You plan on making a fool of me?”

“I’m just a curious fellow that enjoys being humored.” The ardentia turned his head away from her, and suddenly she felt as though she wanted to win his attention back.

“My uncle once told me that everything is a tool. The dirt. The weather. The clothes on my back. The people around me and even the thoughts of my enemy can be a tool. There’s always something there that can get the job done. We can’t just make tools; we must know how to use them. All of them.”

Kimble smiled. “Your uncle sounds like a wise man.”

“Nah. He’s just old. I’m sure you’re wise too.”

The knight laughed. Though he was only just above middle-aged, everything over twenty must seem ancient to a 14-year-old.

They continued watching matches for a bit longer. Reba lost herself in the fighting below, bobbing her head along with the throws of archaea. Kimble regarded her briskly, occasionally remarking on something that would lead to a short conversation.

The afternoon light started to fade, and Reba found herself becoming slightly too comfortable around the man. He had treated her to the most delicious meal she had ever had. She wished she could sit here, watch fights, and eat Basilisk Whale skewers for days. Plus, he reminded her heavily of her uncle with the strange ways that he spoke and even the way that he sat. His demeanor was quiet and intentional. He was his own center of gravity, doing and saying things that interested him, only because they interested him. He had no time for anything else. And so when he finally spoke again, Reba found herself too eager to listen.

“You must be tired of hearing the rambling of an ‘old man’ by now. There is one more thing I wish to tell you. Then I’ll give you your reward and be on my way.”

She had almost completely forgotten about the reward. Actually, she would’ve considered the meal with a show enough reward to last her a decade. But for the night to be topped off with money on top of it, she was already thinking of more spirits to slay. Down in the arena, a wind archad waited for their next opponent to show, so there was a break in the noise of the crowd. 

She nodded in her chair, and the Ardentia went on. “When the spirits were born, each one was given a specific purpose. This was the way the gods had intended it. Nothing was given life in this world without the mother’s express permission and intent. They came from her belly, of course. The spirits were given life to ensure that all her children—people, spirits, and gods alike would thrive in her new world. Her plan was to be all-reaching and efficient. The fastest journey to the peaceful paradise at the end of it. But her plan was not infallible.”

The crowd grew impatient at the lack of fighting in the arena. The opponent for the archad in the arena was late, with no sign of their coming any time soon. Even Ardentia Blacksword turned his head in disapproval, seeming bored by his own company.

“The primordials that we take our archaeas from began fighting amongst themselves. They were her most precious children because they were gods like her. And so to protect them from themselves, she created a spring that could heal all wounds and return one to their true form. She did this so she would never have to worry about the health of her children.

“But even her love became a tool for war.

“The spring became a stronghold; those who controlled it would have the world’s most valuable resource and would never die even after suffering a fatal injury. And so the Spring became a battleground. And the Mother wept.

“The more she tried to heal, the more pain she caused, until finally the war of the gods left none of them survived. Her last act before dying of her grief was to seal the spring away so that no man and not even a god could ever reach it again. As its final protection, she made the spirits promise to always protect it.

“But the gods were gone. No one left to check them. No one to stop them from using the spring for themselves and achieving immortal life. And so the spirits betrayed her.”

He took a long pause.

“This is among the many things the spirits have stolen from us. This is the war we, as Archas Knights, must fight. But humanity fights it as well. I believe this is why you put your life on the line to fight a spirit in your home. To reclaim what has been stolen. Am I wrong?”

Reba bit her lips as she tried to piece together what exactly Kimble was getting at. The story he told was that of the Immortal Spring Forest—The Mother’s final resting place and a pandemonium of spirits.

But when he spoke, her thoughts retreated to that platinum statue. It was still there in their home, covered by a white sheet. It was too heavy to move, and the Kotters were too poor to leave. But every day she lived in that house, she was reminded that the spirits were still out there. And in that moment, she knew the Ardentia was right.

“The gods are dead,” She said. “Someone has to clean up the mess they left behind.”

Kimble nodded. “A fine answer indeed. And thus your fight continues…”

Reba blinked, and suddenly she felt a knot in her stomach. And suddenly the Ardentia had gone. And suddenly, she was down in the arena under a thousand confused voices.

“Is that a Selplian?”

“What’s she doing down there?”

“Is that his opponent?”

Across from her was the wind archad, previously waiting for his fight. She fell on the ground, legs weakened by the sudden shock. She didn’t know how she got here or when or why. But when she looked up at the balcony, Ardentia Kimble sat there alone. She felt the need to count all her fingers to make sure they were still there and to blink her eyes to make sure that this wasn’t a dream.

“Are you ready to begin?” A man wrapped in a cloak spoke to her. He was the officiator of the bout.

“Ready? What are you talking about?”

“Yes, she’s ready.” The wind archad began cracking his knuckles. “She’s kept us waiting long enough. She doesn’t get another second, you hear.”

The man nodded and lifted his hand, signalling for the start of the match.

“Wait. This is some strange mistake. I don’t…” But she could hardly hear herself over the eruption of the crowd. They were responding to the Renyan boy pushing his arms forward in a flurry of violent winds. Reba was blown backwards, sliding across the dirt.

“Just hold on.” She tried to say. She was forced to flee from his attacks. Without much choice, she had somehow been committed to this fight.

Though that wasn’t completely true. It was still the tourney. If she wanted this to stop, then all she had to do was surrender. But Reba Kotter was too proud a girl to surrender to anyone, ever.

Those in the crowd were laughing at her for running away. They had never seen a Selplian fight before, and they were getting exactly what they expected. And they laughed, and they wrote her off. Even the Blacksword looked away, uninterested in the fight.

And Reba felt her blood boil.

She braced herself. The Reneyan flung his own body at her, a gust of wind accompanying him. His speed was vicious.

Reba tried to react, and though she dodged his body, the wind carried her from her feet and flipped her onto her back. Though she immediately popped up to not leave herself vulnerable.

She had just appeared here. No time to come up with a plan and no time to conjure a weapon. Currently, she was no different than a house cat fighting the wind.

The wind archad took to playing the distance game. He twirled his body before pushing a wall of air at Reba. The force slid her back several yards as she guarded her eyes from the wind.

The walls kept coming, and Reba soon found herself hardly able to move without falling over. The sharp winds brushed cold against her skin, causing her hair to fly wildly.

Reba dug her feet into the ground and forced her legs forward. When her opponent saw, he quickly switched positions on the field, flying himself to her right and pushing from that side. Before she realized it, she was knocked over again.

“Keep your balance,” She whispered, pushing herself to her feet. But every time she tried to push forward, she just kept getting blown back.

“Fine. If you want distance, then I’ll give you some space.” She backed up out of reach of her opponent—far enough to start conjuring without being blown back by the wind.

Her opponent noticed immediately, only giving her time to form the glass-like silver sphere. He shot toward her, closing the distance himself to stop her build. Still, Reba let the iron ball materialize, seemingly by accident, as she struggled to dodge the wind. But she carried the iron ball with her, as heavy as it was.

She tried to keep her distance, hoping to finish conjuring something useful, but the archad was too fast, chasing her down wherever she went. Trying to think, she remembered what her uncle had said to her:

“Everything is a tool.”

Feeling the weight of the ball, she removed the smithing scarf from around her waist and wrapped the iron ball inside. While she was distracted, the Reneyan boy flew in front of her with a sharp, wind-assisted kick.

Reba ducked it. Her first instinct was to grab a handful of dirt from the ground and waft it into the air—enough for a distraction but not a heavy attack. The wind just pushed the dirt out of the way. Before she could capitalize, he pushed himself several paces back, landing on his feet.

But that was exactly what she counted on. As soon as he landed, Reba turned on her heel, holding all four ends of her scarf like a sack of bricks. She spun once, then twice.

He pushed the wind against her, but she released the iron ball.

He did not prepare a wind strong enough to stop the speed and momentum of solid iron beaming straight toward him. The ball slammed into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Then he slumped to the floor, face-first, eyes wide from the shock.

Reba stood over him, kicking him to his back.

“I yield,” He mumbled.

Reba relieved her heart from thundering in her chest.

A hush followed as everyone considered what to make of this outcome.  The world stretched for a moment, time hanging suspended, uncertain what shape to take next. She looked around—people whispering behind their hands, others on the edge of their seats, mouths half-open in awe.

But she straightened, gathering her resolve in her scarf, kissing it, and reaffixing it to her waist. And she smirked.

Then, a single sound broke through the hush: the echo of footsteps, deliberate and calm, tracing their way through the dirt of the arena floor. One solitary pair of hands began to clap. She looked up, and it was like the entire arena had vanished except for one man. He stood in front of her, his gloved hands meeting in applause, an otherworldly smile on his face.

Reba tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

Athi Ardentia Kimble reached into his coat pocket, where he held a single envelope. He opened it and etched a name onto the paper inside. Once he was done, he handed it to her.

Then the world flooded back into perspective. The sounds of gasping and bewilderment. The chirps of birds and the rush of Reneyan’s winds cooling the air. It was as if she had just emerged from water, and everything was clear again. But only when Ardentia Kimble was done with her attention.

The Second Shield spoke, not very loudly, but a thousand spectators would hear, and then a thousand more and a million after that. “What you all have just witnessed is the first Selplian to ever compete for the honor of joining the Archas Knights. She has proven her bravery, her versatility, and her determination to do something her world has never seen. That is precisely the goal of the next class of Archas Knights, who will be charged with putting an end to the spirit threat once and for all. And so she will be joining Naciere Strongbow in Sachaea Academy’s Determinations with my personal invitation. I give you, Reba Kotter.”

Reba held the paper in her hand, her eyes skeptical as she glanced at the man. And then, almost nervously, more applause came, led by Ardentia Blacksword, who was far too drunk to care. And then the infection of the masses brought upon one of the largest ovations Reba had ever seen.

And it was for her.

Her smirk went away, and she reddened in her face as the Ardentia smiled at her.

“Are you sure?” was all she could think to say.

“The opening’s in two days at dawn on academy grounds. Be sure to bring this with you.” He tapped the slip of paper with his fingernail. And Reba peered at it, unable to read it, and she clutched it close to her chest.

And from the stands, her Uncle Kreo looked on, slowly bringing himself to a clap. Then he stopped, lost in thought. His pride wavered, and he left.