Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Kristen Applebees hung from the wooden rafters of the old chapel, her muscles straining as she pulled herself up for the tenth time. Sweat beaded on her forehead, dripping down her temples, and she let out a low grunt with each pull. The sound of her breath echoed faintly in the quiet, dusty space, only interrupted by the occasional creak of the old wood. The chapel at Mordred Manor had become her sanctuary, a place where she could be alone with her thoughts—or more accurately, a place where she could try to drown them out with sheer physical exertion.
As she released the bar, dropping back to the ground, Kristen wiped her forehead with the hem of her shirt. The ache in her arms was a welcome distraction, but as she leaned back against the stone wall, her mind began to wander once more. So much had changed since sophomore year—since that crazy, chaotic year when she’d found her faith only to lose it all over again. Now, with the Church of Mystery and Doubt in shambles and the thrill of defeating the Night Yorb just a fading memory, Kristen felt adrift.
She sighed, her eyes trailing up to the dusty stained glass windows that depicted a forgotten saint. The colors were muted in the early morning light, but she could still make out the faint outlines of a sword and shield, a warrior of faith from a time long past. A warrior like she used to be, before everything went to shit.
“What now?” she muttered to herself, her voice echoing slightly in the empty room. Running for student body president had seemed like a good idea when Riz and Jawbone suggested it—something to focus on, something to get her out of this rut. A spark of excitement had flickered in her chest when she thought about it, a glimmer of purpose she hadn’t felt in months. And then there was the best part: the look on Mollykiggins Kippermedley’s face when she’d heard the news. Or was it Kettlechip Krispy-kreme? Kristen snorted, shaking her head. Whatever her name was, that girl was going down.
Kristen pushed herself off the wall and began to pace the small space, her footsteps quiet on the stone floor. The old chapel had once been a place of worship, but now it was just another relic of a bygone era. Dust covered the pews, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling. But for Kristen, it was home—at least, as much of a home as she had these days. The rest of the manor was too big, too empty, and too filled with memories she didn’t want to face.
She paused by the altar, her fingers trailing over the cold stone surface. Her hand lingered on the small, silver symbol of Cassandra that still sat there—a symbol that now felt more like a mocking reminder of her past than a source of comfort. Kristen grimaced and turned away, walking over to the small window that overlooked the courtyard.
Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the dew-covered grass. The air was crisp, with the first hint of autumn in the breeze. Elmville was waking up, and soon, so would the rest of Aguefort Adventuring Academy. A new day in the new school year, and a new challenge.
As she watched the light play over the courtyard, Kristen’s thoughts drifted back to the campaign. Running for president meant facing off against Kipperlilly Copperkettle—Mollykiggins, she reminded herself with a smirk. The girl was everything Kristen wasn’t—polished, clean, and annoyingly perfect. But there was something else about her too, something that Kristen couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the way she always seemed so sure of herself, or the way her eyes flashed with determination when she thought no one was looking. Whatever it was, it rubbed Kristen the wrong way.
But it also made her curious.
“Why does she even want to be president?” Kristen muttered under her breath, her gaze still fixed on the courtyard. “What’s in it for her?”
A soft chime echoed through the chapel, pulling Kristen's attention away from the courtyard. She glanced over her shoulder, spotting the faint blue glow of her crystal lying on her bed. The familiar light and sound were a reminder that the world outside her little sanctuary hadn’t stopped turning. With a sigh, Kristen pushed off from the windowsill and crossed the room, her footsteps almost silent on the worn stone floor.
Her crystal pulsed gently as she picked it up, the cool surface smooth against her fingers. A notification glowed on the screen—a message from the group text with the Bad Kids. Kristen’s lips curled into a small smile as she swiped it open. The chat was always buzzing with some new story, some new bit of mischief or adventure. Today, it was Fig, of course.
A selfie filled the screen, Fig’s face bright with excitement, her purple hair wild and her eyes sparkling. She was holding up a small, fossilized rock, the surface etched with what looked like an ancient love note. The caption beneath it read: "Ayda sent me this from the time stream! Look what love can do, people!!! 💜✨ #romanticAF."
Kristen couldn’t help but smile at the picture. Fig and Ayda’s relationship had always been a whirlwind, a beautiful, chaotic mess that somehow worked in a way Kristen couldn’t fully understand. It was like they were made for each other. That thought sent a small pang through her chest, and before she could stop herself, her mind drifted to Tracker.
She hadn’t thought about Tracker in a while—not really. But seeing Fig so happy, so connected with someone even through the barriers of time made it impossible at the moment, made Kristen’s heart ache with the memory of what she had lost. Tracker had been her anchor, the person who kept her grounded even when everything else was spiraling out of control. But now, all that was left between them was silence, a wide gulf that Kristen didn’t know how to cross.
Without really thinking, she swiped away from the group chat and opened the one she had with Tracker. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard as she stared at the last message they had exchanged—something mundane about a book Tracker had recommended. That was weeks ago, maybe even months. It felt like another lifetime.
Kristen’s fingers twitched, and she began to type a message, something simple like "Hey, how’ve you been?" But as soon as she typed the words, they felt wrong. She deleted them, then started again. "Saw something today that reminded me of you…" No, that wasn’t right either. Delete. She typed and erased a dozen messages, each one more awkward and forced than the last.
She could almost hear Tracker’s voice in her head, gentle but firm, telling her not to overthink it. Just say what you feel, Kristen. But that was the problem—Kristen wasn’t sure what she felt anymore. The emotions were all tangled up, a messy knot of longing, regret, and confusion. And every time she tried to pull at one thread, the whole thing just seemed to tighten.
Finally, with a huff of frustration, Kristen locked the crystal and tossed it back onto the bed. The soft thud it made against the blankets was like the sound of a door closing. She stood there for a moment, staring down at the device as if it might suddenly offer her the answers she needed. But it stayed silent, the screen dark and unhelpful.
Kristen shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in her chest. She needed to get out of her own head, to focus on something else—anything else. Dropping to the floor, she planted her hands firmly on the cold stone and started doing push-ups, letting the physical exertion clear her mind.
The rhythmic motion was soothing, a steady beat that helped drown out the swirling thoughts. She focused on the feeling of her muscles working, the strain in her arms, the slight burn in her chest. The chapel’s cool air brushed against her skin, and the scent of old stone and dust filled her nostrils. It was grounding, pulling her back into the present moment, away from the past and all the unresolved emotions that came with it.
But as much as she tried to push the thoughts away, they kept creeping back in. Tracker’s smile, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. The warmth of her hand in Kristen’s, steady and reassuring. The way they used to stay up late, talking about everything and nothing, just happy to be in each other’s company.
Kristen’s push-ups slowed, her arms trembling as the weight of those memories pressed down on her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the images, but they clung to her like cobwebs. Why was it so hard to let go? Why couldn’t she just move on, like everyone else seemed to?
She lowered herself to the ground and lay there for a moment, her cheek pressed against the cool stone floor. The world felt heavy, pressing down on her from all sides. She had thought that running for president would give her something to focus on, something to distract her from all this. But even that felt like a distant dream now, overshadowed by the ghosts of what could have been.
Taking a deep breath, Kristen rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The rafters above crisscrossed in a complex pattern, and the morning light filtering through the stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone. It was beautiful, in a way—simple, peaceful. But it didn’t fill the emptiness in her chest.
“Get it together, Applebees,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.
Kristen sat up slowly, her muscles protesting after the intense workout. She settled into a cross-legged position on the cold stone floor, the rough surface beneath her a grounding contrast to the swirling emotions in her mind. The morning light streaming through the stained glass window cast soft, colorful patterns across the chapel, bathing her in a kaleidoscope of hues. But even the beauty of the light couldn’t lift the heaviness that weighed down her heart.
Taking a deep breath, Kristen closed her eyes, letting the familiar scents of old stone and dust fill her senses. This place had always been a sanctuary, a space where she could connect with the divine. Or at least, it used to be. Now, it felt empty, hollow—a reminder of what she had lost.
She reached out with her mind, the way she had done so many times before, searching for that familiar presence in the divine space. Cassandra had always been there, a comforting warmth, a guiding light in the darkness. But now, there was nothing. Just an endless void, cold and silent.
“Cassandra,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Are you out there? Can you hear me?”
She waited, her heart pounding in the quiet. But there was no answer, no sign that her goddess was listening. The emptiness pressed in around her, a suffocating silence that made her chest ache.
“Please,” Kristen pleaded, her voice trembling. “Just give me something—anything. I need to know you’re still there. That I didn’t… that I didn’t let you down.”
But again, there was nothing. No response, no warmth, no connection. The divine space remained empty, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
She was alone.
Kristen’s eyes fluttered open, and she stared down at her hands, resting limply in her lap. The weight of her failure settled over her, heavy and oppressive. It was her fault. She had been so caught up in everything else—in the chaos of school, in her relationships, in trying to find her place in the world—that she had neglected Cassandra. She hadn’t prioritized her faith, and now, Cassandra was gone. Dead, because Kristen hadn’t been strong enough to keep her alive.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t deserve to cry. This was her fault, and no amount of tears would change that.
But the tears didn’t listen. They gathered at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision, and she clenched her fists, trying to hold them back. She didn’t want to be weak. She couldn’t afford to be weak—not now, not when so much was riding on her.
“Get it together,” she muttered to herself, her voice shaking. “You’re stronger than this. You have to be.”
But even as she said the words, she knew they were a lie. She didn’t feel strong. She felt lost, adrift in a world that had suddenly become so much bigger and scarier without Cassandra to guide her.
Kristen swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down. She couldn’t dwell on this. She couldn’t let herself spiral. There was too much to do, too many people counting on her. And if she couldn’t rely on Cassandra anymore, she would just have to find a way to rely on herself.
With a determined shake of her head, Kristen pushed herself to her feet. The room spun slightly, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her fingers itched to do something—anything to keep her mind from drifting back to the dark place it always seemed to want to go. She needed noise, movement, something to drown out the silence that threatened to consume her.
She grabbed her crystal from the bed and quickly swiped through the options, selecting one of her loudest, most upbeat playlists. The first notes of a fast-paced, energetic song blasted through the chapel, filling the space with sound. Kristen turned the volume up even louder, letting the music vibrate through her body, shaking her from the inside out.
The beat pulsed in her veins, and Kristen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She needed this—something to push her, to keep her going. Without another thought, she reached up for the wooden beam again, gripping it tightly as she began another set of pull-ups.
The burn in her muscles was immediate, but Kristen welcomed it. She focused on the sensation, on the strain in her arms, the tightness in her chest. It was a distraction, a way to pull herself out of the whirlpool of emotions that threatened to drag her under.
She counted each pull-up out loud, the numbers a steady rhythm that matched the beat of the music. The words of the song blurred into the background, just a driving force that kept her moving, kept her from thinking too much.
“Eleven… twelve… thirteen…” Her voice was breathless, strained, but she kept going. She needed to feel this, to push her body to its limits, to drown out everything else.
But no matter how hard she tried, the emptiness lingered. It clung to the edges of her mind, a constant reminder that something vital was missing. She could distract herself, she could push herself to exhaustion, but it didn’t change the fact that Cassandra was gone. And without her, Kristen wasn’t sure who she was anymore.
She finished the set, her arms trembling with fatigue, and dropped to the ground, her legs giving out beneath her. She sat there, breathing heavily, her heart racing in her chest. The music continued to pound in her ears, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the hollow ache inside her.
Kristen wiped the sweat from her forehead, her fingers trembling. She couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep running from the truth. But facing it, really facing it, was more terrifying than anything she had ever faced before.
Because if she wasn’t a cleric of Cassandra, if she didn’t have her faith, then what was she? What was left of Kristen Applebees if she wasn’t the girl who had found her way back to her goddess?
She didn’t have the answer to that question. And the more she thought about it, the more scared she became.
But fear wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Fear wasn’t going to help her win the election, or figure out her place in the world. She had to keep moving, keep fighting, even if it felt like she was fighting a losing battle.
Kristen took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand once more. She wasn’t going to let this defeat her. She couldn’t. She had too much to prove—to herself, to the world, to Cassandra, wherever she was.
She turned the music down slightly, letting the next song play at a more reasonable volume. Then, with a determined set to her jaw, she reached up for the beam again.
It was time to keep going. To keep fighting. Because that’s what she did. And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to rebuild what she had lost along the way.
Kristen had just reached the count of eleven more pull-ups, her arms trembling slightly from the exertion, when a knock echoed through the chapel, cutting through the music. She gritted her teeth, finishing one more pull-up.
“Come in!” she called out, her voice a bit rough from the strain.
The door creaked open, and Adaine stepped in, her wide eyes immediately locking onto Kristen hanging from the rafters. She froze for a moment, her face a mix of surprise and mild concern.
“Careful!” Adaine blurted out, her voice tinged with worry.
“I do this all the time. No big deal,” she said with a shrug, trying to downplay the effort it took to maintain her rigorous routine. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the way Adaine winced when she jumped down, landing with practiced ease and reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat from her face.
Adaine stepped further into the room, her careful steps avoiding the scattered piles of clothes, books, and general mess that had accumulated over the past few days. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she navigated the chaos, finally making her way to Kristen’s bed and sitting down, her delicate form perched on the edge as if she was afraid to touch anything.
Kristen tossed the towel aside and crossed the room, grabbing another tank top from a nearby chair. “What’s up, dude?” she asked, pulling the fresh shirt over her head. The fabric was soft against her skin, still smelling faintly of the lavender detergent that Jawbone insisted on using.
Adaine glanced around the room again, her eyes landing on the dusty corners and the haphazard piles of Kristen’s belongings. “Just wanted to let you know that Fabian is planning to throw a party at Seacaster Manor tonight. He’s really committed to this whole ‘party house’ thing,” Adaine said, her voice dry as she mimicked Fabian’s grandiose tone. “But Riz thinks it’ll be good for your campaign.”
Kristen paused, her hand halfway to grabbing her backpack. “Oh yeah, sure. Sounds good,” she replied, her tone casual. Parties at Seacaster Manor were nothing new, but with the campaign looming, this one took on a different significance. Still, it was hard to muster much enthusiasm when her mind was still lingering on the void where Cassandra used to be.
Adaine’s eyes followed Kristen as she moved about the room, gathering up random items and shoving them into her backpack. “If you’re really serious about this race, everyone should be there,” Adaine added, her voice gentle but firm.
Kristen glanced at her friend, noting the seriousness in her expression. “Everyone?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed a few loose papers from her desk and crammed them into her bag.
Adaine nodded, her gaze flicking down to the floor where Kristen had tossed the dirty tank top. “Apart from the Rat Grinders. Fabian’s making it clear they’re not invited,” she added with a faint smirk, though her expression turned sour at the mention of the group.
Kristen laughed, shaking her head as she zipped up her backpack. “Copperlilly’s going to love that,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself. The thought of Kipperlilly’s perfectly poised face twisting into that familiar look of annoyance was almost enough to lift Kristen’s spirits.
Adaine’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I literally hate her so much,” she muttered, her voice low and venomous.
Kristen shrugged, pretending not to notice the sharp edge in her friend’s voice. “It’s whatever. She’s a little freak,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant as she moved to the other side of the room, her hands busy searching for any school supplies that hadn’t yet been lost to the abyss of her chaotic room.
But even as she said it, she couldn’t help but picture Kipperlilly’s face—the way her eyes narrowed when she was focused, the way her lips pressed into a thin line when she was irritated. There was something about that intensity, something that Kristen couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Kristen shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind as she dug through the mess, her fingers brushing against a forgotten quill and an old, crumpled piece of parchment. She grabbed both, adding them to her growing pile of school stuff, though she wasn’t entirely sure she’d even need them. At this point, she was just trying to keep busy, to keep her thoughts from drifting back to places she didn’t want them to go.
Adaine watched her, a small frown creasing her brow as she took in the state of Kristen’s room. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to clean up a bit,” she suggested, her tone light but her meaning clear. “If people are going to take you seriously as a candidate, it might help to have a little more… organization.”
Kristen sighed, glancing around at the chaos she’d surrounded herself with. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she muttered, though the thought of tidying up felt overwhelming. It was easier to just let things pile up, to let the mess reflect the way she felt inside. But Adaine was right—if she wanted to win, she needed to present herself as someone who had it together, even if she felt like she was falling apart.
With a huff, Kristen shoved a few more things into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll clean up later. Right now, I need to focus on this party,” she said, her voice firm as if saying it out loud would make it true.
Adaine gave her a small, encouraging smile. “It’s going to be fine, Kristen. You’ve got this,” she said, her voice warm with reassurance. “And hey, if Kipperlilly shows up, we can always throw her into the moat.”
Kristen snorted, the image of Kipperlilly floundering in Seacaster Manor’s moat almost enough to make her laugh out loud. “Tempting,” she replied with a grin. “But maybe I’ll just settle for beating her in the election.”
“Even better,” Adaine agreed, her smile widening.
Kristen moved back to her desk, where a cluttered collection of notebooks, loose papers, and half-empty mugs of tea fought for space. She began rooting through the mess, looking for a pen. The task was made more difficult by the sheer chaos of the desk—an accurate reflection of the chaos in her head.
“Can I borrow a—” Kristen started to ask, her voice muffled as she pushed aside a small mountain of books.
“Pen, sure,” Adaine replied, already pulling one from her bag. She handed it over with a small smile, a touch of fond exasperation in her eyes.
Kristen accepted it gratefully. “You’re the best,” she said, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I know,” Adaine responded with a smirk, settling back on the bed, carefully maneuvering around Kristen's strewn clothes.
Kristen patted her pockets, suddenly realizing she was missing something important. Adaine rolled her eyes as she reached for Kristen’s crystal, still playing music on the bed.
“Sometimes, I think you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to you,” Adaine remarked, handing the crystal over with a raised eyebrow.
“Sounds like me,” Kristen agreed, taking the crystal and preparing to pocket it. But before she could, Adaine’s gaze caught on the screen, and her expression softened slightly.
“You still haven’t changed it?” Adaine asked, her tone gentle as her eyes lingered on the screensaver—a photo of Kristen and Tracker from sophomore year, their arms wrapped around each other, smiles bright and carefree.
Kristen hesitated, her fingers brushing over the screen before slipping the crystal into her pocket. “I’ll get to it,” she said, her voice just a little too casual.
Adaine sighed, her concern evident. “Are you doing okay?”
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Kristen faltered, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. She finally shrugged, her shoulders tense. “I guess.”
Adaine’s gaze softened further. “All this stuff you’re going through right now, it’s a lot. And we’re all here for you, you know that, right?”
Kristen nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Yeah, I do.”
Adaine reached out, placing a hand on Kristen’s arm. “And we love you. I know I do.”
The sincerity in Adaine’s voice broke through Kristen’s defenses, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. “I love you too, dude,” Kristen replied, her voice thick with emotion.
Adaine smiled, the warmth in her eyes matching the one in Kristen’s chest. “Okay, good. Now, give me your crystal.”
Kristen raised an eyebrow but handed over the crystal without protest. She watched as Adaine unlocked it and quickly changed the lock screen. When she handed it back, Kristen saw a new photo—a picture of all of them sitting on top of the Hangvan, grinning like idiots. Kristen was flexing her biceps, Fig was sticking out her tongue, Riz was perched on Fabian’s shoulders, and Gorgug was making bunny ears behind Adaine’s head, while Boggy sat contentedly in Adaine’s arms.
Kristen couldn’t help but smile at the image, a genuine laugh escaping her lips. “We look like idiots.”
“Idiots I wouldn’t change for the world,” Adaine replied, her own smile wide and genuine.
“Thanks, girlie,” Kristen said softly, the gratitude in her voice clear as she looked at the new lock screen. For the first time in what felt like a long while, something inside her relaxed, a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying lifting off her shoulders.
Adaine didn’t say anything more. Instead, she simply pulled Kristen into a hug, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting embrace. Kristen let herself lean into it, closing her eyes as she allowed herself to truly feel the warmth of her friend’s affection. For a moment, the world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the quiet connection between them, the reminder that she wasn’t alone.
When they finally pulled away, Adaine wrinkled her nose and gave Kristen a playful nudge. “You’re so wet.”
Kristen smirked, unable to resist the joke. “That’s hot.”
Adaine rolled her eyes, laughing as she lightly smacked Kristen on the back of the head. “Shut up,” she said, shaking her head in mock exasperation.
“I’m going to ask Jawbone to open the windows on the way to school,” Adaine said as they left the room, the cool morning air brushing against their faces. “You seriously need to air out after all that sweating.”
Kristen chuckled, nudging Adaine with her shoulder. “Always looking out for me.”
“Someone has to,” Adaine replied, her tone light but the sentiment sincere.
The school day at Aguefort Adventuring Academy passed in a blur of activity, the familiar chaos of classrooms and bustling hallways pulling Kristen out of her own head. She navigated the day like she always did, bouncing between conversations with classmates, trying to keep up with her studies, and, of course, prepping for her campaign. But there was something different about today—a buzz of energy that followed her wherever she went, a feeling that she was finally starting to get her groove back.
By mid-morning, Kristen found herself in the familiar classroom of her cleric studies, the walls lined with shelves of ancient scrolls and holy relics that would have meant more to her if Cassandra was still around. The sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colorful shadows across the room as Yolanda Badgood, her cleric teacher, stood at the front of the class, discussing the intricacies of divine spells.
Kristen sat in the back, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her notebook. The other students were scribbling down notes, hanging on Yolanda’s every word, but Kristen’s mind wandered. There was a time when this stuff felt like her lifeline, when her connection to Cassandra had given her purpose, her very identity. Now, it felt like she was grasping at smoke.
Yolanda, tall, skinny and bespectacled air genasi with a beautiful cloud of hair, caught Kristen’s eye as the class broke into pairs to practice their spells. She raised an eyebrow, motioning for Kristen to come forward.
Kristen sighed, standing and weaving her way through the desks until she reached the front of the room. Yolanda met her with a knowing look, one that made Kristen feel like she was being seen right through.
“How are you holding up, Kristen?” Yolanda asked quietly, her voice low enough that the other students couldn’t hear.
Kristen shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m working on the essays,” she said, avoiding the real question. “And I’ve been doing the readings.”
Yolanda crossed her arms, her piercing eyes not letting Kristen off that easy. “It’s not about the school work, and you know it. How are you doing?”
Kristen hesitated, feeling the weight of the question settle on her shoulders. She glanced around the room, watching her classmates effortlessly summon holy light and divine energy, and her chest tightened. “I guess I’m managing,” she muttered. “Without Cassandra, it’s… different.”
Yolanda’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. “Losing a god is no small thing,” she said gently. “But you’re still here. And the fact that you’re showing up every day, still doing the work—that matters.”
Kristen nodded, though the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. “Yeah. But showing up doesn’t make me feel any closer to… well, anything.”
Yolanda studied her for a moment before leaning in slightly. “Faith isn’t always about feeling close, Kristen. Sometimes, it’s about finding the strength to move forward, even when you feel disconnected. You’re stronger than you realize.”
Kristen swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I hope you’re right.”
Yolanda’s hand rested briefly on Kristen’s shoulder, a small gesture of comfort before she nodded toward the door. “Keep writing the essays and reaching out for Cassandra. And remember, it’s okay to question things. It’s okay to take your time.”
Kristen offered a faint smile, grateful for the teacher’s understanding, even if it didn’t completely ease the turmoil inside her. She made her way back to her seat, picking up Adaine's pen and scribbling down a few half-hearted notes, though her mind was already elsewhere.
The rest of the day passed in much the same way—moments of focus interrupted by the nagging sense that she wasn’t quite herself anymore. But as Kristen walked through the hallways between classes, another student—a firbolg smelling of strong weed—called out to her as she passed by.
“Hey, Applebees! You’re gonna crush this election!” he yelled, a goofy grin on his face as he reached out to high-five her.
Kristen blinked, surprised by the sudden attention, but she slapped his hand with a grin of her own. “Thanks, dude!” she called back, her mood lifting slightly.
As she continued down the hallway, more students began to greet her. A couple of first-years waved excitedly as she passed, and she exchanged a quick high-five with Max, who was leaning against the lockers with a group of his friends.
“You’ve got this, Kristen!” one of the students called out, and Kristen couldn’t help but laugh. The encouragement was genuine, and it felt good, like a breath of fresh air after the heavy conversations she’d had all morning.
She made her way to her locker, grabbing a book for her next class when Fig bounded over, her usual chaotic energy filling the space around her.
“Hey, future president!” Fig exclaimed, throwing her arms around Kristen’s shoulders in a dramatic hug. “Everyone’s talking about you. You’re a legend.”
Kristen chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know about a legend.”
“No, seriously!” Fig insisted, stepping back and grinning, pulling dyed hair from her face. “The whole school thinks you’re gonna win. I mean, how could they not? You’ve got the biceps and a smart mouth.”
Kristen flexed her arm, unable to resist playing along. “Well, I do work out,” she joked, feeling a little lighter with every interaction.
Fig laughed, nudging her. “You should use that in your campaign. ‘Vote Kristen Applebees: She’ll flex on corruption!’”
Kristen shook her head, but a smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll think about it.”
Kristen and Fig made their way down the bustling hallway toward the cafeteria, the noise of the school swirling around them like a constant hum. Students were scattered everywhere—some huddled in groups, animatedly talking about the latest Aguefort gossip, others rushing between classes with books and scrolls piled in their arms. The smell of lunch wafted through the air, a mix of magical food items and more traditional fare.
As they reached the large double doors leading to the cafeteria, Kristen caught sight of the familiar corner where the Bad Kids always sat. Their table, nestled near the window with a clear view of the courtyard, had become a permanent fixture for them—almost as if it had a "Reserved" sign specifically for their group.
Kristen and Fig pushed through the crowd, weaving around other students until they reached the table. Adaine and Gorgug were already there, the two of them sitting quietly as Adaine meticulously unpacked her lunch sack, which was made from a sturdy black trash bag. Lydia Barkrock always made these bags for them every morning, filling them with a strange assortment of foods that somehow provided everything they needed for the day.
Adaine wrinkled her nose as she sifted through her lunch, carefully swapping out some of the carb-heavy snacks for Gorgug’s smaller sandwiches. Gorgug, ever the gentle giant, watched her with quiet appreciation as he munched on one of the snacks Adaine had handed over.
“Thanks,” Gorgug mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich, his deep voice soft but warm.
“No problem,” Adaine replied, pushing her glasses up her nose with a finger before glancing up at Kristen and Fig as they approached. “Finally.”
Riz sat across from them, hunched over a stack of papers that looked way too official for a normal lunch break. He was furiously scribbling notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. From what Kristen could see, it was something to do with one of the many school clubs he was involved in—probably an upcoming debate or an investigative report he was working on.
Fabian, on the other hand, sat on top of the table itself, lounging with the casual confidence only Fabian Aramais Seacaster could pull off. He waved at Kristen and Fig as they approached, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“About time!” Fabian called out, grinning. “I was just telling The Ball that we should go and find you.”
Fig rolled her eyes, plopping down next to him. “Don’t mind us,” she said with a smirk. “Kristen was being hounded by her adoring subjects.”
Kristen laughed as she slid into her seat across from Adaine. “Yeah, apparently I’m a ‘legend’ now,” she said, flexing her arm again in an exaggerated motion. “I guess that’s what running for president does to a girl.”
The whole table erupted into laughter. Even Riz looked up from his paperwork long enough to shoot Kristen a knowing smile before diving back into his notes.
“Well, if anyone’s going to become a legend, it’s you, Kristen,” Fabian declared with a dramatic flourish, clearly reveling in the attention. “But don’t get too comfortable with your newfound fame. Tonight, I will solidify my status as maximum legend of Aguefort at the Seacaster Manor party.”
Fig raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. “Oh? You throwing this party for yourself or for Kristen’s campaign?”
Fabian shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “Why not both? It’ll be a night to remember! And what better way to rally the masses than with a grand Seacaster celebration?”
Kristen shook her head, smiling despite herself. She couldn’t deny that Fabian had a way of turning everything into an event. “Just make sure the party doesn’t end with you challenging someone to a joust in the backyard again.”
“Kristen, please,” Fabian said, feigning offense. “That was one time! And, to be fair, I won that joust.”
“You almost impaled yourself on a flagpole,” Adaine pointed out dryly, handing Gorgug another snack from her trash bag lunch.
Fabian waved her off. “Details. The point is, tonight will be epic.”
Kristen leaned back in her chair, glancing around the table. As chaotic as her life felt at the moment, these moments with her friends—sitting at their table, laughing about ridiculous things—grounded her in a way she desperately needed. The weight of the campaign, her struggles with her faith, even the lingering thoughts of Tracker and Cassandra—they all seemed a little less heavy when she was with the Bad Kids.
Gorgug, still munching quietly, glanced over at Kristen. “So, are you ready for the election stuff? I mean… being president sounds like a lot.”
Kristen shrugged, though the question hung in her mind for a moment. Was she ready? Maybe. Maybe not. But she wasn’t about to back down now. “Sure,” she said. “If I can handle you guys, I think I can handle those Rat Munchers.”
Fig snickered. “Yeah, if you can survive us, you’re pretty much indestructible.”
Riz glanced up from his paperwork again, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “The key to winning any election is strategy,” he said seriously. “We need to map out the key demographics, the most influential student groups, and the—”
Fabian cut him off with a wave of his hand. “The Ball, relax. It’s a high school election, not a battle for the throne.”
“It’s exactly like a battle for the throne,” Riz muttered, diving back into his notes.
Kristen smiled, grateful for Riz’s intensity even if it bordered on overkill sometimes. “Let’s just get through the party first.”
Fabian grinned, clapping his hands together. “Exactly! Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we conquer.”
Fig rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice as she leaned back in her chair. “You’re such a drama queen, Fabian.”
“Thank you,” Fabian replied, completely unfazed.
Gorgug sat up a little straighter, his eyes wandering toward a table on the far side of the cafeteria. “Hey,” he said, his deep voice rumbling as he pointed. “Look at them.”
Kristen followed his gaze and spotted the Rat Grinders, Kipperlilly Copperkettle’s group of friends—or at least, her adventuring party. They sat in their usual spot by the windows, but Kipperlilly wasn’t with them. Lucy, the tall frost genasi with icy blue skin, and Oisin, a blue dragonborn with glasses, were huddled together over a book, their heads nearly touching as they quietly read. Ivy, a striking elven girl with flawless features and an aloof expression, was glued to her phone, occasionally glancing up at the others with mild disinterest. Next to her, Mary Ann, a small reddish kobold, was furiously tapping away on a handheld game device, her tongue poking out in concentration. Off to the side, Ruben, an emo gnome with a swoopy fringe covering half his face, was surrounded by a small group of girls, each one waiting eagerly for his autograph.
Gorgug scratched his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Does Cippergililly even like them? I never see her sit with them at lunch.”
Fabian scoffed, tossing his hair back dramatically. “Who cares? They suck,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Honestly, the fact that Copperpot even associates with them just shows her poor judgment. The Rat Grinders? Really? Who came up with that name?"
Fig’s lips twitched with barely concealed jealousy as she leaned forward on the table, her eyes narrowed in Ruben’s direction. “My Clerical Gnomance wasn’t even that good,” she muttered, her fingers tapping on the table rhythmically. “One song of the summer—big deal. Try best-selling albums.”
Kristen shot Fig a knowing glance. Fig’s rivalry with Ruben wasn’t just about the music. Ruben’s gloomy, brooding persona had somehow earned him an annoyingly loyal fanbase, and it was clear that it got under Fig’s skin.
Adaine, who had been quietly picking through her lunch, looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe they would stand a chance if he was running for president instead,” she said dryly.
The table chuckled, and Kristen rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s annoying, but I doubt Ruben could rally a presidential campaign out of angst.”
Fabian leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “True, true. Though I have to say, Kristen, Kindlesnap What’s-her-face has been awfully quiet about her own campaign. You’re the talk of the school right now, but where is she?”
Kristen shrugged, a frown tugging at her lips. It was strange, now that she thought about it. Kipperlilly hadn’t made any big moves, no flashy announcements or speeches. For someone who thrived on control and precision, she seemed uncharacteristically absent from the political scene.
“I don’t know,” Kristen said, tapping her fingers against her lunch tray. “Maybe she’s planning something big. She’s not the type to go down without a fight.”
“She probably thinks she can waltz in at the last second and blow everyone away,” Fig added, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Classic—making sure everyone’s watching before she even lifts a finger.”
“Yeah, but I wonder how she’s even doing with her party,” Gorgug said, glancing back at the Rat Grinders’ table. “Like, she’s never with them during lunch. Doesn’t that seem weird?”
Kristen glanced over again. Gorgug had a point. Kipperlilly rarely sat with her friends, if they were even friends. It seemed more like an alliance of convenience, a social group held together by mutual benefits rather than any genuine connection. Kristen couldn’t remember the last time she saw Kipperlilly just hanging out with anyone, laughing or relaxing like a normal student. There was always that rigid, cold distance, like she was observing everyone from behind a glass wall.
“I don’t think Kipperlilly has friends the way we do,” Adaine said, her tone thoughtful. “Her relationships seem more… transactional. You know, like alliances. But not the kind where you’d share your trash-bag lunch with someone.”
Gorgug nodded, still eyeing the Rat Grinders. “That sounds… lonely.”
Kristen blinked, the word catching her off guard. Lonely. Was that what Kipperlilly was? She’d never thought about it like that before. Sure, Kipperlilly was frustrating, always so composed and perfect, but loneliness? That wasn’t something she’d ever associated with her. Kipperlilly always seemed untouchable, like she didn’t need anyone.
“I mean, it’s not like she’d ever admit to it,” Kristen said, a hint of doubt creeping into her voice. “She’d probably rather lose the election than show any kind of vulnerability.”
Adaine shrugged, neatly folding her lunch bag and putting it away. “I think everyone has their moments. Even people like Kipperlilly.”
Fabian snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Please. Kettlechip’s probably calculating her next move as we speak. She’s got an endgame, mark my words.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not let her get too far ahead,” Riz said, as Kristen was shaking off the strange feeling that lingered after Gorgug’s comment. “Tonight’s party is a chance to really get some momentum going. We’ll make sure everyone’s talking about the election after tonight.”
“Exactly,” Fabian said, leaning forward with renewed excitement. “I’ll make sure Seacaster Manor is ready for the event of the year. It’ll be the perfect stage.”
Fig grinned, leaning in as well. “And if anyone tries to outshine us, we’ll just drop a killer performance. Can’t compete with that.”
Kristen smiled, feeling the confidence of her friends bolster her own. This was her team, her people, and together they were unstoppable. The election was still a looming challenge, but with her friends backing her up, it didn’t seem as daunting. Even if Kipperlilly had a plan, Kristen wasn’t going to let her walk all over her.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the cafeteria erupted into movement as students grabbed their trays and began filing out for the next class. Kristen stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and glancing one last time at the Rat Grinders’ table. Lucy was still deep in conversation with Oisin, while Ruben flipped his hair dramatically and waved off his adoring fans. Kipperlilly, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.
“See you guys at Seacaster Manor,” Kristen said, giving a quick wave to the group as they dispersed.
As she made her way toward the next class, Kristen couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming. Whether it was Kipperlilly’s next move or the momentum of her own campaign, things were about to change.