Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Early Years

Four-year-old Kipperlilly Copperkettle sat cross-legged on the creaky wood floor of her family’s cozy living room, her small hands clenched into tight fists. A trail of tiny yellow blocks, her favorite building bricks, lay scattered around her in disarray. A misplaced block had tipped over the small house she had been so carefully assembling. It wasn’t just frustration simmering beneath her skin... it was rage, the kind that burned hot and fast, consuming her from the inside out.

She let out a furious shriek, throwing the last block across the room. It hit the floral-patterned couch with a dull thunk before bouncing off harmlessly. Her chest heaved as her face flushed crimson, tiny nostrils flaring with every uneven breath.

Barden glanced up from where he was slumped at the little round dining table, sipping a mug of weak tea. His blonde hair was unruly, sticking up in odd places as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times. The beginnings of a mustache wisped awkwardly along his upper lip, a sign of his determination to become the sort of man he imagined a respectable realtor should be.

“Win?” Barden called softly over his shoulder toward the kitchen, like someone speaking to a skittish animal. “It’s happening again.”

Winnie peeked her head around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was petite even for a halfling, her brown hair curling softly around her heart-shaped face. The perpetual air of optimism she carried with her was cracked, slightly off-kilter now. The soft hum she had been singing in the kitchen trailed into silence when she saw the mess in the living room.

“Oh, Kipperlilly...” Winnie sighed, stepping over the fallen blocks to crouch next to her daughter. “What’s this about, sweet pea?”

But Kipperlilly didn’t answer. Her breath hitched as angry tears welled up, spilling down her round cheeks. She swatted away Winnie’s outstretched hand, shaking her head furiously.

Winnie glanced back at Barden with a look that said: We need to talk about this. Barden set down his tea, rubbing his temples as though the weight of every tantrum that had happened within the house was packed into the space between his eyebrows. The tension in the room was as thick as the honey they used to sweeten their tea.

“She’s four, Winnie,” Barden muttered, leaning back in his chair. “She’s just having... a moment.”

“This isn’t just a moment, Barden. It’s the fourth one today,” Winnie whispered sharply, her voice dropping so Kipperlilly wouldn’t hear the worry threading through her words. “Something’s going on with her.”

Barden let out a long, slow sigh and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “Look, she’s got a big personality. That’s all. She’ll grow out of it.”

“I don’t think this is just a personality thing,” Winnie pressed, her brown eyes soft but insistent. “She needs to learn how to deal with these feelings. She needs help, Barden.”

Barden’s jaw tightened, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. It wasn’t an unfamiliar conversation between them. Every tantrum, every outburst, they danced around the same argument.

“And what?” Barden snapped, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “We take her to a therapist? Have you met Elmville’s therapists? We’re realtors, Win. We’ve shown those offices. The chairs creak, the walls are yellowing. It's not exactly... healing.”

Winnie straightened up, planting her hands on her hips. “You know it’s not about the décor, Barden.”

He winced. Winnie’s temper was softer than Kipperlilly’s, but that only made it sting worse when it flared. Barden slouched a little further in his seat, muttering something under his breath.

Kipperlilly sniffled loudly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her blue shirt. She didn’t understand everything her parents were saying, but she knew the tone. Knew it meant she was the cause of it. That realization only made her angrier.

“I hate my blocks!” Kipperlilly shouted suddenly, her small voice filled with raw frustration. “I hate them, and I hate this house!”

“Kip, sweetie—” Winnie began, but Kipperlilly’s outburst continued, every word fueled by the fire burning in her tiny chest.

“I hate everything!” she cried, kicking over what remained of her ruined block house. The clattering sound echoed through the quiet home.

Barden pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Winnie took a slow, deep breath, brushing Kipperlilly’s messy blonde curls back from her damp face.

“Hey,” she said gently. “It’s okay to be mad, baby. But you can’t break things just because you’re angry, alright?”

Kipperlilly hiccupped, staring at her mother with wide, tear-filled eyes. “But the house wouldn’t stay up,” she whispered, as though the very injustice of it was too much to bear.

Winnie smiled softly, her thumb brushing a stray tear off Kipperlilly’s cheek. “I know, sweetheart. That’s hard, isn’t it?”

Kipperlilly nodded, sniffling.

“Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to,” Winnie continued, sitting cross-legged beside her daughter now. “And that can make us feel all jumbled up inside, right? Like there’s a storm in our belly.”

Kipperlilly nodded again, more vigorously this time. It was exactly like that. A storm that was wild and uncontrollable.

“You’ve got big feelings, baby,” Winnie sighed. “And that’s not a bad thing. But we’ve got to learn how to ride that storm out without knocking everything over. Okay?”

Kipperlilly gave a hesitant, wobbly nod.

“That’s my girl,” Winnie whispered, kissing her daughter’s forehead before scooping up the scattered blocks and beginning to rebuild the little house.

Barden watched from the table, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’re good at this,” he muttered, half-admiring and half-defeated.

Winnie shot him a knowing look. “You could be, too, you know. If you’d stop worrying about the walls being yellow.”

Barden gave a sheepish smile, the fight draining out of him. He stood up, crossing the room to sit on the floor beside his wife and daughter. “Alright, let’s try again,” he said, picking up a stray block and placing it carefully in the foundation of their miniature house.

Two weeks later, Kipperlilly swung her legs beneath the stiff wooden chair, the tips of her tiny shoes not even close to be able to reach the floor. The waiting room smelled strange, like lavender soap, leather furniture, and a faint hint of ocean air carried all the way from the coast. The soft hum of a ceiling fan whirred overhead, barely masking the ticking clock on the wall. It was one of those big old-fashioned clocks with metal hands that dragged time along as slowly as molasses. Every tick made Kipperlilly’s insides squirm.

She hated waiting.

The crayons they gave her were dull and stubby, worn down from years of other kids pressing too hard. So she used the pencil from her father’s pocket instead, her small fingers gripping it tightly as she tried to sketch out a little picture of a pirate ship. The pirate ship wasn’t going well. The sails didn’t look right, and the water she drew underneath came out more like squiggly spaghetti than waves. She glared at the page in frustration, teeth grinding together.

"Just a few more minutes, sweetheart," Winnie, whispered, brushing her hand gently through Kipperlilly’s hair. She sat close to her daughter, close enough that their knees touched. She kept glancing at the door leading to the psychiatrist’s office, her lips pressed into a worried line.

On Kipperlilly’s other side, her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He kept his arms crossed, leaning forward with one leg bouncing impatiently.

“I still don’t know why they couldn’t handle this in Elmville,” Barden muttered, just loud enough for Winnie to hear.

“The doctor said this guy in Bastion City is one of the best,” Winnie whispered back, shooting him a look. “And I want the best.”

Barden sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in the same way he always did when he was stressed. “It’s just... I don’t know. She’s four, Win. Does she really need a shrink?”

Kipperlilly’s pencil wobbled as she pressed too hard, leaving a jagged line across her pirate ship sketch. She growled under her breath, small hands tightening around the pencil. She didn’t understand all the words her parents were saying, but she knew when they were talking about her.

Winnie’s voice dropped lower, though her irritation was clear. “It’s not about needing a shrink, Barden. It’s about getting her some tools to help her manage her feelings. You saw what the doctor said in the report—”

“I saw the bill, too,” Barden cut in, his jaw tightening. “And I don’t need some big-city doctor telling me my kid’s got feelings. I already know that.”

Winnie pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. “Can we please not do this here?”

Barden grumbled something under his breath, and Winnie exhaled, her hand smoothing down Kipperlilly’s curls again as though that might settle some of the tension radiating off her daughter.

Kipperlilly stared down at the sketch of her pirate ship, the pencil hovering above the page. The longer she looked at it, the more she hated it. The sails were crooked. The waves looked stupid. A tight, hot feeling built up inside her chest. A storm, just like the one her mom had talked about. And just like always, it felt too big for her small body to contain. She clutched the pencil so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She wanted to make the ship look right. She needed it to look right. But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t, no matter how hard she tried.

Her grip tightened until the pencil snapped in half with a sharp crack.

Both her parents jumped at the sound. The broken pieces of the pencil clattered onto the floor, and Kipperlilly stared down at them, her chest heaving as frustration burned hot and heavy inside her.

Barden let out a low sigh, kneeling down to pick up the pieces. “Bug...” he started, but his voice was already laced with exhaustion.

Kipperlilly's cheeks flushed. She hadn’t meant to break it. It just happened. It always just happened.

Winnie shifted in her seat and wrapped an arm around Kipperlilly’s small shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s just a pencil. It’s okay.”

But it didn’t feel okay. It felt like the whole world was tilted just a little too far off-center, and no one else noticed but her.

Winnie kissed the top of Kipperlilly’s head. “We’re going to talk to someone in a minute, and they’ll help us figure things out, okay?”

Kipperlilly didn’t answer. She just leaned into her mother’s side, her fists still clenched tightly in her lap.

A soft click echoed through the room as the door to the office swung open. A tall, thin elf with silver glasses stepped out, holding a clipboard against his chest. His expression was polite but distant, like he had done this exact same thing a hundred times before.

“The Copperkettle family?” the elf called out, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the small halfling trio seated by the window.

“That’s us,” Barden said, standing and offering a tight smile. He smoothed down his jacket and extended a hand toward his wife, helping her to her feet.

“Come on,” Winnie whispered, brushing a curl away from her daughter’s forehead. “Let’s go meet the nice doctor.”

Kipperlilly's hand stayed tightly knotted in her mother’s sleeve as they shuffled into one of the offices. The room was brighter than she expected. Soft sunlight poured in from a wide window, warming the wooden floor and spilling across rows of shelves filled with books, jars of herbs, and knickknacks that looked like tiny sculptures of sea creatures.

In the center of the room was a large desk, cluttered with papers and a tiny fern sitting in a blue ceramic pot. Behind the desk stood the doctor; a kind-looking water genasi with smooth blue-green skin and hair that shimmered like river water under moonlight. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, a hint of salt lingering in the air around him.

“Come on in,” he said warmly, gesturing toward a pair of chairs near his desk. “Make yourselves comfortable. My name is Dr. Meander, but you can just call me Ander.”

Winnie gave him a polite smile, taking Kipperlilly's hand as they crossed the room. “Thanks, Ander. I’m Winnie, this is Barden, and... well, you’ve probably guessed this little one is Kipperlilly.”

Barden offered a brief, stiff nod, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Ander got down on one knee, so he was at eye level with Kipperlilly. “Hello, Kipperlilly,” he said gently. “I know this is probably a little weird, but you’re doing a great job so far. Can I get a high-five?”

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. She was already skeptical of this new adult, and her skepticism only deepened when he held his hand out for the high-five. She hesitated a moment, glancing at her parents for reassurance, then gave Ander’s hand a quick, reluctant slap.

“There it is,” Ander said with a grin, standing upright again. “Alright. Let’s chat a little first and go over a few things.”

They settled into the chairs by his desk, Winnie holding Kipperlilly on her lap, while Barden shifted awkwardly in his seat. Kipperlilly wriggled, still restless from sitting still for so long. The edges of her storm hadn’t quite settled yet, leaving her chest tight and her thoughts prickly.

Ander slid a file across the desk and opened it, flipping through pages of notes and test results. “So,” he began, “I know this has probably been a long process for you all... doctors, evaluations, all that. But I want you to know you’ve come to the right place. We’re going to figure this out together.”

Winnie nodded, though her grip on Kipperlilly tightened slightly. “Her doctor back in Elmville said it’s... well, it’s more than just regular tantrums. And it seems to be getting worse, not better.”

Ander leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together as he listened. His expression remained calm and open, the way water remains still before it begins to ripple.

Barden let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I’m just gonna say it. She’s a kid. Kids get mad, right? They throw tantrums. I don’t want her thinking something’s wrong with her just because she’s got big feelings.”

Ander gave Barden a slow nod, as though turning his words over in his mind like a smooth stone in his palm. “You’re right,” Ander said thoughtfully. “Kids absolutely have big feelings. Sometimes bigger than their bodies know how to handle. That’s normal. But it’s also important to give them the tools to manage those feelings, so they don’t feel overwhelmed by them.”

He paused, glancing at Kipperlilly’s small, tense form as she squirmed on her mother’s lap.

“Kipperlilly is bright. Far beyond what we would expect for her age. She’s curious, determined, and strong-willed. But when those big feelings show up, it can be hard for her to stay in control, and that’s what we’re here to help with.”

Kipperlilly wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about, but the mention of her name made her sit up a little straighter. She didn’t like the idea of needing help. She didn’t want to be the kind of kid who needed a doctor just because she got mad sometimes.

Ander must have noticed the shift in her expression because he smiled warmly at her. “You’re not in trouble, Kipperlilly,” he said. “This isn’t about being good or bad. It’s about figuring out how to make things a little easier for you.”

Winnie kissed the top of Kipperlilly’s head. “That’s right, sweetie. This is just a way to help us all understand those feelings better.”

Ander reached for a small stack of papers on his desk. “Here’s what we’re thinking,” he said, sliding the papers toward Winnie and Barden. “Kipperlilly would come here once a week for therapy. We’ll work on things like naming her emotions, finding ways to manage them, and practicing calming techniques. But the real work will happen at home, too.”

Barden raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What kind of work?”

“Simple things, really,” Ander replied. “Maybe keeping a feelings journal, doing some breathing exercises, or having a cool-down space where Kipperlilly can go if things feel too big.”

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to write.”

Ander chuckled softly. “That’s okay. We’ll figure out what works for you. Something that helps you feel better when that storm comes.”

Barden leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Ander gave a small smile. “It’s not about it working right away. It’s about trying new things, practicing, and giving Kipperlilly the tools she needs to manage her feelings over time. It’s a process.”

Winnie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “We’re in. Whatever it takes.”

Barden let out a slow breath through his nose, clearly still not thrilled about the idea but resigned. “Alright,” he muttered. “If it helps her, I’m in, too.”

Ander smiled warmly at all three of them. “That’s all I need to hear. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

He jotted a few notes in Kipperlilly’s file, then stood and handed Winnie a small stack of papers. “Here’s some information on what we’ll be doing in therapy, as well as some things to try at home. If you have any questions, just give me a call.”

Winnie shook his hand warmly, gratitude clear in her expression. “Thank you, Ander.”

Barden gave a stiff but polite nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Kipperlilly glanced up at the adults, her brows furrowing slightly. She still wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen next.

Ander crouched down one last time to meet her eyes. “We’ve got this, Kipperlilly,” he said with a wink. “You and me? We’re a team.”

Kipperlilly stared at him for a long moment, then gave the smallest, most hesitant of smiles.

Eight year old Kipperlilly swung her feet beneath the stiff plastic chair, the tips of her shoes knocking gently against the legs. She hated the Acorn Hill Elementary office. The stale air, the scratchy carpet, the way the buzzing fluorescent lights made her eyes itch.

Her parents sat on either side of her, close enough that their shoulders touched. Winnie looked calm, but Kipperlilly knew her mother well enough to see the tightness in her jaw, the way her hands rested too still in her lap. Barden leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, radiating silent disapproval.

Across from them, Mrs. Alderstone, the school’s vice-principal, adjusted her glasses and gave them all a tight, practiced smile. "I appreciate you both coming in on such short notice," she began, glancing down at the file in front of her. "We’re here to discuss Kipperlilly’s behavior today. I understand there was... an incident."

Kipperlilly squirmed, her small hands curling into fists on her lap. They were going to talk about it again. She didn’t mean to yell, but it just... happened.

Her parents exchanged a quick glance, and Winnie reached over, smoothing Kipperlilly’s messy curls with a gentle hand. "We understand you’re concerned," Winnie said, her voice calm but firm. "But this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and frankly, I’m not sure why we’re here."

Mrs. Alderstone cleared her throat, her thin smile never faltering. "Well, Kipperlilly’s teacher mentioned that today’s outburst was... concerning. It disrupted the entire class."

"Because you let those boys call her names," Barden cut in, his mustache twitching as he scowled. "If your staff isn’t going to stop kids from picking on her, you can’t be surprised when she defends herself."

Mrs. Alderstone’s polite smile tightened. "Yes, but there are more constructive ways to handle frustration than—"

"Than yelling at the top of her lungs and storming out?" Winnie interrupted with a raised eyebrow. "She’s eight. What exactly do you expect?"

Kipperlilly glanced up at her mom, a flicker of warmth sparking in her chest. It felt good to know her parents were on her side, even when the rest of the world wasn’t.

Mrs. Alderstone folded her hands on the desk. "This isn’t just about today’s incident," she said carefully. "There are larger concerns at play. Kipperlilly is excelling academically—far beyond what we typically see at her age. But socially... she’s struggling. Her teacher has mentioned that she tends to keep to herself and hasn’t made many friends."

Kipperlilly's heart thudded painfully against her ribs. She stared down at her hands, her knuckles white from squeezing her fists too tight.

"That's not true," Winnie said firmly. "She just doesn’t like to play silly games with kids who don’t get her. That’s not a fault. It’s a strength."

Barden leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk. "The problem isn’t Kipperlilly. The problem is that she’s not being challenged here. She’s bored."

Mrs. Alderstone gave a nod, as though she’d been expecting this response. "I understand your frustrations. But boredom alone doesn’t explain the behavioral issues we’ve been seeing. Learning to navigate social situations is just as important as academic achievement, especially at this age."

Kipperlilly’s throat tightened, her face burning with shame. She hated the way they talked about her like she wasn’t even there, like she was some kind of problem that needed fixing.

Winnie’s hand brushed over Kipperlilly’s shoulder. "So, what exactly are you suggesting?" Winnie asked. Her voice was dangerously calm in that way Kipperlilly would know she was in trouble if it had been directed at her.

Mrs. Alderstone adjusted her glasses again. "We believe Kipperlilly might benefit from some additional support. Perhaps through group activities, or..." She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. "Or a specialist."

Barden let out a low, frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "She’s already seeing a therapist," he muttered. "And it’s working. She’s been doing great, haven't you, Kip?"

Kipperlilly gave a small, reluctant nod, though the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. She’d been doing great. Until today.

Mrs. Alderstone tapped her fingers on the desk, glancing at Kipperlilly with a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "We just want to make sure she’s getting the support she needs to thrive, both academically and socially."

Kipperlilly glared down at the carpet, her fists clenched tighter. She wanted to say something, but the words felt too tangled to push out.

"Look," Winnie said, sitting up straighter, her tone sharp with frustration. "We’ve been through this before. Kipperlilly isn’t struggling... she’s bored. She’s learning faster than you can teach her, and instead of giving her more challenging work, you’re acting like it’s her fault she’s not fitting in with kids who aren’t at her level."

Mrs. Alderstone opened her mouth to respond, but Barden cut her off with a wave of his hand. "We appreciate your concern," he said flatly. "But Kipperlilly is doing just fine. What she needs is to be challenged, not scolded for being smarter than the other kids."

Mrs. Alderstone gave them a tight, professional smile. "I understand. We’ll look into adjusting her curriculum to better suit her needs."

When the meeting finally ended, and they stepped out into the hallway, Kipperlilly let out a sigh. Winnie gave her a small smile, placing a hand against her shoulder. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Kipperlilly shrugged. "I guess."

Barden ruffled her hair affectionately. "Don’t let them get to you, Bug," he said with a grin. "You’re too smart for this place, that’s all."

Winnie shot him a look but didn’t disagree. "We’ll figure it out," she promised softly, wrapping an arm around Kipperlilly’s shoulder as they walked toward the exit. "Why don't we go and get ice cream?"

The car ride to Basrar's Soda Fountain was quiet. Kipperlilly slumped in the backseat, her forehead resting against the window. Elmville rolled by in patches of cobblestone streets and flower-boxed windows, the usual charm of the little town doing nothing to make her feel better. She knew she was different than all of the other kids, but she wished she didn't feel it so dramatically.

Her parents didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk, which she appreciated. They knew her well enough to let her sit with her thoughts. Finally, after the almost agonizing drive, the familiar neon sign of Basrar’s Soda Fountain came into view, blinking in cheerful pink and blue.

The bell above the door jingled as they entered, and the cool, sugary smells hit her instantly. The place was just how she remembered it, with it's checkerboard floors, vinyl booths, and a long counter lined with shiny metal stools that squeaked when you sat on them. Basrar, a misty djinn with a friendly grin, floated behind the counter. Winnie ordered strawberry for herself, Barden went with mint chip, and Kipperlilly picked chocolate fudge, even though she wasn’t really hungry. They slid into a booth by the window, and the ice cream arrived quickly, glossy and piled high in tall sundae glasses.

Kipperlilly picked at her scoop with a spoon, dragging small trenches through the soft fudge swirls. She stared at it, her appetite stubbornly absent.

Barden leaned forward on his elbows, watching her carefully. "Kip," he said. "We’re not mad at you about today, okay? We know you’re bored. That’s not your fault."

Kipperlilly shrugged again, not meeting his eyes. "It’s not just that," she mumbled, twisting her spoon in the ice cream.

Winnie exchanged a glance with Barden before scooting closer to Kipperlilly, her arm brushing lightly against her daughter’s. "What else, sweetie?" she asked gently.

Kipperlilly let out a small huff, frustrated that the words were caught in her throat. But finally, she found them. "I’m tired of not having any friends," she admitted quietly. "Everyone there is boring. They just want to do the same stuff their parents do. Be bankers, make furniture, or work in some dumb mechanic’s shop." She stabbed her spoon into the ice cream with more force than necessary. "Nobody wants to do anything cool."

Her parents didn’t respond right away. They exchanged another one of those quick, silent looks. One of the ones Kipperlilly couldn’t quite read but knew meant they were thinking about something important.

After a moment, Barden gave her a soft, crooked grin. "Well, that’s not what you want to do, huh?" he asked, tipping his head toward her. "So... what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Kipperlilly froze, her spoon halfway through a swirl of fudge. She hadn’t expected the question. "I dunno," she mumbled, suddenly feeling small. "Haven’t thought about it." She went back to aimlessly poking at her ice cream.

Winnie leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands as she smiled warmly at her daughter. "That’s okay," she said softly. "You don’t have to know right now. But whatever you decide, Kip, you’re smart enough to be anything you want to be."

Kipperlilly looked up from her ice cream, her brown eyes wide and searching. "Anything?"

"Anything," Winnie repeated firmly, her smile full of quiet confidence. "You don’t have to do what we do. You can pick something totally different. Something you love."

Kipperlilly sat with that for a moment, rolling it over in her mind. The idea of being able to choose to be something other than what was expected of her was new. It was a strange feeling, but she liked the way it felt.

For the first time that afternoon, she took a real spoonful of ice cream and popped it into her mouth. The rich chocolate and sweet fudge melted across her tongue, and she let out a small, satisfied hum.

Barden gave her a playful nudge. "There’s that smile."

Kipperlilly fought the urge to roll her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward anyway. "I guess it’s not the worst ice cream ever."

"High praise," Barden teased, taking a big spoonful of his mint chip.

The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, spilling across the hardwood floor in uneven patches. Eleven year old Kipperlilly sat at the table, fidgeting with the strap of her brand-new backpack. It was deep green with silver buckles; practical, like something a young adventurer might carry. She liked the way it looked, but it felt heavier than she expected, filled with fresh notebooks, pens, and the imaginary weight of the day that was to come.

Her dad stood by the counter, stirring sugar into his coffee with a steady clink-clink of the spoon. His mustache had finally grown in properly, and it twitched slightly as he muttered to himself, lost in thought. Her mom was fussing with her hair, pulling it into two neat pigtails that framed Kipperlilly’s face. Winnie’s soft brown hair bounced as she moved, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“There,” Winnie said, securing the last section of hair with a small blue ribbon. “Perfect. You’re all set, sweetie.”

Kipperlilly shrugged. She didn’t feel perfect. She felt more like a big knot of nerves wrapped up tight in her chest. Her first day at Oakshield Middle School loomed, and even though her parents had been saying how exciting it was, she could hear the nervous edge in their voices. New school, new kids, new everything.

“I can do it myself next time,” Kipperlilly muttered, not quite meeting her mom’s gaze. She hated the way it made her feel small when people tried too hard to take care of her.

Winnie gave her a soft smile, brushing a loose curl away from Kipperlilly’s forehead. “Of course you can.”

Barden set his coffee down with a little thunk, glancing between his wife and daughter. “Ready to hit the road, Bug?” he asked with more cheer than necessary, like he was trying too hard to sound excited.

Kipperlilly nodded, slipping off the chair and slinging the heavy backpack over her shoulder.

The three of them headed outside, where their car sat waiting in the driveway. It was a newer model than their last one, without a single dent or scratch. The inside smelled like leather and the faintest hint of dark cherry from the sachet Winnie had tucked into the glove compartment.

As soon as the car doors clicked shut and the engine hummed to life, Kipperlilly tucked herself into the corner of the backseat, staring out the window. Elmville was still waking up. Shops were beginning to open, neighbors were walking their dogs, and the smell of fresh bread drifted out from the bakery on the corner. She could hear the familiar squeak of bike tires as kids her age her pedaled down the street, some heading toward the Sprigwood Middle School a few streets over.

For a moment, Kipperlilly let herself imagine what it would’ve been like to go to Sprigwood, the same path as every other kid in her elementary classes did. She pictured herself walking through those wide hallways with worn lockers, going to the same classes her parents had gone to when they were her age.

But Sprigwood wasn’t part of the plan anymore.

She overheard her parents talking up front—quiet, but not quiet enough. They always thought she wasn’t listening, but Kipperlilly had sharp ears, sharp enough to pick up on the things they tried not to say around her.

“I just hope Oakshield is the right fit,” Barden murmured as he made a slow turn onto the main road.

“It will be,” Winnie replied softly, but there was a note of worry in her voice. “And Dr. Meander said she’s ready for it. He thinks it’ll be good to give her more challenges... something to keep her engaged.”

“She’s only eleven,” Barden muttered. “Feels early to be planning out her whole future.”

Winnie let out a small sigh. “It’s not about planning her whole future. It’s about finding the right path for her, Barden. The doctor said she’s too gifted to stay on the same track as the other kids. She’ll get bored, and we all know what happens when Kip gets bored.”

Barden glanced at Winnie, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I just don’t want her thinking she’s... different. Or broken.”

“She’s not broken,” Winnie said firmly. “She’s brilliant.”

Kipperlilly’s stomach twisted as she listened, her fingers curling around the edge of her backpack. She hated the way they talked about her sometimes, like she was some kind of puzzle they needed to figure out. She didn’t feel brilliant. She just felt like a kid trying not to explode all the time.

“And besides,” Winnie added with a small, hopeful smile, “Dr. Meander thinks the Aguefort track will be perfect for her. If she sticks with it, she could go to Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Can you imagine? Our little Kip—an adventurer.”

Barden let out a short laugh, though it was more tired than joyful. “She’s definitely starting to do things I wouldn't have even dreamed of at her age.”

Winnie grinned, glancing back at Kipperlilly in the rearview mirror. “What do you think, sweetheart? Want to be an adventurer someday?”

Kipperlilly gave a half-shrug, her gaze still fixed out the window. She didn’t know what she wanted. The idea of going to Aguefort sounded cool—sneaking through dungeons, solving mysteries, getting to be the clever one. But it also sounded like a lot.

“I don't know,” she mumbled. “Maybe.”

Winnie chuckled softly. “That’s alright. You’ve got time to figure it out.”

They pulled into the Oakshield parking lot a few minutes later. It was smaller than she expected, with ivy creeping along the stone walls and narrow windows glinting in the morning sun. Kids were already running around on the lawns, shouting and scuffling.

Barden parked the car and turned off the engine with a soft sigh. “Here we are,” he said, twisting in his seat to give Kipperlilly a small, encouraging smile. “Big first day, little bug. You ready?”

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But ready or not, the day was here, and she had to face it. She gave a small nod, more to herself than to her parents.

“You’re going to do great,” Winnie said softly, reaching back to squeeze Kipperlilly’s hand. “And we’ll be right here to pick you up at the end of the day.”

Barden grinned. “Yeah. You’ve got this, Kip. Just remember, if anyone messes with you, tell ‘em your dad’s a realtor. That usually scares people off.”

Kipperlilly let out a small laugh, despite herself. Her dad’s jokes were always bad, but they had a way of making her feel just a little better.

She took a deep breath, adjusted the straps on her backpack, and opened the car door. This was it. A new school, a new start.

The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and stale air, and the hum of fluorescent lights made Kipperlilly’s head throb. She shifted in her seat, her small legs dangling off the edge of the too-big chair, swinging restlessly. The first day at Oakshield Middle School wasn’t going the way her parents had promised.

She hated it.

The other kids, all bigger, louder, and rowdier, seemed like they were born knowing exactly where they fit. They jostled each other in the hallways, threw paper airplanes when the teacher’s back was turned, and spent every moment of recess in messy, chaotic wrestling matches on the playground.

Kipperlilly watched from the sidelines, scowling as a half-elf boy pinned a goliath girl to the ground, both of them laughing breathlessly. The other kids cheered like it was some kind of grand achievement.

“They’re not even doing it right,” Kipperlilly muttered under her breath, her fists clenched at her sides. She could’ve taken them both down if they’d let her play, but every time she tried to join in, someone made a joke about how small she was, or how she’d 'get squished.'

It wasn’t just the playground, either. In class, things weren’t much better.

The morning had started okay. Kipperlilly liked the feeling of opening a brand-new notebook, the smooth paper just waiting to be filled. She’d even been excited when the teacher, a tired-looking human named Mr. Brindle, handed out worksheets on arrow trajectory calculations. Math was easy. It was like a game with a clear answer, no guessing or messy feelings involved.

But when Kipperlilly finished her worksheet in record time and raised her hand to answer every single question, the other kids started to notice. And not in a good way.

By lunchtime, the whispers had started.

"Teacher's pet," a girl snickered from the desk behind her, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Bet she sleeps with a textbook under her pillow," another boy added, laughing.

Kipperlilly gritted her teeth, trying to ignore them. But then came the eraser.

It smacked the back of her head and she froze, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Slowly, she turned in her seat, her gaze locking onto the culprit: a burly orc boy with a crooked grin.

“Oops,” he said, grinning wider. “Slipped.”

Something inside Kipperlilly snapped.

She shot up from her seat, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and marched straight toward the boy. Every muscle in her small body tensed, her hands curling into fists.

“You wanna do that again?” she growled.

The orc boy laughed, clearly not taking her seriously. “What’s a little halfling gonna do about it?”

Kipperlilly didn’t hesitate. She launched herself forward, her fist already swinging, aiming right for his nose. She didn’t care that he was three times her size. She didn’t care that everyone in the room was staring. All she could see was red.

Before her fist could connect, a pair of hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Mr. Brindle’s voice cut through the noise as he stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

“He started it!” Kipperlilly shouted, her voice shaking with anger. “He threw something at me!”

Mr. Brindle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kipperlilly, you can’t just... fight people when they make you mad.”

“But it’s not fair!” Kipperlilly protested, struggling in his grip.

“I know,” Mr. Brindle said gently, but firmly. “We’ll deal with it, but this isn’t how you solve things.”

The orc boy snickered behind him, and Mr. Brindle shot him a stern look. “You too, Nurg. Principal’s office. Both of you.”

Kipperlilly scowled, her fists still clenched tight at her sides, but she didn’t fight Mr. Brindle’s grip anymore.

She hated this school. She hated these kids. She hated that no one seemed to care about fairness.

By the time the final bell rang, Kipperlilly was more than ready to leave. She stomped out to the parking lot, her backpack slung angrily over one shoulder, and yanked open the door to her parents’ car.

Winnie gave her a bright smile from the front seat, hair bouncing as she turned around. “Hey, sweet bug! How was your first day?”

Kipperlilly threw her backpack onto the floor with a frustrated grunt, folding her arms across her chest. “I hate it.”

Winnie’s smile faltered slightly. “Oh... well, I’m sure tomorrow will be better—”

“No, it won’t,” Kipperlilly snapped. “The kids are mean, and the teacher didn’t even do anything when I got in trouble.”

Barden glanced at Winnie, his mustache twitching as he gave her a look that said, I knew this was a bad idea.

Winnie sighed quietly and turned back to Kipperlilly. “I’m sorry it was a tough day, sweetie,” she said softly. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

Winnie and Barden exchanged another look, like they were silently deciding something about her, something they wouldn’t tell her about. She hated when they did that.

Barden cleared his throat and started the car, the engine rumbling to life. “Well,” he said. “At least it’s over now. We’ll go home, have some tea, and try again tomorrow. Deal?”

Kipperlilly glared out the window, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “Whatever.”

The ride home was quiet other than the quiet sound of the radio playing music while. Kipperlilly stared out the window. She’d thought Oakshield would be different. Better. But it was just another place where she didn’t fit.

Day two at Oakshield Middle School was supposed to be better. Kipperlilly had decided that she would take control. No more sitting quietly while kids threw things at her. If Oakshield wanted adventurers, she’d show them just how clever and sneaky she could be.

She sat in the back corner of the classroom, pretending to mind her own business, but her eyes stayed locked on the orc boy from the day before. He was lounging in his seat, gnawing on a pencil as Mr. Brindle droned on about ecosystems. The guy’s pencil case was open on the edge of his desk.

Perfect. Without thinking twice, Kipperlilly ducked low, sliding out of her seat with the quiet precision that made her dad say she was born for trouble. In one smooth motion, she slipped the pencil case off his desk and tucked it into her backpack.

Nurg didn’t even notice.

When the teacher asked everyone to pull out their pencils for the next assignment, he dug through his desk, confusion spreading across his face.

“Hey! Someone stole my pencil case!”

Kipperlilly kept her expression neutral, scribbling fake notes into her workbook.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t throw erasers at people, your stuff wouldn’t go missing,” Mr. Brindle muttered without looking up from his textbook.

The other kids laughed, and Nurg's face twisted with frustration as he slouched lower in his seat. For the first time since starting at Oakshield, Kipperlilly felt something close to satisfaction. It was just a little victory, but it was hers.

But that small victory didn’t last long.

In the hallway between classes, she was shuffling her books from one arm to the other when someone barged into her, hard. Her books tumbled to the floor with a loud thwack, scattering across the hallway.

“Oops,” the same boy sneered, shoving past her with a smug grin. His friends laughed as they followed, not even bothering to look back.

Kipperlilly’s heart pounded in her chest as she scrambled to pick up her books, her hands shaking. Anger twisted in her belly, hot and familiar, but this time, it was tangled with something worse. Humiliation.

By day three, Kipperlilly wasn’t interested in playing defense anymore. She wasn’t just going to survive Oakshield... she was going to fight back. Hard.

So when she saw Nurg standing by his locker, she didn’t hesitate. She marched right up to him, set her jaw, jumped and swung her arm with everything she had.

Her fist connected squarely with his nose, and the boy let out a yelp of surprise as blood gushed down his face.

“You little—!” He staggered back, clutching his nose, but Kipperlilly was already gone, weaving through the crowd with the speed and precision of a thief escaping a heist.

The satisfaction from seeing his stupid grin replaced with shock was worth it. But the consequences came swiftly. At lunch, just as she was starting to feel victorious, she reached into her bag for her lunch money and found nothing but crumpled paper. Someone had taken it.

The tight knot in her chest grew heavier. She’d thought that if she fought hard enough, people would leave her alone. Instead, it felt like every victory just led to another loss.

Day four dawned, and Kipperlilly was ready for revenge.

She waited until lunch, watching the kid she had overheard bragging about stealing lunch money sit at his table, laughing with his friends. Then she struck. It only took a few cutting words whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear. It was a carefully aimed insult about his shoes, followed by a comment about his crooked teeth.

It didn’t take much. His laughter faded, and his face crumpled as tears welled in his eyes. Kipperlilly watched him run from the cafeteria, a hollow feeling settling in her chest. She’d won, but it didn’t feel good.

The rest of the day dragged by slowly. At recess, Kipperlilly wandered the playground, kicking at pebbles and watching the other kids tumble through their usual chaos.

That’s when she saw her.

A frost genasi girl sat slumped against the fence, her long, lanky frame awkwardly folded in on itself. She wore a too-big sweater with sleeves that swallowed her hands and tears streaked her blue cheeks as she sniffled quietly, brushing them away with the edge of her sleeve. A group of boys stood nearby, watching her with smug grins. Kipperlilly recognized the type; brutish, mean, and always looking for an easy target. Among them, her least favorite of them all... Nurg.

“Hey, Frosty,” he jeered. “You cryin’ ‘cause it’s too hot out here for you?”

The genasi girl hunched lower, her shoulders shaking.

Kipperlilly’s chest tightened as she watched from a distance. She knew what it felt like to be cornered, to have people pick at your weakest parts just because they could. She wanted to walk over, to tell those boys to back off, to sit next to the genasi girl and let her know she wasn’t alone. But before she could take a step, the bell rang, and the moment was gone.

The boys scattered, laughing as they ran toward the school building, leaving the frost genasi girl alone by the fence. Kipperlilly stood frozen in place, watching the girl wipe her face and pull her oversized sleeves down over her hands. She wanted to say something, but the moment had slipped through her fingers, just like the books in the hallway, just like the satisfaction of every small victory that hadn’t been enough.

As she trudged back inside with the rest of the students, Kipperlilly couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe winning wasn’t the same as being right. And maybe, just maybe, being alone in a fight wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, she’d talk to the frost genasi girl. Maybe they could sit together. Maybe they didn’t have to fight all the time to feel okay.

Day five started just like the others. Gray skies, scuffed shoes, and that all-too-familiar knot of frustration tightening in Kipperlilly’s chest. But this time, she had made herself a promise. Today, she was going to talk to the frost genasi girl. No more waiting for the perfect moment. Today, things were going to change.

At recess, Kipperlilly scanned the playground until she spotted her. There she was, by the same fence, huddled into her oversized sweater like it might make her invisible. The boys from the day before were back, too, circling her with smug grins and sharp words.

“Hey, ice girl!” one of them jeered, shoving the girl’s shoulder. “Why don’t you melt or something?”

Kipperlilly’s anger sparked instantly, a flame licking up from the pit of her belly. It flared hotter as another boy flicked the girl’s hood down, exposing her pale blue hair. She shrank away from them, pulling her sleeves tighter over her hands, her silver-blue eyes already glimmering with unshed tears.

That was it. Kipperlilly didn’t think. She moved.

“HEY!” Her voice rang out across the playground, sharper than a dagger.

The boys turned, their grins faltering for a split second when they saw her marching toward them.

“Oh, great,” Nurg muttered. “It’s the gremlin again.”

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes. “You want me to punch on you again? I’m getting pretty good at it.”

The boys snickered nervously, but one of them, a scraggly looking bugbear, scowled. “You gave my friend a bloody nose,” he muttered, glaring at her. “You’re nuts.”

“Yeah? And you’re jerks,” Kipperlilly shot back. She took a deliberate step forward, stomping hard on the nearest boy’s foot. He yelped, hopping backward.

“That’s what I thought,” Kipperlilly said, her voice low and steady. “Now get lost.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, muttering to each other as they slunk off toward the other side of the playground.

“Man, she’s crazy,” Nurg whispered, just loud enough for Kipperlilly to hear.

She didn’t care. She’d heard worse.

When they were gone, Kipperlilly turned back toward the frost genasi girl. The girl was still sitting on the ground, her knees drawn up to her chest, blinking up at Kipperlilly in quiet surprise.

“You okay?” Kipperlilly asked, brushing her hands off on her pants.

The girl gave a small, hesitant nod. “Yeah… thanks,” she whispered, her voice as soft as the first breath of winter air.

Kipperlilly dropped into a crouch in front of her, studying her with curious brown eyes. “I’m Kipperlilly,” she said, offering a crooked grin.

The girl hesitated for a moment, her silver-blue eyes wide and wary, as if she wasn’t used to kindness. But after a second, she spoke. “I’m Lucy.” She pulled her sleeves farther over her hands, fidgeting with the frayed edges.

Kipperlilly nodded, her grin widening as she sat beside her. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

They sat there for a moment in comfortable silence, the sounds of the playground around them. Kids shouted and laughed in the distance, but for once, Kipperlilly didn’t feel the need to clench her fists.

“So... why do you wear a sweater that big?” Kipperlilly asked, tilting her head curiously.

Lucy gave a small, nervous laugh, tugging the sleeves down even farther. “It’s my brother’s,” she said. “He gave it to me before he left for boarding school. I guess... it makes me feel safe.”

Kipperlilly nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She knew what it was like to want something to hold onto.

“Well, I think it’s cool,” Kipperlilly said with a grin. “Makes you look mysterious.”

Lucy blinked, her silver-blue eyes wide with surprise. “Mysterious?”

“Yeah. Like a wizard or something,” Kipperlilly said, leaning back on her hands. “Like, you could pull a rabbit out of your sleeve any second.”

Lucy let out a soft giggle (a real one this time), and the sound made Kipperlilly smile wider than she had in quite a while.

Without really thinking about it, Kipperlilly held up her hand, palm out. “High five?”

Lucy blinked, confused. “What?”

Kipperlilly grinned. “A high five. C’mon, it’s like… a victory thing. My therapist does it with me when I do something tough. And you, Lucy, survived a bunch of gross boys today. That’s a win.”

Lucy stared at her hand, hesitant, as if the idea of a high five was some strange, unfamiliar magic. Then, slowly, she reached up, her long fingers brushing against Kipperlilly’s palm before giving it a tentative slap.

“There you go,” Kipperlilly said with a chuckle. “Not bad for a first try.”

Lucy smiled so big, it made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

The bell rang, shattering the moment like a dropped glass. Kids scattered, dragging the last minutes of recess with them, and Kipperlilly stood, brushing dirt off her pants.

“C’mon,” she said, holding out a hand to Lucy. “Let’s get inside. We can sit together?”

Lucy hesitated again, glancing between Kipperlilly’s hand and the school building. But then, slowly, she reached out and took Kipperlilly’s hand in hers. Her hand was cool to the touch, like holding a smooth river stone, but it fit comfortably in Kipperlilly’s grip.

As they walked back toward the school together, something strange and wonderful settled in Kipperlilly’s chest. A feeling she hadn’t had since she started at Oakshield.

At the end of the day, the bell echoed across the schoolyard, and Kipperlilly walked through the building's front doors with a lightness in her step she hadn’t felt all week. The usual clamor of kids heading to their buses and parents crowding the pick-up line barely registered as she scanned the lot for her parents' car.

When she spotted them waiting at the curb, Kipperlilly’s heart gave an unexpected flutter. For the first time in a while, she was looking forward to telling her parents about her day.

She opened the back door with a satisfying clunk and climbed in. Winnie twisted in her seat to greet her, a warm smile already spreading across her face.

“Hey, sweetheart!” she chirped. “How’d it go today?”

Barden, sitting behind the wheel, gave her a quick glance in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised in cautious anticipation. His mustache twitched slightly, his tell for when he was trying not to look too worried.

Kipperlilly buckled her seatbelt and tucked her backpack onto the floor with a grin she could barely contain. “It was good,” she said simply.

Her parents exchanged a quick, surprised glance and for once, Kipperlilly wasn't irritated by them having a silence conversation. Winnie’s face lit up, her relief so obvious it made her smile

“Yeah?” Winnie asked wearily as though she didn’t want to jinx it. “What made it good?”

Kipperlilly shrugged, trying to act casual, but her grin betrayed her. “I made a friend,” she said, leaning back into the seat and feeling how good it was to finally say it. Finally.

“That’s great, Kip!” Winnie said, bright with pride. She twisted around in her seat fully now, clasping her hands in excitement. “What’s their name? Tell us everything!”

Kipperlilly fiddled with the strap of her backpack, feeling a bit bashful under her mom’s excited gaze. “Her name’s Lucy. She’s really tall... like, really tall. And she’s got this cool blue skin, ‘cause she’s a frost genasi.”

Winnie’s smile softened into something warm and tender. “That sounds wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

Kipperlilly glanced toward the rearview mirror and caught her dad’s reflection. His expression wasn’t what she expected. He was quiet. Too quiet. His mustache twitched again as he cleared his throat, and for a moment, he blinked more than necessary, his eyes unusually shiny.

“Dad?” Kipperlilly asked, tilting her head. “You good?”

Barden coughed into his hand and gave her a quick smile, but it was different than his usual easygoing grin. This one was smaller, softer, like it might break if he held it for too long.

“Yeah, kid,” he said, sounding a little rougher than usual. “I’m good. Just... real glad to hear you had a good day, that’s all.”

Kipperlilly stared at him for a moment, a little puzzled. But then she realized what it was. He wasn’t just glad. He was relieved. It was in the way his shoulders had relaxed for the first time since the start of the school year, and the way he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to stop himself from tearing up.

He’d been worried about her. Really worried.

Something about that made Kipperlilly’s throat feel tight. She hadn’t realized how much her bad days weighed on him, how much her struggle to fit in had quietly been his struggle, too. She glanced back out the window, watching the kids spill out of the school building in noisy groups. She didn’t say anything, but she smiled, letting the warmth of the moment sink in. It felt good, better than good, to have something nice to share.

Winnie gave Barden’s shoulder a playful nudge, her eyes crinkling. “Look at you, getting all misty-eyed.”

“I’m not misty,” Barden grumbled, though his voice held no real bite. “I just... got dust in my eye.”

Winnie rolled her eyes with a laugh, and even Kipperlilly chuckled.

“So,” Winnie said, turning back toward Kipperlilly, “are you and Lucy gonna hang out next week?”

Kipperlilly shrugged again, though this time it was more out of happiness than uncertainty. “Yeah, I think so. She’s pretty cool.”

Winnie gave her a warm smile. “I’m really glad you found someone, baby.”

Barden tapped the steering wheel with two fingers, a contented hum escaping him. “See? Told you things would get better.”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, but her grin stayed firmly in place. “You didn’t say that.”

“Okay, maybe not out loud,” Barden admitted, glancing at her in the mirror again with a wink. “But I was thinking it real hard.”

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Freshman Year

The hum of the brand new family car was steady, the gentle purr of the engine smoothing over Kipperlilly’s nerves as they cruised through the quiet streets of Elmville. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, painting the sleek interior with warm patches of gold. The leather seats still smelled new. Sharp and clean, like the beginning of something important.

Kipperlilly sat in the backseat, her backpack resting on her lap. It was stuffed with all new supplies and a bundle of carefully folded brochures from the Aguefort Adventuring Academy that she’d been reading over and over all summer. She had memorized every possible course: Advanced Infiltration, Cryptography, Sleight of Hand, and (if she could manage to get in) a few electives in Alchemical Tinkering.

Lucy and Kipperlilly had talked about this day all summer, lying on the hill behind Lucy’s house, watching the stars and dreaming out loud. They had laughed, schemed, and made promises: We’re going to crush it, Kip. First day, new friends, new adventures. We’ve got this. And now, it was finally here. Kipperlilly grinned to herself, pressing her hands into her backpack to keep from bouncing too much in her seat. She couldn't wait to get inside and get started already. She wanted to seem cool and rogue-like, but inside, she was practically vibrating with excitement.

Her mom glanced back from the front passenger seat with a warm smile. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there, sweetie. Nervous?”

“Nope,” Kipperlilly said quickly, though her foot tapped a restless beat against the floor. “Not nervous. Just... ready.”

Barden grinned from the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other tapping a little rhythm against the dashboard. “That’s the spirit. First day at Aguefort! You’re practically a legend already.”

Winnie gave Barden a playful swat on the arm. “Don’t hype her up too much. She’ll walk into class thinking she owns the place.”

Kipperlilly smirked. “I mean... if the shoe fits.”

Barden let out a laugh, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “That’s my girl.”

The road stretched ahead, the streets of downtown Elmville slowly giving way to the open fields and large buildings of the Aguefort campus. Kipperlilly tilted her head to rest against the window, watching as trees blurred past in a rush of green and gold. She had spent so long preparing for this moment. Studying rogue techniques on her own, practicing stealth during recess at Oakshield, and taking every chance to slip away unnoticed when her teachers weren’t paying attention. By the time she finished middle school, she’d earned a reputation as the fastest, sneakiest kid in the entire class. One teacher even said she was “built for trouble.” Kipperlilly had taken it as a compliment.

“I bet you’ve already got all the classes picked out, don’t you?” Winnie asked, twisting slightly in her seat to look at her daughter.

Kipperlilly grinned. “Yup. I’ve got it down to four options for electives. I really want Advanced Infiltration, but if that’s full, I’m cool with Cryptography.”

Winnie chuckled. “Only you would research electives all summer.”

Barden gave a mock gasp. “Wait, wait, wait. No sports? No Artful Dodging? What kind of rogue are you?”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Sports are fine, I guess. But dodging is easy. It’s all about patterns.”

“Patterns, huh?” Barden teased, throwing a playful glance in the mirror. “That’s some serious rogue talk, Bug.”

Winnie reached over and gave his arm a playful squeeze. “Our kid’s going to out-rogue everyone in her first week.”

Kipperlilly leaned back into the seat, her grin widening. “That’s the plan.”

The road curved, and the Aguefort Adventuring Academy building came into view, standing proudly at the edge of a sprawling forest. The lawns were filled with students mingling in groups, carrying large weapons and looking far more adult than the losers from Oakshield. Kipperlilly’s breath hitched. There it was. Her new beginning.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the main gates, where a few other students were being dropped off. Barden put the car in park and turned around, his grin softening.

“Hey, Kip,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got this. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Just be yourself, okay?”

Kipperlilly blinked, surprised by the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. She gave a small nod, not trusting herself to speak.

Winnie leaned over the seat, brushing her fingers against Kipperlilly's cheek. “And if anyone gives you trouble,” she added with a wink, “just remember; they’ve probably never dealt with a Copperkettle before.”

Kipperlilly let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. This was kind of a big deal. She was the first person in their family to not go to Mumple and they all knew it.

“Thanks,” she murmured, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Barden grinned. “We’ll be right here at the end of the day.”

"And don't forget," Winnie interjected. "You're meeting the guidance counselor before class!"

Kipperlilly gave them a quick wave before hopping out of the car. The moment her boots hit the cobblestones, she felt a spark of energy shoot through her, a thrill she hadn’t felt in a long time. She adjusted the straps of her backpack, squared her shoulders, and took her first step toward the Academy.

This was it. Her first day at Aguefort.

Even in the morning crowd of eager, chattering students, Lucy was impossible to miss. Towering over the sea of backpacks and excited faces, she stood by the entrance to the quad, nervously fidgeting with the sleeves of her ever-present oversized sweater. Kipperlilly couldn’t help but grin. Somehow, over the summer, Lucy had managed to get even taller. She looked out of place in the best way possible, like a gangly tree that had sprouted overnight among shrubs. A few students bumped into her on their way inside, but Lucy barely seemed to notice.

“Kip!” Lucy called, waving so enthusiastically that her long, pale blue hand nearly smacked an elf walking by. “Over here!”

Kipperlilly jogged over, the soles of her polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones. As she reached her friend, Lucy gave her a wide, relieved smile.

“I love the outfit!” Lucy said, looking her friend up and down, her silver-blue eyes sparkling with approval.

Kipperlilly glanced down at herself. She tugged at the lavallière tie knotted under her collar and gave the hem of her pleated skirt a small swish. "Thanks," she said, a little self-consciously. “Figured I'd try something different for high school.”

She had agonized over what to wear that morning, eventually settling on a mix of academic and playful, hoping it would make her look cool without trying too hard. It was a bit of a departure from her usual stealthy, practical clothes, but high school felt like a good time to experiment. A rogue could be fashionable, too. Maybe.

Lucy grinned down at her. “It’s very... ‘I could make you cry and ace the test afterward.’ I approve.”

Kipperlilly smirked. “Exactly the vibe I was going for.”

They walked toward the quad together, dodging bustling groups of students and the occasional runaway enchanted book flapping through the air. A light breeze ruffled the banners strung between lamp posts, and the air buzzed with magic. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain gurgled lazily.

Aguefort was nothing like Oakshield. It was bigger, louder, and felt just a little bit chaotic, like the whole school was on the edge of an adventure waiting to happen. As they rounded a corner, the quad opened before them—a wide, open space lined with stone benches and leafy trees. And that’s when they saw it.

A half-elf threw a punch, his fist connecting with the side of a half-orc’s jaw with a loud thwack. The half-orc staggered back a step, clutching a crumpled metal flower in his hand.

"I'm Fabian Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster and I'm here to be great." proclaimed the attacker, gesturing widely with his arms."

“Oh no,” Kipperlilly muttered under her breath, coming to a halt with Lucy at her side.

A red-headed girl in a tie-dye shirt was already rushing over, her hands raised in alarm.

“Hey, are you okay?” the girl shouted, trying to wedge herself between them. “What happened?”

The half-orc, who seemed to had started singing replied "That guy punched me?"

"That sucks," the red head tried to comfort him, "You seem really non-violent and I think that's really cool. Violence is never the answer-"

The half-orc's expression shifted from surprise to fury in the span of a heartbeat and he launched a retaliatory swing, catching the elf boy squarely in the face.

He lunged forward again, her eyes blazing with determination, and the half-orc lowered his head like a bull preparing to charge.

And then, before anyone could throw another punch, a shadow loomed over them—one far bigger than either fighter.

A red dragonborn in a perfectly tailored suit stepped into the fray, his scales gleaming under the sun. His broad shoulders and towering height made him look more like a guardian statue come to life than a teacher. He folded his massive arms across his chest, letting out a low, rumbling growl that could’ve shaken the ground.

“All right, all right that's enough!” the dragonborn said, his voice calm but undeniably authoritative. “And on day one, the bell hasn't even rung yet.”

The teacher hoisted both boys apart, his piercing yellow eyes locked on the two students until they both backed away, sulking.

“Now look here, what are you, freshmen? How, why did this even start?” the dragonborn asked, raising an eyeridge.

The half-elf just huffed, brushing her hair white out of her eyes with a scowl. The half-orc held up the metal flower defensively, as if it was all the explanation anyone needed.

"I don't know! He hit me!"

"Well, I had to let this one know that I wasn't going to take any of his shit."

The teacher scoffed. “'Shit?' It looks like he's holding a flower."

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes at the scene and moved to drag Lucy with her into the school. All of this, and they hadn't even attended the opening assembly yet.

Lucy stared after them, wide-eyed. "This school is... crazy!"

Kipperlilly gritted her teeth, trying to squeeze her way through the sea of students pouring out of Aguefort’s massive auditorium. Freshmen were everywhere—too tall, too loud, and too oblivious to the fact that she was trying to get through. It was like being trapped in a stampede, except every other person was at least two heads taller than her.

She craned her neck, looking for Lucy’s towering form, but her friend had disappeared somewhere in the tide of students. Kipperlilly muttered a curse under her breath and pressed forward, her elbows out to make space as she fought against the flow of bodies.

The assembly had been... well, exactly as chaotic as she’d expected from everything she’d heard about Arthur Aguefort. The ancient wizard had swept onto the stage in a glittering purple robe, his beard long enough to trip over. His speech had started with the basics; what it meant to be a hero, the importance of finding your party, but it quickly devolved into an unhinged monologue about destiny and the wonders of chronomancy, “the magic of time!” He’d punctuated that statement by throwing handfuls of glitter into the air before vanishing in a flash of blinding light. The students had erupted into wild applause, as though any of it had made sense.

Kipperlilly had been more amused than inspired, but at least it had been entertaining. Now, though, she just wanted to get out of the packed auditorium without being trampled. She shoved her way through a particularly dense cluster of students, her patience wearing thin, and that was when she collided with someone. Hard.

“Oof!”

The impact knocked the other student backward, sending a large leather-bound spellbook tumbling out of his hands. He staggered awkwardly, limbs flailing as he tried to catch his balance.

“Hey, sorry!” Kipperlilly said quickly, scrambling to grab the fallen book before it got kicked further into the chaos.

The boy she’d run into was a spindly blue dragonborn with long, gangly limbs that seemed entirely too big for his body. His ill-fitting shirt hung off his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a kid playing dress-up. Large round glasses perched on his snout, slipping dangerously low as he crouched to retrieve his book. His hands shook slightly as he reached out, before noticing Kipperlilly already had it in her possession.

Kipperlilly held it out to him, stepping to the side to get them both away from the stream of students. “Here,” she said, brushing a bit of dust off the leather cover before handing it over. “Sorry. I was getting trampled.”

The dragonborn gave her a nervous smile, his lips twitching slightly as he clutched the book to his chest like it was his most prized possession. “No, it’s... uh... it's okay,” he stammered.

Kipperlilly noticed that he was also holding his tail in one hand, the tip already bruised from being stepped on. He seemed to shrink in on himself, trying to make his long limbs as small as possible in the crowded space.

She frowned. “You okay?” she asked, moving them even farther to the side, where a quiet nook by the wall gave them some breathing room away from the hollering students.

The dragonborn gave a tiny nod, though his expression was still riddled with nerves. He adjusted his glasses with one claw, his other hand gripping the book and his tail so tightly that his knuckles looked strained.

Kipperlilly offered him a small grin. “I’m Kipperlilly Copperkettle,” she said, holding out her hand.

The dragonborn flinched slightly, as if surprised by the gesture. He stared at her hand for a moment, his golden eyes wide behind his glasses, before finally reaching out. His long, clawed fingers wrapped tentatively around her smaller hand, and they shook awkwardly.

“I-I’m Oisin Hakinvar,” he muttered, glancing away as if embarrassed by his own name.

Kipperlilly gave his hand a quick, firm shake before letting go. “Nice to meet you, Oisin,” she said with a grin. “So... wizard, huh?” She tilted her head toward the heavy spellbook he was clutching like a lifeline.

Oisin gave a sheepish nod, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of blue. “Yeah... well, I’m trying to be,” he admitted. “I haven’t really done much magic yet. I just... read about it. A lot.”

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, not with judgment, only curiosity. “Hey, reading’s important,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, I bet half the wizards here are faking it until they figure it out.”

Oisin let out a small, nervous chuckle, though he still looked a little unsure of himself. “I guess.”

Kipperlilly rocked back on her heels, her hands slipping into the pleats of her skirt. “What kind of magic are you into?” she asked casually. “Got a favorite spell or anything?”

Oisin’s eyes lit up just a little and he shifted the spellbook under his arm, flipping open the cover to reveal neat, careful notes scrawled in the margins. “Well, um... I’ve been really interested in conjuration magic,” he admitted quietly. “Being able to... create something out of nothing with magic. I like that.”

Kipperlilly’s grin widened. “That’s actually pretty cool.”

Oisin blinked at her, clearly not expecting the compliment. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Kipperlilly said with a shrug. “Creating things sound way more fun than, like, blowing stuff up. Way more creative.”

The dragonborn’s expression softened, and for the first time since they’d collided, he didn’t look quite so nervous. His grip on his tail loosened slightly, and he gave Kipperlilly a genuine smile.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Kipperlilly reached into her bag as they stood by the wall, the last few students still trickling out of the auditorium. Her fingers dug through the jumble of notebooks, pens, and brochures she’d collected over the summer. She knew she’d packed it, tucked somewhere between her notes on electives and the sketch of the quad she'd drawn during one of Lucy's long-winded rants about the best ways to cast Ray of Frost.

But the map was gone.

She frowned, digging deeper, her fingers moving faster as frustration began to coil in her chest. It’s here somewhere, she told herself, it has to be. The realization hit her like a slap. She’d lost it.

“Unbelievable!” Kipperlilly muttered under her breath, throat tight with annoyance.

Oisin blinked at her, tilting his head. "Everything okay?"

Kipperlilly exhaled sharply through her nose. "Yes... no." She slung her bag back over her shoulder, the irritation already bubbling over. "I have to find the guidance counselor... Mr. Gibbons, but I lost my stupid map."

Oisin’s worried expression brightened immediately. "Oh! I know where that is. I met with him before school started. I can show you if you want."

Kipperlilly paused, the simmering frustration ebbing away just slightly. She hadn’t expected the offer, and it was hard to stay angry at someone who looked so eager to help. “Yeah? You sure?”

Oisin gave a small nod, adjusting the heavy spellbook under his arm. "Yeah, totally. It’s not far."

“Thanks,” Kipperlilly muttered, her shoulders relaxing a little. “Let’s go.”

They began walking together, leaving behind the crowded hallways for a quieter part of the campus. Lockers lined the hallway, and she made a mental note to herself that she had to find her own later.

Kipperlilly’s mind wandered as they walked. She glanced over at Oisin, who was carefully balancing his spellbook and keeping his tail tucked closer to his legs, as if he was afraid someone might step on it again.

She mulled over a question, wondering if it was too personal. She hated asking things that might feel too close to home, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“So... do you have to... have sessions too?” she asked quietly, glancing sideways at him.

Oisin’s long tail flicked nervously, but he didn’t seem offended. “Oh, no,” he said, fidgeting with the edge of his book. “My parents just wanted to make sure I’d be okay. We only just moved here, and I’ve never been to a real school before.” He pushed his glasses up with a clawed finger, his voice dropping a little. “They were worried I’d, um... have trouble fitting in.”

“That sounds tough,” Kipperlilly said sincerely. “I haven’t really seen a dragonborn before today.”

At her words, Oisin ducked his head, his long neck curling slightly as though he were trying to make himself smaller. “Yeah,” he muttered, sounding a little embarrassed. “There aren’t many of us in Solace... I guess.”

Kipperlilly slowed her pace a bit, watching him closely. “Well, I think you’re really nice,” she said matter-of-factly. “And, hey, are dragonborn really related to dragons? Like... real ones?”

Oisin gave her a sheepish smile, his tail flicking again. “Yeah... kind of. My great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was a blue dragon.”

Kipperlilly’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing! You should be proud of that. Seriously. When you’re a hero one day, people are going to love that story.”

Oisin blinked at her, surprise flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he stood a little straighter, his shoulders relaxing. "You think so?"

“I know so,” Kipperlilly said with a grin. “And you’re not totally alone here, either. Vice Principal Goldenhoard’s a dragonborn too, right?”

At the mention of the vice principal, Oisin’s smile faltered. He shifted uncomfortably, clutching his spellbook tighter. “Yeah, I guess...” He trailed off, glancing at the ground.

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Oisin hesitated, his tail twitching. “It’s just... I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “He doesn’t... smell right.”

Kipperlilly blinked. “Smell right?”

Oisin nodded, his gaze still fixed on the floor beneath their feet. “I mean, I’ve never really been around other dragonborn before,” he explained, his voice soft. “So maybe it’s normal. But... he smells weird. Not like a dragonborn. Or at least... not like what I thought a red dragonborn would smell like.”

Kipperlilly tilted her head, filing that bit of information away for later. “Huh. Well, that’s... interesting.”

They reached the door to Mr. Gibbons’ office, and Oisin gave her a small, hesitant smile. “Here it is.”

Kipperlilly glanced at the door and then back at him, offering a quick grin in return. “Thanks, Oisin. I really appreciate it.”

He gave a little nod, adjusting his glasses again. “You’re welcome. Um... good luck with your meeting.”

“I hope you enjoy your first class,” Kipperlilly said. She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “And hey—don’t let anyone step on your tail again, okay?”

Oisin chuckled softly. “I’ll try.”

With that, Kipperlilly pushed open the door to the guidance office, glancing back one last time as Oisin shuffled off down the hallway, his spellbook clutched tightly to his chest. She wondered if the whole day would be filled with odd little encounters like that.

“Ah! Kipperlilly Copper… Copperpettle?”

The voice yanked her attention back inside the room. She turned to see a small, flustered gnome squinting at a stack of papers on his cluttered desk. His watery blue eyes peeked over the top edge of his glasses, and his cheeks were ruddy, as though he’d sprinted across the entire campus to get here. A thin ring of wispy grey hair circled the shiny bald crown of his head, and his bushy beard jutted out in all directions, giving him a slightly frazzled look.

“Copperkettle,” Kipperlilly corrected, sliding her backpack off her shoulder and dropping it onto the chair beside her with a soft thud.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I said,” Mr. Gibbons muttered, brushing the papers aside with a hurried swipe. "Come in, sit down." He waved vaguely toward the stiff wooden chair opposite his desk.

Kipperlilly hesitated for a beat, taking in the office around her. It was small, cramped, and depressingly familiar. The walls were painted an off-white that seemed to suck the energy out of the room. A faded motivational poster featuring a cat hanging from a tree branch loomed on the far wall. The desk was littered with papers, folders, and an old brass lamp that flickered slightly, as if it wasn’t entirely convinced it wanted to stay lit. The whole space smelled faintly of stale coffee and dust.

She plopped down into the chair with a sigh, the old wood creaking under her weight. The whole scene reminded her too much of the boring, cramped offices she’d been dragged into as a kid with therapists, teachers, and well-meaning but clueless adults who didn’t know what to do with her.

Mr. Gibbons climbed into his own chair, adjusting himself until he could just barely see over the desk. He muttered under his breath, flipping through the stack of papers in front of him with jittery hands.

“Let’s see here… Ah, yes. Kipperlilly Copperkettle. Freshman. Here under recommendation... hmm, no, more like mandate... from Dr. Meander at Bastion City Pediatric Psychiatry.”

Kipperlilly’s stomach tightened at the mention of her psychiatrist and clinic, but she kept her expression neutral, tapping her fingers impatiently on the arm of her chair.

Mr. Gibbons peered up at her, his watery eyes wide and anxious behind his glasses. “Says here,” he continued, “that we’re to meet every day for the next few months. Seems... excessive, but orders are orders, right? Intermittent Explosive Disorder. That's a new one.” He waved his hand dismissively, like her diagnosis was an annoying gnat buzzing around his head.

The offhand way he said it, the way he reduced everything she’d worked on to three careless words, set something boiling inside Kipperlilly’s chest. She sat up straighter, her fists curling slightly in her lap.

"Every day," Mr. Gibbons repeated, flipping the page with an exaggerated sigh. "Because apparently, you’re the kind of student who... well, you know. Has outbursts."

Kipperlilly’s jaw clenched. She could feel the heat rising in her face, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. Outbursts. Like she was some volcano waiting to erupt.

Mr. Gibbons didn’t even notice the shift in her. He was too busy muttering to himself, shuffling through his papers. "These cases can be... delicate, of course," he added, his tone making it clear that he found the whole thing inconvenient. "It’s always a challenge dealing with students who... struggle with their emotions."

Kipperlilly’s nails dug into the wood of the armrests. "I'm sitting right here, you know."

The gnome blinked, looking up from his papers as if he’d only just remembered she was in the room. "Yes, yes, of course," he said hurriedly. “Just... well, these things are always tricky, aren’t they? And, uh, well, students like you—”

“Students like me?” Kipperlilly repeated, her voice dangerously low.

Mr. Gibbons flinched at the tone, but the expression on his face was more flustered than apologetic. "I just mean... well, you’ve got a bit of a reputation, don’t you? From what I’ve read. It’s important we stay on top of things. Keep you on track. We wouldn’t want any... incidents."

Kipperlilly’s hands clenched into fists. She could feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. She tried to tamp it down, but Mr. Gibbons’s dismissive tone kept poking at it, making it worse. Outbursts. Students like you. Incidents.

She took a slow, deliberate breath through her nose, the way Dr. Meander had taught her, and tried to keep her voice steady. "I’m not an incident waiting to happen."

Mr. Gibbons cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling the papers on his desk again. "Of course not," he said, but the way he said it so quickly with dismissal, made her want to flip the whole desk over just to see what he’d do.

Instead, Kipperlilly forced herself to stay seated, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the chair. "Is this how all your meetings go?" she asked sharply. "Because I have to say say, you’re really making me feel welcome."

The gnome blinked, clearly thrown off by her sarcasm. "Well, no, I just—this is all standard procedure, you understand. Nothing personal."

"Right," Kipperlilly muttered, sitting back in the chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "Nothing personal. Just my life, right?"

Mr. Gibbons fumbled with his papers again, looking more flustered than ever. "Look, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine," he said, though it didn’t sound convincing. "It’s just... these things can take time, you know. Adjustment periods. Patience."

Kipperlilly snorted. "Yeah. I’m great at patience."

The gnome gave a nervous laugh, clearly unsure if she was joking or not. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, then cleared his throat. "Well, uh... we’ll start fresh tomorrow, yes? Get into a routine. That always helps."

Kipperlilly didn’t respond. She just gave him a tight, forced smile that she had practiced tome and time again.

Mr. Gibbons seemed relieved that the conversation was ending. He adjusted his glasses and gave her a quick nod. "Alright then. We’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Copperkettle."

Kipperlilly stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. As she reached the door, she paused for a moment, glancing back at the gnome fumbling with his papers behind the desk.

"Thanks for brilliant session, Mr. Gibbons," she said, dripping with sarcasm.

The gnome gave a flustered little wave, clearly missing the sarcasm entirely. "Yes, yes. See you tomorrow."

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and pushed open the door, stepping back into the hallway. The knot of anger in her chest hadn’t entirely faded, but at least now she could put a face to the name she’d be dealing with for the next four years.

"Great," she muttered under her breath. "Just... Great."

Kipperlilly stood in the doorway of her first class at Aguefort: Rogue 101. The classroom was oddly quiet. No teacher. No instructions. Just a group of confused students milling around and looking at each other as if someone would magically appear and tell them what to do.

The room itself looked like a storage closet someone had given up on halfway through converting into a classroom. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly in one corner, and the walls were cluttered with scraps of parchment; maps, articles, wanted posters, and scribbled notes pinned to corkboards. Some desks were scattered around, but most of them were flipped over or pushed against the walls, leaving the floor open.

Kipperlilly adjusted her backpack strap and frowned. "This is weird," she muttered under her breath.

Another student, an elf with bright purple hair, leaned over from a nearby desk, holding a broken compass. "I think it’s supposed to be an assignment," the elf whispered conspiratorially. "Like, we have to find the teacher to pass the class or something."

Kipperlilly’s interest piqued. She crossed the room to one of the walls, scanning the haphazard collection of articles pinned to it. A particular one caught her attention: "Class Graduates Without Ever Finding the Rogue Instructor: A New Tradition?" The article described how the previous class had spent the entire year tracking down clues that supposedly led to their teacher’s whereabouts. They never found them, but they graduated anyway, having taught themselves along the way.

Kipperlilly tilted her head, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She could see how that might be fun. Frustrating, but fun. A challenge. And a rogue worth their salt should be able to figure it out—find the teacher or, failing that, teach themselves.

She was still reading when a voice beside her made her jump. "Hey there. You look like someone who takes this rogue stuff seriously."

Kipperlilly turned and found herself face-to-face with a goblin boy wearing a wrinkled newsboy cap that made him look like a detective from an old black-and-white movie. He carried a briefcase almost as big as he was, the brass buckles worn with age and use. His green skin was dotted with freckles, and his sharp eyes twinkled with excitement.

Before Kipperlilly could say anything, the goblin thrust a small business card into her hand. "Riz Gukgak. Unlicensed private investigator. At your service."

She stared down at the card, blinking at the neat little print: "Riz Gukgak Investigations: No Case Too Small, No License Required." Below that was a crystal number.

"Uh... okay?" Kipperlilly said, raising an eyebrow.

Riz gave her a self-assured grin, pulling a crumpled photo out of his briefcase. "I need your help," he said, holding the photo up to her face. "Do you know this halfling girl?"

Kipperlilly tilted her head to look at the picture. It showed a halfling girl with a bright smile, her auburn hair in a long braid. She looked older than Kipperlilly by maybe two or three years, and wore a purple flowered hair clip.

Kipperlilly arched a brow, folding her arms. “So, you see me and assume I know her?”

Riz flushed, his grin faltering for the first time. “What? No! Not at all... uh, I mean—” He sputtered, clearly flustered. “I’m not assuming! I just thought, since you’re a halfling, and Penny's a halfling, maybe... maybe you might have seen her around?”

Kipperlilly stared at him, unimpressed.

Riz cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “She’s my babysitter,” he mumbled, glancing down at the photo. “And she’s gone missing.”

Something in the way he said it gave Kipperlilly pause. His voice was still bright with that detective bravado, but there was an undertone of real worry there.

She gave him a flat look, shoving the business card into her pocket. “Sorry, never seen her before.”

Riz carefully tucked the photograph of the missing girl back into his battered briefcase, snapping the latches shut with a crisp click. He gave the case a little shake, as if reassuring himself everything inside was still in order. Kipperlilly watched him, feeling an odd mixture of annoyance and... something else.

She looked around the classroom, scanning the faces of the other students. Most of them were eyeing Riz with thinly veiled skepticism, some whispering to each other, others just snickering quietly. It was a look Kipperlilly knew all too well. Thelook kids got when they smelled weakness. The kind that came just before someone decided to make a game out of tearing someone down.

If Aguefort was anything like Oakshield had been, Riz Gukgak was exactly the type of kid the bullies would feast on. The weird ones always had it the hardest. She knew that firsthand.

She adjusted the stack of articles she had pulled off the bulletin board, glancing back at Riz, who was already halfway through organizing the contents of his briefcase. "Hey," she said, her voice casual. "Would you maybe want to... I don’t know, look through some of these together?"

She lifted the stack slightly to show him. It wasn’t much, just a few papers that looked like old assignments and class reports, but it could be useful. Or, at the very least, it could be something to do.

Riz barely spared her a glance. "No thanks," he said, adjusting the brim of his newsboy cap. “I think I’ll scope out the school instead. Ask around. Get a lay of the land. Maybe get in with some of the popular kids who knew Penny.”

The matter-of-fact way he said it took Kipperlilly off guard. There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in his voice, just an easy confidence that made it sound like infiltrating the popular crowd was as simple as tying his shoelaces.

Kipperlilly blinked, the stack of papers still clutched in her hands. “I could come with you,” she offered.

But Riz was already turning toward the door, not even bothering to look back at her. He stepped out into the hallway without another word, his briefcase swinging by his side.

Kipperlilly stood there, stunned for a moment. She hadn’t expected much, but being brushed off so quickly (and so easily), stung more than she cared to admit. She tightened her grip on the papers, her knuckles whitening as a familiar heat started to bubble in her chest.

Unbelievable.

Her jaw clenched as she glanced down at her hands, realizing too late that she had crumpled several of the articles into wrinkled balls in her frustration. She let out a slow breath through her nose, trying to release the anger that clawed its way up her throat. It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal.

And yet, it was.

She smoothed the crumpled papers against her thigh, forcing herself to breathe slowly. She could feel the familiar ache in her chest. The sharp, sour frustration of being dismissed. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

Whatever, she thought bitterly, shoving the wrinkled papers into her bag. If Riz wanted to run around the school chasing ghosts, that was his problem. She wasn’t about to beg him for company.

Still, the nagging feeling lingered like a mosquito buzzing just out of reach. She didn’t like Riz, not exactly, but she couldn’t deny that there was something familiar about him. That same relentless energy, the determination to prove himself, the way he held himself like he had everything figured out, even when he clearly didn’t.

She knew that feeling. She knew it way too well.

Kipperlilly glanced around the classroom one more time, watching the other students slowly lose interest in the rogue antics and settle into their seats. Some were flipping through textbooks, others were talking quietly among themselves. No one seemed particularly bothered that the teacher was missing. It was as if they’d all accepted that this was just how things worked here.

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the crumpled papers pressing against her back.

Fine, she thought. If Riz wants to run around playing detective, let him. I don’t need him anyway.

She hated feeling this way. Like something small and stupid had wormed its way under her skin and wouldn’t let go. She took another deep breath, trying to shake it off. This was just the first day. She had plenty of time to figure things out. And if there was one thing Kipperlilly was good at, it was figuring things out on her own. She didn’t need a goblin detective with a big briefcase and an attitude to help her. She could handle this.

With one last glance at the door Riz had disappeared through, Kipperlilly turned back toward the bulletin board. The articles pinned there were still waiting for someone to make sense of them, and she figured she might as well get started.

The first half of the day at Aguefort Adventuring Academy passed in a blur. Kipperlilly sat through Rogue 101 without a teacher and a few other introductory classes where the teachers seemed more interested in handing out syllabi than actually teaching anything. It was strange, chaotic, and a little overwhelming, but Kipperlilly found herself oddly enjoying the unpredictability. It was nothing like Oakshield, and that was already a win in her book.

When the midday assembly rolled around, the auditorium buzzed with excited chatter. Students filed in, crowding into the rows, backpacks shoved under seats, and enchanted notebooks buzzing quietly on laps. Kipperlilly found a spot somewhere in the middle, Lucy plopping down beside her with her ever-present oversized sweater trailing on the floor.

Arthur Aguefort made another grand entrance, this time riding what appeared to be an animated broomstick that whizzed in loops around the auditorium before crashing into the podium. He stood, seemingly unbothered, and launched into a rambling speech about the importance of “partnerships, parties, and pancakes.”

The crowd exchanged amused, confused glances. Kipperlilly just grinned.

The gist of it became clear enough, though: after lunch, the students would spend the rest of the afternoon participating in something called the Day of Fellowship, where they would form their first adventuring parties. These groups, Aguefort explained, were meant to carry them through the rest of their time at the academy. A little team to rely on, train with, and get in trouble alongside.

The thought of finding a group to stick with stirred something warm inside Kipperlilly, but it was also... intimidating. She didn’t exactly have the best track record with people. Sure, she had Lucy, but they’d need more than two if they were going to form a proper adventuring party. Who else would even want us?

As Aguefort finished his speech with a flourish, students started to file out of the auditorium, murmuring excitedly about the afternoon’s plans. Kipperlilly stood, tugging her backpack onto one shoulder, when Lucy leaned closer, her silver-blue eyes sparkling with quiet amusement.

“I can’t believe there are already kids in detention,” Lucy whispered, her voice barely concealing a laugh. “It’s literally the first day. How are they supposed to find a party now?”

Kipperlilly smirked. “Maybe they’ll just have to be in one together.”

Lucy shuddered dramatically, tugging her sweater sleeves farther over her hands. “That sounds awful. Imagine getting stuck in a party with people who all got detention. I’d rather face a cave troll.”

Kipperlilly gave her friend a playful nudge. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll form the most chaotic, legendary party of all time.”

Lucy grinned, but the thought clearly unsettled her. She shook her head, as if to ward off the possibility. “Heading to the cafeteria?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Kipperlilly said. “You coming?”

Lucy pulled a crumpled paper out of her bag, glancing at it with resignation. “I gotta drop this off with Professor Badgood first. It’s my divinity paperwork.” She sighed. “Can’t start off the year by getting behind, right?”

Kipperlilly gave her a sympathetic smile, stepping closer to pull Lucy into a quick hug. The genasi melted into the embrace, her tall, lanky frame folding awkwardly around Kipperlilly’s much smaller one.

“I’ll save you a seat,”

Lucy smiled, grateful. “Thanks. I’ll catch up as soon as I can.”

With a final squeeze, Kipperlilly let her friend go and watched as Lucy slipped into the hallway ahead of her, her sweater trailing like a cape behind her.

Kipperlilly was halfway down the hall when–

Clang!

A tall, broad-shouldered human boy with blond hair barreled into her, sending her crashing sideways into the nearest locker. Her shoulder throbbed from the impact as she stumbled, her backpack slipping off her shoulder and nearly hitting the floor.

“Hey!” Kipperlilly barked, whirling around to glare at the boy.

But the kid in the red letterman jacket didn’t even glance back. He just kept walking down the hall, laughing loudly like she didn’t exist. The anger bubbled in Kipperlilly’s chest, fast and hot, and her fists curled instinctively. It would be so easy to trip him, to yank him backward by his collar, to knock him down right here in front of everyone—make him see that you can’t just bowl people over and walk away like nothing happened.

Before she could act, a smooth, lilting voice called out.

“Oopsie! Sorry about my boyfriend!”

Kipperlilly turned her head and saw a stunning half-elf girl with silky brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a pastel sweater with embroidered flowers along the sleeves and carried herself with a casual confidence that made her look effortlessly perfect. She raised a hand and waved sweetly at Kipperlilly, as if they were old friends.

“Dayne, say sorry to the freshman!” the half-elf girl said, her smile never faltering.

The boy (apparently named Dayne) stopped mid-stride and turned around with a slow, confused expression. He furrowed his brow, as though apologizing required immense effort. “Uh… sorry,” he said slowly, like he was reading a line off a script.

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.”

The girl beamed, entirely ignoring the tension between them. “Hi! I’m Penelope Everpetal. Can I interest you in a flier?” She pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from her bag and held it out toward Kipperlilly like it was a precious gift.

Kipperlilly hesitated but stepped closer, her eyes flickering between Penelope, Dayne, and the small red kobold girl leaning lazily against the lockers next to them. The kobold wore a bubblegum-pink hoodie with the hood pulled halfway over her snout, and she was tapping idly on a handheld game device, looking completely uninterested in whatever Penelope was saying.

Kipperlilly finally took the flier, unfolding it. The bright, bubbly text at the top read: “VOTE YES! REINSTATE PROM KING AND QUEEN!” Below that, there were headshots of Penelope and Dayne, smiling brightly under the heading: "VOTE FOR US!"

Penelope clasped her hands together, the same way someone might beg a favor from an old friend. “It’d be totally awesome if you could vote yes,” she said earnestly. “We’re trying to bring back the whole prom king and queen tradition, and we need every vote we can get. Dayne’s the captain of the Blood Rush team—”

“Hoot Growl!” Dayne interjected suddenly, his chest puffing out in pride.

Kipperlilly jumped at the unexpected outburst. “What the—?”

Penelope gave a cheerful laugh, patting Dayne affectionately on the shoulder. “Isn’t he the cutest? Anyway, like I was saying, I run a bunch of the clubs here. Like yearbook, fashion committee, student outreach. I’m everywhere.” She struck a playful pose. “It’d be amazing if you voted for us!”

Kipperlilly stared at the flier for a moment, trying to decide how much energy she wanted to invest in this conversation.

“Sure. I’ll vote,” she said with a shrug, if only to make Penelope move on.

“Yay! Thanks, you’re so fricking cute, by the way!” Penelope gushed, flashing Kipperlilly a dazzling smile. “I love your skirt. It’s adorable.”

Kipperlilly shifted awkwardly, not quite used to compliments from strangers. “Uh… thanks.”

Penelope handed her another flier, this one folded a little more haphazardly. “And take one for your friend, too!”

Kipperlilly blinked, confused. “Friend?”

Penelope pointed toward the kobold girl, who was still leaning against the lockers, her attention firmly locked on her game.

“She’s not—” Kipperlilly began, but Penelope was already turning away, waving over her shoulder.

“Okay, bye!”

With a swirl of her sweater and Dayne trailing behind her like a lost puppy, Penelope bounded off to corner another group of freshmen. Kipperlilly watched them go, baffled by the entire encounter.

She turned back to the kobold, who still hadn’t looked up from her game. For a moment, Kipperlilly considered just leaving andheading to the cafeteria and forgetting the whole weird interaction ever happened. But something made her stay.

“You know them?” Kipperlilly asked, holding up the extra flier.

The kobold didn’t respond. Her thumbs tapped a steady rhythm against the buttons of her game device, the screen casting a soft green glow on her snout.

Kipperlilly waited a beat, then sighed, tucking the flier into her backpack. “Right. I’ll take that as a no.”

Still no response. For some reason, the complete lack of interest didn’t annoy Kipperlilly as much as it normally would have. Maybe it was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with small talk or fake politeness.

Kipperlilly leaned casually against the lockers beside the kobold, crossing her arms. “So... do you always ignore people, or is it just me?”

The kobold paused her game for the first time, glancing sideways at Kipperlilly. “Depends,” she said, atonally, like she didn’t care much either way.

Kipperlilly snorted. “Fair enough.”

The kobold returned to her game, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

Kipperlilly adjusted the strap of her backpack. “Okay, well... I’m heading to lunch,” she said, half-expecting the kobold to ignore her.

Without looking up from her game, the kobold flicked her tail and started walking right behind Kipperlilly. She trailed her through the hallway, eyes still locked on the game screen, weaving effortlessly through groups of students without missing a beat.

“Uh, okay then,” Kipperlilly muttered to herself.

The kobold stuck close, barely an arm’s length behind. All the way to the cafeteria, all the way into the lunch line. It was as if she’d just silently decided that Kipperlilly was her person now, whether she liked it or not.

Kipperlilly spotted Lucy waving to her from further down the line. "Hey!" Lucy called with a grin. "I figured I might as well get in line."

“Thank you!” Kipperlilly said, relieved as she slipped into the spot Lucy had saved. “Sorry, I got held up by some senior who’s trying to get people to vote for prom king and queen.”

Lucy gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, Penelope? Yeah, she gave me one of those this morning.”

Kipperlilly laughed. “Of course she did.”

As they shuffled forward in line, Lucy leaned in, her eyes flickering to the kobold hovering way too close to Kipperlilly’s side. "So, uh... who’s your new friend?"

Kipperlilly gave a small shrug, whispering, “I don’t know. She followed me here.”

Lucy tilted her head, studying the kobold, who was still engrossed in her game. “She probably doesn’t have any other friends,” Lucy whispered back.

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. The line moved forward, and soon they reached the front, where Lunch Lady Doreen greeted them with a tired smile. Without a word, she began heaping scoops of creamed corn and tuna surprise onto their trays. She made a mental note not to eat the tuna.

Balancing their trays, they made their way to an empty table near the back. The kobold followed without being invited, plopping herself down across from them and setting her game beside her tray.

Kipperlilly shot Lucy a look, who gave her a playful nudge, gesturing for her to say something. Kipperlilly shook her head firmly. Lucy nudged her again, raising an eyebrow.

She knew that the longer she waited, the more instant Lucy would get. Her friend may not be the most outspoken of the two of them, but her heart was the biggest.

Finally, Kipperlilly let out a sigh. “So... what’s your name?” she asked, trying not to sound too reluctant.

The kobold picked up her fork and started shoveling food into her mouth, not even glancing up.

“I’m Kipperlilly, and this is Lucy,” she added, hoping to spark some kind of response.

The kobold finally paused, glancing up briefly. Her expression was as unreadable as ever.

“What game are you playing?” Lucy decided to ask.

That seemed to catch the kobold’s interest. She perked up ever so slightly, her tail flicking once behind her chair. “It’s my new Quokki Pet,” she said, her voice still flat but with the faintest hint of enthusiasm. “Do you play Quokki Pets?”

Lucy shook her head. “No...”

The kobold huffed, clearly unimpressed, and returned to her meal without another word.

“But you could tell us about it later,” Kipperlilly offered, sensing a small opportunity to connect. “Maybe... for the Day of Fellowship?”

The kobold blinked, her game momentarily forgotten as she studied Kipperlilly. “Like... for your party?”

Kipperlilly nodded. “Yeah, if you want to. I’m a rogue, and Lucy’s a cleric of Ruvina. She’s already really good at healing spells.”

Lucy’s cheeks flushed a little at the compliment. “And Kipperlilly’s just brilliant.”

The kobold looked between the two of them, her tail swishing thoughtfully. For the first time, she seemed to be weighing her options, as if the idea of joining their party wasn’t completely terrible.

After a long moment, she mumbled, “Mary Ann.” She took another bite of food. “Skuttle.” She lowered her hood, revealing sharp red scales running down the back of her head. “Barbarian.”

Kipperlilly blinked. “Huh?”

“My name,” the kobold repeated flatly between bites. “Mary Ann Skuttle.”

“And you’re a barbarian?” Lucy asked, clearly taken aback.

Kipperlilly and Lucy exchanged a glance. Mary Ann didn’t exactly look like a barbarian. She was small, quiet, and uninterested in just about everything. Nothing about her screamed “fierce warrior.” But then again, it was probably best not to judge a book by its cover. After all, Oakshield had been infamous for overlooking people like them.

“Yep,” Mary Ann said, without a hint of irony. She stabbed another forkful of tuna surprise, completely unbothered by their surprise. “My dad just opened a shop. He makes benches,” she added matter-of-factly. “You could come over sometime. My mom doesn’t speak Common well, but she can cook.”

Kipperlilly gave a small, amused smile. "Benches, huh?"

Mary Ann gave a small nod. “They’re sturdy.”

Lucy grinned, nudging Kipperlilly under the table. “Looks like we found ourselves a barbarian.”

Kipperlilly leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a grin. “Guess we did.”

Mary Ann didn’t seem particularly excited about the idea of joining a party, but she also didn’t object. And that, Kipperlilly figured, was a win.

She was midway through a bite of her bread roll when she spotted Oisin shuffling toward their table, his head down and shoulders hunched, as if trying to disappear into thin air. He clutched his tray tightly to his chest, and his tail swayed nervously behind him, brushing lightly against the floor with each step. When he caught her eye, he gave the most tentative smile.

"Can I... sit with you guys?" Oisin asked hesitantly, looking between her and the two other girls at the table.

Kipperlilly’s face lit up with a wide, welcoming grin. "Of course!"

Oisin slid onto the seat beside Mary Ann, moving as carefully as he could, as though he was trying to make as little of a disturbance as possible. Mary Ann immediately turned to face him, her yellow eyes fixed on his face with a slow, lazy blink. The size difference between them was almost comical. Oisin’s lanky frame towered over the kobold, who barely reached two feet tall.

Kipperlilly grinned, introducing them with a little flourish. "Oisin, this is Lucy, and we just met Mary Ann. We’re going to be an adventuring party for the Day of Fellowship. You’re welcome to join us."

Oisin’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the invitation. “Oh... okay,” he mumbled, glancing around at the table with a shy smile.

Kipperlilly gave him an encouraging nod. “This is Oisin,” she added for the others. “He’s a conjuration wizard.”

“Well,” Oisin corrected modestly, “I’m trying to be.”

“That’s really cool!” Lucy said brightly. “We should compare spellbooks sometime. I’m a cleric.”

The mention of spellbooks seemed to ease some of the tension in Oisin’s shoulders. He smiled, the faintest bit of excitement flickering in his eyes. “I’d like that,” he said quietly.

The moment of peace didn’t last long, though. Mary Ann, who had been watching Oisin with quiet intensity, suddenly spoke. “You have a tail.”

Oisin blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh... yeah?”

Mary Ann nodded once, as if confirming a fact. “I have one too. Someone stepped on it earlier, so I kicked him in the crotch.”

The table fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the clink of Mary Ann’s fork against her tray as she returned to her meal without another word, as if what she had said was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Oisin’s face flushed a deep shade of blue as he glanced over at Kipperlilly, looking utterly bewildered. She gave him a helpless shrug, biting back a grin.

“Well,” Lucy said after a beat, clearly trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “That’s... one way to deal with it.”

After lunch, the four of them trailed out into the courtyard, where most of the other freshmen seemed to have gathered. The sky was bright and cloudless, the afternoon sun high in the sky to light up the manicured lawns. Groups of students were scattered in clusters across the grass and beneath the large oak trees that dotted the courtyard. Some were already practicing spells or comparing class schedules, while others huddled together in excited chatter, clearly forming their adventuring parties.

Everywhere Kipperlilly looked, students seemed to be clicking together, sliding into friendships and alliances that would set them up for their entire high school experience. She felt the sharp edge of doubt creep in. What if they were the only ones who couldn’t make it work? What if their little group didn’t fit anywhere?

She glanced at the three people standing beside her. Lucy, with her warm smile that always made her days better, stood close enough for Kipperlilly’s shoulder to brush against her arm. Oisin shuffled nervously on her other side, clutching his spellbook with awkwardness radiating off of him. And Mary Ann, deadpan as ever, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, yet still stuck with them, as if she’d simply decided this was where she belonged.

And that was when she realized they were already most of the way there. A rogue, a cleric, a wizard, and a barbarian. They didn’t need to scramble for alliances or force themselves into cliques. They already had a little band of misfits right here.

“Oh! I know that boy,” Lucy said suddenly.

She pointed toward a small, meek-looking gnome boy sitting under the shade of a tree. His cargo shorts were a little too big, and his wild mess of curly brown hair stuck out in every direction. He was hunched over a ukulele, plucking at the strings absentmindedly, distant and dreamy. Something about him seemed ever so familiar to Kipperlilly, too.

“That’s the bard who accidentally wandered into our first class this morning,” Lucy whispered. “Professor Badgood had to call Vice Principal Goldenhoard to come pick him up.”

Kipperlilly studied him for a moment. That wouldn't be where she knew him from, but perhaps it would come to her. “Looks like he’s having a rough start, too.”

Without needing to say more, the four of them made their way over to the tree, weaving through clusters of students until they reached the gnome. He stopped playing as they approached, his fingers stilling on the strings. His brown eyes widened slightly in alarm, like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s gaze... until he saw Lucy, and his face softened with recognition.

“Oh... hey,” he said quietly, still a little uncertain.

“I hope the vice principal didn’t give you too hard a time,” Lucy said kindly, kneeling down a bit to be closer to his eye level.

The gnome gave a small, lopsided smile, setting the ukulele down on his lap. “No... he just kept telling me to keep an eye out for a girl named Fig. She was supposed to be in my class, but she didn’t show up.”

Kipperlilly snorted. “I bet she’s one of the ones in detention. I heard there are six kids in there already, and it’s only the first day.”

The gnome’s eyes widened in quiet awe. “Six?”

Kipperlilly nodded, clearly enjoying the gossip. “That’s what I heard. Must be some kind of record.”

They all settled down under the tree with him, their bags thudding softly against the grass. Oisin sat cross-legged beside Mary Ann, who, without any warning, decided to move and plop herself onto his shin and pull candy out of her pocket to eat.

Oisin blinked in discomfort but didn’t say anything, his lips pressing into a thin line as he adjusted to the new, awkward weight.

“I’m Lucy,” she said brightly, gesturing around the group. “This is Oisin, Mary Ann, and Kipperlilly.”

Mary Ann, without looking up from her candy wrapper, mumbled flatly, “Kipperlilly is my best friend.”

Kipperlilly shot Lucy a bewildered glance, and Lucy had to cover her mouth to hide a laugh.

The gnome gave a shy, curious smile, his eyes lingering on Kipperlilly. “I’m Ruben Hopclap.”

As soon as Kipperlilly heard the name, a memory from years ago tugged at the back of her mind. She could almost smell the sweet, sticky air of an Elmville summer festival, hear the faint strumming of lutes and the warm murmur of the crowd. The sound of laughter, music, and the clinking of festival booths rushed back to her like a forgotten dream, and suddenly, she was six years old again.

Kipperlilly’s mother had been in full event-organizer mode, bustling from one booth to another, giving instructions to vendors, and chatting up the performers. Kipperlilly had followed along, wide-eyed and impatient, waiting for the moment she could run off and explore.

“Kipperlilly, sweetie,” her mother had said, crouching down to her level, brushing a loose strand of hair from Kipperlilly’s face. “I want you to meet someone.” She gestured to a small gnome woman standing nearby, dressed in the most gorgeous colorful skirt.

“This is Ruben,” her mother continued, pointing out a young boy hiding behind her. “His family is going to be performing today, and I thought you two could keep each other company while we set up.”

Kipperlilly looked the boy over. He was small (even smaller than her) and he clung to his mother’s skirts like his life depended on it. His hair was a wild mess of brown curls, and his comically big eyes peeked out from behind his mother body.

“He’s a bit shy,” the gnome woman said softly, giving Ruben a gentle nudge forward. “But he’s very sweet.”

Ruben barely moved, his face half-hidden behind his curls. Kipperlilly took a step closer, her hands on her hips, and said, “Do you want to come play? The festival’s way more fun than standing around here.”

Ruben glanced up at her, his eyes wide with hesitation. He shifted his feet but didn’t say anything, just fidgeted nervously. Kipperlilly looked back at their mothers, who were watching them expectantly, and felt a surge of determination. She wasn’t used to playing with other kids–she didn't often have anyone but adults to play with.

“I bet there’s a booth with candied apples,” she added, hoping to entice him. “My mom gave me some coins. You want one?”

That seemed to catch his attention. Ruben peeked up at her, curiosity flickering across his face. “Candied apples?”

Kipperlilly grinned, sensing she was making progress. “Yeah, come on. I’ll show you.” Without waiting for him to respond, she had looped her arm into his and started to drag him away.

Kipperlilly blinked, the warm, sun-soaked memory of the festival fading as the present rushed back to her.

“I knew you looked familiar!” Kipperlilly blurted out.

Ruben looked up, tilting his head slightly with a curious smile. His fingers stilled on the strings of his instrument. “The festivals, right? I thought you looked familiar too.” His shy smile widened just a little.

Kipperlilly laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned to Lucy, who was watching the exchange with a puzzled expression. “He’s the boy my mom always had me playing with when I was a kid! At the Elmville festivals—his family’s the Hopclaps & the Minstrels of Merriment.”

Lucy’s face lit up in understanding. “Ohhh! That’s so sweet! Weird that you both ended up here,"

Ruben blushed slightly with a shrug. “I was... kind of regretting not going to Mumple..."

Kipperlilly eyed the ukulele on his lap. “So... you’re a bard, too?”

Ruben nodded and hugged the instrument to his chest, as if the act of holding it solidified his class. “Yeah. Family tradition, I guess,” he said softly. “Except my uncle. He’s an artificer teacher here.”

“Whoa, that’s cool,” Lucy said. “We could definitely use a bard. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a party, would you?”

Ruben blinked, looking between them all as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. For a moment, his eyes glimmered, suspiciously wet, as though the kindness they were offering was more than he had expected. “Really?” he whispered.

Kipperlilly smiled warmly, leaning in. “Yeah. We’d love to have you.”

Ruben stared at them for another moment, his eyes wide and shining. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. A small smile that gave away just how badly he needed to make some friends.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding slightly. “Yeah... I’d like that.”

Lucy clapped her hands together, beaming “Awesome! Welcome to the team.”

Oisin gave Ruben a small, awkward wave, his tail flicking behind him in a nervous gesture of goodwill.

Mary Ann, still perched comfortably on Oisin’s shin, gave Ruben a single, slow nod. “If anyone steps on your ukulele,” she said with complete seriousness, “I'll hit them with my axe.”

Kipperlilly groaned, though she was smiling. “Mary Ann, maybe let’s save that for emergencies.”

Ruben let out a soft, nervous laugh, glancing between them all with a look of cautious happiness, still adjusting to the idea that these people might actually like him.

Swish!

Out of nowhere, a frisbee sliced through the courtyard, spinning wildly through the air like a rogue spell gone astray.

It was heading straight for Kipperlilly’s head.

“Kip, watch out!” Lucy yelped, lunging toward her.

Before Kipperlilly could react, she heard the unmistakable sound of something hard hitting wood. The frisbee was no longer flying at her head. Instead, it was pinned to the trunk of the tree beside her, an arrow embedded cleanly through its center.

Kipperlilly blinked at the frisbee, her heart still racing. “What—?”

A young elven girl sprinted toward them, her long, mousy brown braid bouncing behind her. She wore what could only be described as full camping gear—leather hiking boots, cargo pants with far too many pockets, and a forest-green jacket that looked like it had seen better days. A quiver of arrows was slung over her shoulder, the handmade bow still clutched tightly in one hand.

“I’m sorry!” the girl blurted, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Are you okay? I saw the frisbee flying right at you and I didn’t think. I just reacted. My dad always says—”

Kipperlilly held up her hands, trying to calm her. “I’m okay! I promise. Thank you, really.”

The girl let out a breath, visibly relaxing. “Oh, good.” She shifted on her feet, glancing around nervously. “This place is just... really busy. So much is happening all at once. Maybe I should’ve just stayed at home instead.”

Oisin, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, gave the girl a small smile. “This is my first day at a school too,” he offered.

The girl smiled shyly, a hint of relief flickering in her hazel eyes. “Yeah? It’s a lot, right?”

Kipperlilly tilted her head, studying the newcomer. There was something about the way she shuffled nervously on her feet like made it look like she wasn’t used to being in crowded places. She remembered that feeling—the sense of being out of place.

“You wanna sit with us?” Kipperlilly asked, scooting over on the grass to make room.

The girl hesitated for a moment, glancing down at her worn boots, then gave a small, grateful nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

She sat down beside them, carefully placing her bow across her lap. “I’m Ivy. Ivy Embra,” she said quietly. “It’s just me and my dad at home. He didn’t really want me to come to a school like this... but I wanted to try. I wanted to make friends.”

Lucy smiled warmly at her. “Well, we’re glad you’re here, Ivy. I’m Lucy. This is Kipperlilly, Oisin, Mary Ann, and Ruben.”

Mary Ann, without looking up, muttered, “Kipperlilly was my friend first.”

Ivy blinked, a little taken aback, but Kipperlilly just grinned. “She says that a lot. You get used to it.”

Ruben started to pluck cheerful notes on his ukulele, making Ivy’s smile grow just a little wider.

“So,” Kipperlilly said, leaning forward, “are you always that good with a bow, or was that just lucky?”

Ivy’s cheeks flushed slightly, but Kipperlilly could see the pride behind her eyes. “My dad taught me. We practice a lot at home. He’s a ranger too. Really serious about survival stuff.”

Kipperlilly tilted her head. “Is he, like, one of those ‘build-a-bunker-in-the-woods’ types?”

Ivy laughed softly. “Pretty much. We live off the grid. He’s always saying things like, ‘The forest provides everything you need if you know where to look.’” She mimicked her father’s deep, authoritative ton.

Lucy chuckled. “That sounds... intense.”

Ivy shrugged, adjusting the strap of her quiver. “It can be, but it’s not so bad. I like being in the forest. It’s just... different here. So many people. I thought it would be fun, but now that I’m here...” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to her hands.

Kipperlilly gave her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it’s a lot. But you’re doing great so far. I mean, you just saved me from getting brained by a frisbee. That has to count for something.”

Ivy’s smile returned, small but genuine. “Thanks.”

Lucy leaned in, her expression bright and encouraging. “And, hey, if you’re looking for friends, you’ve already found some.”

Ivy glanced between them all, her gaze lingering on each person as if she were still deciding whether or not to trust them. After a moment, she nodded. “Yeah... I think I have.”

Kipperlilly felt a warm, contented feeling settle in her chest. She wasn't sure what kind of friends she expected to make, but it was shaping up to be something pretty great.

“There’s six of us,” Lucy said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Are we... is this our party?”

Ruben plucked a soft note on his ukulele. “I think so!”

Kipperlilly grinned, the excitement bubbling up in her chest. She dug into her bag, pulling out a slightly crumpled notebook and flipping to an empty page. “Okay! We need to write down our crystal numbers so we can start a group chat.”

She handed the notebook to Lucy first, who scribbled down her number with neat, careful writing.

“If we’re going to be a party, we’ll need to stay in touch,” Kipperlilly said confidently. “We’re going to have real adventures before long. And if we want to be good, we’ll have to start training.”

The notebook made its way around the circle. Ruben wrote his number with a flourish. Oisin took a little longer, double-checking his number twice before handing it off. Even Mary Ann scrawled her number lazily across the page, her writing jagged but readable.

Finally, the notebook landed in Ivy’s lap. She stared down at it, her expression shifting slightly, uncertainty creeping into her gaze.

“I don’t...” she began, her voice soft. “I don’t have a crystal.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Loser.” Mary Ann muttered under her breath,

“Mary Ann!” Lucy gasped, giving her a look of scandalized disbelief.

To everyone’s surprise, Mary Ann grinned. A real, mischievous grin, with a little sparkle in her eye. Kipperlilly blinked, startled by the sudden transformation. It was the first time Mary Ann had shown any hint of humor, and it caught them all off guard.

“It was a joke,” Mary Ann said flatly.

Ruben leaned forward curiously. “Do you just not want one?” he asked Ivy.

Ivy shook her head quickly. “No, I do! I just... well, my dad is kind of weird about going into stores in town.” She fidgeted with the strap of her quiver, looking embarrassed.

Oisin brightened, a spark of excitement lighting in his eyes. “Want to go after school? I could help you buy one!”

Ivy’s cheeks flushed pink, and she shook her head again, her braid swaying with the motion. “No, really... it’s okay.”

“Please!” Oisin insisted, his voice eager but kind. “My family... we have a lot of money.” He shot a glance at Kipperlilly, as if checking to see if this was the right thing to offer.

Kipperlilly gave him a small nod. “He’s not kidding. Oisin’s got a dragon in his family.”

The rest of the group blinked, staring at Oisin with wide eyes.

“You have a dragon in your family?” Lucy whispered in awe.

Oisin adjusted his glasses, looking sheepish. “Well... yeah. My great-great-great-great-grandmother has a pretty big hoard.”

“That’s... amazing,” Ivy said quietly, a smile creeping onto her face.

“So,” Oisin said, pushing his glasses up once more. “I could help you get one.”

Ivy hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. But then she smiled, a soft, grateful smile that made her seem just a little more at ease. “Okay,” she said. “I’d really love that. Thanks.”

Kipperlilly clapped her hands together. “Then it’s settled! High five!”

She held her hand out in the middle of the circle, grinning expectantly. Lucy immediately slapped her hand with a bright smile, their hands smacking together with a satisfying thwack. Kipperlilly glanced around at the others, her hand still raised, waiting for them to follow suit.

Ruben blinked at her, confused. “Why?”

Lucy giggled, nudging him playfully. “When Kip and I first met, after she saved me from some bullies at Oakshield, we high-fived. It’s kind of... our thing.”

Mary Ann was the first to move, her small hand lifting to meet Kipperlilly’s. The high five was light, but it still counted. Kipperlilly beamed at her.

“Come on!” Kipperlilly encouraged the others, her hand still outstretched.

Ruben smiled shyly and gave her a soft high five. Oisin followed and finally, even Ivy reached out, her hand brushing against Kipperlilly’s with a small, tentative smile.

Kipperlilly grinned, her heart swelling. “Now all we need is a name.”

They all exchanged glances.

“How about... the Day One Dungeon Runners?” Ruben suggested tentatively.

Oisin tilted his head. “Aguefort Destroyers?”

Lucy winced. “Feels a bit... edgy.”

“Quokki’s.” Mary Ann muttered.

Kipperlilly burst into laughter. “Okay, no.”

The group dissolved into giggles. Even Mary Ann cracked a rare, tiny smile, clearly amused by their brainstorming disaster.

Kipperlilly leaned back on her hands, looking around at her new friends. “What about...” She paused, grinning. “The High Five Heroes?”

Mary Ann gave her an approving look. Without a word, she raised her hand and Kipperlilly met it with a solid high five.

And just like that, their party was officially formed.

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Sophomore Year:

Three weeks before spring break

Kipperlilly moved swiftly down the hallway of Aguefort Adventuring Academy, her footsteps silent on the glossy tile floors. She kept her eyes ahead, expertly weaving her way through the crowds of students, a skill she'd honed from her rogue training. Her short stature, even for a halfling, meant she had to be especially vigilant; if she didn’t want a full-speed knee to her forehead, she had to pay attention.

The academy's hallway was alive with its usual afternoon bustle. The school banners, decorated with the emblem of an owlbear in red and white, flapped slightly from the draft that whistled through the old wooden windowpanes. The words "HOOT GROWL!" were emblazoned across them, designed to fill the students with pride. Most of the kids didn’t need encouragement, though. The hallway was filled with clusters of students lounging against lockers, animatedly chatting between classes, and navigating their way to their next period. It had all the excitement of a marketplace, filled with laughter, shouts, and the ever-present scent of slightly burned food from the cafeteria.

Kipperlilly’s head barely reached past the waists of the tallest students, which made her movement almost invisible to the unobservant eye. Dressed in her typical attire—a crisp white shirt with a sweater vest snugly layered on top, a plaid skirt in muted blues and greens, and knee-high socks—she projected an air of formality that didn’t complement the chaos around her. Her blonde hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, gave her an extra inch of height and kept her face clear so she could remain on high alert, as always.

She clutched the stack of books tightly to her chest, her thumb absently rubbing against the well-worn spine of the eldest book as she walked. She liked the weight of them. Heavy enough to remind her of her responsibilities, light enough not to be a bother. Books were straightforward. She liked straightforward.

“Out of the way, Owlbears coming through!”

Kipperlilly’s head snapped up, and she narrowly sidestepped as Fabian Seacaster barreled down the hallway, his booming voice resonating with an arrogance that seemed to fill the space entirely. He was flanked by several of his Bloodrush teammates, all wearing their red and white letterman jackets—the very picture of boisterous athletic bravado. Fabian’s stride was wide and confident, his expensive shoes clicking against the tiles as if he had every intention of making the loudest possible entrance.

Ragh Barkrock, who was walking beside Fabian, caught Kipperlilly’s eye for a moment, his towering half-orc frame impossible to ignore. He wore his jacket with the same sense of pride, though Ragh’s energy seemed more playful, less intentionally flamboyant. He gave her an exaggerated smirk, and Kipperlilly’s nose wrinkled in response.

She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Utterly ridiculous.”

The Bloodrush boys passed her by like a noisy, oversized wave. Kipperlilly shifted her books in her arms, glancing over her shoulder to watch them fade into the crowd. The moment was not entirely without jealousy—Fabian and his team, swaggering as they always did, seemed so free of worry. They commanded attention effortlessly, something Kipperlilly had never wanted to do herself, but couldn’t help but recognize the ease they seemed to possess.

She shook her head, her ponytail swishing slightly, and kept moving, her eyes locking onto her target: her locker. She kept her stride tight and efficient, her feet practically gliding along the floor as she dodged elbows and backpacks. She moved toward her locker, her eyes scanning the crowd to find her destination.

There, just ahead, was Lucy—leaning casually against the row of lockers, her impressive height, blue skin and soft, oversized clothes making her impossible to miss. Lucy’s curly hair tumbled around her face, and she gave Kipperlilly a small wave when she caught sight of her approaching.

“Hey, Kip,” Lucy greeted as calm as ever, her smile warm. “The owlbears seem pretty hyped up over the game tonight.”

Kipperlilly sighed, the sound escaping before she even managed to fully reach her locker. She set her books down on the floor beside her feet, her fingers deftly turning the combination lock. “I couldn’t care any less about Bloodrush if I tried.”

Lucy’s lips twitched, her eyes glinting with humor. “Bloodrush, or Fabian?”

“Both can cease to exist,” Kipperlilly replied flatly, swinging her locker open with a little more force than necessary. The metal door clanged, echoing lightly down the hallway. She ignored the stares of a few passing students, focused instead on transferring her books from her arms into the narrow metal space in front of her.

Lucy let out a soft laugh, watching Kipperlilly as she methodically began organizing her books. “You know, some people think they’re cool.”

Kipperlilly shot her a pointed look, her brow furrowed. “Of course they do,” she muttered. She adjusted the stack of notes, making sure they lined up neatly before turning her attention to her investigative journals.

“How was class?” Lucy asked, leaning her tall frame back against the locker beside Kipperlilly’s. Her sleeves pooled at her wrists, and her gaze remained curious as she watched Kipperlilly go about her end-of-class ritual.

“Insufferable,” Kipperlilly snapped with a growl, her fingers lingering over the edge of the door.

“Let me guess?” Lucy’s expression was gentle, her brow raised, as if she already knew the answer.

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, the irritation seeping into her expression as she locked eyes with Lucy. “It’s Riz.”

Lucy smiled, nodding knowingly. “He can’t be that bad.”

Kipperlilly let out an exasperated breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s that bad, and worse. He thinks he’s the leader now, always trying to take the reins on every little thing we investigate. I mean, honestly, just because he helped eat a dragon last year doesn’t make him some kind of big shot.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking up. “Didn’t he actually eat Goldenhoard? I mean... Kalvaxus. It’s a bit impressive, even if he’s annoying.”

“Oh, sure,” Kipperlilly said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “very impressive. Eating a dragon. How heroic. Next time I need someone to swallow a dangerous enemy whole, I’ll know who to call.” She huffed, tucking a stray hair back into her ponytail.

Lucy shook her head, her laughter soft and almost musical. “He means well. Besides, he wouldn’t be Riz without the theories and the... over-enthusiasm.”

Kipperlilly snorted. “You know, sometimes I wonder if he’s secretly a bard. All he ever does is talk.” She looked over at Lucy, her expression softening just a touch. “It’s just… tiring. Every single class, it’s Riz trying to be in charge, trying to prove he’s got it all figured out. Just once, I’d like to get through a lesson without his commentary.”

Lucy tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Careful, Kippy. Someone might think you have a crush on him.”

Kipperlilly recoiled, her face twisting in disgust. “That’s disgusting. Not to mention, utterly ridiculous.”

Lucy shrugged, her smile widening. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s kind of cute in a nerdy sort of way.”

“He carries a briefcase,” Kipperlilly shot back, her tone flat and incredulous.

“I heard it’s a magic item,” Lucy said, as if that fact alone might elevate Riz’s style choices. It didn’t.

“And that excuses it?” Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with skepticism.

Lucy shrugged again, her lips curling up in an innocent smile. “Sort of.”

“It doesn’t,” Kipperlilly snapped, her frustration evident as she slapped her locker shut, the sound echoing sharply in the hallway.

Lucy didn’t even flinch, her gaze still fixed on Kipperlilly with a gentle understanding that had been cultivated over years of friendship. They’d known each other long enough at this point, both of them outcasts in their own ways. Lucy had been the quiet girl who spent every day of her first week crying alone, and Kipperlilly had been the prickly halfling who never quite knew when to back down from a fight. They’d found each other in the midst of it, and though Kipperlilly rarely said it aloud, she was grateful for the calm that Lucy brought to her life.

Slam!

Suddenly, Kipperlilly was jerked to the side, her shoulder slamming against the row of lockers as someone barreled into her. The impact knocked the breath out of her for a moment. Lucy, who had been leaning beside her, was also jostled, her tall form swaying slightly.

“Hey!” Kipperlilly snapped, her eyes narrowing as she looked up to see who had bumped into them.

A familiar figure stepped back, her red hair wild and unkempt, a shepherd’s staff clutched in one hand, and a tie-dye shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. She blinked at them, her expression somewhere between confused and apologetic.

“Kristen! Watch where you’re walking,” a sharp voice cut in, and Kipperlilly’s gaze shifted to see Adaine Abernant—in her token denim jacket, an iridescent blue orb tucked protectively under one arm—stepping forward to pull her friend away.

Adaine gave them a curt nod, her expression softening slightly as she spoke on the other girls behalf.

“Sorry about that,” she said, her tone polite, though her attention was already back on the clumsy one, who seemed oblivious to the scene she’d just caused.

Kipperlilly glared after them, her hand rubbing absently at the spot on her arm where the impact had hit. The nerve of some people—no awareness of their surroundings, just plowing through life without a care. She clenched her jaw, the irritation simmering beneath her skin.

“It’s fine!” Lucy called after them.

Adaine shot a quick smile in return before turning to jog after her friend, who was already halfway down the hallway, her staff clacking against the floor with each step.

Kipperlilly watched them go, her eyes narrowed slightly until they disappeared around the corner. She let out a huff, shaking her head as she turned back to Lucy.

“Some people,” she muttered, her voice dripping with annoyance. Truthfully, she would have been less annoyed if it had been anyone else disrupting her day.

Lucy chuckled softly, her gaze flicking to Kipperlilly’s face. “She didn’t mean it, Kip."

“I thought that one dropped out,” Kipperlilly said, still frowning as she leaned down to pick up her bag.

Lucy tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Kristen? No... she didn’t drop out. She doesn’t show up to every class, though. And I’m not sure what god she’s into right now.”

Kipperlilly scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. “If this school made any sense, she should fail.”

Lucy shrugged, adjusting her sleeves. “I don’t know. Fig and their friend are touring with the coach in that band, so maybe it’s an adventure party thing.”

“You understand how absurd that is, right?” Kipperlilly said, her voice growing sharper. “Meanwhile, we have to work hard to get good grades, and they can all goof off and skate by because they saved the world once. It’s ridiculous.”

Lucy gave her a small smile, throwing her backpack over her shoulder. “The strength of the hero is the strength of the party? Isn’t that what Principal Aguefort said?”

Kipperlilly snorted, her expression hardening. “Arthur Aguefort is an imbecile.”

“Maybe. But at least he keeps things interesting.” Lucy’s laughter was soft, but it warmed the edges of Kipperlilly’s irritation.

Kipperlilly shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as they began walking down the hallway together. The noise of the academy picked up around them—students chatting, lockers slamming shut, and the distant hum of magic from the spellcasting rooms.

The hallway gradually gave way to a quieter section of the school, the energy of the main thoroughfare tapering off as they approached a set of heavy wooden doors. A brass plaque beside the door read, “Jawbone – School Counselor,” and Kipperlilly felt her stomach sink slightly at the sight.

She didn’t exactly hate going to her sessions, but it was still an inconvenience. There were so many things she would rather be filling her heavy schedule with, but alas, sessions were still mandatory. They would be until she graduated.

“I’ll meet you in the courtyard after?” Lucy’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Kipperlilly nodded, her expression tightening. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

Lucy gave her a warm smile, her eyes softening with a hint of concern. “I thought you liked Jawbone.”

Kipperlilly huffed, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “Better than Mr. Gibbons, at least,” she muttered.

The memory of her single, disastrous session with Mr. Gibbons during freshman year flashed in her mind—the way he’d stumbled through his notes, clearly overwhelmed by the idea of counseling someone with anger issues. He’d died shortly after that session, which wasn’t entirely surprising given the spiral of events that happened after that. Still, it wasn’t exactly a comforting thought.

“I'll see you later.” Lucy reached out, giving Kipperlilly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Kipperlilly managed a small smile, her gaze softening as she looked up at Lucy. “Yeah...”

With a final nod, Lucy turned and made her way back down the hallway. Kipperlilly watched her go for a moment, wishing above everything else that she could go with her. She took a deep breath, then turned towards the door, her hand resting on the worn brass handle.

Jawbone’s office was... unique, to say the least. The room was decorated in a mix of worn-in comfort and chaotic clutter. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with mismatched tomes, some ancient and others clearly modern. A large, overstuffed armchair sat in one corner, and a variety of strange knick-knacks—from enchanted stones to small potted plants—were scattered across the desk.

Jawbone himself was seated behind the desk, his tall, broad frame barely fitting into the chair. He was, as always, in his hybrid werewolf form, wearing glasses perched on his snout and a cardigan that seemed almost too small for his massive shoulders. His eyes held a keen, almost predatory glint. He looked up as Kipperlilly entered, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Hey there, Kipperlilly,” he greeted, his voice a deep rumble that somehow managed to sound gentle. “Right on time, as always.”

Kipperlilly closed the door behind her, her fingers still gripping the handle for a moment longer than necessary. She nodded, her gaze flicking around the room before settling on Jawbone.

“Yeah. Let’s just... get this over with.”

Jawbone chuckled, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “Fair enough. Have a seat.”

Kipperlilly moved to the chair, her steps cautious, and sat down, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. She could feel her muscles tensing, her guard going up instinctively. She hated this—hated the vulnerability that came with talking about her feelings, hated the way it made her feel exposed.

“How’s your day been so far?” Jawbone asked, leaning back in his chair, his gaze steady on her.

Kipperlilly shrugged, her expression guarded. “Fine. Same as usual.”

Jawbone nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. “Anything in particular you want to talk about today?”

Kipperlilly hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. She could feel the familiar anger simmering beneath the surface—the frustration of always having to hold herself back, of always feeling like she was on the edge of losing control. But putting that into words felt impossible, like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands.

“I don't know,” she finally muttered.

Jawbone gave her a gentle smile, reaching for a folder on his desk and opening it. He scanned the top page before looking back at her, his eyes warm. “I have your latest tests here. Still straight As across the board.”

Kipperlilly glanced up, her expression carefully neutral. “Of course.”

Jawbone's smile widened, a hint of pride in his eyes. “That's something you should be really proud of, Kip.”

Kipperlilly shrugged, her gaze flicking away. “I always get top grades.”

“You're an incredibly gifted student,” Jawbone said, filled with a dad-like pride that made Kipperlilly shift uncomfortably in her seat. “You make it look easy.”

Kipperlilly crossed her legs, a scowl tugging at her lips. “I work hard,” she said.

Jawbone nodded, his expression understanding. “That you do. And how are things going with your party?”

“Fine,” Kipperlilly replied, her tone clipped.

Jawbone's gaze softened. “And your class friends?”

Kipperlilly hesitated, her jaw clenching slightly. “...They're not my friends,”

“Ah,” Jawbone said. He watched her for a moment, giving her the space to continue if she wanted to.

Kipperlilly let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We had investigative studies today,” she said, not able to hide her frustration. “We were talking about theories on the rogue teacher.”

She reached into her bag, pulling out a small notebook and handing it to Jawbone. He took it, flipping through the pages, his brow quirking as he scanned her notes.

“This is some incredible work,” he said, sounding filled with genuine admiration.

Kipperlilly's lips pressed into a thin line. “The rest of the class doesn't want to hear any of it,” she said bitterly. “All they care about is Riz's theories, or what Riz thinks, or what Riz would do to find something that might uncover the next step.”

Jawbone hummed thoughtfully, closing the notebook and handing it back to her. “Have you tried to speak up?”

“Of course,” Kipperlilly snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “But not since Riz took my notes just to add them to his board. Did you know, he doesn't even remember my name, and we've been in the same classes the entire time we've been here?”

Jawbone's expression softened, his eyes filled with empathy. “That must be incredibly frustrating.”

Kipperlilly let out a bitter laugh, her gaze dropping to her lap. “It's only gotten worse since he discovered his dad was some kind of secret agent. Everyone looks at him like he's a divine gift to the rogue community when really, all he's done is get carried by his party and killed teachers.”

Jawbone nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. It was easy to tell he could see the hurt behind her anger, the way she felt overshadowed and overlooked.

“It sounds like you feel unappreciated,” he said softly.

Kipperlilly's jaw tightened, her eyes stinging. She hated this—hated feeling vulnerable, hated admitting that it bothered her. But she couldn't deny the truth.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I guess I do.”

Jawbone leaned forward, his expression gentle. “You know, Kip, just because they don't see it doesn't mean your work isn't valuable. You are an incredible rogue—not just because of your skills, but because of your dedication, your hard work. You deserve recognition, whether they give it to you or not.”

Kipperlilly looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine belief he had in her. It was... comforting, in a way. Though the rest of the world didn't see her, at least someone did. Even if that person got paid to do so.

“Thanks,” she muttered and looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. “It's just... hard. Feeling like I have to prove myself all the time.”

Jawbone nodded, his gaze softening. “I know. But you're not alone, kid. You've got people who see you, who believe in you. And I know that doesn't make everything easier, but I hope it helps.”

Kipperlilly let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. It did help—even if only a little. She nodded, her gaze flicking back to Jawbone.

“Yeah. Maybe it does.”

Jawbone smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. That's all we can ask for sometimes, right?”

Kipperlilly was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting to the cluttered desk, her thoughts churning. “I just wish I had something that would set me up for something big,” she said finally, almost as if she was admitting it to herself for the first time.

Jawbone tilted his head, his ears perking slightly. “What do you mean?”

Kipperlilly glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she searched for the right words. “Like how Riz's dad was connected to what happened last year. If I had something like that, maybe my party would be the ones making a name for ourselves. Maybe people would notice us—notice me.”

Jawbone adjusted his glasses on his snout, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. “That's a fairly heavy thing to say, Kipperlilly,” he said.

Kipperlilly's expression hardened. “Is it? Because everything just happened around them. The Oracle thing, Fig's dad... Of course they had to be the ones to fix the problems, because it involved them all.” Her voice was edged with bitterness, her hands clenching into fists in her lap.

Jawbone studied her for a moment, his eyes calm and understanding. “I'm sure they would just see it as a series of unfortunate events,”

“Well, they should be so lucky,” Kipperlilly muttered, dripping with sarcasm.

Jawbone's gaze softened, though he was steady as he spoke. “A lot of people died, kiddo. Including Fabian's dad. No one would call that luck.”

“Well... it is,” she snapped, eyes flashing with anger. “They got to be the heroes. They got the recognition. They got everything handed to them on a silver platter, and they didn’t even have to work for it!”

Jawbone leaned back in his chair, careful to keep his expression calm as he watched her. “You have plenty of things in your life you should be thankful for and enjoy, Kip,” he said softly. “You’re talented, you’re smart, and you’re capable of amazing things. You don’t need a tragedy to prove your worth.”

Kipperlilly's face flushed, her anger only growing at his words. She didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to be told to be grateful, didn’t want to be reminded of what she had when it felt like it wasn’t enough.

“You don’t understand,” she said, hearing how her voice trembled with frustration. “It’s not the same. They have everything, and I’m just...” She trailed off, her hands shaking slightly.

“I know it feels that way sometimes, kid. But I promise you, you are just as capable, just as important as any of them. You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone else. You are enough, just as you are.”

Kipperlilly looked away, her vision blurring slightly. She hated this feeling—this helplessness, this anger that seemed to have no outlet. She wanted to prove herself, to show that she was just as good, just as worthy. But it felt like no matter how hard she tried, it was never enough.

“I just want to matter,” she whispered.

Jawbone's eyes softened. “You do matter. To your parents, to your party, to me. You matter more than you know.”

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her throat tightening. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that she was enough, that she didn’t need some grand event to prove her worth. But it was hard. It was so hard to let go of the need to prove herself, to let go of the anger that seemed to fuel her.

Kipperlilly took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I think I’m done talking for today,” she said finally.

“Okay, Kipperlilly. That’s alright. You did good today.” He gave her a warm smile, and it just made her feel all the worse.

Kipperlilly nodded stiffly, her body language guarded as she stood from the chair. “Yeah. Thanks,” she muttered, keeping her eyes away from Jawbone’s as she turned towards the door.

“Take care, kiddo,” Jawbone said softly as she reached for the handle.

She gave a curt nod in response, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it gently behind her. The click of the door shutting seemed louder than it should have, and she let out a breath.

The hallway was quieter now, the noise of students moving through the main thoroughfare muffled by the distance. Kipperlilly walked briskly. The emotions from the session lingered, clinging to her like a heavy cloak she couldn’t shrug off. She hated it—hated feeling like this, hated the vulnerability that Jawbone could drag out of her. He was perhaps the one staff member at Aguefort that was worthy of his position, and that was sometimes inconvenient.

As she neared the courtyard, the familiar sounds of students laughing, talking, and shouting reached her ears, the lively energy of the end of the school day washing over her. She scanned the crowd, her gaze searching until she found Lucy, sitting cross-legged on the grass near the front of the school.

The frost genasi waved when she caught sight of her, and Kipperlilly did her best to shake herself of her session. If only the so-called safe place would stay in that god forsaken room and not follow her out.

Kipperlilly made her way over, dropping down onto the grass beside Lucy with a sigh. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Lucy replied, her gaze lingering on Kipperlilly for a moment before she spoke again. “How’d it go?”

Kipperlilly shrugged, her eyes focused on the grass beneath her. “It was fine. Same as usual,”

Lucy nodded gently. “Alright. Well, I’m glad you made it through.”

Kipperlilly huffed, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

They sat in silence for a moment, the warmth of the sun soaking into their skin, the chatter of the courtyard creating a comforting background noise. Kipperlilly let herself relax, her shoulders loosening as she leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting across the courtyard.

“Ivy should be out soon,” Lucy said, glancing towards the main entrance of the school. “She said she’d meet us here after her last class.”

Kipperlilly nodded, her eyes scanning the courtyard absently. She caught sight of a small group of students walking across the lawn—Kristen Applebees, sticking out like a multicolored sore thumb, walking alongside Adaine. They moved quickly, their conversation animated as they made their way towards the parking lot.

Kipperlilly’s gaze lingered on them, her curiosity piqued as she noticed where they were headed. Leaning against an old, beat-up station wagon was a girl Kipperlilly recognized from a framed picture on Jawbone’s desk. She had a rugged look to her—broad-shouldered, her hair styled in an undercut on one side, a prominent unibrow. She looked like someone who belonged in the wilderness, not standing in a high school parking lot.

Kristen broke into a jog as they neared the car, her laughter carrying across the lawn. Kipperlilly watched, her eyes widening slightly as Kristen reached the girl and, without hesitation, pulled her into a fierce, almost aggressive kiss. The girl—Jawbone's niece, Kipperlilly remembered—wrapped her arms around Kristen, pulling her close as they kissed, seemingly unaware of the world around them.

Kipperlilly felt her face grow warm, an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling settling in her chest as she watched. There was something about the way they moved, the confidence, the ease with which they leaned into the kiss, that made Kipperlilly’s stomach twist in a way she didn’t quite understand. She quickly averted her gaze, her heart pounding as she looked down at the grass, her fingers plucking at the blades.

“You okay?” Lucy’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Kipperlilly nodded quickly, her eyes still fixed on the ground. “Yeah. Just… distracted,” she muttered.

Lucy followed where she had been looking, her eyes landing on Kristen and the girl, who were now leaning against the car cuddled up with one another, talking and laughing with Adaine. A knowing smile tugged at Lucy’s lips, but she didn’t say anything, simply nodding as she turned back to Kipperlilly.

“They seem happy,” Lucy said after a moment.

Kipperlilly shrugged, her fingers twisting a blade of grass between them. “Yeah. I guess,”

Lucy watched her for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s okay if you feel... things about stuff like that,” she said.

Kipperlilly’s brow furrowed, her gaze snapping up to meet Lucy’s. “What do you mean?” she snapped.

Lucy shrugged, her smile soft. “Just... that it’s okay to to be curious, or... interested. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

Kipperlilly looked away, her jaw clenching. She didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to think about why watching them kiss had made her feel the way it did. It was easier to just ignore it, to pretend it didn’t matter. Teenagers kissed each other all the time. It wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m not interested,”

Lucy nodded. “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about it... I’m here.”

Kipperlilly didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the grass in front of her. She could feel the confusion swirling in her chest, the mix of emotions she didn’t quite know how to name. It was frustrating—not knowing why she felt the way she did, not knowing how to make it stop.

After a moment, she let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Thanks, Lucy,”

Lucy shifted beside her, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands. "So," she said, "who's coming with us tonight?"

Kipperlilly tilted her head, her gaze drifting from the students to the sky, where a few wispy clouds floated lazily.

"Just us and Ivy, I think," she said after a moment. "Ruben's got that family dinner, and Oisin's drowning in homework." She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Oisin and homework—a classic combination. The dragonborn loved nothing more than burying himself in books, and Kipperlilly admired that about him.

Lucy let out a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course he is," she said, shaking her head. "Honestly, I think he'd marry his spellbooks if he could."

Kipperlilly snorted, her smile widening. "Probably," she agreed. She paused, her fingers stilling on the blade of grass. "I wish Ruben would come," she mused, her brow furrowing slightly. "He's been talking a lot about his parents lately. They seem... I don't know, kind of overbearing recently."

Lucy nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah, he mentioned that. I think they're just worried about him, you know? After all the stuff that happened year last year." She shrugged, her gaze flicking over to where a group of students were walking by. "They're good people, though. Just... protective."

Kipperlilly hummed in agreement, her gaze dropping back to the grass. Ruben's parents were lovely—kind, generous, always ready with a warm smile and a plate of cookies. But she could understand how their protectiveness might feel stifling to Ruben, especially now that they were all getting older, more independent. It was a tricky balance—wanting freedom, but also wanting the safety of home.

"And Mary Ann?" Kipperlilly asked, though she already knew the answer. She could feel the corner of her mouth twitching, the beginnings of a smile forming.

Lucy sighed, her lips curving into a reluctant grin. "She never texted me back," she said.

Kipperlilly couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, the sound light and genuine. "Of course she didn't," she said, shaking her head.

Mary Ann was great—but trying to drag her into a group activity was like trying to make a horse climb a wall. It just wasn't going to happen, no matter how much they coaxed or pleaded.

Lucy tried to keep a straight face, but the smile broke through, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I mean, I expected it, but still.”

“Sorry, class ran late!”

Kipperlilly turned to see Ivy walking towards them, a large camping bag slung over her back. Ivy— whose look always screamed “ranger in training.” She had a plainness about her, but there was a beauty in her quiet demeanor—a wallflower kind of pretty that was easy to overlook but striking once noticed. But like all of them, she simply blended into the furniture of the school.

“We just got here,” Kipperlilly replied.

Lucy smiled up at Ivy, shielding her eyes from the sun. “And the weather’s great. I hope it sticks around for spring break.”

Ivy adjusted her bag, a smile tugging at her lips. “If not, we’ll figure it out.”

As if on cue, Ivy’s crystal chimed from her pocket. She fumbled for a moment, shifting her bag to one side before managing to pull it out and glance at the glowing screen.

“My dad’s already waiting,” she said with hint of amusement.

"He finally got a crystal?" Kipperlilly smirked, remembering the many talks he had given them over the years about his intense aversion to technology.

"Weird, right?" Ivy smiles, "I think he just wants to keep better tabs on me after last year and the whole dragon in the gym thing."

Kipperlilly and Lucy exchanged a glance before Lucy pushed herself up from the ground. “Guess we better not keep him waiting,” she said, brushing grass from her clothes.

The three of them made their way across the courtyard, weaving through groups of students as they headed towards the parking lot. Kipperlilly spotted Ivy’s dad’s car—a huge utility jeep decked out with hauling and survival equipment. It was an impressive vehicle, rugged and built for the wilderness, with gear strapped to the roof and a winch attached to the front bumper.

Thorn Embra, Ivy’s dad, stuck his head out the window as he spotted them, his sharp eyes lighting up. “There’s my girls!” he boomed across the lot.

He had a rugged look, sporting a thick, braided beard with a few stray leaves and twigs woven in, whether intentionally or not was anyone’s guess. He wore earth-toned clothing—greens and browns—and a belt full of various survival tools hung around his torso. He looked like he had just stepped out of the deep woods, and in many ways, he probably had.

Ivy smiled, her eyes rolling affectionately. “Hey, Dad.”

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. Thorn was a caricature of a modern-day survivalist, but there was something undeniably warm about him. He was genuine, and that was something Kipperlilly could respect.

“Alright, everyone in!” Thorn said, reaching over to unlock the doors. Ivy opened the back door, tossing her bag inside before climbing in. Lucy followed, moving with ease, but Kipperlilly hesitated for a moment, eyeing the height of the jeep.

“Need a hand?” Lucy asked, a grin tugging at her lips.

Kipperlilly scowled, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “I’m fine,” she muttered, but she didn’t object when Lucy offered her hand, helping her up into the back seat.

Once they were all settled, Thorn put the jeep into gear, the engine rumbling to life as they pulled out of the parking lot. The ride was bumpy, the suspension of the jeep clearly built for rough terrain rather than smooth city roads.

“So, you girls ready to learn some real camping?” Thorn asked, glancing at them in the rearview mirror, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "They don't teach 'em like they used to,"

“As ready as they’ll ever be,” Ivy replied, shooting her friends a smirk. “You’re not gonna make us sleep in a hollowed-out tree, are you?”

Thorn let out a hearty laugh, the sound filling the jeep. “Only if you want to! Nah, we’ll stick to A-frames this time. But I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I want to teach ya—never know when you’ll need ‘em.”

Kipperlilly leaned back against the seat, her gaze focused out the window as the scenery passed by—the buildings of Elmville giving way to fields and forests, the late afternoon sun romanticizing the landscape. She liked structure, she liked plans, and that was why she was excited. Thorn was as structured as she was, and she knew she'd learn a lot from him.

“You excited, Kip?” Ivy asked, reaching over to swat at her knee.

Kipperlilly glanced over, meeting Ivy’s curious gaze. She shrugged, her expression neutral. “As long as we don’t have to eat bugs.”

Thorn let out another laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Only if you want to, Kippy. But don’t knock it till you try it—some of those bugs are packed with protein.”

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

The drive continued, the road winding through the forest, the trees growing thicker as they left the town behind. The air seemed to change as they moved deeper into the woods—crisper, cooler, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp leaves.

By the time they reached the Embra cabin, the sun was just beginning to set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. The cabin itself was nestled in a small clearing, a modest structure made of weathered wood, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. It was Ivy and her dad's home, a place Kipperlilly had been to many times before—simple, sturdy, and surrounded by the quiet beauty of the forest.

Thorn parked the jeep, turning off the engine before twisting around in his seat to look at them. “Alright, ladies, get your stuff inside, and then we can start on getting one of these trees down.”

Some time later, Kipperlilly, Lucy, and Ivy were making finishing touches on their A-frame shelter, a makeshift structure they had built from logs, branches, leaves, and bark they had collected from around the area. The shelter was coming along nicely, with each of them contributing as much as they could. Or at least, Ivy was holding back to let her friends do some of the work.

Kipperlilly glanced up and spotted Ivy halfway up a nearby tree, scaling the rough bark with a machete in hand. Ivy moved with an ease that spoke of years of experience, her body almost blending into the tree like she was a natural extension of the forest itself. She swung the machete with practiced precision, slicing off more pieces of bark, her face calm and focused.

It struck Kipperlilly that Ivy was perfectly at home here. This wasn’t just skill building for her—it was her life, her heritage. These were the skills that Thorn had passed down to her, the lessons that had shaped her from the time she could walk. Thorn was not only her father, but also her mentor, and Ivy was every bit his protégé.

Kipperlilly’s gaze shifted to where Lucy stood next to Thorn by the A-frame. Thorn was demonstrating how to properly lay the pieces of bark across the roof structure to create an effective barrier against the rain. His movements were precise, his voice calm as he explained each step, and Lucy followed along, her eyes attentive as she mimicked his actions. Though Lucy wasn’t as naturally inclined towards the ruggedness of the outdoors as Ivy or even Kipperlilly’s theoretical experience, she was patient and willing to learn, which made her an apt student.

Kipperlilly herself was seated a few feet away, hunched over a small pile of kindling. She was attempting to start a fire using the bow-drill technique—something she had read about and practiced before, but never quite mastered. Her fingers gripped the pointed stick, pressing it into the groove of the log as she rubbed it back and forth, trying to create enough friction to form a fire coal. Her movements were focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Start slowly, then increase speed. Downward pressure. Watch for black dust, then smoke.

The instructions echoed in her mind, but despite her best efforts, nothing seemed to be happening. The wood remained stubbornly unresponsive, and Kipperlilly could feel her frustration building with every failed attempt. The harder she tried, the less progress she seemed to make, her hands slipping as sweat formed on her palms.

The bubbling anger began to rise, tightening her chest, her frustration prickling under her flesh. She bit her lip, her teeth digging in hard enough to sting. And then, with a sudden burst of exasperation, she snapped the stick in half, the sharp crack echoing across the clearing.

She tossed the broken pieces aside, her shoulders heaving as she tried to calm herself. It felt like failure, like all the work she had put in was for nothing. The frustration twisted inside her, hot and relentless, making her want to scream.

“How’s it going?” Thorn’s voice cut through the haze of her anger, and Kipperlilly looked up, her eyes meeting his. He approached, his sharp eyes assessing the scene.

Kipperlilly shook her head, her voice tight. “It’s not... It’s just... It doesn’t work.”

Thorn knelt beside her, his gaze moving to the kindling and the sticks scattered around her. He picked up one of the sticks, feeling the dampness of the wood, and nodded slowly.

“Well, sometimes in a place like this, the wood’s just too damp for this technique. Happens to the best of us.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But that’s why we overprepare. Failing to plan is planning to fail, right?”

Kipperlilly nodded, swallowing hard, trying to push down the lingering frustration. Thorn reached into his utility belt, pulling out a small fire starter—a piece of flint and steel—and handed it to her.

“Always carry at least three different ways to start a fire,” he said gently. “Because that could be the difference between having drinking water and heat or not.”

Kipperlilly took the flint and steel, turning them over in her hands, her fingers tracing the rough edges. She could still feel the anger simmering beneath her skin, but Thorn’s calm presence was easing the sting.

“Give it a shot,” Thorn encouraged.

Kipperlilly nodded, positioning herself over the kindling once more. She struck the steel against the flint, producing a few small sparks that flickered and died. She grit her teeth as she tried again, and again. The sparks danced in the air, but none seemed to catch.

“Keep goin’,” Thorn said, his voice low. “Fire’s a cruel mistress. You gotta treat her with care.”

Kipperlilly took a deep breath, focusing her energy, letting her movements grow more deliberate, more patient. She struck the flint again, and this time, a spark landed on the kindling, a tiny glow appearing among the dry leaves. Her heart skipped a beat, excitement bubbling up as she leaned closer, blowing gently, feeding the ember with oxygen until it began to grow.

Thorn moved beside her, his presence solid and reassuring. Together, they coaxed the small ember into a flame, adding thin sticks until the fire grew, the warmth of the flames spreading through the clearing.

Kipperlilly sat back, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Like that?” she asked, glancing up at Thorn.

Thorn grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Exactly like that. Great job, Kippy. We’ll make a ranger outta you yet.”

Kipperlilly felt her earlier frustration melting away in the warmth of the fire they had built together. She looked over at Ivy and Lucy, who were both watching from the A-frame, smiles on their faces.

The sun had fully set by the time Kipperlilly returned home, the cool evening air settling in as the sky turned a deep indigo. The Copperkettle house stood out on its well-manicured street—a pristine white suburban home, chic and modern with its clean lines and large windows. Everything about the place spoke of order and elegance, from the carefully trimmed hedges to the perfectly aligned walkway leading up to the front door.

Inside, the house was decorated in whites, greys, and creams, the furniture sleek and expensive-looking. Every item seemed to have its proper place, every surface spotless and gleaming. It was a house that demanded perfection, a house that reflected the Copperkettle family's image.

Kipperlilly sat at the glass dining table with her parents. Barden was in a well-tailored shirt emphasizing his stocky build. His hair, once a bright blonde, had begun to gray at the temples, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. Winnie, on the other hand, was petite and elegant, her brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that showed off her delicate features. She wore a simple yet beautiful necklace, and her clothes were chic, her style refined.

The dining room was immaculate, the table set with perfectly aligned place settings, the crystal glasses catching the light from the chandelier above. Dinner was a simple but well-prepared meal, each dish arranged neatly on the plates in front of them.

Barden looked up from his meal, a warm smile on his face as he spoke. “Tell us about your day, little bug. Did you and your friends have a nice time with Mr. Embra?”

Kipperlilly nodded, swallowing her bite before answering. “It was good. We learned how to build a forest shelter, just in case that's where we'll be headed on spring break.”

Winnie smiled, her eyes soft as she looked at her daughter. “Good for you, honey. Your father and I wouldn't be able to spend one night in the wilderness, let alone an adventure.”

Barden chuckled, shaking his head. “They sure didn't teach that at Mumple, did they?” He shared a look with Winnie, both of them laughing at the thought.

Kipperlilly didn’t join in the laughter. She simply took another bite of her dinner, her gaze dropping to her plate. Her parents weren’t adventurous. They weren’t exciting. They were realtors, and her mother also dabbled in local government whenever zoning laws became troublesome. They were perfectly content in their comfortable, orderly lives.

She was thankful for it, of course. They managed a very comfortable lifestyle, which was good for a teenage girl in need of psychiatric therapists and more refined tastes. But it seemed to be yet another thing that set her apart from most of the Aguefort student body.

The laughter faded, and Winnie cleared her throat, her gaze returning to Kipperlilly. “Well, it sounds like you had a productive day. I’m glad you’re spending time with Ivy and Lucy. They’re such lovely girls.”

Kipperlilly nodded again, her fork pushing a piece of vegetable around her plate. “Yeah, they are,”

She glanced up, her eyes flicking between her parents before she spoke again. “I think I’m close to finding the rogue teacher, too. If I do, I pass the year with top grades without having to go to any classes.”

Barden looked up from his meal, a smile spreading across his face. “But you love going to class, Bug.”

Kipperlilly's expression darkened, her fork clinking against her plate as she set it down a little too hard. “That’s not the point. No one has found them for years,”

Barden's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his tone upbeat. “That's great then! What theories do you and your friends have?”

Kipperlilly scoffed, her eyes narrowing. “My classmates are not my friends. I stopped sharing my notes with them,”

Winnie’s brow furrowed. “That's not being part of a team, baby. You need to work together.”

Kipperlilly could feel her anger beginning to rise, her chest tightening as her mother’s words echoed in her mind. She gripped her fork tightly, her knuckles turning white.

“They aren't my team,” she said, her eyes fixed on her plate. “I hate them.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Barden froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening slightly. He slowly placed his fork down, his gaze steady on Kipperlilly.

“Now that's a really strong word to be using, Kipperlilly,” he said.

Kipperlilly looked up, her eyes blazing. “And?” she challenged.

She was no stranger to her parents' reactions to her anger. It had been an ongoing thing in the Copperkettle house for as long as she could remember. Sure, they were doting parents, but they never seemed to understand her—never seemed to understand the anger that burned inside her, the way it seemed to take over, no matter how hard she tried to control it.

Winnie cleared her throat, her gaze softening as she looked at her daughter. “And, how are your sessions with Mr. O'Shaughnessey?” she asked carefully.

Kipperlilly’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing. “I don't want to talk about that right now,”

Barden leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest. “Well, maybe we should. Because you're showing some big feelings right now, and it's important that we address them when they come up.”

Kipperlilly let out a sharp breath, her frustration boiling over. “So I say I hate something, and we have to immediately start to psychoanalyze it?” she snapped.

Winnie shook her head, her expression pained. “That's not what we're saying, sweetheart. We just want to help.”

Kipperlilly pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. She set her cutlery down, her movements stiff and jerky.

“I'm done,” she said, her voice cold. “I'm going to bed.”

Barden held up a hand, his voice gentle. “Bug…”

Kipperlilly shook her head, her eyes hard. “It's been a long day, and I'm tired,”

She stood up from the table, her anger radiating off her in waves. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps heavy as she made her way up the stairs. She could hear her parents talking softly behind her, their voices muffled, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be alone, away from the questions, away from the expectations.

She reached her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her face.

The anger still burned inside her, hot and relentless, but now it was mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made her chest ache. She moved to her bed, sitting down on the edge, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the floor.

Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t she just feel something without it being questioned, without it being dissected and analyzed? She hated it—hated the way her parents looked at her when she got angry, like she was a problem to be solved, something to be fixed.

She let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping as the anger began to fade, leaving behind a hollow emptiness that made her feel small. She reached over to her nightstand, picking up her notebook and flipping it open. The pages were filled with her thoughts, her frustrations, the words that she couldn’t say out loud.

She picked up her pen, her hand steadying as she began to write. She wrote about the dinner, about the way her parents had looked at her, the way their voices had sounded when they had tried to talk to her. She wrote about the fire she had built, the pride she had felt, the way Thorn had smiled at her, the way Ivy and Lucy had cheered her on.

She wrote until her hand ached, until the words blurred on the page, until the tightness in her chest began to ease. And when she finally set the pen down, she felt a little lighter, a little less alone.

Kipperlilly let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting to the window. The night sky was dark, the stars barely visible through the curtains. She closed her notebook, setting it back on the nightstand before lying back on her bed, her eyes closing.

Some days were better than others. Some days, she could even get though without a snappy remark or clenching her fists so tightly that she felt welts in her palms. But other days were just difficult. One thing piled on top of another and she had no outlet for that frustration.

She often thought that just going on a rampage and smashing every piece of furniture in her room would make her feel better. But from personal experience, she would later regret it when her mother would take her out to pick out new things to replace what she had damaged, acting as though it was perfectly routine.

And even if she did, it could be a day, a week, a month, and she would want to do it all over again. It was chronically tragic that it was so predictable.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there before she heard a knock on the door. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, waiting.

“Can I come in?”

She recognized her mom’s voice. It was soft, careful, as though Winnie was testing the waters, unsure if she would be allowed in.

Kipperlilly considered not replying at all—maybe if she stayed silent, her mom would think she was asleep and leave her alone. She was tired of talking. Talking didn’t seem to help; it only seemed to make everything more complicated.

But after a moment, she pushed herself up, sitting against the headboard, her blanket pooled around her waist.

“Yes,”

The door opened slowly, and her mom peeked inside before stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind her. Winnie stood there for a moment, studying her daughter, her eyes soft and searching. Kipperlilly could tell by the slight flush on her mom’s cheeks that she had probably had at least one glass of wine since Kipperlilly had stormed upstairs.

Winnie moved closer, “I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay,” she said with a tentative smile.

She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and Kipperlilly shifted, moving her legs to make room. She pulled her knees to her chest, her chin resting on top of them.

“I’m fine,” Kipperlilly said, a little clipped. She didn’t want to go over it again, didn’t want to rehash everything that had happened at dinner.

Winnie nodded slowly, her gaze not leaving her face. Silence settled, and eventually, Kipperlilly let out a breath.

She may not want to talk about it, but leaving it hanging would just cause it to be brought up again later, or worse, at one of her monthly appointments in Bastion City.

“I was just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she admitted.

Winnie nodded again, her eyes warm. “Your father and I didn’t intend to pry. We just worry about you,”

Kipperlilly pulled her knees tighter to her chest and dropped her gaze. “I know,” she sighed.

Winnie hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Last year, you seemed very content at school. I can’t help but notice you seem increasingly unhappy,” she said carefully, as though she was afraid of pushing too far.

Kipperlilly frowned, her fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “Some of the students are just hard to tolerate,”

A small smile tugged at Winnie’s lips. “That just sounds like the high school experience, sweetheart,”

Kipperlilly huffed. “It’s just not fair sometimes,” she said tightly. “My friends and I, we get good grades, and we’re really trying hard at being a real adventuring party, but some of the teachers just don’t care. They have their favorites, and the rest of us just get ignored.”

Winnie reached out, her hand resting gently on Kipperlilly’s knee. “You’re still an underclassman, sweetheart,” she soothed. “You’ll get your chance.”

Kipperlilly sighed, her head resting against her knees. “When I’m a junior, so are The Bad Kids,” she said, her voice muffled. “And then there’s The Seven Maidens being a mixed group. No matter how old I get, I’ll always be third best.”

Winnie’s eyes softened, and she gave Kipperlilly’s knee a gentle squeeze. “You’ll always be our favorite,”

Kipperlilly snorted, her lips curling into a small, sarcastic smile. “Yippee,”

Winnie chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. She moved to tuck a loose strand of Kipperlilly’s hair behind her ear. “I know it doesn’t feel like much right now,” she sighed. “But you are doing so well, baby. Your father and I are so proud of you. And I know that doesn’t fix everything, but I hope you know that we see you. We see how hard you’re trying.”

Kipperlilly looked up, her eyes meeting her mother’s. For a moment, the anger and frustration seemed to fade at how much love seemed to radiate from the woman. If affection could equate to gold, Kipperlilly would be the richest person in Elmville. But even with all the love in the world, she wouldn’t get what she really wanted.

She nodded, her gaze dropping again. “Thanks, Mom,”

Winnie smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of Kipperlilly’s head. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” she said. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

Kipperlilly nodded, her eyes closing as she leaned into her mother’s touch, just for a moment. “Okay,”

“Remember, your dad and I have to drive to Ashgrove early tomorrow morning. Did you set up a ride for tomorrow?” Winnie added as she pulled back.

Kipperlilly nodded. “Mary Ann said her dad can pick me up,”

Winnie winced slightly, though she quickly forced a smile. “Good,” she said, a little too bright.

Kipperlilly knew that expression well. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t like Mary Ann—they just found her incredibly dry responses a little unsettling. Kipperlilly had to admit that Mary Ann took a little while to get used to, until she realized that though she was unpredictable and not the ideal choice for socially beneficial interactions, Mary Ann was a fierce friend.

“Good, good,” Winnie said again. She reached out, her hand resting on Kipperlilly’s shoulder. “And I love you.”

Kipperlilly lowered her legs away from her chest. She let out a sigh. “I love you too,”

Winnie stood, her hand lingering on Kipperlilly’s shoulder for a moment before she turned and made her way to the door. She paused, looking back at her daughter, her smile gentle. “Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight, Mom,” Kipperlilly replied.

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Sophomore Year:

Two weeks before spring break

The Copperkettle house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic clacking of keys. Sunlight streamed through the wide kitchen windows, splashing warm, golden light over the granite countertops and polished wooden floors. The space was immaculate—like it always was. Not a crumb dared to linger on the pristine breakfast bar, and even the houseplants sat perfectly spaced, leaves glossy and green in the morning sun. It was the kind of place that smelled like lemon, a house that always seemed to be trying a little too hard to be a home.

Kipperlilly sat at the glass table in the center of the kitchen, her back perfectly straight, legs crossed at the ankles. She had a piece of toast clenched between her teeth, the corners just brushing her lips, as she typed away on the slim, glowing surface of a crystal tablet. The toast swung slightly as she leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. Her fingers danced across the screen, moving with precision and speed that came naturally to a rogue like her.

The tablet wasn’t hers. Well, technically, it was family property, but this specific one? It belonged to her parents. It had been left on the counter, possibly by accident, before her mother had swept out of the door that morning to attend some town hall meeting about “potential community projects.” Kipperlilly wasn’t exactly sure what the meeting entailed—her mother had a way of droning on about town improvements until Kipperlilly’s mind wandered off to more interesting thoughts. But the tablet had been sitting there, so temptingly unguarded, as she made her breakfast.

She glanced around the empty kitchen, listening for the sound of the garage door, for her fathers footsteps, for anything.

Nothing. The house was still.

She swallowed down a mouthful of toast, her jaw working mechanically as her eyes flicked back to the tablet. “Come on, give me something,” she muttered. Her breath fogged up the edge of the crystal screen, but she wiped it away with the cuff of her white shirt sleeve, fingers trembling with excitement and slight nerves.

Her breakfast—two pieces of perfectly browned toast and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice—sat on a delicate china plate, beside her. She’d barely glanced at it since sitting down, her attention wholly consumed by the bright screen in front of her.

Kipperlilly had always known her parents were boring. Painfully so. But she hoped—just maybe—that there was some kind of secret hidden away in the folds of their polished, respectable lives. A sliver of intrigue, a mystery she could unravel. Maybe her mom was in on some town scandal or her dad had a hidden magical debt they’d never told her about. Something that might give her life the kind of edge that other adventurers seemed to have.

Instead, she found emails about planning committees, a few pleasantries exchanged between her mother and the mayor, and updates on garden club events. Each email she skimmed was like a bucket of cold water thrown on a barely flickering flame of curiosity.

Her lips twisted into a frown as she scrolled through another thread about Elmville’s upcoming Spring Festival. Her father was suggesting they move the wine booth closer to the stage for better traffic flow. Her mother was lobbying for a fancier, more upscale tent for the artisan cheese stand. Kipperlilly’s jaw clenched.

“Artisan cheese,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she pushed the toast deeper into her mouth, speaking around the crumbs. “Riveting stuff, Mom.”

But she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers kept moving. The screen flashed as she pulled up another email, this one with the subject line: Community Outreach Planning - Draft Proposal Attached. Kipperlilly bit down on her toast, narrowing her eyes. She tapped it open, and her shoulders slumped at the sight of another bland PDF file.

A groan slipped past her lips, muffled by the bread, and she finally set the toast down, giving the orange juice a half-hearted nudge. “Of course, it’s all so... typical,” she sighed, swiping to close the document.

A slice of sunlight warmed her cheeks, and she squinted up at the ceiling. Her gaze flitted to the refrigerator door, where neatly aligned photos and a calendar of perfectly planned family events were magnetized in place. Pictures of vacations to beautiful places, snapshots from town galas, and one or two of Kipperlilly from her childhood, clutching her parents’ hands. A memory stirred, and she could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head: “You should be more grateful, Kipperlilly. Not every kid gets to grow up in a stable home like this.”

She knew it was true. And maybe it made her feel a little guilty for wishing that she had a different life. A more adventurous one, like the other kids at the Adventuring Academy. They had backstories that sounded like they came straight out of epic quests. They had scars from real life threatening battles, family legacies filled with legendary feats. Kipperlilly Copperkettle? She had an above-average GPA and a mom who made the best lemon squares in Elmville.

A scandal, any scandal, would be the markings of something that could give her the kind of adventuring trajectory she was looking for. After all, she couldn’t name a single professional party member who didn’t have some kind of jaded past or corrupted lineage.

But before she could close out of the tablet, she spotted a new email in the inbox. The subject line caught her eye: Urgent - Possible Vote Needed. It was from the head of Elmville’s town council, addressed to her mother. Kipperlilly hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe this one would have something interesting.

She tapped it open. The screen filled with text, detailing a dispute over zoning for a new housing development on the edge of town. There was a paragraph about potential ecological impacts, a few mentions of protestors, and a note about upcoming votes.

Kipperlilly’s eyes scanned the rest of the email, but as the text blurred past, it became clear that there was nothing in this message that would give her what she wanted. Sure, there was mention of some banking transactions that might seem impressive to someone else, but they weren’t tied to any scandal or secret account. Just more boring details about budgets, town planning, and allocation for Elmville’s new park benches. She let out a sharp breath through her nose, frustration curling up in her chest.

She closed out of the email app, fingers tapping a little too hard against the crystal screen. It made a small clack as she set it down on the kitchen table, careful to leave no sign of her digital snooping. It was like a weight dropped in her chest as she realized just how mundane all of it was—mundane and perfectly in line with what she’d always known about her family.

To most people, that would have been a relief. But not to Kipperlilly. She wanted something to uncover, something that might add a dash of complexity to the Copperkettle name and give her an edge over the other kids at the academy. She wanted—no, needed—her family to be more than just the model of suburban respectability.

She stalked over to the sink, grabbing her glass of orange juice and tilting her head back to finish it off in one long gulp. The glass clinked sharply against the edge of the counter as she set it down. Her fingers flexed, restless, as if the need to do something—anything—was crawling under her skin. She clenched the glass a little too tightly, the edges pressing into her palm.

And then, without even realizing how it happened, the glass slipped from her grasp. It fell to the sink with a sharp crack, splintering into jagged shards that scattered over the stainless steel. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the broken pieces, her mind blank with a rush of adrenaline.

“Damn it!”

Anger surged through her, hot and messy. She reached into the sink without thinking, her hand sweeping across the shards in a hasty attempt to gather them up. A sharp sting lanced through her finger as one of the edges bit into her skin.

She winced, jerking her hand back, crimson welling up from the small cut. It wasn’t deep, but the sight of her own blood sent a fresh wave of irritation washing over her. She pressed her thumb against the wound, trying to stanch the flow as she fumbled for a paper towel. The white sheet quickly bloomed red as she pressed it to the cut, her jaw clenching tight.

“Great. Just perfect,” she muttered to herself, crumpling the bloody towel into her fist. It was like everything this morning was determined to remind her of just how ordinary her life was—right down to the clumsiness of a rogue who was supposed to be better than this.

She was just about to mop up the remaining glass when footsteps padded down the hallway. Her father stepped into the kitchen, adjusting his tie as he went. His suit jacket was draped neatly over one arm, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He stopped short when he saw her, eyes narrowing as he noticed the blood-soaked paper towel wrapped around her hand.

“Little bug, what happened?” he asked, setting his jacket down on the back of a chair. He moved toward her. “You’re bleeding.”

Kipperlilly’s first instinct was to snap back, to brush off his concern like she always did, but she felt the irritation flare again. Just an ordinary dad, with overt concern for a minor injury. She forced herself to swallow it down, her fingers tightening around the towel. “I’m fine, Dad. Just—broke a glass. Not a big deal.”

Barden’s face softened, and he took a step closer, reaching out a hand as if to take a closer look. “Here, let me see—”

Kipperlilly pulled back, her shoulders hunching slightly. “It’s fine. Really.” She shot him a quick, tight-lipped smile. “I’ll just... get it fixed at school. Lucy’s got healing spells. We’re gonna be late if you keep fussing.”

Her father’s frown deepened, and he hesitated, clearly torn between pushing the issue and letting it go. His fingers paused midair before he let them fall back to his side. “Alright, if you’re sure... but you should be more careful, Kip. You know your mother doesn’t like—”

Kipperlilly cut him off, a sharp edge in her voice that she didn’t bother to hide. “I know. I’ll clean it up before I go. Don’t worry about it.”

There was a moment of silence, thick and uncomfortable, before her father nodded, though the concern didn’t fall from his face. He turned away, heading for the coffee machine on the counter, but she could feel his gaze flicking back to her, lingering on the tension in her shoulders, the clenched towel in her hand.

Kipperlilly bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to focus on the sound of coffee brewing, the quiet hum of the machine. She could feel the anger still bubbling under the surface, simmering like an untamed fire. She wanted to snap at him, to ask why he always had to hover, to demand why he couldn’t just let her be angry for once without feeling like he needed to fix it.

Instead, she pressed her lips together and bent down to pick up the shards of glass, one by one, dropping them into the trash. Each small clink was like a countdown to the moment she’d finally get out of the house and leave this suffocating quiet behind.

When she straightened up again, Barden was still there, coffee cup in hand, watching her with that same worried crease between his brows. Kipperlilly wiped her good hand on the dish towel, avoiding his gaze as she moved toward the door.

“Lucy will fix it,” she repeated, more to fill the space between them than anything else. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, feeling the familiar weight settle against her back. “I’ll be like it never happened.”

Her dad opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something more, but then he just nodded, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “Alright. Just be careful.”

She barely managed to hold back a scoff. Careful was what she was supposed to be, wasn’t it? Careful and well-behaved and always, always in control. It was what she’d been trained for, as a Copperkettle and as a rogue. But sometimes, like this morning, the carefulness felt like a leash, pulling tight around her neck, making it hard to breathe.

She forced another smile, quick and sharp, before she turned on her heel and headed for the front door, the paper towel still wrapped around her cut finger. Her dad watched her leave like he wanted to ask something else but didn’t know how.

Kipperlilly didn’t wait to hear what it was. She stepped outside, the cool morning air washing over her, a welcome relief after the stifling warmth of the house. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, she just stood on the porch, taking a deep breath and letting the coolness seep into her lungs. She flexed her hands, feeling the sting of the cut and the steady, dull throb that accompanied it.

The driveway stretched out, and her dad’s car, sleek and polished, gleamed under the rising sun. She could see him through the window, still standing in the kitchen, probably watching her through the blinds. But he wouldn’t follow her out here. He’d let her go, like he always did, even if he didn’t understand why she pushed away so hard.

Kipperlilly took another breath, feeling the anger settle into something colder and more manageable. She tightened her grip on the strap of her backpack and headed for the car, the gravel crunching under her feet.

She waited inside the car. One minute turning into two, until it was time they had to leave, and she watched her dad leave through the front door, locking up behind him.

As Barden slid into the drivers seat, Kipperlilly glanced sideways at her dad, noting the way he adjusted the rearview mirror even though he had no need to. He didn’t say anything about the cut, or her sharpness, but his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. Kipperlilly looked out the window, watching the quiet streets of Elmville roll by, trying to focus on the promise of a new day, even if her morning had already started off jagged and raw.

The cafeteria at Aguefort Adventuring Academy buzzed with the usual insanity of lunch hour—a blend of overlapping conversations, clattering trays, and the occasional arcane spark flickering in the air from some careless student’s spell. Kipperlilly, tray balanced in one hand, wove through the maze of tables.

Their lunch table—center-right, under the hanging banner of an owlbear—had been the same since Freshman year. It was in a perfect spot, just far enough from the noisy magic kids who were always testing spells on their food and close enough to the windows to catch a glimpse of the courtyard, where students lounged on benches or practiced sparring. Kipperlilly liked it. She liked the consistency of it, the feeling that even in the madness of Aguefort, some things didn’t have to change.

When she reached the table, Lucy was already there, her frosty blue skin shimmering slightly under the fluorescent lighting. The genasi leaned back in her seat, absentmindedly swirling her straw in a cup of iced tea that never seemed to melt, no matter how long it sat there.

Lucy glanced up as Kipperlilly dropped her tray onto the table with a soft clink. “How’s the hand?” she asked.

Kipperlilly turned her hand over, examining it with a faint flick of her eyebrows. She wiggled her fingers, feeling the smoothness of her skin where the cut had been just that morning. Now, it was as if it had never happened.

“Good as new,” she said with a small grin. “You’re getting really good at that, you know?”

Lucy beamed, her whole face lighting up with quiet pride. “Yeah? Thanks.”

Next to her, Oisin nudged her gently with his elbow, a lopsided grin spreading across his scaled face. “Told you you’ve got the touch.”

Oisin had grown—a lot—since Kipperlilly had first met him. Back then, he’d been scrawny, with glasses a little too big for his snout. Now, though, the dragonborn was at least two or three feet taller, his frame broader, though he still slumped over like he was trying not to take up too much space. He gave her a friendly nod as she slid into her usual spot.

Kipperlilly set down her tray and popped a grape into her mouth. “Did you grow again over the weekend?” she teased Oisin, raising a brow. “You’re taking up even more space.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “Guess I am. Can’t exactly help it.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled sheepishly. “I keep thinking I’ll stop growing any day now, but nope.”

Before Kipperlilly could respond, the rest of their group arrived. Ruben, Ivy, and Mary Ann came over in a cluster, chatting animatedly. Ruben’s messy brown hair stuck out in every direction, as though he’d just rolled out of bed. Ivy’s long brown braid swung behind her as she slid into her chair, her pretty eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then there was Mary Ann with her perpetually deadpan expression. Without a word, she scooted as close to Kipperlilly as physically possible, as if there was no such thing as personal space when it came to her. Kipperlilly barely reacted to the invasion of space—it had become routine by now.

Mary Ann leaned in so close Kipperlilly could feel the warmth radiating off her scales. “What’d I miss?” Mary Ann asked flatly, though her eyes were fixed on Kipperlilly’s tray as if she was already judging her lunch choices.

“Not much,” Kipperlilly replied, nudging her tray closer to Mary Ann, who snatched a carrot stick without hesitation. “Lucy was just checking up the cut she fixed this morning.”

Mary Ann gave a small, approving nod, her expression as neutral as ever. “Good. You need both hands to punch someone.”

Kipperlilly snorted, but it was Ruben who laughed the loudest.

“She’s got a point,” Ruben grinned, wiping his eyes as if Mary Ann had delivered the punchline of the century.

Oisin adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, nudging his tray closer to the center of the table. “Hey, Ruben,” he started. “How did the performance go this morning?”

Ruben reached for a roll on Kipperlilly’s tray without asking. “Eh, fine. Not sure Lucilla Lullaby likes that I want to try something electric, but she'll get over it.”

“I’m not sure that’s a victory,” Ivy teased, elbowing him lightly.

“It is if you aim low enough,” Ruben shot back, his grin unrepentant.

Kipperlilly smiled, but her gaze flicked back to Oisin, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His tail swished lightly under the table, a telltale sign that something was on his mind.

“What about your test?” Kipperlilly asked him. “How’d it go?”

Oisin’s expression brightened. “Great! I mean... so far.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish again. “I’m kind of worried about the next one, though. It’s a group project, and... you know...”

He trailed off, the meaning clear. The kids in the wizard classes weren’t exactly known for their kindness. From what Oisin had told them, most of his classmates were stuck-up and competitive, always looking down their noses at anyone who wasn’t at their level—or, in their opinion, worthy of their time.

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. “They’d be lucky if they got to work with you,” she said, edged with quiet frustration on his behalf. “You’re the best in that class, Oisin.”

Mary Ann, without missing a beat, muttered under her breath, “They’re all losers.”

Ivy snorted, trying and failing to stifle her laughter. “She’s not wrong,” Ivy said, grinning. “They are losers.”

Oisin smiled, though there was still a flicker of doubt in his expression. Kipperlilly leaned forward, her hands resting on the table. “Seriously, Oisin. Don’t let them get in your head. You’ve got this.”

Oisin gave her a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The cafeteria at Aguefort Adventuring Academy was always loud, but there was a particular kind of chaotic hum that came from the table by the window. Kipperlilly noticed it immediately. Her ears perked up at the sudden rise in noise—a hellish mix of shouting, table-banging, and general disruption that was hard to ignore.

It was The Bad Kids. Of course it was.

Fabian Fucking Seacaster had started some kind of chant—“Ball! Ball! Ball!”—his fists slamming rhythmically against the table. His voice boomed across the cafeteria, drowning out every other conversation. At the same time, Riz was furiously chugging a carton of milk like it was a competition.

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose at the display, watching as Adaine sat off to the side, completely unbothered, her nose buried in a thick book. She was at least making an effort to ignore the chaos, which Kipperlilly could appreciate. But right next to her, that annoying red head, who always seemed to wear the same ridiculous tie-dye shirt, clambered onto the table.

Without hesitation, the girl—Kristen, Kipperlilly remembered—kicked trays of food to the ground in one careless swoop, sending them crashing to the floor.

It was pure pandemonium, and it grated on Kipperlilly’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Her fingers tightened around the plastic cup in her hand, the soft material crinkling under her grip.

“Will they ever not be obnoxious?” she muttered under her breath, her voice carrying just enough bitterness to make Lucy glance at her with a knowing look.

Ruben, chewing lazily on a carrot stick, shrugged without much concern. “It’s been less bad recently,” he said. “At least since Fig and that orc boy—what’s his name? Gabnut?—went on tour with their terrible band.”

“I though you said you liked their m—Ooof!”

Ivy was cut off by what appeared to be Ruben’s foot under the table, and she made a mental note to figure that out at a later time, when she wasn’t so irritated by their peers.

Kipperlilly scanned the table again, and sure enough, Fig and Gorgug were still nowhere in sight. They’d been gone for weeks—touring, apparently, even though both of them were already struggling in their classes. It wasn’t fair. Who just got to skip out on months of school, especially with grades like theirs? And yet, somehow, they were still hailed as heroes. Celebrated, even.

She exhaled through her nose, her grip on the cup tightening further until the plastic began to squeak under the pressure.

“I’m glad I decided against multiclassing,” Ivy said from across the table, recovering from her hit and flicking her braid over her shoulder. “I would hate to be in class with Fabian. He seems like an idiot.”

Ruben grinned around a mouthful of food. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Ivy smirked, but there was an edge to it, sharp and dry. “No. Not really.”

Mary Ann, meanwhile, finished off the last of Kipperlilly’s lunch, popping the final grape into her mouth with a satisfied crunch. “Aguefort loves them,” she said flatly, but there was no denying the truth behind the words.

And that truth burned.

Kipperlilly’s hand tightened even more around the cup, her knuckles whitening. The plastic crumpled inward, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Her heart hammered in her chest, a familiar heat rising beneath her skin, like a fire she couldn’t quite keep under control. It wasn’t just the noise, or the chaos, or the obnoxiousness of The Bad Kids. It was the unfairness of it all.

They got to coast through life on charm and reckless choices, never facing the consequences that always seemed to land squarely on someone like her. Kipperlilly had to work for every bit of recognition she got, had to be perfect, controlled, on point at all times. And for what? To sit here, day after day, watching them be adored for their screw-ups?

Her breath hitched, the cup cracking audibly in her hand. Before she could spiral further, Lucy reached over, her cool hand settling gently over Kipperlilly’s. The touch was like a splash of icy water against her overheated skin, bringing her back just enough to loosen her grip.

“Hey,” Lucy whispered, her voice as soft as the first snowfall of winter. “They’re not worth it, Kip.”

“I hate them,” Kipperlilly whispered, thick with bitterness.

“I know,” Lucy murmured, her thumb brushing lightly across Kipperlilly’s knuckles. “But they’re not worth your energy.”

Kipperlilly exhaled slowly, forcing the air out through her nose. Lucy was right. Lucy was always right. But that didn’t make the anger any easier to swallow.

The sounds of chanting and obnoxious slurping continued to echo across the cafeteria, grating on her last nerve. But Kipperlilly took another deep breath, letting the coolness of Lucy’s hand seep into her skin, trying to remind herself that she was above it. She had to be above it.

Because if she wasn’t, then what was the point?

Kipperlilly sat stiffly in the worn, oversized chair across from Jawbone’s desk, her legs dangling just an inch or two above the floor. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her foot bouncing in an impatient rhythm.

Jawbone sat across from her. The werewolf. in his ever-present hybrid form, slouched slightly in his chair with the patient air of someone used to teenagers getting worked up.

Kipperlilly glared at him, her brow furrowed, frustration radiating off her in waves. She tried to relax, but it was like her muscles had forgotten how. Every nerve in her body buzzed with pent-up annoyance. The familiar itch in the back of her mind—the one that made her want to pick fights with vending machines or throw daggers at walls just to feel something—was creeping up fast.

“I’m just saying,” Kipperlilly continued, tight with barely restrained irritation, “there should be academic adjustments for people whose families have been through intense magical hardships. It gives them an unfair advantage in adventuring if the school keeps cutting them slack. The system is broken.”

Jawbone raised an eyebrow, rubbing the back of his neck with one massive, clawed hand. “Woah, woah. Kiddo, slow down a sec. Where’s all this coming from?”

Kipperlilly clenched her jaw, her teeth grinding together so hard she was surprised they didn’t crack.

“The Bad Kids,” she said, as if the words alone were poisonous. “Everyone knows Aguefort plays favorites with them. They get so much leniency—too much. They don’t even show up to most of their classes, and yet they still get credit. Two of them are on tour right now, Jawbone. Tour. And they’re failing their classes! How is that fair?”

Jawbone leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms as his tail flicked idly behind him. “Hang on, hang on. How do you even know they’re failing?”

Kipperlilly let out a sharp scoff, rolling her eyes so hard it felt like a small workout. “How do you not fail when you don’t show up to class? It’s basic logic.”

Jawbone gave her a level stare, one brow raised, and she knew he was waiting for more. She folded her arms tighter, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her black sweater.

“Besides,” she added, “Riz Gukgak isn’t the only rogue at this school who knows how to get into student records.”

Jawbone’s ears twitched at that, and he let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing his temples. “Kipperlilly, we talked about this… you can’t go breaking into student files. That’s—well, it’s illegal, for starters. And it’s a serious breach of—”

“Oh, so the rules apply to me but not to them?” Kipperlilly snapped, leaning forward in her seat, her fists clenching in her lap. “Got it. Good to know.”

Jawbone gave her a warning look, but she was already in full swing. The anger surged up, hot and relentless, and once it started, there was no stopping it. The words spilled out of her, sharp and fast, like they’d been building up inside her for far too long.

“They get away with everything,” she continued, voice rising. “They skip classes. They leave on ridiculous adventures in the middle of the semester. And somehow, they still get treated like they’re the greatest thing to ever happen to this school. It’s infuriating.”

Jawbone sat quietly, his sharp eyes watching her with the steady patience of someone used to waiting out storms. But that only made her angrier.

“They don’t even have to try,” Kipperlilly hissed, swiping her hand across the surface of Jawbone’s desk. A stack of papers and a half-empty mug of coffee went flying, scattering across the floor in a chaotic burst. The mug rolled to a stop near the base of a potted fern, the coffee soaking into the edge of a dog-eared student file.

Jawbone sighed again, deeper this time, his tail flicking once behind him. “Kip…”

“No!” she interrupted, standing now, her small frame vibrating with the force of her frustration. “I work my ass off every single day—every class, every project, every stupid group assignment where I end up carrying all the slack. And for what? To sit here and watch those idiots get away with everything?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her vision tunneling slightly as the anger threatened to overwhelm her. The words felt jagged and rough in her throat, but she couldn’t stop them. It was as if all the unfairness of the world had decided to drop on her shoulders, and she was the only one who could see it for what it was.

“It’s not just unfair,” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly, though she hated herself for it. “It’s a joke. A big, stupid joke.”

Jawbone leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His yellow eyes were calm, but there was a softness in his expression that made Kipperlilly want to punch a wall. “Kip, I get it. I do. But this ain’t about them.”

“Yes, it is,” Kipperlilly shot back, though she knew—deep down—that wasn’t entirely true. But admitting that meant facing the deeper truth: that it wasn’t just about The Bad Kids. It was about everything. The expectations, the pressure, the constant need to be perfect and in control.

And the fact that no matter how hard she tried, it never felt like it was enough.

Jawbone let the silence hang between them for a moment before speaking again. “You’re angry, kiddo. And it’s okay to be angry. But you can’t let it control you.”

Kipperlilly huffed, crossing her arms again, her anger simmering, unwilling to die down completely. “I’m not angry.”

Jawbone gave her a look. “You literally just threw my coffee.”

Kipperlilly glanced down at the mess she’d made and then back up at Jawbone. “Okay? What’s your point?”

Jawbone let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Look, Kipperlilly, I know it feels unfair right now. But everyone’s got their own stuff going on, even The Bad Kids.”

Kipperlilly scoffed, but some of the fight inside of her had died. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t still obnoxious.”

Jawbone grinned, showing just a hint of fang. “Can’t argue with that.”

She let out a breath, her anger finally ebbing like the final embers of a fire. “I just… I don’t get why it has to be this way.”

Jawbone let out a deep sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling like wind brushing through trees. He reached across the desk, covering one of Kipperlilly’s trembling hands with his own. His palm was massive compared to her small fingers.

“I understand why you feel that way, kiddo,” Jawbone said quietly. “And I get how it looks. I really do.”

Kipperlilly blinked down at their hands, her throat tightening. She wasn’t used to people saying that. Usually, when she voiced her frustrations, all she got was advice to “calm down” or “take a deep breath.” Jawbone’s words sat differently, more like an acknowledgment than a dismissal.

“It’s just…” Kipperlilly trailed off, frustration curling in her chest again. “It’s not fair, Jawbone. It’s never fair.”

“I know,” Jawbone murmured. “But sometimes, we can’t control things like that. It’s a hard truth to swallow, but it’s part of life.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What we can do is decide what to do about it.”

Kipperlilly glanced up at him, the corner of her mouth twitching into a mischievous smirk. “Like… throwing a dagger in Fabian Seacaster’s back?”

Jawbone barked out a laugh, sharp and sudden. “Uh… no, not quite. Creative, though, I’ll give ya that.” He shook his head, his grin lingering as he leaned back in his chair. “But this rage, kid… maybe we should talk about that.”

Kipperlilly snorted, pulling her hand back and crossing her arms. “I’m getting pretty sick of talking about my anger all the time,” she muttered. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s justified? Maybe some things deserve it?”

Jawbone’s muzzle curled up into a knowing smile. “I didn’t say anger,” he corrected gently. “I said rage.”

That gave Kipperlilly pause. Her brows knit together as she studied him, curiosity flickering behind her frustration. “Rage?”

Jawbone nodded, and she could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. “Have you ever thought about explorin’ the possibility of multi-classing? It’s usually around this time—sophomore year—when kids start thinking about it, once they’ve had a few adventures under their belt, Y’know?”

Kipperlilly leaned back in her seat, arms still crossed, her mind turning over the idea. “I haven’t… thought about it at all.”

Jawbone’s tail swayed gently behind him, brushing the floor. “Well, maybe you should. Rage doesn’t have to be a bad thing, y’know? You’ve spent so much of your life trying to control it, trying to keep it in check. Maybe it’s time you figured out how to use it.”

Kipperlilly pursed her lips, mulling it over. “Like a barbarian?”

Jawbone shrugged, his grin growing a little wider. “Possibly. It’s worth a shot. I could set up a meeting with Porter if you want to talk about it, see if it might be a good fit for ya.”

Kipperlilly tapped her fingers against her arm, weighing the idea in her mind. She liked being a rogue—being quick, clever, and sharp. But there was a part of her, deep down, that had always longed to stop holding back. To lean into the heat of her anger, to stop bottling it up and pretending she didn’t feel it burning inside her.

“A rogue barbarian,” she muttered under her breath, the words tasting strange but intriguing.

Jawbone’s grin stretched wide across his muzzle. “Now that’s an edge I ain’t never seen before.”

Kipperlilly gave him a sideways glance, her lips twitching despite herself. It was a wild idea. A ridiculous idea, really. But there was a spark of something in it—something she couldn’t place but liked the feel of all the same.

“Do you really think it’d help?” she asked.

Jawbone tilted his head, considering her with that patient gaze of his. “I think it’s worth exploring. The way I see it, you’ve got all this fire inside you, and right now, it’s burning you up from the inside. But if you could find a way to let it out—channel it—you might surprise yourself.”

Kipperlilly drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair again, the idea settling in her mind like a stone dropped into a still pond, ripples spreading outward. For once, the thought of not holding back felt like a relief instead of a risk.

“Okay,” she said slowly, the word rolling off her tongue. “Set up the meeting with Porter.”

Jawbone nodded, his expression warm. “You got it, kid.”

She stood, straightening her skirt and pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “Thanks, Jawbone,” she said, her voice lighter than it had been all morning.

Jawbone gave her a small salute, his grin still firmly in place. “Anytime, Kip. Now go on—don’t wanna be late to class.”

Kipperlilly smirked. “You know me. Always on time.”

Jawbone chuckled as she headed for the door, the warmth in his laugh following her out into the hallway. And as Kipperlilly made her way down the corridor, her footsteps light and quick, she found herself smiling—just a little—at the thought of what might come next.

A rogue barbarian.

The very idea felt dangerous and exciting

The hum of the air conditioner filled the sleek kitchen of the Copperkettle house, a faint background noise that mingled with the clink of silverware and the soft scrape of plates against the glass-topped dining table. Dinner was simple—grilled chicken with roasted vegetables—but, as always, it was plated with meticulous care, a testament to Winnie’s love of precision.

Kipperlilly sat with her back straight, poking at a zucchini slice with her fork. Her parents sat across from her, sharing the long side of the rectangular table. Winnie’s sharp hazel eyes flicked between Kipperlilly and her husband, Barden, whose stout frame filled the chair comfortably. His mustache twitched, the only tell that he was working through whatever conversation they were about to have.

“So,” Winnie began, setting down her water glass with a measured tap. Her voice was as calm as ever, but there was a certain tightness to it tonight. “A rogue barbarian?”

Kipperlilly nodded, straightening in her seat. She’d spent the whole walk home thinking about how to present this, trying to anticipate the questions her parents would ask. And now that it was time, her heart beat a little faster, her hands fidgeting under the table where they clutched her napkin.

“Yeah,” she said as steady as possible. “Jawbone thinks I could start using these… feelings I’ve been having more recently to become a better adventurer.” She hesitated, then added with a little more excitement, “I looked it up. The school hasn’t ever had a rogue barbarian before.”

Barden raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite to consider this. “Isn’t Mary Ann a barbarian?”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Dad. But it’s different when you multiclass. A lot different.” She leaned forward, trying to convey just how important this idea felt to her. “I could use the rage—channel it—while I sneak. If I build my strength, imagine what I could do. I’d be unstoppable.”

Her parents exchanged one of those looks across the table, the kind that always made Kipperlilly feel like she was still six years old, waiting to be told to put her shoes on the right feet.

Winnie took a breath, her expression unreadable. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, carefully. It was obvious that she was trying to avoid an argument she could sense on the horizon.

Barden set down his fork, brushing crumbs off his mustache with his thumb. “You’ve worked so hard to get back on track, bug,” he added. “To make friends, to find your place. This sounds… dangerous.”

Kipperlilly felt a flicker of irritation—of course they’d see it that way—but she pushed it down, focusing instead on the argument she’d been building in her head all afternoon.

“That’s exactly the point,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Porter wouldn’t just teach me how to use it—he’d teach me how to control it. It’s not about being dangerous. It’s about not having to shove all of this… this stuff down anymore.”

She paused, trying to find the right words to explain the feelings she’d carried around for so long. The ones that clawed at her insides when things didn’t make sense, when the world felt too loud and unfair, when her mind raced too fast to keep up.

“You know I get those… urges,” she said, “it’s like I’m going to explode if I don’t do anything about it.”

Her parents were silent for a moment. Winnie cleared her throat and reached for her water again, taking a small, deliberate sip. Kipperlilly could tell she was trying to buy herself time, processing what she’d just heard.

“You seem excited about this,” Winnie finally said with a hint of concern, maybe, or curiosity.

“I am,” Kipperlilly admitted, like she hadn’t fully realized how true they were until she said them out loud. “It’s… the first time I’ve thought about all of this and not felt… broken.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioner and the quiet clink of Winnie setting down her glass again.

Across the table, Barden’s mustache twitched. He reached over, resting a hand on Kipperlilly’s shoulder, his grip warm and steady. “You’re not broken, bug,”

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, blinking down at the polished glass table. She didn’t trust herself to respond, not right away.

She knew they meant well. She knew they were trying to help. But the truth was, sometimes it did feel like she was broken—like there was something inside her that didn’t fit quite right, something jagged and wild that she’d spent her whole life trying to smooth out.

But for once, the idea of embracing that jaggedness—of turning it into something she could use—felt like a relief instead of a burden.

Winnie shifted in her seat, glancing between Kipperlilly and her husband. “If this is really what you want…” she began tentatively.

“It is,” Kipperlilly said firmly. She didn’t hesitate this time.

Her parents exchanged another look—one of those silent, married-people conversations that Kipperlilly could never quite decode—and then Barden gave a small nod, squeezing her shoulder one last time before pulling his hand back.

“Alright,” he said softly. “If Mr. O'Shaughnessey thinks it’ll help… we’ll support you.”

Kipperlilly exhaled, the breath slipping out in a slow, quiet stream. “Thanks,” she murmured, her heart still thudding in her chest with a strange, unfamiliar sense of hope.

Winnie gave her a small smile. “Just promise us you’ll be careful, okay?” she said, brushing an invisible crumb off the table.

“I will,” Kipperlilly promised, meaning it as much as she could. She wasn’t sure what careful would look like—how careful a rogue-barbarian could even be—but she’d figure it out. She always did.

After dinner, Kipperlilly lay sprawled across her bed, her crystal resting against her ear. Her room was neat, almost to a fault—every corner perfectly organized, every piece of clothing folded just so in the drawers. The white wood desk in the corner was spotless, only her rogue’s toolkit, her tablet and a neatly stacked notebook breaking the symmetry.

Kipperlilly adjusted her position, kicking off her slippers and tucking her legs beneath her. Lucy’s voice was effortlessly cheerful on the other end of the line.

“So, when are you meeting with Porter?” Lucy asked, a slight crackle from the connection buzzing in the background.

Kipperlilly smiled, settling deeper into her pillows. “Tomorrow, I think.”

“That’s amazing, Kippy!” Lucy’s excitement crackled through the crystal, her voice like a soft burst of joy.

Kipperlilly traced a finger absentmindedly along the hem of her duvet, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s just an introductory session. But if I like it, Jawbone said Porter would be willing to be my private tutor—if he thinks I’ve got what it takes.”

Lucy’s laugh was warm and encouraging. “Oh, I know you’ve got what it takes. Remember all those nosebleeds you gave Nurg back at Oakshield?”

Kipperlilly chuckled. The memories came rushing back. She could still see the smug grin on his face just before her fist connected with his nose. “Yeah, well, he deserved every one of those.”

“No kidding,” Lucy agreed, her voice dripping with humor. “I wonder what he’s doing now.”

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose in thought. “No idea. I haven’t seen him since the graduation dance.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by Lucy’s amused hum. “Didn’t he… ask you to go to that with him?”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, shifting her weight as she adjusted the phone against her ear. “Sure did.”

“And you said no,” Lucy teased.

“Of course I did.” Kipperlilly smirked, the memory vivid in her mind. “I’d already promised I’d go with you.”

Lucy’s laughter spilled through the line, easy and familiar. “Well, obviously. I mean, I’m your best friend.”

Kipperlilly grinned. “Exactly.”

“Just don’t tell Mary Ann,” Lucy added in a conspiratorial whisper.

They both burst into laughter, the kind that came naturally between friends who knew each other better than anyone else.

“Oh,” Lucy suddenly piped up, “did you check the Legendarium yet? The quests for Spring Break should be posted today.”

Kipperlilly’s heart did a little flip, excitement sparking in her chest. The Spring Break quest was the highlight of every sophomore student’s year—a chance to tackle real missions, not just simulations or class assignments. Kipperlilly had been hoping for something big. Something exciting.

“No, I haven’t looked yet,” Kipperlilly admitted, but she was already standing, crossing her room in quick, determined steps. “I’ll check now!”

The crystal slipped against her cheek as she sat down at her desk, balancing it between her ear and shoulder. She tapped the sleek crystal tablet awake, and it shimmered to life beneath her fingertips. The blue light from the screen cast a faint glow across the neat piles of supplies on her desk.

She navigated quickly to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy’s website, her fingers flying across the virtual keyboard. The Legendarium link glowed at the top of the page, just waiting to be clicked.

“Okay,” she murmured, chewing her bottom lip as she logged in. “Let’s see what we qualify for.”

The page loaded, and Kipperlilly’s excitement faltered almost immediately. Her shoulders drooped, and the bright glimmer in her eyes dulled as she stared at the list of quests.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, her fingers tightening around the tablet.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy’s voice was soft in her ear, concern weaving through it.

“These quests…” Kipperlilly scrolled through the list again, as if somehow the options might change if she looked one more time. But they didn’t. Each quest was more boring than the last. “Eradicate bandits. Restore a dam. Return a stolen item. These all suck.”

Frustration boiled in her chest as she slammed the tablet down on the desk.

“Hey, Kip,” Lucy soothed, her voice like cool water over Kipperlilly’s rising anger. “It’s okay. It’s just a project. We can still get an A+—”

“That’s not the point, Luce!” Kipperlilly interrupted. She shoved her chair back, standing abruptly as if the energy inside her was too much to stay seated. “What do you think Aguefort is going to send The Bad Kids on?”

Lucy was quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that said she knew exactly what Kipperlilly was getting at but didn’t want to admit it.

“I… don’t know,” Lucy finally said, very cautiously.

“Exactly.” Kipperlilly huffed, pacing back and forth in front of her desk. “It’ll be something huge. Something world saving levels of epic. Something people will talk about for years. And we get stuck cleaning up dams and chasing off bandits like glorified babysitters.”

Lucy let out a soft breath on the other end of the line. “Kip, it’s not always about the biggest quest. Sometimes the smaller ones—”

“It’s always about the biggest quest,” Kipperlilly cut her off. “Everyone remembers the flashy stuff. The big, heroic moments. That’s how you build a name for yourself.”

She stopped pacing, planting her hand on her desk and leaning forward, her knuckles going white against the smooth wood. “No one talks about the kid who fixed the dam.”

Lucy was silent for a moment, letting Kipperlilly’s words settle. When she finally spoke, she was as calm as ever. “I get it, Kippy. I do. But maybe this doesn’t have to be about them. Maybe it can just be about us.”

Kipperlilly’s grip on the desk loosened slightly, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Yeah,” she muttered, more to herself than to Lucy. “Maybe.”

There was a soft inhale from Lucy. “Are you okay?”

The question lingered, threading its way through Kipperlilly’s restless thoughts. It was the kind of question Lucy always asked with just the right amount of care—never too pushy, never too soft. Kipperlilly rolled the words around in her mind, unsure of what answer would feel honest.

“I’m fine,” she said as she sat back down, though she knew it wasn’t entirely true. Her voice wavered just slightly, a crack she hoped Lucy wouldn’t notice.

Lucy, of course, noticed.

“You just seem…” Lucy’s voice was tentative, as if she were feeling her way through a dark hallway. “Like you’ve been getting upset a lot lately. And it sucks that I can’t help you. If I could fix it, you know I would.”

Kipperlilly leaned back in her chair, the leather cushion creaking under her weight. She let out a dry laugh, tilting her head toward the ceiling. “I don’t think any healing spell works like that.”

On the other end of the line, Lucy chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll become the first multiclassing cleric therapist. Specialize in emotional healing.”

That pulled a real laugh from Kipperlilly, one that made her chest feel a little lighter, even if just for a moment. It was the kind of laugh she only let herself have when she was with Lucy—a laugh without walls.

“You’d be good at that,” Kipperlilly said, the smile lingering on her lips.

Lucy’s voice warmed. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll consider it for next semester.”

Kipperlilly grinned, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the edge of her desk. The conversation felt like a lifeline—something steady in the chaotic swirl of everything else.

“Maybe we could talk to someone tomorrow,” Lucy suggested gently, “about getting a better quest. It can’t hurt to ask, right?”

Kipperlilly mulled it over, nodding slightly, even though Lucy couldn’t see her. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

Lucy’s voice softened even further, the words a gentle tease. “See? You’re not always the only mastermind.”

Kipperlilly snorted, the playful edge in Lucy’s tone pulling her back to solid ground. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Kipperlilly stalked out of her rogue class, her steps quick and sharp. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her glare could’ve melted through steel. As she shoved the door open, it swung hard enough to rattle against the wall.

Behind her, she could still hear Riz laughing at some joke that wasn’t even funny—some smug little comment that had twisted under her skin. It was always like that with him. The way he strutted through the school like he owned it. Like being part of The Bad Kids gave him free rein to be an absolute nightmare. She gritted her teeth, jaw tight, trying not to let the irritation boil over.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze locking onto someone waiting just outside the door. A tall, broad-shouldered figure leaned casually against the stone wall, arms crossed over a barrel chest. His skin looked like chipped granite, rough and craggy, and his hair—an ashy grey—was pulled back into a neat ponytail that contrasted with the thick, pointed beard on his chin.

He stood still, heavy and unyielding as a boulder, but his dark eyes were fixed directly on her, sharp and assessing.

"Oi! Copperkettle," the man called, low and rough, the words coated with a thick accent.

She narrowed her eyes, already annoyed by his tone. "Yes?"

He straightened up from the wall, his arms still crossed. His gaze was calm but heavy, the kind of look that could see through to your intentions without you even speaking.

"Porter Cliffbreaker," he said. "Barbarian teacher. Jawbone said you were interested in learnin’ the art of rage."

Kipperlilly instinctively squared her shoulders, her small frame going rigid with defiance. She hated when people tried to size her up. And this guy—Porter—was definitely trying to intimidate her. She could feel it in the way he loomed over her, in the deliberate slowness of his words.

She wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

"I went to see him this morning," she said evenly. "He said you hadn’t worked me into your schedule yet. Am I supposed to wait until after spring break for you to figure it out?"

The corner of Porter’s mouth twitched, and a smile spread slowly across his face—not condescending or mean, but something closer to appreciation.

"Fiery little bugger, ain’t ya?"

Kipperlilly’s expression didn’t shift. She stared him down with the same deadpan look she gave anyone trying to be clever at her expense.

"Halfling joke. Hilarious," she said, dry as sand.

Porter chuckled under his breath, the sound like rocks grinding together. He gave her a slow nod of approval, as if she’d passed some sort of unspoken test.

"Come swing by my classroom after lunch, alright?" he said. "We’ll see what we can do with ya."

Kipperlilly held his gaze for a beat longer, making sure he knew she wasn’t easily impressed. But something about his presence—steady and grounded, with just the right edge of challenge—piqued her interest.

"Fine," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "I’ll be there."

Porter gave her one last nod before turning and walking away, his heavy steps echoing through the stone hallway like the rumble of distant thunder.

She narrowed her eyes. Everyone assumed that just because she was a halfling, she had to prove herself twice over. It was infuriating. But before she could allow herself any more time to simmer on it, she felt a presence behind her—a kind of easygoing, unthreatening warmth. Kipperlilly knew exactly who it belonged to without having to investigate.

“What the heck was that?” Ruben asked curiously as he came up beside her, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

Kipperlilly let out a short huff of breath, still watching the now-empty hallway where Porter had disappeared. “He was trying to size me up,” she said tightly. “They all do it. It’s infuriating.”

Ruben nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about it.”

Without another word, Kipperlilly slipped her arm into Ruben’s, pulling him along as they began walking down the hallway together and she was grateful for it. His presence was much needed, especially when everything else at school seemed determined to push her buttons.

As they walked, Kipperlilly’s attention was pulled toward an odd, thrumming noise that seemed to come from Ruben’s direction. She wrinkled her nose, frowning as she tried to place the sound.

“What is that god-awful noise?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Ruben’s eyes widened as if he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “Oh… sorry.” He reached into his ear and yanked out an earbud, shoving it away sheepishly.

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow at him, amused and mildly curious. That didn’t sound like Ruben’s usual taste in music. Normally, he leaned toward soft, melodic tunes—quiet, folksy ballads. Whatever this was, it sounded like it involved a lot of screaming.

“You know,” she teased, “if you keep listening to loud music like that, you’ll be half-deaf before you’re twenty.”

Ruben shot her a look, his lips quirking into a grin. “Sorry, mom,” he drawled sarcastically. “I’ll be more careful.”

Kipperlilly smirked, shaking her head. “That seemed a little… heavy. It’s not Fig’s music, is it?”

Ruben chuckled, shaking his head vigorously. “No way. Not even close. I’m into this band called The Screaming Treants right now.”

“The Screaming what-now?” Kipperlilly asked, her nose crinkling in confusion.

Ruben rolled his eyes dramatically. “It's death metal. You probably wouldn’t be into it.”

Kipperlilly smirked, giving him a sideways glance. “Didn’t think that you would be into it, either.”

Ruben shrugged again, this time with a small smile. “I like all kinds of music. I’d be a pretty terrible bard if I didn’t try everything, right?”

Kipperlilly nudged him lightly with her shoulder as they continued down the hallway. “If you say so.”

They walked in silence for a moment and she glanced over at Ruben, noting the slight slump in his posture. He wasn’t always this quiet, but something felt heavier today. If she was being honest with herself, something had been different for a while.

“You coming to Oisin’s tonight for the study session?” she asked.

Ruben winced, his face scrunching up in apology. “I don’t think I can make it. My parents want me to stay home.”

Kipperlilly sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. “They’ve been really intense lately.” She paused, then added, “Do you want me to ask my mom if you can stay over this weekend or something? Just to get a break?”

Ruben kicked at an invisible pebble as they walked, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah… maybe.”

Kipperlilly gave him a small nudge, her voice softening. “Or at least come over for dinner. I miss hanging out with you, you know?”

Ruben looked over at her with a grin that seemed to brighten his whole face. “You getting soft on me, Copperkettle?”

Kipperlilly smirked, rolling her eyes. “Never.”

“Good,” he said as he nudged into her again, causing the halfling to fumble her step. “That’s not very barbarian of you.”

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Not sure about that. Mary Ann’s a barbarian, and she’s basically a cupcake.”

Ruben snorted, the sound turning into a laugh before he could stop himself. “Don’t start. I’m mad at her right now.”

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “Oh? What did she do this week?”

Ruben rolled his eyes dramatically, the grin slipping from his face as he groaned. “She stole my new ukulele strings to floss her fangs.”

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Sophomore Year:

One week before spring break

Kipperlilly’s fingers curled tighter around the wooden handle of the half-bladed hammer, her palm brushing over the notches etched into it. The weapon felt foreign in her grip—much weightier than the daggers she usually favored, She twirled it once, feeling the sluggish resistance of the swing compared to her usual quick flicks and jabs. 

"Not exactly a dancer's weapon, is it?" she muttered, half to herself, half to Porter, as he towered over her with a grin as wide as the hammer she held. 

"You wanna dance, join the damn bard class," Porter said with a low rumble. "We're here to smash." He clapped his enormous stone hands together with a force that made a dusty echo ripple through the barbarian training room. 

The air smelled of iron, leather, and a hint of sweat—scents that would usually make her wrinkle her nose. The classroom had a sort of rustic brutality about it, with cracked weapon racks along the far wall and dents in the stone floor from dropped axes. Most students avoided this room, even though it had some of the best natural light in Aguefort. Morning sunshine poured through the wide windows now, dust motes swirling like tiny galaxies in the warm glow. 

Kipperlilly adjusted her grip, shifting the hammer's weight in her small hands, trying to find balance in the awkward heft of it. She was used to things she could tuck away—small, sharp, easy to hide. This? This hammer was loud, demanding to be noticed. 

She looked up at Porter, feeling the corners of her mouth tug downward. “This thing weighs about as much as me.” 

Porter grinned, his cracked, granite-like skin crinkling. “Good. You’ll hit harder.” 

“Or I’ll snap my spine in half,” Kipperlilly muttered, though there was a flicker of something strange in her chest—like she was holding her breath at the top of a steep hill before plunging down on a rickety cart. 

Porter slammed a fist into the leather training bag beside him with a heavy thwump, making it sway lazily on its chain. “Anger’s a tool, Copperkettle. Same as that hammer. You gotta learn how to wield it. Ain’t just about swinging hard—it’s about where you swing.”

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes at the bag and rolled her shoulders back. She’d heard this lecture every day this week. At first, she thought Porter was full of it, all bark and no bite, just some big guy trying to teach her to “channel” her rage like some zen monk with an axe. But after a few days of ripping into the training bags, something shifted in her brain. She’d slept better. That constant knot in her chest had loosened just a little, like unclenching a fist. 

Porter held the bag steady, thick arms unmoving as the chains creaked. “All right, come on. Let me see what you got.” 

Kipperlilly exhaled sharply, tasting the metallic tang of blood still lingering on her tongue from earlier. She squared her stance, drawing her feet apart on the cold stone floor. The hammer was alien, but she could feel that familiar anger bubbling under her ribs—furious and wild, a restless thing waiting to be unleashed. 

She swung. 

The weight pulled her forward, and the hammer’s flat edge collided with the bag with a solid, satisfying thud. The vibration buzzed up her arms, heavy and raw.

“There you go!” Porter barked, the pride unmistakable. “You feel that? That’s it, Copperkettle. That’s the fire.” 

Kipperlilly stumbled back a step, breath coming fast, hammer still trembling in her grip. The heat of exertion spread across her skin. She leaned down, spitting a small glob of blood to the side—it hit the ground with a wet pat. Her tongue flicked against the cut inside her cheek where the impact had rattled her teeth. The sting felt weirdly satisfying.

Porter tilted his head, the granite plates of his face shifting as he smirked. “You taste that?” he asked, as if it were a treat. “That’s the flavor of work. Ain’t no whining in here. Just sweat and blood.” 

Kipperlilly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m not whining,” she muttered, trying to ignore the slight rasp as she spoke. 

Porter let out a chuckle. “Nah, you’re not. You’re small, but you got the stuff, Copperkettle.” He gave her a firm nod. “One of these days, that anger of yours is gonna make you unstoppable. You just gotta let it loose when it counts.” 

She adjusted her ponytail, yanking the tie tight. The compliment sat awkwardly with her. People didn’t usually tell her that her particular issues were anything other than a problem that needed to be fixed. But here? In this weird, sun-drenched corner of Aguefort? She felt... capable. Like the restless storm inside her had a purpose. 

Porter’s heavy steps echoed as he lumbered across the room to a glass case filled with weapons. The light glinted off the blades, hammers, and axes inside, casting jagged reflections on the walls.  

“Daggers are fine for sneaky types,” he said, unlocking the case and pulling out another hammer, this one even bigger than the one Kipperlilly held. “But we’re past that namby-pamby bullshit.” 

He tossed the hammer toward her without warning. Kipperlilly barely had time to react, but her hands shot out, catching it mid-air. The force of it jarred her wrists, and she staggered under the weight, but she managed to stay upright. 

Porter grinned. “See? Told you. You got the stuff.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The hammer was absurd—ridiculously heavy and way too large for someone her size. But there was something about holding it that made her feel... solid. Like all the frustration and pent up tension she carried around with her finally had a place to go. 

She swung the hammer again, harder this time. The impact sent a shockwave through her bones, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she grinned—just a little. 

Porter clapped his hands together, the sound booming through the room. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Now we’re cookin’, Copperkettle!” 

The training bag rocked back and forth on its chain, the leather creaking in protest and Kipperlilly stood there, chest heaving. 

Porter leaned his massive frame forward, his boots thudding against the stone floor as he rolled his neck. The sharp pop of joints echoed, and he settled into a low stance, planting his own colossal war hammer in front of him with a lazy confidence. He tilted his head, his granite features set in something that could almost pass as amusement. 

“Now,” he said, resting both hands on the pommel of his hammer. “I want you to think of something that makes you angry. I mean, really pissed off.”

Kipperlilly raised a skeptical brow, the hammer’s weight still pulling slightly at her arm. “That’s a long list, Coach.” 

Porter chuckled, the deep sound reverberating like an avalanche rolling downhill. “Good. Start there. Dig deep. Gotta feel it to use it.” 

She took a breath, closing her eyes for just a second, the wood and iron of the hammer warming under her grip. What made her angry? It was like asking a fish what water felt like. The anger was always there—constant, sharp at the edges, ready to bubble over at the smallest push. It didn’t take much to find it. She’d learned that early on.

Her mind drifted to Aguefort, this weird, chaotic school with its secret doors, questionable staff, and endless drama. And then she thought about the way it treated students—how some got everything handed to them on a silver platter, while the rest of them fought tooth and nail just to be noticed. 

Her lip curled, heat rising in her chest. 

“This school,” she muttered, mostly to herself. But the words tasted good, so she kept going. “This fucking school. It’s so unfair.”

Porter’s sharp eyes gleamed as he gave an approving nod. “That’s it. Keep going. What else?” 

Kipperlilly’s knuckles tightened on the hammer. She could feel her heart picking up speed, that restless fire licking at the edges of her mind. “The stupid favoritism. How the same damn people get all the credit, even when they screw things up.” 

She thought about The Bad Kids—those self-proclaimed heroes of the school, always finding themselves in the center of everything, like they were the stars of some play that the rest of them were just extras in. And Riz, who thought he was a god given gift to the rogue community. 

She clenched her jaw. “The Bad Kids,” she hissed, her voice filled with venom. “I hate them. I hate how everyone treats them like they’re untouchable.”

Porter leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “That’s good. That’s the meat. What else, Copperkettle? Let it out.” 

Kipperlilly’s breath hitched as the anger swelled, and she felt herself slipping into it—into that familiar, furious rhythm. “I hate that I can’t get any good quests,” she spat, voice rising. “Like I’m too clean or some bullshit. Meanwhile, Riz-fucking-Gukgak gets all the cool stuff because his dad died.”

Her fingers flexed on the hammer’s handle, her whole body humming with frustration now. The words kept coming, raw and bitter, like a wound she hadn’t realized she’d been scratching open all this time. “I’m better than he’ll ever be, but no one notices. They never notice.”

Her heart raced, the fury pounding in her chest, spreading through her limbs like wildfire. It wasn’t just The Bad Kids—it was everyone. The school. The town. The people who looked at her like she was just a small, angry halfling and nothing more. 

“I hate everyone in this stupid school.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t stop. “In this town. I just... I just hate—” Her hands shook as the rage boiled over, spilling out in a wild, burning wave. “I HATE—”

Porter’s grin was sharp and gleaming, his stance shifting as he lifted his war hammer in both hands. “That’s it, Copperkettle! Let me have it!” He spread his feet wide, bracing himself. “Fucking HIT ME!”

The challenge was all she needed. 

With a primal yell, Kipperlilly surged forward, the weight of the hammer no longer a burden but an extension of her fury. She planted her feet and swung with everything she had—fury, vexation, and every ounce of hurt that had built up inside her over the years. 

The hammer cut through the air with a heavy whoosh, and the impact when it met Porter’s weapon was explosive. The sound was deafening—like thunder cracking directly above them, rattling the windows and sending vibrations through the floor. 

The force of the collision threw them both backward. Kipperlilly stumbled, her small frame skidding across the stone floor until her back hit the wall with a dull thud. The hammer clattered from her hands, spinning away across the room with a loud clink. 

Porter wasn’t much better off. The giant genasi stumbled a few steps back, catching himself just before he toppled over, his war hammer slamming into the floor with a weighty crash. 

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint creak of the swinging training bag and the soft, uneven rhythm of Kipperlilly’s breathing. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free. She pressed a hand to her ribs, where the impact had jarred her, and let out a sharp, shaky laugh. 

“Shit,” she breathed. 

Porter looked over at her, grinning like a proud parent watching their kid win a brawl. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, straightening up and brushing the dust off his arms. “Told ya you had it in you.”

Kipperlilly blinked, still catching her breath, the world spinning just a little from the sheer adrenaline of it all. Her muscles ached, her hands were scraped raw, and her head throbbed with the echo of her own rage. 

But for the first time in a long time, she felt... good. Like something heavy had been lifted off her chest, leaving behind a strange, unfamiliar lightness. 

Porter offered her a hand, his grin still plastered across his face. “How’s that feel, Copperkettle?” 

Kipperlilly reached up, letting him haul her to her feet. She wobbled a little, still breathless, but the grin that spread across her face was genuine, if a little crooked. 

“Feels like...” She paused, thinking for a second. “Like I just smashed a goddamn mountain.” 

Porter chuckled, clapping her on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock her over again. “Atta girl. That's my girl.”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, but there was no denying the strange warmth blooming in her chest. She leaned on the hammer for a moment, letting the ache in her arms settle into something manageable. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a dull throb in her shoulders and a knot at the back of her neck. 

“Same time tomorrow?” she asked, shooting Porter a lopsided grin as she pushed the heavy hammer onto her shoulder, her small frame swaying slightly under the weight. 

Porter was already moving, his big hands pulling the scattered weapons back into place like they were just twigs. “I’ll be ‘ere,” he rumbled. “I got nothin’ better to do than yell at students and break stuff.” He winked. 

Kipperlilly watched as he bent down to adjust the chain holding the battered leather training bag, the thing still swaying gently from their earlier clash. She shifted the hammer off her shoulder and leaned it against the wall with a soft clink. As she tied her hair back into it's pristine ponytail, Porter glanced over at her, his thick brow creasing slightly. 

“You mentioned a quest,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck like he was already regretting bringing it up. “That the spring break malarkey?” 

Kipperlilly let out a breath through her nose. Even with the edge of her anger dulled for now, the thought of it brought back that familiar simmer—the quiet irk that never really left. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, yanking the hair tie a little tighter than necessary. “All we can get is Class F. We’ve asked all our teachers, but they say they can’t do anything about it.” 

Porter stood up, dusting his hands off on his pants. His expression was somewhere between thoughtful and annoyed, his stone-like features shifting as he mulled over her words. “You don’t say,” he murmured, half to himself. 

Kipperlilly crossed her arms, feeling that simmering annoyance stir a little more now that she was talking about it. “So we’ll be stuck retrieving some stupid lost item from the Baronies,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness. “While everyone else gets real quests.” 

Porter snorted, shaking his head slowly, like the very idea offended him on a personal level. “That’s a damn shame,” he muttered, hefting the battered bag off the chain and tossing it to the corner of the room with a lazy flick of his wrist. It landed with a heavy thud that echoed off the walls. 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes. “Tell me about it. We’ve been busting our asses all semester, and this is what we get? It’s a joke.” 

Porter glanced back at her, a thoughtful glint in his eye. “Lemme see what I can do.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, her arms falling to her sides. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Porter grinned, his jagged teeth peeking out beneath his cracked lips. “I’ll talk to Jace. See if I can pull some strings for ya.” 

Kipperlilly raised a skeptical brow. “Stardiamond? You really think he’ll go for that?” 

Porter chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like boulders rolling downhill. “Would be a shame if we’re puttin’ in all this work just for you to be a glorified errand gal. I’ll see what I can do.” 

Something stirred in Kipperlilly’s chest, cutting through the lingering bitterness. She knew better than to get her hopes up—this was Aguefort, after all, where fairness was about as real as a seven headed unicorn in a tutu. But still... it felt nice. Like maybe, just maybe, someone had her back for once. 

Kipperlilly trudged across the quad, her muscles aching pleasantly from the training session. The familiar sprawl of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy campus unfolded before her—lawn slightly overgrown, ivy creeping up stone walls, and students scattered in clusters, sprawled under trees or perched on the cracked marble fountain in the middle of the courtyard. 

She spotted her crew under their usual tree—a wide, twisted oak with low-hanging branches that made it the perfect hideout during free periods. 

Mary Ann was leaning back against the trunk with her small, scaly arms crossed, looking as stoic as ever. Ruben sat cross-legged, tuning his new electric guitar and nodding along to some invisible beat in his head. Ivy was halfway up the tree, her long legs dangling from a low branch, hair braided loosely over one shoulder. Oisin sprawled out on the grass beside Ruben, flipping through a thick, leather-bound spellbook that looked as old as time. 

And there was Lucy, leaning casually against the trunk of the tree, arms folded over her chest. She looked up as Kipperlilly approached, her skin glowing faintly in the sunlight, and gave an exaggerated sigh. 

“Jeez, Kippy,” Lucy muttered, eyebrows raised as her icy blue eyes skimmed over Kipperlilly’s face. 

Kipperlilly dropped her bag beside the tree and slumped onto the grass, pulling her legs up beneath her. “What?” 

The group exchanged looks, and Ruben gave her a cheeky grin, the corners of his mouth tugging upward under the mess of curly hair falling into his eyes. “Porter backhand you?” 

Kipperlilly frowned, reaching up to touch the side of her face. Her fingertips brushed against the swelling bruise on her cheekbone, and she winced. “Ow.” 

Ivy leaned down from her perch. “What do you even do in there? Punch each other for fun?”

Mary Ann, still unmoving against the tree trunk, didn’t look up. “Pretty much.” 

Kipperlilly grinned and shrugged. “We trained hard today.” 

Lucy rolled her eyes but crouched down next to her, resting one cool hand gently against Kipperlilly’s cheek. “I’d say so.” 

The cold spread through Kipperlilly’s skin, numbing the ache. Lucy’s touch was always strange—like stepping outside into the snow without a coat, but in a good way. She muttered a quick incantation under her breath, and the chill seeped into Kipperlilly’s bones, dulling the pain until it disappeared entirely. 

Kipperlilly let out a relieved breath, relaxing into the grass as the healing magic worked its way through her bruises. “Thanks, Luce. I forgot all about that.” 

Lucy shot her a playful smirk, standing up and brushing grass from her knees. “I swear, Kippy. What would you do without me?” 

“Probably die horribly,” Kipperlilly said with a grin. “Or just look worse.” 

Oisin glanced up from his spellbook, one eyebrow ridge arched. “So... Did you get anywhere with it today? You’ve been awfully tight-lipped about these sessions, and I’m dying to see you in action soon.”

Kipperlilly tilted her head, a small, satisfied smile creeping across her face. “Actually... I think I went into a rage today. Or... something like it. I can’t really explain it.” 

Ruben’s eyes widened, and he gave an appreciative nod. “Dope.” 

The approval felt good, settling into her chest like a little ember of warmth. Kipperlilly shifted, folding her legs under herself more comfortably and smoothing out the hem of her skirt. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

“Actually,” she said, unable to hold back the excitement bubbling in her voice. “I’ve got some news.” 

Lucy perked up, her frosty eyes glinting with curiosity. “Let’s hear it!” 

Kipperlilly glanced around at the expectant faces of her friends and grinned. “Porter’s going to talk to Jace Stardiamond about getting us a better quest.” 

Ivy dropped from the branch above them, landing gracefully on her feet with a soft thud. She crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her face. “Seriously?” 

Kipperlilly nodded, rocking slightly where she sat. “He said so.” 

Oisin’s tail flicked excitedly behind him as he leaned forward. “Wait—Stardiamond? The sorcery teacher?” 

Kipperlilly nodded again. “Yeah, but he’s also in charge of quest allocations. He’s next in charge after Aguefort and...” She shuddered involuntarily, her nose wrinkling at the thought of the school’s vice-principal. “...and Mr. Faeth.” 

There was a collective groan from the group. They all knew who Mr. Faeth was—the bumbling, mild-mannered man somehow thrust into the position of vice-principal, despite clearly being unqualified for it. 

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe he’s in charge of anything.” 

Kipperlilly snorted. “Yeah, well. Blame The Bad Kids for that. There’s no way that he got the job on his own.” 

Mary Ann nodded solemnly from her place against the tree. “Nepotism,” she muttered. 

Ruben plucked a lazy chord on his guitar, the sound drifting softly through the air. “He is Figs' dad, after all. That probably explains everything.”

Kipperlilly let the conversation drift into the lazy afternoon quiet, the hum of insects filling the gaps. She leaned her head back against the rough bark of the oak, closing her eyes and soaking in the sun’s warmth. It felt nice not to have the anger gnawing at her ribs, for once—just her friends, the dappled sunlight, and the comfortable noise of the quad. Even talking about the Bad Kids hadn’t set her off like it usually did. For the first time in a long time, she felt steady, like she wasn’t constantly holding back a flood waiting to burst. 

She could just be here, in the moment, without feeling like a boiling kettle ready to blow.

A small, insistent tug on the hem of her skirt interrupted her peace. She cracked one eye open to see Mary Ann crouched next to her. Her expression was as flat and deadpan as ever, but her sharp claws were busy twisting the fabric of Kipperlilly’s skirt between them. 

“Spar?” Mary Ann asked, tilting her head in that peculiar, blank way she always did. 

Kipperlilly blinked at her. “Huh?” 

“Do you wanna spar?” Mary Ann repeated, her claws still tugging on the skirt, though her tone remained calm and unchanging, like sparring was a normal, everyday activity—not something people usually requested with zero warning under a nice, sunny tree. 

Kipperlilly sighed, shifting to sit up straighter. “No, I just... I just want to relax for a little while, okay?” 

Mary Ann pouted—or, at least, Kipperlilly thought it was a pout. With Mary Ann, emotions were more like vague suggestions than expressions. But her claws released Kipperlilly’s skirt, and she sat back on her haunches, her thin tail flicking once against the grass. 

“Please?” she asked, her tone the same even cadence as before, though there was a flicker of hope behind her eyes. 

Ivy dropped back down from where she was already making her way back up into the branches of the tree. “I’ll spar with you if you want?” she offered, brushing some leaves from her braid. 

Mary Ann barely glanced in Ivy’s direction. “I wanna spar with Kipperlilly.” 

Ivy shrugged. “Fair enough.” 

Mary Ann turned back to Kipperlilly and gave the hem of her shirt another persistent tug. “We can rage,” she said, still even but now with a slight edge of eagerness, as if the promise of a good fight might be the solution to all of life’s problems. 

Kipperlilly felt the first flicker of irritation curl in her gut, warming the edges of her calm. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay in the moment. But the insistence in Mary Ann’s voice, that constant, gentle tugging—we can rage—was enough to stir something deeper.

Her temper bubbled up, faster than she expected, sharp and hot. 

“I said no!” Kipperlilly snapped, louder and sharper than she intended. 

The others went still, the easy warmth between them turning brittle, like glass about to crack.

Mary Ann blinked, her expression still mostly neutral, but her eyebrow ridges knitted together just slightly—enough for Kipperlilly to see the small crack of hurt underneath. She didn’t say anything, just sat back, her claws trailing lightly through the grass. 

“Kip...” Lucy said softly. 

Kipperlilly whipped her head toward her friend. “What?!” 

Lucy gave her a patient, knowing look. “That was kinda rude.” 

Kipperlilly groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “I’m tired, okay?” 

Oisin reached out, his hand resting gently on Mary Ann’s arm. “Hey, she didn’t mean—” 

Mary Ann jerked away from him, shoving his hand off with a sharp flick of her clawed wrist. “Whatever,” she muttered, her tone flat again. She stood up, brushing dirt from her knees, and shuffled around to the other side of the tree, her small feet crunching softly against the grass. A faint beeping followed her, the telltale sound of her Quokki Pet device starting up. 

Kipperlilly watched her go, guilt starting to settle uneasily in her chest. Oisin shook his head, his blue-scaled tail flicking irritably as he muttered something under his breath and went back to his spellbook. 

The group sat in an uncomfortable silence, the kind that made everything feel heavier, like the sunlight had dimmed just slightly, even though nothing had changed. 

Kipperlilly let out a slow, frustrated breath, leaning her head back against the bark of the tree. The anger, which had simmered so easily only moments ago, was now a heavy weight in her chest—a reminder that even when she wasn’t trying to, she always seemed to mess things up. 

Lucy sat back beside her, close but not too close, her presence a quiet reassurance. She didn’t say anything—just waited, her cool blue gaze steady, like she knew Kipperlilly needed a moment to wrestle with her own thoughts. 

Kipperlilly dragged a hand through her hair, messing it up just a little. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she muttered, mostly to herself. 

Lucy offered a small, sympathetic smile. “I know.” 

Kipperlilly sighed, glancing toward the other side of the tree where Mary Ann sat, her back turned to them, tiny claws tapping methodically at her Quokki Pet. The little digital creature on the screen chirped and blinked happily, blissfully unaware of any tension in the real world. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Kipperlilly mumbled, though the thought of having to apologize twisted tight in her chest. 

Lucy gave her a light nudge with her shoulder. “Good idea.” 

With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her skirt. 

She shuffled around the tree and plopped down next to Mary Ann, her knees bent and arms resting on them. The cool shadow of the oak made the afternoon heat a little more bearable, and the sound of the wind moving through the leaves above them was oddly soothing. Mary Ann didn’t look up from her device. 

Kipperlilly rested her chin on her arms, side-eyeing her friend’s expression—or lack thereof. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, but full of earnest. 

Mary Ann kept tapping away, her tiny claws clicking softly against the buttons. She didn’t respond. Kipperlilly wasn’t even sure if she was listening. 

“I didn’t mean to snap like that,” Kipperlilly tried again, more insistent this time. She leaned back a little, staring at Mary Ann’s unmoving face, hoping to catch a flicker of something—acknowledgment, annoyance, anything. 

Nothing. 

Kipperlilly sighed, her fingers idly tracing circles on the dirt beneath them. “I’m... not sure what I expected to get out of working with Porter,” she admitted. “It feels good to let it out, though.” 

Still nothing from Mary Ann. Just more soft beeping as her digital pet waddled across the screen. But Kipperlilly kept going—she needed to say this, even if Mary Ann never responded. 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, studying her friend’s still, red-scaled face. Mary Ann’s expression was unreadable—like a perfect mask, never betraying what was going on underneath. Sometimes it made Kipperlilly envious, how calm Mary Ann seemed no matter the situation. She had no idea how she did it. 

With a soft sigh, Kipperlilly leaned back against the tree, feeling the rough bark press into her spine. She stared up at the branches overhead, watching the leaves sway and flutter in the wind. 

“I’ve been dealing with anger for a long time,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I think I learned how to be angry before I learned how to talk.” 

A dry laugh escaped her, brittle but genuine. She didn’t expect Mary Ann to laugh with her, but it still felt good to say it out loud. 

“I always had to keep it in,” Kipperlilly continued, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against the tree. “But now I’m doing this thing with Porter... and it’s like opening a floodgate or something. It’s nice to use it—it feels good—but now it’s like the switch flips quicker.” She frowned, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know if that makes sense.” 

The gentle clicking of the Quokki Pet buttons continued beside her, but Mary Ann remained silent. Kipperlilly didn’t mind. Mary Ann’s silence wasn’t cold—it was just... how she was. 

“Is that what it’s like when you do it?” Kipperlilly asked, her voice soft and curious. “When you go into a rage?” She turned her head to look at Mary Ann again, hoping for a glimpse of understanding. 

Mary Ann’s expression stayed as impassive as always, but Kipperlilly thought she saw something in the set of her shoulders—a tiny shift, subtle and almost imperceptible, but there. Maybe. 

“Probably not,” Kipperlilly muttered with a small, rueful smile. “You make it look so easy. Half the time we don’t even know when you’re in a rage.” She shook her head, a quiet chuckle slipping from her lips. “I wish I was more like you.” 

Mary Ann didn’t say anything. 

Kipperlilly let the words hang in the air for a moment before she asked, her voice dropping to a quieter, more vulnerable tone, “Am I still your best friend?” 

The Quokki Pet let out a happy chirp as Mary Ann continued tapping away. For a few long seconds, the only sound was the wind rustling through the leaves overhead. 

And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Mary Ann leaned over and rested her head against Kipperlilly’s shoulder. 

Kipperlilly blinked, surprised by the small gesture. It wasn’t much—just the faint pressure of Mary Ann’s head against her—but it said everything that words wouldn’t. Kipperlilly relaxed, letting her own head rest lightly against her friend’s. 

The next day, Kipperlilly pushed open the heavy door to Porter’s classroom. He was already there, as usual, wearing that casual grin that made it seem like nothing could shake him. Today, though, there was something new in the air—heavier than the usual traction that lingered before their training sessions. 

Kipperlilly stepped further into the room, taking in the scene before her. A row of concrete slabs—big, dull gray things—lined one side of the room, each balanced precariously on a pair of cinderblocks. The slabs looked thick and unyielding, stubborn even. She raised an eyebrow, her bag slung over one shoulder. 

“What’s this?” she asked, motioning toward the concrete. 

Porter gave her a lopsided grin and slapped one of the slabs with a flat, heavy hand. The dull thud reverberated through the room. “By the time we’re done today, you’ll turn these things to dust.” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but smirk. She dropped her bag by the wall with a soft thud, already rolling her shoulders and flexing her hands. The hammer Porter had set aside for her gleamed slightly in the morning light, waiting patiently against the wall like a trusted friend. 

“Straight into it today, then?” she asked, reaching for the hammer, her fingers wrapping comfortably around its worn grip. It felt good—more familiar to her now. She could already feel the anger stirring beneath her skin, ready to be unleashed. 

“Not quite.” Porter’s tone was casual, but there was something in it that made her pause. He crossed the room, walking around his desk, where a stack of mismatched papers sat in disorganized piles. From under one of the stacks, he pulled out a folded sheet of paper, holding it out to her between two thick fingers. 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes, hesitant. “What’s this?” 

Porter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “It ain’t gonna bite ya, Copperkettle.” 

She took a step forward, the hammer resting against her shoulder as she reached out and took the paper from his hand. She unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the creases with her thumb. 

Her eyes scanned the form, and it took her a moment to fully register the words printed on it. But when the meaning sank in, her heart leapt in her chest. 

Quest Classification: Level C — Mission Objective:
Clear out the remaining followers of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste from his former lair in the Mountains of Chaos. Alive or dead — optional.

Kipperlilly blinked, reading it again to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. A Level C quest. In the Mountains of Chaos. This was huge. No more gathering lost items from noble houses or running errands for cranky barons. This was real—this was a challenge, an adventure worthy of their team. And it wasn’t just any quest. It was connected to Kalvaxus—one of the greatest threats Aguefort had faced in recent history. Clearing out his remaining followers? That was the kind of job people remembered.

“Are you serious?” she whispered, clutching the paper a little tighter, her pulse racing. 

Porter gave her a slow, satisfied nod. “You want it or not?” 

Kipperlilly pressed the form to her chest like it was a treasure map, her grin spreading so wide it almost hurt. She couldn’t believe it—finally, they had a shot at proving themselves. A real quest. A chance to show everyone what the High Five Heroes were capable of. 

“Thank you!” she burst out, the words tumbling from her mouth in a rush of excitement. 

Porter chuckled, leaning casually against the edge of the desk. “No need to thank me. You demanded better, and you took it.” 

Kipperlilly felt that familiar flicker of pride burn warmly in her chest. She’d fought for this—pushed for it. And now, it was here. For once, the system hadn’t just handed the best quests to the usual favorites. They’d earned this. 

Her grin widened, her heart still pounding with excitement. 

Porter held up a hand, his grin tilting slightly. “One thing, though.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

“Jace needs to poke around some old ruins up there,” Porter explained. “I was thinkin’ you could take him along as a hireling. You’ll need to bring a few folks with you anyway, and a sorcerer ain’t a bad choice. He’s already agreed to go without a stipend or a share of the treasure—just needs a favor.” 

Kipperlilly considered that for a moment, running her fingers over the edge of the paper. It was a fair trade that could actually give them more of an adventage. 

“Deal,” she said with a decisive nod. 

Porter grinned. “Good. But don’t let it get to your head and start celebratin’ just yet.” He pushed off the desk, strolling toward the row of concrete slabs. “I wanna see some of that rage today. Show me you deserve it, and I’ll finalize it in the Legendarium.” 

Kipperlilly’s fingers flexed around the hammer’s handle, focusing her energy. She could feel the familiar heat stirring beneath her skin, the fury coiling, ready to be unleashed. 

She smirked, lifting the hammer and resting it on her shoulder. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s break some concrete.” 

Porter chuckled, stepping back to give her space. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Kipperlilly adjusted her stance, rolling her shoulders back. She could already feel the switch flipping—the familiar, electric buzz of anger sparking under her skin. It wasn’t overwhelming, not yet. It was controlled, waiting for her to give it direction. 

She eyed the first slab, sizing it up, and exhaled slowly through her nose. The cool air of the classroom brushed against her skin, but it did little to quell the flames burning in her chest. 

With a steady breath, she planted her feet, tightened her grip on the hammer, and let the rage flow. 

Crunch!

The hammer came down hard, and the sound of shattering concrete echoed through the room like thunder. Pieces of the slab flew outward, skittering across the floor in jagged chunks. Kipperlilly felt the impact reverberate through her bones, but it only fueled her. 

Porter’s voice rumbled from behind her. “That’s it. Keep going.” 

And so she did—swing after swing, each one more satisfying than the last, each impact chipping away at the slab and at the wrath she’d carried for so long. By the time the last piece of concrete crumbled to dust at her feet, Kipperlilly was panting, her muscles burning, but the she felt glorious. 

Porter’s heavy footsteps thudded toward her. “Tired?” 

Kipperlilly shot him a look, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. “Never.” 

Porter grinned, a gleam of something mischievous sparking in his granite-like eyes. “Good,” he said. “Because now, Copperkettle, we’re gonna see if you’ve really got the rage.” 

Before Kipperlilly could react, Porter ripped the massive leather training bag from the chain holding it, the metal links clattering to the ground. The bag landed with a dull thud, and Porter hefted it like it weighed nothing. His grin widened, sharp and gleeful, like he was a kid about to cause some trouble. 

Kipperlilly instinctively squared up, lifting the hammer in both hands, her body sliding into a fighting stance without thinking. Every muscle screamed in protest, but she ignored it. 

“All right,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Let’s do this.” 

Porter moved with the bag toward her, slow and deliberate. Kipperlilly tightened her grip on the hammer and braced herself. She adjusted her stance, ready to land the perfect hit and knock the bag away—but in the split second before she swung, Porter’s grin vanished. His entire body tensed, and before Kipperlilly could react, he lunged.

With a roar that shook the walls, Porter slammed the bag into her, the full force of his massive frame driving it forward. Kipperlilly barely had time to gasp before the weight of the bag crushed her against the ground. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and the hammer slipped from her grasp, clattering somewhere out of reach. 

She gulped, struggling to inhale, but the bag’s weight was relentless. Every breath felt like dragging sandpaper through her throat. 

“Porter—” she wheezed, but the words barely escaped her lips. 

He didn’t move. The bag pressed harder, trapping her completely beneath it. Her limbs flailed uselessly. Panic shot through her like a bolt of lightning. She squirmed, clawing at the ground, but the bag wouldn’t budge. 

She was stuck. Pinned. And she couldn’t breathe. 

“Get mad, Copperkettle,” Porter growled somewhere above her, low and taunting. “Come on. Where’s that fire? You want the world to roll over for you? It won’t. You gotta fight for it.”

Kipperlilly’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat loud and frantic in her ears. She bucked her body against the bag, gasping for oxygen, but her efforts were useless. She felt the edges of her vision starting to blur, and terror clawed at her, threatening to drag her under. 

“You think anyone’s gonna hand you anything?” Porter’s voice cut through the fog creeping into her brain, sharp and relentless. “You think anyone cares? The world takes and takes, Copperkettle. If you want something, you take it.”

Kipperlilly’s lungs screamed for air. Her thoughts scrambled, wild and unfocused, panic starting to overtake her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the terror away, but it grew sharper, more suffocating. 

“Everything you want? Everything you need?” Porter pressed, his voice dark and insistent. “It’s out there. But you’ll never get it unless you fight for it. No one gives a damn unless you make them.”

Something deep inside Kipperlilly snapped—raw and wild, something she hadn’t even known was there. The panic turned to frustration, and the frustration became rage. 

Pure, burning rage.

The blaze inside her roared to life, hotter and more powerful than anything she’d ever felt. It surged through her limbs, setting her blood on fire, clearing the fog from her mind. Her breathing, ragged and shallow, was no longer filled with fear—it was filled with fury. 

“Good,” Porter whispered. “Now show me.” 

Kipperlilly bared her teeth, her vision sharpening with the heat of her rage. She hated this—hated being trapped, hated the weight pressing her down, hated the feeling of helplessness.

Not today. Not ever.

With a guttural scream, she dug her fingers into the leather bag, claws of desperation sinking deep. She arched her back, every muscle in her body burning with the effort, and twisted with everything she had. The fire inside her didn’t just simmer—it exploded. 

She pushed. Hard. Harder than she thought possible. Her body screamed in protest, her lungs burning, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

The bag shifted, just slightly. And then—suddenly, violently—she threw it off her, the force sending it tumbling across the room.

Kipperlilly scrambled to her feet, her chest heaving, her entire body shaking with adrenaline and wrath. She swayed for a moment, catching herself against the wall, but the fire inside her still roaring. 

Porter stood a few feet away, arms folded across his broad chest, watching her with a slow, satisfied grin. The bag lay in a crumpled heap between them, leather scuffed and torn where Kipperlilly’s finger nails had clawed into it. 

Kipperlilly pressed a hand to her ribs, her breathing still uneven but steadying with every breath. Her heart pounded, but this time it wasn’t from fear—it was from triumph. The inferno inside of her still burned, but it wasn’t out of control. It was hers.

Porter took a step toward her, the heavy thud of his boots echoing through the room. The grin on his face widened, sharp and knowing, like a predator closing in on its prey. There was no softness in his expression—just raw satisfaction, as if he’d uncovered exactly what he was looking for. 

“Yes...” he murmured, low and full of something electric. “Yes.”

Before Kipperlilly could full recover, Porter dropped to one knee in front of her, his large frame looming close. She tensed, her muscles still trembling from the effort of throwing the bag off her, but she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t flinch. Not now.

Porter’s hand shot out, not with violence, but with a strange kind of intensity. His broad, rough palm cupped the back of her head, pulling her forward until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His grip was firm but steady, fingers pressing into the damp mess of her hair. 

“Look at me,” he muttered, quiet yet insistent. 

Kipperlilly’s breath hitched, but she obeyed, her eyes locking with his. His smirk was sharp, almost feral, the jagged lines of his face crinkling as if he knew something she didn’t. And maybe he did. Porter had been in fights she couldn’t imagine, carried rage that had burned for far longer than hers. 

“That’s what I want,” Porter whispered, the words dripping with approval. “All that hate. All that anger. Right there.” 

Kipperlilly felt the remnants of it swirling inside her, like embers glowing beneath ash. The fire hadn’t gone out—it had just quieted, waiting for the next spark to ignite it again. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the heat curl in her belly. She hadn’t realized how deeply the anger lived within her until now, like it was stitched into the fabric of who she was. 

“People like us,” Porter murmured, drawing her closer. His hand stayed on the back of her head. “You and me, Copperkettle? We’re not built like the rest of ‘em.” 

She stared into Porter’s eyes—eyes that reflected her own fire back at her, as if they were cut from the same stone, carved by the same chisel. It was unsettling, but it felt... right. Like seeing herself clearly for the first time. 

His other hand shot forward, jabbing a finger into her sternum with enough force to make her gasp. The pressure was sharp, painful, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she stood her ground, her jaw clenched tight, her eyes locked on his. 

“We’ll make the world fucking burn,” Porter hissed, his finger digging harder into her chest, as if trying to ignite the fire within her all over again. “Don’t that feel good? All that hate inside you, ready to explode. It’s power. And it’s yours.”

Kipperlilly let out a shaky breath, her whole body trembling. She could still feel it—every ounce of that rage, that fury. It was like a second heartbeat, pulsing just beneath the surface of her skin, waiting for the moment she chose to unleash it. But there was something else there too. Something quieter. A doubt. A whisper in the back of her mind that told her this wasn’t right—that this path, this feeling, was dangerous.

But Porter’s grip on her hair tightened, pulling her back to the moment. His grin was feral now, his teeth bared in something that wasn’t quite a smile. 

“You are a beautiful. fucking. rage-fueled. monster,” he growled, the words dripping with a twisted reverence. “And don’t you ever let anyone take that away from you.”

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, the words sinking deep into her bones. She knew what he was doing—he was pushing her, molding her into something else, something dangerous. But a part of her—deep down—liked it. 

Porter leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You like it, don’t you?” he whispered soothingly, though there was nothing soft about the way his fingers dug into her scalp. “The power. The control. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” 

Kipperlilly’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. She did want power. She did want control. She wanted to be more—to be better—to be unstoppable. But at what cost?

Porter’s grip on her hair loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her closer, forcing her to meet his gaze again. His dark eyes were full of intensity. 

“We’re going to tear this world apart, you and me,” he said, his voice steady, full of certainty. “No one will stand in our way. Not The Bad Kids. Not this school. No one.” 

She let out a slow, unsteady breath, her body trembling. And for a moment—just a moment—she let herself believe it. She let herself imagine the world that Porter was promising. A world where she was untouchable, where she didn’t have to fight for scraps or prove herself over and over again. A world where she could take what she wanted, without fear, without hesitation. 

Kipperlilly blinked, her eyes flicking away from Porter’s, just for a second. She felt the flames inside her flicker, not extinguished, but dimmed. She wasn’t a monster. Not yet. 

Porter’s grip tightened again, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Don’t fight it, Copperkettle. This is who you are.” 

But Kipperlilly wasn’t so sure. 

Kipperlilly sat slumped in the back row of the rogue classroom, one leg propped on the edge of her chair, her chin resting on her hand. 

It was supposed to be one of her favorite places—the rogue classroom always had that dusty, leather-bound smell that hinted at secrets and unsolved mysteries. It should have felt like home. 

But it didn’t. Not today. 

At the front of the room, Riz was mid-rant, waving his hands animatedly as he laid out yet another conspiracy theory about their rogue teacher. Kipperlilly only half-listened, already knowing where this was going. It was all stuff she’d thought about before—questions she’d asked, theories she’d explored, and ultimately dismissed. 

"...and if you think about it," Riz was saying, pacing the front of the classroom like it was his personal stage, “there’s no way someone with their skill set would be teaching at Aguefort of all places unless there was something else going on. There’s gotta be a bigger reason.”

Kipperlilly fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was all so painfully obvious. She had already chased down every lead Riz was talking about, and she knew better—there was no grand conspiracy, no secret reason. Their teacher was just... a teacher. Not every puzzle had a solution, and not every person had a hidden agenda. 

But she wasn’t going to say any of that. What was the point? Riz wouldn’t listen. He never did. He was always too busy being Riz Gukgak: P.I, too wrapped up in his own web of ideas to care about what anyone else thought.

The familiar knot of frustration twisted tighter in Kipperlilly’s chest. She stared at Riz from across the room, her thoughts growing darker, sharper. 

It would be so easy, she thought, her hand tightening into a fist on her desk. She could slip a dagger between his ribs before he even knew what hit him. Quick, clean. Or maybe... not clean. Maybe she’d drag it a little. Make him feel it.

The image bloomed in her mind, vivid and unbidden. She imagined the look of shock on his face, the way the light would dim in his eyes. Or better yet—she could poison his tea. Something slow, something that made him squirm. Watch him realize, too late, that he wasn’t the smartest person in the room. 

She exhaled through her nose, trying to shake off the thoughts. But they clung to her, thick and sticky, like cobwebs. This wasn’t new—she’d always had a dark streak, a part of her mind that wandered toward violent solutions. But today... today it felt different. Heavier. Meaner. 

You should just do it, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. No one would miss him. Not really. Not if you did it right.

Kipperlilly’s stomach churned, a knot of unease tightening beneath her ribs. She shifted in her seat, trying to shove the thoughts aside, but they lingered, coiling at the edges of her mind. She wasn’t a stranger to violent fantasies—she’d lived with that for as long as she could remember. But this was different. 

This was too much. 

She was still spiraling, her mind stuck on the mental image of Riz’s lifeless body, when her crystal buzzed softly in her pocket, breaking the dark current of her thoughts. She blinked, startled, and quickly pulled it out. The small pulse of light flickering across the screen chased away some of the darkness. 

It was a text from Lucy, dropped into the High Five Heroes group chat: 

Lucy: We’re all set for the Mountains of Chaos! I can’t believe it! 🎉

Kipperlilly’s breath caught for a second, her heart lifting as she read the message. She could almost hear Lucy’s excitement through the words, feel the buzz of energy that had sparked across the group. 

Ivy: Way to go, Kip! 💪

Ruben: How long do we have to decide on hirelings? 👀

Kipperlilly’s fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she started typing. 

Kipperlilly: We already have Stardiamond without payment, so we could take another three for a C-class quest.

The responses rolled in almost immediately. 

Oisin: What about Ivy’s dad?

Ivy: He would love that. 🤠

Mary Ann: My grandma.

There was a pause in the chat—Kipperlilly could practically feel the collective double-take from the rest of the group. 

Ruben: What??? 😂

Oisin: Yes!! I love your grandma.

Lucy: Because you’re the only other person who speaks Draconic.

Kipperlilly snorted, the tension in her body easing a little as she read through the thread. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second before she typed out a quick message: 

Kipperlilly: Let’s meet tonight to finalize the list. Also... we’re not bringing Mary Ann’s grandma. 😂

As soon as the bell rang, Kipperlilly was out of her seat before anyone else even moved, slinging her bag over her shoulder and making a beeline for the door. The usual hallway chaos was already underway—students spilling out of classrooms, chatter rising to a dull roar, the hum of locker doors slamming open and shut. 

Kipperlilly moved through it like a blade through silk, weaving between clusters of students without a second thought. She just needed to get outside, get some air. Her thoughts still churned from the rogue class—the dark fantasies that had clawed their way into her mind. 

Her boots tapped sharply against the linoleum floor as she strode down the hall, head down, focusing on getting through the crowded space as fast as possible. But just as she rounded the corner toward the lockers, someone stepped right into her path. 

Thud!

Kipperlilly didn’t even have time to stop before she collided with him—one of the seniors, some broad-shouldered jock in a letterman jacket, looking bored and smug. The impact wasn’t hard, but it was enough to jolt her, and the irritation that had been simmering all day flared up instantly. 

"Watch it!" the jock snapped, his lip curling as he brushed off his sleeve like she’d spilled something on him. 

That was all it took. 

The rage surged, fast and overwhelming, like a dam breaking inside her very soul. Kipperlilly saw red. Her hand shot out before she even thought about it, slamming the jock against the nearest locker with a sharp clang that echoed down the hallway. He grunted, surprised, but she didn’t stop—her fingers found the dagger at her belt, and in one smooth motion, she yanked it free and pressed it hard against his chest.

Time slowed. The jock’s wide, startled eyes stared down at her, the silver edge of the blade glinting just beneath his letterman jacket. Kipperlilly’s heart pounded, her breath coming fast, her mind swirling with a dangerous clarity. 

It would be so easy to kill him. One quick thrust, and that would be it. She could already feel the satisfaction blooming in her chest—the release, the relief it would bring. All the frustration, the anger, the things she couldn’t say or do in the classroom... she could pour it all into this moment. Into this blade.

And it would feel good. So good.

The jock’s breath hitched, his hands frozen at his sides. “Whoa,” he stammered. “What are you, fucking crazy?”

She didn’t answer. Her fingers twitched on the hilt of the dagger, the fire inside her roaring, begging her to push it just a little further. 

Then Porter’s voice cut through the haze like a hammer against steel. 

“All right, all right! Break it up!” 

Kipperlilly barely had time to register the sound of his voice before his massive hand closed around her shoulder. He yanked her back with surprising gentleness—firm, but not rough—and pried the dagger from her grip. The blade clattered to the floor, and she blinked, the red haze in her vision starting to clear. 

Porter kept his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. He turned to the jock, who was still pressed against the locker, his face pale and drawn. 

“Clear off,” Porter growled calmly, but with enough weight behind it to make it clear there was no room for argument. 

The jock blinked, stunned. “Me? But she—” 

Porter tilted his head slightly, his granite-like features set in a dangerous expression. “Did I stutter?” he asked. “I said clear off.”

The jock swallowed hard, straightening his letterman jacket with shaky hands. He shot Kipperlilly a wary glance, then turned on his heel and stalked off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd of students still filling the hallway. 

Porter gave her shoulder a light squeeze—just enough to let her know she wasn’t off the hook yet. “Right,” he said. “Come with me.” 

Kipperlilly barely had time to grab her dagger from the ground before Porter was steering her down the hall, his large hand still resting heavily on her back. He didn’t say anything else as they made their way toward his classroom, but his presence alone was enough to keep her silent. 

By the time they reached the door to his room, the adrenaline that had been fueling Kipperlilly began to ebb, leaving her limbs shaky and her heart still thudding painfully in her chest. Porter pushed open the door with one hand, guiding her inside with the other. 

The room was empty, quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath Porter’s boots as he shut the door behind them. He gestured toward one of the benches along the wall. 

“Sit.” 

Kipperlilly dropped her bag and sank onto the bench, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. Porter crossed the room slowly, dragging a chair over and planting himself in front of her. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his sharp eyes fixed on hers. 

For a long moment, he said nothing, just watching her with that same careful intensity he always had—like he was measuring something inside her, weighing it against whatever expectation he had in mind. 

Finally, Porter spoke. “You wanted to kill him.” 

Kipperlilly’s heart clenched. She exhaled a shaky breath, guilt crawling under her skin. “I’m sorry—” she started, but Porter cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. 

“No.” His voice was cold, unyielding. “You don’t get to say sorry.” 

The words hit her like a slap. Kipperlilly’s mouth snapped shut, her apology dying on her tongue. Porter stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor with an unsettling screech. 

She watched him, her brow furrowing as he crossed the room with purpose. Without a word, he grabbed the war hammer leaning against the wall—a brutal, heavy thing that looked more like a boulder on a stick than a weapon. The air in the room shifted, thick with unspoken intent. 

Kipperlilly sat still, the ache in her muscles still fresh, but adrenaline started creeping back in, prickling at the edges of her nerves. Porter turned toward her, the hammer resting casually on his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something almost... eager. 

“Pick up a weapon,” he calmly said, but with a dark edge. “We fight it out.” 

Kipperlilly’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was serious, but the look in Porter’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. This wasn’t a game. 

Her pulse quickened, the knot in her chest tightening into something sharp and volatile. Without a word, she stood and crossed to the desk, her boots heavy against the floor. The hammer Porter had set aside for her the day before was still resting there. She gripped it tight, enjoying how it calmed the jittery hum in her limbs. 

When she turned around, Porter was already in a loose, ready stance, the war hammer steady in his hands. “Come on, Copperkettle,” he said. 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening. She took a step forward, gripping her hammer until her knuckles went white. She wasn’t sure what game Porter was playing, but she knew one thing—he wasn’t going to go easy on her. 

They circled each other slowly, the heavy silence between them broken only by the quiet shuffle of their boots against the stone floor. Porter’s expression was calm, but there was a glint of wickedness in his eyes. 

“Look at you,” he muttered, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Still holding back. You’re mad, but you’re not mad enough. Not yet.”

Kipperlilly gritted her teeth, the ember inside her flickering to life. 

“You think the world cares how careful you are? How much you try to do the right thing?” Porter hissed. “It doesn’t, Copperkettle. All that matters is who’s still standing when the fight’s over. And it’s never the one who holds back.” 

He swung first—a fast, brutal strike. Kipperlilly barely had time to react. She blocked the blow, but the force of it sent her skidding backward, her shoes scraping against the stone. Her muscles screamed, but she gritted her teeth and kept her stance steady. 

“Come on,” Porter goaded, circling her again. “I know there’s more in you. That beast. That hate. Let me see it.”

Kipperlilly swung, hard and fast, her hammer cutting through the air with a sharp whoosh. Porter sidestepped easily, his movements fluid and practiced. 

“Not good enough,” he sneered. “You’ve got to do better than that if you want to take me down.” 

The rage inside her sparked, frustration flaring hotter. She swung again, harder this time, but Porter blocked the blow with his hammer, the clang of metal on metal ringing through the room. The force of the impact sent a jolt up her arms, but she didn’t stop. 

Again and again, she swung, each strike fueled by the growing anger bubbling inside her. Porter blocked every blow with ease, his grin widening with every failed attempt. 

“Still holding back,” he muttered, dripping with mockery. “You’re scared, ain’t ya? Scared to let it out. Scared of what it’ll make you.” 

Kipperlilly clenched her jaw, her breath coming in ragged bursts. The words cut deep, stirring something dark inside her. She hated how right he was. 

Porter swung his hammer again, and Kipperlilly barely managed to dodge it. The force of the blow sent her stumbling, and she fell hard onto the stone floor, her hammer slipping from her grip. 

“Get up,” Porter growled, looming over her like a shadow. “Come on. Don’t quit on me now.” 

Kipperlilly pushed herself to her knees, her hands shaking with the effort. Her chest ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain—it was the weight of everything she’d been carrying for so long. The anger, the frustration, the endless fight to prove herself. It was all too much. 

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she blinked them away, furious at herself for crying. “I hate you,” she whispered. 

Porter grinned, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Good,” he said. “Now use it.” 

Kipperlilly grabbed the dagger from her belt, her hand trembling, and lunged at him. Porter blocked the blow easily, his hammer knocking her to the side, but she didn’t stop. She attacked again, and again, each strike more desperate than the last. 

Porter’s grin never wavered. He threw her off balance with every attack, tossing her around like she weighed nothing. “Come on,” he whispered like a snake’s hiss. “Try to kill me. You know you want to.” 

Kipperlilly swung the dagger wildly, her vision swimming with tears, but Porter caught her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the blade. It clattered to the ground between them, the sound sharp and final. 

She collapsed onto her knees, chest heaving, tears streaming down her face. The wrath inside her burned too hot, scorching everything in its path. She hated him—hated what he was turning her into. But more than that, she hated how good it felt. 

Porter knelt in front of her, his grin softening into something almost tender. “There it is,” he murmured, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “That’s the real you, Copperkettle.”

Kipperlilly shuddered, her whole body trembling with rage and sorrow. She didn’t know who she was anymore—didn’t know where the anger ended and she began. 

And that terrified her. 

Porter’s hands lingered where they rested on Kipperlilly’s shoulders, heavy and unyielding, brushing the tears off her cheek with an unsettling tenderness. “After spring break, you’ll see,” he murmured ominously, as if the words carried some hidden promise. 

Kipperlilly’s breath caught in her throat, her lip trembling. What did that mean? A cold knot twisted in her stomach, curling tighter the longer he looked at her with that smug, knowing expression.

Before she could stop herself, Porter pulled her into his chest, wrapping his thick arms around her like iron bands. The hug was strong, firm—and suffocating. Desperation bloomed inside her, and without thinking, she hugged him back, clutching his shirt like a lifeline. 

But it was all wrong. 

This wasn’t like hugging her parents when she was little, or the easy embraces Lucy gave her when things were hard. This wasn’t warm or loving. Porter wasn’t soft. He wasn’t safe. 

Kipperlilly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to find some comfort in the embrace. But all she found was emptiness. Her body shook with silent, suppressed sobs. What she wanted—what she needed—was love. Not rage. Not control. Love.

But Porter couldn’t give her that. He never could. 

Her eyes snapped open, and suddenly, it was all too much. She shoved herself back, pushing hard against his chest. “No.” 

Porter’s brow furrowed, his eyes darkening with confusion. “What?” 

“I said no.” Kipperlilly’s voice trembled, but there was a growing strength behind it, a steadiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Porter tilted his head, watching her like a hawk. “No to what?” 

Kipperlilly took a step back, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “No to you.” The words tasted strange, unfamiliar, but good. “No to these... these sessions. I don’t want this. I can’t—” Her breath hitched. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

For a moment, Porter said nothing, just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he stood slowly, towering over her, his eyes darkening with something cold and dangerous. “You need this, Copperkettle.” 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. But she held her ground. “No. I don’t.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, scrubbing away the tears as if they were a weakness she could erase. Then she bent down to grab her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with more force than necessary. 

Porter’s voice sharpened, rough as gravel. “Don’t you walk away from me.” 

Kipperlilly paused, but only for a second. Then she set her jaw and turned toward the door. “I’ll do what I want.” 

The words left her mouth before she had a chance to think them through, but once they were out, she knew there was no going back. The fire inside her hadn’t gone away—but now it burned with a different purpose. 

Porter’s mouth twisted into a cruel grin. “You can kiss your quest goodbye, Copperkettle.” 

Kipperlilly kept walking, her hand brushing against the doorknob. “I don’t think so,” she shot over her shoulder. “Aguefort already signed off on it.” 

Porter took a step toward her, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. “If even one teacher objects,” he said lowly. “I can withdraw your stipends. You’ll go in without hirelings—and you’ll die. Do you want your friends to die too? Because of you?”

Kipperlilly’s grip on the doorknob tightened, her knuckles white. Her heart pounded in her chest, anger and fear tangling together until she couldn’t tell them apart. But she refused to let him see that. 

She turned back slowly, her eyes sharp and cold. “We don’t need hirelings,” she said as steadily as she could. “And you can tell Stardiamond to take himself to his stupid ruins.” 

Porter’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he growled. 

Kipperlilly turned her back on him, the anger burning steady and bright now, not out of control but firmly in her grasp. “I’ll do whatever I want,” 

She pulled open the door, her heart hammering in her chest. But just as she was about to step through, Porter’s voice followed her like a shadow. 

“If you tell anyone about this,” he hissed, sharp as a dagger’s edge, “I’ll have you expelled.” 

Kipperlilly stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. She stood still for a moment, his threat hanging heavy in the room. 

Then, slowly, she turned around, her lips pulling into a tight, humorless line. “As far as I’m concerned,” she said coldly, “none of this ever happened.” 

Porter stared at her, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. But Kipperlilly didn’t care. She had said what she needed to say. 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out the door 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Sophomore Year:

Spring break and the end of the semester

Kipperlilly zipped the final pocket of her hiking pack, patting it with satisfaction. The enchanted fabric shimmered faintly in the light of her bedroom, kudos to Oisin's fantastic idea to use magic to pack lightly, but still allowing them to be able to take everything that they might need. She had spent hours organizing her belongings and knew everything was packed exactly as it should be. This was going to be the adventure. No doubt about it. The Mountains of Chaos had a reputation—wild, untamed and full of secrets.

“Did you pack enough clothes?” Winnie called out, rushing from one thing to the next, her petite form darting through doorways with a focus that could rival any rogue on a mission. 

“Yes, Mom!” Kipperlilly said with a grin, though she didn’t look away from her bag. “It’s just two weeks, not an exile.” 

Her father poked his head in from the hallway, his blonde mustache twitching like a squirrel's nose sniffing for danger. “And food? You’ve got enough food?” 

Kipperlilly let out a sigh. “Ivy’s dad already prepared ration packs for the whole group. There’s probably more food in his jeep than we’ll need in a lifetime.” 

Winnie hesitated in the doorway, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind one ear. She gave Kipperlilly the kind of mom-look that said she was doing her best to trust her, but there was a part of her brain still running through a checklist just in case. 

“Okay… good,” Winnie said, but the words came slow, like she wasn’t quite ready to let her daughter out the door just yet. 

Kipperlilly stepped closer and took her mom’s hands in her own, squeezing gently. Her palms were warm, and the scent of her lavender hand cream wafted strongly. “Relax, Mom. We’ve got this. It’s not a big deal.” She shot her dad a playful smirk. 

Barden rubbed the back of his neck and gave a low whistle. “The Mountains of Chaos, though...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “That’s some pretty scary stuff. You kids be careful.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. “Dad, we’ve been training for this. We’re ready. And we’re going non-lethal—we just have to find some bad guys and hand them over to the Council.” 

Winnie wrinkled her nose, folding her arms across her chest. “So... like cops with swords?” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. “I mean, yeah, I guess so.” 

The sound of a car pulling up outside cut through the moment, followed by a couple of short honks. Kipperlilly’s grin widened, and her heart gave a little skip. 

“They’re here!” she exclaimed, slinging her hiking pack over one shoulder. 

She hurried toward the front door, her parents trailing behind her. The spring air hit her as soon as she opened it, cool and crisp, smelling faintly of dew-soaked grass and budding flowers. Parked in the driveway was Ivy’s dad’s massive utility jeep, a beast of a vehicle with hauling racks, thick survival gear strapped to the roof, and chains already attached to the tires in preparation for rough mountain roads. 

Ivy leaned out the passenger window, her mousy brown braid swinging over her shoulder, eyes twinkling with the promise of the kind of adventure she in particular had been training her entire life for. While Kipperlilly's parents had been skeptical about the idea of long haul adventures from the get-go, Thorn seemed like he couldn't wait to thrust his daughter out into the world to really have her tested. Kipperlilly supposed that was the difference between being raised by a seasoned adventurer, or by regular citizens. 

“You’re riding shotgun!” Ivy called, tapping the side of the jeep like it was a secret invitation to a grand heist. 

Kipperlilly hugged her parents tightly—first her mom, whose worried expression softened just a little, and then her dad, whose mustache tickled her cheek. “We’ll be fine,” she promised. “See you in two weeks.” 

With that, she jogged toward the jeep, the weight of her pack bouncing lightly against her back. The open truck bed was already filled with gear, and Kipperlilly tossed her bag on top of the pile before turning to climb into the front seat. 

Easier said than done. The jeep was massive, and Kipperlilly was... not. She gritted her teeth, hopping on one foot to get some momentum, but her first attempt was a spectacular failure. Ivy laughed from the front seat, and Kipperlilly shot her a mock glare. 

“Could use a little help here!” Kipperlilly huffed. 

Ivy reached across, grabbed Kipperlilly’s arm, and with a quick yank, hauled her into the seat. Kipperlilly landed with a thud, breathing hard but triumphant. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, adjusting her seatbelt as she tried to ignore the heat creeping up her neck. Ivy’s laugh had a way of getting under her skin sometimes. 

Perched on the center console, as calm and expressionless as ever was Mary Ann, who gave her a slow blink, her tail flicking lazily behind her. 

“Long time, no see,” Mary Ann said in her usual deadpan tone. 

Kipperlilly grinned. “Miss me?” 

“No.” 

From the back seat, Ruben’s wild brown curls bobbed as he leaned forward, wedged between Oisin and Lucy. “Ivy didn’t tell me you were riding shotgun,” he pouted. “I was gonna call dibs.” 

Kipperlilly shot him a smug look. “You were the one who said you didn't want to read the map.”

Oisin adjusted his glasses and gave Ruben a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “There, there, Ruben. You can sit in the front on the way back.” 

“Assuming we survive,” Lucy added cheerfully. She always looked so ridiculously happy, no matter the situation—like every challenge was just another reason to smile. 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh as the jeep rumbled to life beneath them, the engine growling with a satisfying roar. The adventure had officially begun. 

As the jeep pulled out of the driveway, she watched as her parents stood side by side and waved them off. Though Kipperlilly tried her best to downplay it, this was rather a bigger deal than she liked to let on. Up until now, the biggest quests they had been sent on as part of the curriculum had been weekend tasks at most. Her parents weren't hoverers, or too terribly overprotective, but they had voiced their concerns over two full weeks of being out of the house. It wasn't that they didn't trust her to take care of herself–she was more capable than most given how responsible she always had been–but more so how deeply they cared about her. 

Ivy glanced over at her, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You ready for this?” 

Kipperlilly met her gaze and grinned. “Born ready.” 

The Nation of Solace stretched out behind them, the sleepy suburbs of Elmville giving way to open fields dotted with wildflowers. The clouds overhead drifted lazily, like they didn’t have anywhere in particular to be. Kipperlilly leaned back in her seat, one foot propped up on the dash, her hand out the window as the cool wind tangled through her fingers. 

From the driver’s seat, Ivy kept a steady hand on the wheel as she hummed quietly to herself. The jeep’s tires groaned as they began to ascend the narrow path into the foothills, where the air grew thinner and smelled faintly of pine and wet earth. 

“Pilgrim’s Pass isn’t far now,” Ivy said, glancing over at Kipperlilly. “We should hit it before sundown if Ruben doesn’t complain about needing a bathroom break.” 

From the back seat, Ruben’s voice piped up. “One time! I asked one time!” 

“Twenty minutes after we left your house,” Mary Ann deadpanned from her perch on the center console, her small form perfectly balanced despite the jeep’s bouncing. 

Ruben let out an exaggerated sigh. “That was tactical!” 

Kipperlilly snorted, shooting him a teasing grin over her shoulder. “Sure it was.” 

The jeep rumbled on, climbing higher into the mountains. The fields faded into forests, the road narrowing until it was more dirt than asphalt, lined with ancient trees whose branches reached over the trail like bony fingers. 

They reached Pilgrim’s Pass just as the sun began to sink, its light spilling gold and copper over the ruined village. Ivy slowed the jeep as they rolled into the remnants of what had once been a bustling waystation for adventurers—now it was little more than a scattering of stone foundations and crumbling walls, overtaken by moss and wildflowers. 

The place had an eerie stillness about it, like the land itself was holding its breath. Kipperlilly leaned forward in her seat, her eyes scanning the ruins. 

“Dad said it used to be a resting point,” Ivy murmured, her voice soft as if not to disturb the ghosts of the place. “They’d stop here before going deeper into the mountains. They keep trying to rebuild it every few years, but... you know.. Mountains of Chaos.” 

“Right,” Kipperlilly said, her fingers drumming absently on the armrest. “Not exactly the safest real estate.” 

Mary Ann tilted her head slightly. “I like it. No neighbors.” 

Ruben leaned forward between the seats, his curls bouncing. “It’s spooky. Like... the perfect setting for an edgy music video.” 

Lucy shot him a side-eye. “That's a little dark Rue.” 

Ruben gasped in mock offense. “It's artsy.” 

The road beyond the village twisted and narrowed, the jeep groaning in protest as it climbed steeper into the mountains. As they ascended, the temperature dropped, and the sun slipped further behind the peaks, painting the sky in shades of dusky purple and amber. 

Eventually, even Ivy had to admit defeat. The trail ahead was little more than a jagged line of rocks winding into the darkness, too narrow and treacherous for the jeep to continue. She pulled over onto a patch of flat ground, killing the engine with a sigh. 

“Well,” Ivy said, stretching her arms over her head. “Looks like this is as far as the jeep goes.” 

Kipperlilly cracked her knuckles and hopped down from the seat, the chill air nipping at her cheeks. “Guess it’s time to rough it.” 

They unloaded the truck bed in comfortable efficiency—Kipperlilly’s enchanted backpack swallowing tents, bedrolls, and supplies like it had been waiting all day for the chance. Oisin set up a small firepit with a flick of his clawed hand, his magic sparking a cozy flame that crackled warmly in the encroaching dark. 

The scent of smoke curled through the air as the group settled around the fire. Ivy leaned back on her elbows, her eyes half-closed, while Lucy busied herself with ration packs, handing out bundles of dried meat and trail biscuits. 

The fire crackled, sparks drifting lazily into the night air like tiny fireflies. Kipperlilly tore a piece of dried meat from her ration pack, chewing thoughtfully as the warmth of the campfire sank into her bones. The night was still around them, with only the occasional rustling of wind through the pine trees, and far off in the distance, the faint call of an owl. 

Lucy, always the one to break the silence with her love of talking, leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. Her frost-blue hair shimmered in the firelight. “So... what’s the plan?” she asked. 

Kipperlilly swallowed her bite, brushing a few crumbs off her hands. “It’s going to take us a few days to cross the mountain,” she said, her gaze flicking between her friends. “Once we get to Kalvaxus’s Lair, we’ll have to be fast. We’ll sneak in and knock everyone out as fast as we can. 

Ivy, stretched out beside her with her hands folded behind her head, cracked one eye open. “At least we’ve got the element of surprise.” she said with a lazy grin. 

Oisin, ever meticulous, was already digging through his gem pouch. The small leather bag jingled faintly as he pulled it open, tilting it to let several smooth, shimmering stones fall into his palm. He counted them quietly under his breath, his forked tongue flicking briefly as he concentrated. 

“Twelve palimpsests,” Oisin said after a moment, holding one up between two claws. The gem caught the firelight and sparkled like a star. “Should be enough for transportation.” 

Ivy gave a small, nonchalant shrug. “If it’s not, I’ve got plenty of rope.” 

The truth was, a Class C quest like this was no small feat. It was a big deal—dangerous, complicated, and technically, the kind of quest that usually required backup. Normally, they'd have a hired guide or some support from the academy to make things easier. But since Porter had yanked their funding, they were on their own. 

Ruben leaned back, resting his head on Oisin’s shoulder like an overdramatic poet. “You think Stardiamond’s out here somewhere?” he mused with a playful lilt. 

“Maybe,” Lucy said with a grin. “But he’s not our problem anymore.” 

Kipperlilly looked over at the looming mountains, as far as she could see. She did wonder if he had still been planning to visit those ruins he apparently so desperately needed to visit. That whole situation had been bizarre, and Kipperlilly had tried and failed to figure out why Porter had been so insistent on it. It irked her, though she tried not to let it. Though it was probably very insignificant in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't common for Kipperlilly to fall flat when she was trying to investigate something.

Mary Ann shifted where she sat, her tail thumping lightly against the ground. “I don’t like Jace,” she muttered to herself. 

The comment earned a round of laughter, and Kipperlilly felt herself relax further into the moment, the tension of the long day's travels easing from her body. It was only day one, after all, and she was sure having to trek the rest of the way on foot was going to be much more grueling than a bumpy jeep ride. 

Oisin’s eyes flicked toward her, a glint of curiosity behind his round glasses. “You never did tell us what you did to make Porter so angry,” he said, sorting the palimpsests carefully back into his pouch. 

Kipperlilly’s smile faltered for just a second, a simmer of of frustration stirring up at the memory. She shrugged, trying to seem casual. “I disagreed with his teaching methods. He didn’t like that.” 

Ivy made a face, her lip curling in distaste. “What a dick move,” she muttered. “Pulling our stipends because you stood up to him? Classic Porter.” 

Ruben, ever the instigator, shot Mary Ann a teasing grin. “You know, Mary Ann, maybe you should switch classes. Ever think about dancing?” 

Mary Ann’s response was immediate and deadpan, her expression unchanging. “No.” 

That sent the group into another fit of laughter, the sound warm and easy in the cool night air. The stars above them shimmered brighter as the firelight dimmed, and one by one, they began to drift toward their tents. 

Kipperlilly crawled into her tent and zipped the entrance behind her. The tent was compact, barely enough room for a human to stretch out in, but that was exactly what they’d planned. Ivy had suggested they each have their own tents—“We’ll be living in each other’s faces every single day; we’re gonna need some quiet moments,” she’d said, and Kipperlilly couldn’t argue with that. Even the close quarters didn’t feel too bad, though, knowing each tent was charmed with warmth enchantments that would keep them snug, no matter how far up into the snowy peaks they climbed. 

She slipped into her sleeping bag, tucking herself in, and closed her eyes, but her mind refused to slow down. It was just too full—visions of trails winding through craggy rocks, the peaks looming ominously overhead, and the countless routes they’d drawn and redrawn on maps that were now wrinkled and worn from use. Every pass, every hidden valley, every turn and potential hazard played out in her head like a reel she couldn’t switch off. She was exhausted, yet sleep stayed just out of reach. 

It felt like hours had passed when she finally sighed, rolling onto her back and staring up at the dark ceiling of the tent. She had almost given up on the idea of sleep entirely when she heard the soft, almost tentative sound of the tent’s zipper being pulled open. 

A cool breeze drifted in, carrying with it a presence that she could never find unwanted. Kipperlilly shifted onto her side, squinting through the dimness as Lucy’s head poked through, her silver-blue eyes catching the faint glimmer of moonlight. 

“Sorry,” Lucy whispered tentatively. “Did I wake you?” 

“No,” Kipperlilly replied, keeping her voice equally low. She hadn’t been anywhere close to asleep. 

“Okay... good.” Lucy bit her lip, glancing back over her shoulder toward the rest of their camp, then back at Kipperlilly. 

“Everything okay?” she asked, watching as Lucy shuffled awkwardly, her eyes flickering toward the open zipper of the tent, as if debating whether to stay or go. 

“Yeah,” Lucy said, much too casually. “I just wanted to check on you. First day of the adventure and all... out here in the middle of nowhere.” 

Kipperlilly waited, watching as Lucy’s gaze darted around the tent, the nervous energy practically buzzing off her. She was holding herself in place, like she was half a second away from bolting back to her own tent. 

With a small sigh, Kipperlilly sat up slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Do you want to sleep in here?” 

Lucy blinked, her cheeks flushing faintly, though it was barely visible in the dark. “No, I mean... only if you want me to. I’m totally fine on my own. Just thought maybe you’d want some company?” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Are you scared?” 

Lucy let out a small, breathy laugh, her words picking up speed as she rambled, “Of course not! I’ve got a ward up around my tent and everything. Totally chill. I actually love it here. My family comes from the mountains, you know? It’s great. Not freaky at all.” 

Lucy was many thing, all of which made her a fantastic friend. She was an avid listener, a natural empath, an excellent problem solver and group mediator. Being able to put up any kind of façade, however, was one thing she severely lacked. Kipperlilly had realized very early on that she was the deceiver for both of them.

“Luce…” 

“Hm?” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, unzipping her sleeping bag to scoot out of it and flattening it out to serve as a blanket. She patted the empty space next to her. “You’ve always been a horrific liar.” 

Lucy let out a soft laugh, finally allowing herself a small, relieved smile. “Are you using your rogue stuff on me right now?” 

Kipperlilly snorted. “I never have to. Just lay down, it’s fine.” 

Visibly relaxing, Lucy slid the tent zipper closed, the faint chill of night blocked out once more as she shuffled inside and settled beside Kipperlilly. She tucked her legs under the corner of the sleeping bag, though her feet still stuck out slightly. It was awkward, both of them trying to fit into the cramped space, but Lucy looked more comfortable than she had when she first crawled in. As long as her friend was content enough, Kipperlilly would happily manage. 

Kipperlilly shifted back, settling down so they were lying close together, their shoulders just barely brushing. “Better?” 

“Yes,” Lucy whispered back, full of gratitude. “Thank you, Kippy.” 

Kipperlilly lay there, staring up at the tent ceiling. The quiet of the mountains outside settled around them, the faint rustle of leaves carried by the night breeze, a soft hum that made the world feel infinitely larger yet somehow cocooned them in this tiny, private space. It should’ve felt peaceful, but she sensed a hesitance radiating from Lucy that made Kipperlilly shift her head slightly to look at her. 

“You don’t have to freak out if you’re afraid, you know?” Kipperlilly murmured, as if speaking louder might crack the delicate quiet. 

Lucy hesitated, her lips pressing into a line. “I know,” she said finally, though the word came out reluctantly. “But...urgh. Everyone else is so cool about all of this.” She stared up, her gaze distant. “But we don’t even have anyone out here with us. And sure, I can heal everyone, but that’s...a weird thing to think about. If something did happen.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, her hand resting atop her chest. She’d had those thoughts, too—of course she had. But there was something about hearing Lucy say it, so openly, that made her feel a little less alone. She knew that they were capable enough adventurers, at least as far as their grades were concerned, but it was the lack of real world application that gave her pause. That, and it was Kipperlilly's fault entirely that they found themselves in this situation. 

“Yeah... sorry about the whole hireling thing,” she said softly. 

Lucy turned her head, her expression softening into a flicker of understanding. “Don’t be. I know you have your reasons, and I trust your judgment, even if you don’t want to talk about it.” 

Kipperlilly gave a slight shrug, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the fabric of her sleeping bag. “It’s not really worth talking about.” 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Sure, Copperkettle... Keep your secrets.” 

Kipperlilly huffed out a laugh, her annoyance at being called out dissolving into a quiet giggle. Slowly, they both settled down, drifting closer to the edge of sleep, their breathing falling into a quiet rhythm. 

Before long, Lucy’s breaths evened out, soft and steady beside her, signaling that she’d drifted off. The serenity of her made Kipperlilly’s own exhaustion hit, her limbs growing heavy, the ache of the day seeping into her bones. She closed her eyes, allowing the soft pull of sleep to take her, each breath drawing her deeper into rest. 

But just as she was on the verge of sleep, Kipperlilly’s ear pricked at the faint sound of the tent zipper being pulled open. She didn’t open her eyes, but the annoyance flared briefly—now they were coming in, just when she was finally feeling the gentle embrace of sleep.

She heard the quiet rustle of fabric and felt the faintest shift in the sleeping bag. Whoever it was, they were small and moved with an awkward kind of stealth, barely disturbing the blanket as they scooted in beside her. Kipperlilly felt the distinct pressure of someone snuggling up, pressing against her side with a warmth that was very juxtaposed to Lucy's more frigid aura. 

Kipperlilly cracked open one eye to confirm her suspicions. Mary Ann, her usual impassive expression softened in sleepiness, had tucked herself in close, pressing against Kipperlilly’s chest. In one hand, Mary Ann clutched a well-loved plush frog, its green fabric faded, clearly worn from years of companionship. 

A faint smile tugged at Kipperlilly’s lips, and she closed her eyes again as she settled into the comfortable cocoon formed by her two friends. Whatever fears or frustrations had filled her earlier now seemed smaller and held at bay. She let her thoughts drift and finally, sleep took her. 

The jagged peaks of the Mountains of Chaos loomed like ancient giants, their stone faces weathered and scarred from centuries of wind and snow. Each step up the steep slopes felt heavier than the last, the air growing thinner, colder, as Kipperlilly led the group higher. Finding Kalvaxus’s Lair had taken days—a grueling, exhausting journey through crumbling paths and narrow, dizzying cliffs. But they made it, driven forward by the promise of completing their mission and proving, if only to themselves, that they belonged here. 

When they finally reached the entrance, the lair was eerily silent. A gaping maw carved into the mountainside, hidden beneath jagged stone spires that reached toward the sky like broken teeth. Kipperlilly squinted at the spires. She had heard the stories—everyone at school knew them. Seven Maidens chained to these stones, waiting to be sacrificed to Kalvaxus, the dragon tyrant. The Bad Kids had swooped in and saved the day, slaying the dragon in the gym while the Maidens freed themselves and returned to Elmville to become a rather formidable adventuring party. 

But Kipperlilly wasn’t here to revel in someone else’s victory. They were here to clean up the mess that was left behind. Kalvaxus might be gone, but his followers, the eight remaining fanatics who refused to leave the lair, were still squatting here, clinging to the remnants of their fallen leader’s power. 

The infiltration itself had gone surprisingly smooth. Too smooth, Kipperlilly thought. The palimpsests glowed faintly in her pack, each one holding one of the eight remaining followers inside. Capturing them had been more luck than skill, really—just a matter of catching them off guard and picking them off one by one. 

Turns out, without their dragon leader, these so-called followers were useless. Barely a challenge. No traps, no strategy. Just idiots, clinging to faded robes and a failed dream. 

Kipperlilly crouched behind a boulder at the edge of the lair’s cavern, her breath slow and steady, her heart thudding in her chest. The last palimpsest clicked shut with a soft hum, locking in the final follower—a scraggly half-orc muttering nonsense about “the return of the master.” Kipperlilly shook her head. It was almost pitiful. 

Almost. 

Ivy whispered from behind her. “That’s all of them, right? Eight for eight?” 

Kipperlilly gave a small nod, exhaling slowly. “Yep. All locked up.” 

Ruben strolled over, his guitar slung casually over his shoulder. He looked more like he’d just come from a lazy afternoon jam session than a week-long quest through dangerous mountains. “Well, that was... underwhelming,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Oisin adjusted his glasses, peering into the cavern beyond. “Honestly, I expected more resistance. But I’m not complaining.” 

Mary Ann stood beside him, her expression as blank as ever. “Idiots,” she said simply. 

Kipperlilly rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the knots that had settled there over the last few days. She could feel the exhaustion creeping in, her limbs heavy and aching. But more than that, there was an uneasy knot twisting in her chest—something deeper, sharper, that had been building since they arrived at the lair. 

She scanned the seven spires of stone that encircled the lair, her gaze lingering on the weathered chains still bolted to them. The place was eerie, like the very rocks carried the memory of what had happened here. The Maidens had broken their chains, freed themselves before they were killed—but standing here now, Kipperlilly could almost feel the weight of those shackles. 

The school loved to romanticize it. The victory, the heroism. The triumph of the Bad Kids. But all Kipperlilly saw was a mess. A mess they had been sent to clean up. 

A job. A chore. Picking up the scraps that no one else wanted to deal with.

Ivy nudged her gently with her elbow, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Hey,” she said. “We did good. You know that, right?” 

Kipperlilly forced a grin, though it felt tight and uncomfortable on her face. “Yeah. I know.” 

But the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. 

Lucy appeared at her side, handing out water skins and jerky as if the whole thing had been a picnic. “Well, at least we didn’t have to fight a dragon,” she said cheerfully, her eyes sparkling. 

Ruben flopped down on a nearby rock, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Honestly, I feel a little cheated,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Where’s the epic showdown? The thrilling climax?” 

“Not every quest gets a climax,” Mary Ann muttered, settling onto a boulder with her arms crossed. 

Kipperlilly snorted, though her heart wasn’t really in it. “Welcome to the glamorous life of adventuring.” 

Her heart thudded harder in her chest, a flicker of anger rising with each beat. She had fought for this. Earned it. But it hadn’t been handed to them—not like it had for the Bad Kids. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Ivy must have sensed the shift in her mood, because she nudged her again, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, grateful for the excuse to leave. They gathered their things in silence, the only sound the soft clink of the palimpsests in her bag and the scuffling of pebbles underfoot. 

The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing into the cool mountain air. The stars stretched wide above them, glimmering pinpricks against the black sky, and the forest around their camp hummed with the subtle sounds of night creatures stirring. Kipperlilly sat cross-legged on the ground, her back slightly hunched as exhaustion settled into her bones. The days of journey back to the jeep had been long and brutal, every step a reminder of how much their bodies ached, but they made it. 

Now, the six of them sat in a loose circle around the fire, each one slumped with the kind of weariness that came after a hard-won quest. Their gear lay scattered around the camp, boots kicked off in messy piles, backpacks unceremoniously slung against the jeep’s tires. They’d earned this rest. 

Oisin took a sip from his water skin, his glasses slightly crooked from the trek. He pushed them up with one clawed finger and leaned back against a log. “Well,” he said. “We have to get an A for that, at least. That was seamless.” 

Kipperlilly’s lips twitched into a smile. He was right. They’d done everything right—quick, efficient, non-lethal. The palimpsests sat safely tucked away, each one glowing faintly with the captured remnants of Kalvaxus’s followers, ready to be handed over to the authorities. 

But the smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. Because as seamless as it was, it wasn’t exactly world-saving. No grave dangers, no apocalypses averted. Just some loose ends tied up in the shadow of someone else’s glory.

Ivy, stretched out beside her with her head propped up on one hand, sighed. “I thought it would be... more,” she said quietly, her gaze flickering toward the fire. “I don’t know. A C-class quest is important, but...” 

Lucy, sitting cross-legged with her chin resting on her hands, shot a glance across the fire toward Kipperlilly. Kipperlilly knew exactly what Lucy was thinking. They were all thinking it, really—this gnawing feeling that, no matter what they did, it would never be enough. 

Lucy exhaled slowly, her frost-blue skin shimmering faintly in the firelight. “I heard the Bad Kids are retrieving the crown of the Nightmare King,” she said. “You know, to stop him from rising again.” 

Ruben, who had been absentmindedly poking the fire with a stick, let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, and the Maidens are off stopping some Eidolon from causing an apocalypse.” He twirled the stick between his fingers, his grin sharp and lopsided. “They’re even getting permission to graduate early because of it. Aguefort and that missing superintendent signed off on it.” 

Mary Ann, her tail flicking behind her, let out a low, unimpressed grunt. “They all suck,” she muttered. 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh at that, nudging Mary Ann’s shoulder with her own. “Finally,” she said with a grin. “Something we can all agree on.” 

The laughter spread around the fire and Kipperlilly leaned back on her hands, tilting her head toward the sky. The stars twinkled above them, indifferent to their frustrations, and for a brief moment, it felt like they could laugh the night away. Then, as the laughter faded, that small part of Kipperlilly's defiant conscience started to stir. 

They had easily completed that quest with no casualties at all. That, she was sure, was probably a first for the history books at Aguefort. They had the skills they needed to be outstanding if given the chance. They had proved that, so if efficiency wasn't the key to getting noticed, maybe starting as upperclassmen with a bang would.

Kipperlilly sat forward, the firelight casting sharp shadows on her determined expression. “We’re just as good as they are,” she said edged with the slightest hint of defiance. 

The others turned to look at her with curiosity, waiting for her to continue. 

“We might not have the backstories,” Kipperlilly continued, her gaze sweeping across the circle. “Or the favoritism, but we could be twice as good as any of them if we work hard enough.” 

Lucy nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Kip’s right,” she said. “She got us this quest because she asked for better. We should all be more like that.” She paused, letting the words digest. “Grades are one thing, but you don’t save the world just because you get good grades.” 

“Yeah,” Mary Ann muttered, stretching her arms over her head. “Nerds.” 

Oisin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

Lucy leaned toward the fire, the flames casting flickering patterns on her skin. “I mean we’ve been doing some extra training with Ivy’s dad,” she said, glancing at Ivy, who gave a small nod. “Maybe we should make that a thing. Not just the stuff they teach us in classes. Something more.” 

Kipperlilly smirked and shot a glance at Ruben, who was still fiddling with his stick. “Maybe you should actually start showing up, Ruben.” 

Ruben grinned, leaning back on his elbows, the embers glowing in his wide, brown eyes. “About that...” he said, dragging out the words. “I’ve been sitting on something cool for a while. Wanted to keep it a secret until it was set in stone.” 

The group perked up, curiosity piqued. 

“What secret?” Oisin asked, raising an eyebrow ridge. 

Ruben grinned, a mischievous spark flickering in his expression. “Those family dinners I keep having?” he said. “I’ve actually been sneaking out to the Black Pit.” 

Lucy's eyes widened. “What?” 

The Black Pit wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find someone like Ruben—a dark, seedy nightclub buried deep in the city, filled with loud music and questionable company. 

“I like the music,” Ruben said with a shrug. “But I met some guys there. We’re starting a band.” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, a grin spreading across her face. “You have been wearing more black lately.”

Ivy let out a laugh. “Finally! I hated keeping that to myself, Rue!” 

Ruben shrugged again, though there was a hint of pride in the way his grin stretched wider. “It’s nothing compared to the Cig Figs, but... it could be something.” 

Kipperlilly leaned back on her hands, her grin lazy and confident. “No,” she said. “You’re going to be better than them.” 

Ruben ducked his head, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips as if he didn’t want to admit how much Kipperlilly’s words meant to him. The firelight danced over his messy curls, making his eyes glint with something warm—hope, maybe. Or pride. Ivy, still lounging with her legs stretched out by the fire, gave a small, satisfied nod. 

“We all will be,” Ivy said with a newfound certainty, like it was a promise to herself just as much as it was to the group. 

Oisin shifted beside the fire, pulling his long tail closer to keep it from the flames. He looked at Kipperlilly with that familiar, analytical gaze of his—the one that said he was already running through scenarios and probabilities in his mind. “What do we need to do, Kip?” he asked. 

Kipperlilly let the question settle, her mind clicking into gear like a well-oiled machine. It was math, really. And she was good at math. Plans, numbers, organization—it all fit together in her head. She could already see the shape of it, the outline of something bigger than any quest they’d been on so far. 

She sat up straighter, her eyes sharp as she scanned her friends, reading their body language, their focus. They were ready for this. More ready than anyone would ever give them credit for. 

“If we spend three hours every school day,” Kipperlilly began, her voice steady, “and nine hours every weekend training together outside of class, that’s already more than the average Class A quest prep.” 

Lucy leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her loose hair falling into her eyes. “And for the summer?” she asked eagerly. 

Kipperlilly grinned, feeling the momentum building, like the fire in her chest had just found fuel. “We push it harder,” she said. “More hours. More practice. We’ll work until we’re better than anyone expects.” 

Oisin smirked, his sharp teeth peeking out, and a faint curl of smoke drifted from his nostrils. “I’ve been reading up on battle casting,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I’ll need to bulk up to pull it off, but I can do it.” 

“I’ve been thinking about multiclassing,” Ivy added thoughtfully, her fingers absently toying with the ends of her braid. “Maybe arcane archery. Something that gives me more range.” 

Lucy’s lips curled into a slow smile. “My family has some old magic tucked away,” she said. “I can ask my parents about it. Might be time to see if I can put it to use.” 

All eyes turned to Ruben. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, his grin as lazy as ever. “I’m in,” he said with a shrug, as if he’d never even considered saying no. 

Kipperlilly looked at each of them in turn—And as she looked at them, that fire in her chest flared hotter. But it wasn’t the anger she carried so often, the frustration she fought to keep in check. This was different. This was determination. Drive. The absolute certainty that they were going to prove everyone wrong. 

“That settles it then,” Kipperlilly said, her grin sharp. “Let’s make the Far Haven Woods our bitch.” 

Mary Ann, who had been sitting quietly, raised her hand, holding it steady in the air between them. Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh. She slapped her hand against Mary Ann’s in a sharp, satisfying high five, the sound echoing through the quiet night. 

The fire crackled, throwing sparks up toward the star-filled sky. Around them, the forest whispered with the wind through the branches, and the world felt wide open—full of possibilities. 

They didn’t need anyone’s permission. They didn’t need anyone’s approval. 

Ruben tossed his stick into the fire, watching it catch and curl into embers. “Well,” he said with a grin, “guess we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” 

Ivy shot him a playful look. “That’s not going to stop you from sleeping in every chance you get, is it?” 

Ruben shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe." 

As they began to settle in for the night, rolling out bedrolls and adjusting their blankets, Kipperlilly lay back on her own bedroll, her hands tucked behind her head. The stars stretched endlessly above her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel like she was chasing after someone else’s shadow. 

They had their own path now. 

And they were going to carve it into the world, one step at a time. 

The air in Jawbone’s office was warm and faintly scented with the tea that steamed gently from the cup on his desk. Kipperlilly sat in the same chair she always did, legs crossed, back straight, smoothing out the hem of her pleated skirt over her knee. Across from her, Jawbone—claws clicking gently as he thumbed through her file—sat leaned back in his chair, his wolfish snout twitching with every breath. 

He flipped a page with one claw and let out a low whistle through his sharp teeth. “A+ on your Spring Break project!” he said, glancing up from the file. “On a class C quest, no less. Bet that feels good, don’t it?” 

Kipperlilly gave a small shrug, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Top grades in all my classes, too,” she added. “And honorable mentions in my extracurriculars.” 

Jawbone grinned wide, his yellow eyes crinkling at the edges as he leaned forward. “All in all, sounds like a good school year. Good job, kiddo.” 

Kipperlilly smoothed her skirt again, letting herself enjoy the moment. She’d worked hard—harder than anyone knew—and hearing it finally acknowledged made warmth settle in her chest. 

Jawbone’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his ears tilting slightly. “Last day of the year,” he said casually, folding the file shut and setting it aside. “Anything exciting planned for the summer, eh?” 

Kipperlilly clasped her hands in her lap. “Training,” she said, as if the answer were obvious. 

One of Jawbone’s shaggy eyebrows lifted. “Oh really?” 

“We’ve been training every day after school since we got back,” she explained. “We’ll spend most of the summer in the woods.” 

Jawbone let out a huff of laughter, his claws tapping lightly against the desk. “What about havin’ some fun? You know, like normal kids?” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head slightly. “Training is fun.”

Jawbone barked out a laugh, the deep sound filling the small office. “If you say so.” He lifted his tea mug, taking a slow sip as his tail swayed behind his chair. Then, with a heavy sigh, he folded his claws together on the desk, his expression softening. “Sorry the, uh... sessions with Porter didn’t work out for ya,” 

Kipperlilly shifted slightly, crossing her legs the other way. “What did he tell you?” 

Jawbone scratched the back of his neck, the fur ruffling under his claws. “Said you couldn’t tap into the rage.” 

Kipperlilly scoffed bitterly. “Did he now?” 

Jawbone adjusted his glasses, his ears flicking back in mild irritation. “Come to think of it, he didn’t wanna talk to ol’ Jawbone about it too much. Weird fella, that guy.” 

Kipperlilly let out a short laugh, more of a scoff, and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Going into a rage wasn’t the problem.” Her smile curled at the edges. “Staying out of it was.”

Jawbone’s grin faded into something more thoughtful, his ears twitching as he leaned closer. “Funny thing,” he murmured. “’Cause I did think about that before I suggested it.” 

Kipperlilly’s eyes narrowed. “I thought about murdering someone, you know?” 

Jawbone’s ears perked slightly, though he didn’t flinch. “Yeah? Well,” he said with a wry grin. “They do train y’all to do that here.”

Kipperlilly’s gaze didn’t waver. “It was another student.” 

Jawbone’s relaxed demeanor shattered in an instant. He choked on his tea, coughing violently as the hot liquid sputtered down his snout. His claws scrambled for a napkin as he coughed again, ears pinned back in shock. 

“You what?” he croaked, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Kipperlilly’s expression remained calm, almost serene. “I thought about it,” she repeated evenly. “Came pretty close, too.” 

Jawbone stared at her, blinking rapidly as if she had just announced she’d won the lottery and burned the winnings in the same breath. “Well, uh...” He cleared his throat, setting the tea mug down as gently as if it might explode. “I mean... that’s... not ideal.” 

Kipperlilly leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes gleaming with something that danced on the edge of humor and seriousness. “He deserved it,” she said simply. 

Jawbone watched her carefully, as if weighing his next words. “You didn’t do it, though,” he said slowly, folding his hands together again. “That counts for somethin’.” 

Kipperlilly shrugged, tapping her fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. “I guess.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ticking of the wall clock filled the silence. For the briefest of moments, Kipperlilly wondered if she had said too much. These sessions were confidential, but confidentiality only reminded so up to a certain extent. Finally, Jawbone sighed and leaned back in his chair, his tail thumping lightly against the floor. 

“Well,” he said softer now. “Anger’s a tricky beast, Kip. Takes time to figure out how to live with it without lettin’ it take over. Look at me. I didn't plan on becoming this, but I now I'm all out here making a statement.”

Kipperlilly studied Jawbone, tilting her head just slightly as she tried to piece him together. She had always wondered why he chose to walk around like this—in his hybrid form, half-man, half-wolf—rather than blending in with his human appearance like most other werewolves she’d met. There was no bloodlust in his amber eyes, no ferocity in his posture. He was relaxed, a far cry from the stories she’d read in books about werewolves succumbing to the primal urges that came with the transformation. 

“How do you do it?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could second-guess it. Jawbone blinked, his ears twitching slightly. For a moment, she thought she’d caught him off guard, like he wasn’t used to students asking him about him, rather than dumping their issues on his desk.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well... wasn’t easy at first.” His voice was soft, as if he were pulling memories up from somewhere deep and heavy. “Spent a lot of years runnin’ with some real characters. Drugs, sex, whatever trouble we could find. Wasn’t much off the table.” 

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, his tail swaying slowly behind him. “Not havin’ healthcare back then was a real bitch, too. Barely a day went by without thinkin’ about bitin’ someone’s head off.” He gave a huff of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “Hell, I wasn’t a nice guy back then.” 

Kipperlilly listened, her sharp mind soaking in every word, every detail. She could almost see it—Jawbone, wild and angry, navigating the chaos of a life without structure, without support. It wasn’t hard to imagine. 

He ran a clawed hand over his face, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “But I grew out of it, I guess. Had to. My niece was relyin’ on me, and, well... didn’t matter how I felt. Had to put food on the table.” 

Kipperlilly frowned slightly, her hands tightening in her lap. She could picture that, too—Jawbone, dragging himself through the day, fighting the wolf inside him, not because he wanted to but because someone else needed him to. 

“And slowly,” he continued, “I lost that taste for blood, y’know? Tamed the wolf long before I ended up here.” He tapped his temple lightly. “Got on the meds I needed once I landed this gig, but by then... most of the work was already done.” 

She chewed on his words for a moment, letting them roll around in her mind like marbles in a jar. “And it took years?”

Jawbone gave her a small, knowing smile. “It did. But I didn’t have anyone good in my corner back then. That makes all the difference.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, his claws folded together. “Being around good people—folks who care. Having a future you actually wanna chase. Family. Friends you can talk to. That’s the real medicine right there.” 

Kipperlilly pressed her lips together, her jaw tight. She didn’t like admitting it, but there was truth in what he said. Jawbone’s sharp eyes softened as he watched her wrestle with her thoughts. 

“You’ll find what works for you, kiddo,” he said gently. “Using the anger wasn’t the key. But we’ll get there.”

Kipperlilly glanced down at her hands, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles. She gave him a small nod, not trusting herself to say more. Jawbone’s grin widened just a little, his sharp teeth glinting in the soft light of the office. 

“Good talk,” he said with a playful growl, reaching for his tea. 

Kipperlilly stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and as she reached the door, Jawbone called after her. 

“Hey, Kip.” 

She turned, raising an eyebrow. 

Jawbone’s grin was sly. “No murderin’ anyone over the summer.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I'll keep that in mind,” 

Jawbone chuckled, low and warm, as she slipped out the door. 

Kipperlilly knelt by her locker, fingers working efficiently as she pulled out the few remaining notebooks and neatly stacked them into her bag. The locker was already spotless—of course it was. She’d kept it organized all year, every textbook and note perfectly aligned. As the last book slid into place, she gave the inside of the door one final glance, ensuring nothing was out of order. Clean and precise. Just how she liked it. 

Beside her, Lucy sat cross-legged on the linoleum floor, flipping through a worn magazine about ancient relics that someone had shoved in a class cubby and never claimed. Her hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights as she twirled a strand absentmindedly. 

"We're still meeting tonight, right?" Lucy asked without looking up from the page. 

Kipperlilly zipped her bag shut, slinging it over her shoulder. "Yep. Thought we could all bring something to eat. Celebrate finishing the year." 

Mary Ann, perched next to them with her legs stretched out in front of her. “I want mango soda,” she said, deadpan as ever, though Kipperlilly caught the subtle glint of anticipation in her face. 

Kipperlilly nudged Mary Ann’s shoulder playfully, and though her friend’s expression didn’t change much, her snout curled slightly in what could almost be called a smile. Small victories. 

Lucy grinned, her eyes flicking over to Ruben, who was half-buried in his locker. “Ruben?” she called sweetly. 

Kipperlilly turned to look, just in time to see Ruben shoveling a chaotic mess of sheet music and crumpled papers into his backpack. His earbuds were in, loud rock music leaking through them like a buzzing static that made it impossible for him to hear anything else. 

Mary Ann let out a heavy huff, her tail flicking once before she stomped on Ruben’s foot without hesitation. 

Ruben yelped, nearly tripping over his own shoes as he pulled out an earbud. “Jeez! What??” 

Lucy smiled with exaggerated sweetness. “Snacks tonight?” 

Ruben rubbed his foot, grumbling under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Ow.” 

Kipperlilly tried not to laugh, but the chuckle slipped out anyway. Ruben shot her a mock-offended look, though he was already grinning through it. The chatter of students echoed through the hall as the last day of school buzzed with restless energy—lockers slamming, friends hugging goodbye, and plans being made for the summer ahead. 

That was, until she heard a booming voice from down the hall.

“Wooo! Ya boy is freakin’ graduating! Hell yeah!!”

Kipperlilly groaned as she spotted Ragh Barkrock thundering down the corridor, beating his chest like a rabid gorilla. His broad, muscular frame took up nearly half the hall as he barreled forward, his orcish grin stretching wide enough to reveal his tusks. He was followed by the rest of the infamous crew—the Bad Kids—each one of them beaming like they had just saved the world. Again. Because they had. 

Fabian Aramais Seacaster strutted beside Ragh, his letterman jacket slung casually over his shoulder, while Fig laughed loudly as she high-fived students along the way. Gorgug, as always, was a little awkward with his gangly limbs, but his grin was pure and genuine. Riz jogged ahead, slapping palms with anyone who extended a hand, as if the hallway had transformed into a parade of fans just for them. 

Applause followed them like a wave, rippling through the hallway as students cheered and clapped, feeding off the energy the group carried with them like it was contagious. 

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose, muttering under her breath. “Oh please...”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at her, the edges of her lips curling in amusement. “Did you see their Instagram?” 

Kipperlilly let out a long, suffering sigh. “Unfortunately.” 

Lucy flipped the magazine closed, her gaze steady but amused. “I dislike them too, but you have to admit...” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. 

Kipperlilly knew exactly what Lucy meant—everyone at Aguefort Adventuring Academy had been talking about the Bad Kids’ Spring Break adventures. How they’d ventured deep into the Forest of the Nightmare King, fought in a pirate war across Leviathan, and infiltrated Calethriel Tower. How they’d freed Sylvaire from the Nightmare King’s curse and brought back a long-forgotten goddess.

It was all anyone had talked about since they got back. And, honestly, Kipperlilly was sick of it. 

“They should have failed. They finished their quest late.,” Kipperlilly muttered, watching as Ragh high-fived a nearby student with so much force the poor kid stumbled backward.

Beside her, Lucy leaned casually against the lockers, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, well… Principal Aguefort—” 

Kipperlilly shot her a look and held up a hand, silencing her mid-sentence. She could feel that uncomfortable rock settle deep in her stomach, the simmering annoyance she worked so hard to keep in check. She knew Lucy could see it, too—the way her jaw tightened just slightly, the way her fingers drummed against her arm. 

Lucy stopped talking but gave Kipperlilly a small, knowing look, like she’d seen this before. They all had. 

Kipperlilly’s gaze drifted back to the scene in front of her—the fanfare and noise that swirled around The Bad Kids like a cyclone. And then, weaving through the chaos, she spotted two other figures walking at the edge of the crowd: Adaine, with her usual calm demeanor, and Kristen Applebees, looking uncharacteristically subdued. 

Kristen was wearing a new tie-dye shirt, this one streaked with deep purples and blues, but there was none of her usual energy behind it. Her steps were slow, her shoulders slightly hunched, and she kept her eyes on the floor as they walked. 

Kipperlilly frowned, her gaze lingering on Kristen longer than she intended. “What’s wrong with that one?” she asked. 

Lucy shrugged, brushing a strand of her icy-blue hair out of her face. “No idea.” 

Mary Ann, without looking up from her game, chimed in from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. “The wolf girl broke up with her.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, turning to Mary Ann. “How do you know that?” 

Mary Ann’s snout twitched, her eyes glued to her screen as her tiny pixelated creature hopped across the virtual landscape. “I know everything,” she said flatly. 

Kipperlilly exchanged a glance with Ruben, who gave her a half-shrug, his messy curls falling into his eyes. “I mean, she’s not wrong,” he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. 

Before Kipperlilly could respond, a warm voice spoke from behind them. 

“Quite the display.” 

Kipperlilly turned to see Oisin standing there, his lanky frame slightly hunched under the weight of the stack of books he was carrying. His round glasses slid down his snout, and he gave them a small, tired smile as he readjusted the books in his arms. 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. “Animals, honestly. All of them.” 

Oisin smirked slightly as he shifted the books again. “Anyone heard from Ivy yet?” 

They all shook their heads, a brief moment of silence falling over the group. Kipperlilly felt a tug at her wrist and glanced down to see Mary Ann pulling her sleeve, her tiny clawed finger pointing toward the end of the hallway. 

“What?” Kipperlilly asked, following Mary Ann’s gaze. 

Her stomach twisted sharply when she saw Ivy—their Ivy—standing just down the hall, leaning in close to a scrawny drow boy with long, shaggy white hair. And then, before Kipperlilly could process what was happening, Ivy tilted her head and kissed him.

“Who the hell is that?” she asked flatly. 

Oisin adjusted his glasses, squinting slightly. “That’s Max,” he said. “He’s in the warlock program.” 

Lucy’s grin was instant, playful and bright. “Get it, Ivy!” she whispered under her breath, nudging Kipperlilly’s side. 

Kipperlilly scowled, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. She didn’t understand the appeal. What was the point of kissing someone, anyway? Boys were awkward, messy, and—more often than not—infuriating. 

“Gross,” Kipperlilly muttered, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she glanced back toward Ivy and the drow boy. 

Lucy tilted her head, her frost-blue hair spilling over her shoulder like a wave. “I don’t know... I guess he’s kind of cute.” 

Ruben snorted, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. “If you’re blind.” 

They all laughed—Lucy’s light and musical, Ruben’s full of mischief, even Mary Ann’s quiet huff of amusement. But Kipperlilly didn’t join in. She kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mind churning. The last thing any of them needed right now was distractions. They had plans—important ones—and Ivy making time for some random warlock felt like a waste. Summer wasn’t for dating. It was for training.

As if on cue, Ivy strolled over to them, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The drow, Max, lingered near the end of the hallway for a moment longer, watching her leave before turning and disappearing into the crowd. 

“Ready to get going?” Ivy asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. 

Ruben grinned wickedly. “We were waiting for you to finish eating the warlock’s face.” 

Ivy rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a blush crept onto her cheeks. “Come on... It wasn’t like that.” 

Before anyone could respond, Lucy looped her arm through Ivy’s, already steering her down the hallway with the enthusiasm of someone who lived for gossip. “Tell me absolutely everything,” Lucy demanded, her voice brimming with excitement. 

Ivy shrugged, though there was an easy grin on her face now. “He just asked me out. It’s really not a big deal.” 

Kipperlilly felt a sharp twinge in her chest but ignored it, forcing her expression to stay neutral. “Just don’t start inviting him to the woods with us.” 

Ivy glanced over her shoulder, her smile turning sly. “Absolutely not. Warlocks creep me out.” 

Oisin, walking beside them with his usual calm demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “So... why are you dating him?” 

Ivy gave another shrug, like the answer was the simplest thing in the world. “He’s kinda hot.” 

That earned a round of laughter from the group—easy and infectious. Even Oisin cracked a rare grin. But Kipperlilly didn’t laugh. The whole situation just rubbed her the wrong way. It was just... inconvenient. 

Mary Ann, who had been silent for most of the conversation, spoke up. “Jawbone’s hot.” 

The words were so unexpected, so matter-of-fact, that Kipperlilly couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of her. It was sharp and sudden, catching even her off guard. 

“Okay,” Kipperlilly said, still chuckling. “I wasn’t ready for that.” 

The others dissolved into laughter, too—Lucy clutching Ivy’s arm as she gasped for breath, Ruben leaning against a locker for support. Even Oisin let out a low, breathy chuckle. Mary Ann just blinked, her expression unchanged, as if she hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary at all. 

They reached the front doors of the school, the bright afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass and warming the linoleum beneath their feet. Outside, the summer stretched wide and full of promise. 

Kipperlilly adjusted her backpack, the weight of it comforting against her shoulders. “Come on,” she said, nudging the door open with her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Mary Ann fell into step beside Kipperlilly, her expression calm and steady. “I want mango soda,” she reminded, as if that was the most pressing issue on her mind. 

Kipperlilly smiled—small but genuine. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got you.” 

Kipperlilly glanced up at the sky, feeling the warmth on her face. The knot in her chest was still there, but for now, it was quiet. She had a summer ahead of her, full of training, plans, and possibilities—and she wasn’t about to let anything, or anyone, get in the way of that. For now, though, there were more important things to focus on. 

Like mango soda. 

Chapter Text

Summer of the Endless Night:

First Month

Kipperlilly leaned back against the rough bark of a towering oak, her small figure nestled in the crook of the tree’s sprawling branches. She swung her legs lazily in the air, her boot-clad feet barely visible against the backdrop of endless night. The thick canopy of the Far Haven Woods was speckled with pinpricks of light from glowing fungi, causing faint, eerie glows in shades of violet and pale blue. Not a single sunbeam broke through the thick blackness that had settled across the world since The Bad Kids' latest debacle. 

She narrowed her eyes, staring down at her party as they trained in the clearing below. Oisin was bracing himself, arms outstretched, fingers moving with precise, practiced gestures. His whole body tensed as shimmering magic began to swirl and coalesce at his fingertips, the air crackling with energy. His newly acquired rune tattoos, barely a week old, pulsed faintly, glowing with an ethereal light that made them stand out against the blue of his scales. His eyes flickered up for a moment, meeting Kipperlilly’s from below, and he smirked. 

Kipperlilly remembered the day he had gotten the tattoos like it was yesterday. 

“What do you think?” Oisin had asked with a casual flex, showing off his newly bulging arms, the freshly etched runes shimmering in the Copperkettle kitchen. 

Kipperlilly had raised a brow, biting back a smirk as she leaned back in her chair. 

“Father plane shifted us to Leviathan to get them done,” he added. 

“The pirate island?” Kipperlilly had crossed her arms, her eyes flicking over the intricate designs. The idea of Oisin, of all people, on a pirate-infested island was quite the juxtaposition. 

Oisin shrugged, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “My grandfather lived out there for a while. Thought I’d pay tribute.” 

“Sure, a tribute,” Kipperlilly had teased, leaning forward to trace her finger along one of the glowing runes. She could feel the magic humming beneath her touch, alive and powerful. 

“They’re great,” she’d said, genuinely impressed. 

He’d winked at her. “Just wait until you see what they can do.” 

Now, back in the present, she watched as Oisin braced himself, his concentration sharp as a blade. Ivy, standing a good fifty feet away, raised her longbow in the practiced, fluid motion of a hunter who had spent her entire life in the woods. Her eyes narrowed in on her target—Oisin’s magical shield—as she released the arrow. The faint whistle of it cutting through the air was the only sound in the stillness of the woods. 

The arrow burst into flames mid-flight, and Kipperlilly could feel the heat from it even from her vantage point in the tree. The arrow struck Oisin’s shield with a resounding crack, followed by an almighty explosion that shook the ground. Smoke billowed out from the impact, but as the dust cleared, Oisin stood firm, unharmed, and smiling beneath his magical barrier. 

"Show off," Kipperlilly muttered under her breath, a small grin tugging at her lips despite herself. 

From her perch, she could see the subtle shift in Ivy's posture, her lips curling up in a half-smile. The wood elf ranger slung her bow over her shoulder with an air of satisfaction, but Kipperlilly knew that beneath the composed exterior, Ivy was seething with competitiveness. It was the same competitiveness that Kipperlilly herself felt when a challenge was presented. That hunger to be the best, to prove you were the sharpest, the fastest, the most deadly. 

"How's that for accuracy?" Ivy called out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her voice was smooth, as if she hadn’t just caused a mini-explosion moments earlier. 

Oisin flexed again, shaking the remnants of magical energy off his arms. "Impressive. But next time, maybe try to make it a little more difficult for me?" 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes at their playful banter. The two of them were always like this now—always pushing, always challenging each other. But there was a warmth to it, a camaraderie that made her stomach twist, like she was watching something she wasn’t quite a part of. She didn't envy their dynamic, exactly. She just...observed it from a distance. 

The endless night that had descended over their world wasn’t so much a problem for Kipperlilly as it was an opportunity. Endless darkness made for excellent stealth training, after all. The problem wasn’t the darkness. The problem was The Bad Kids. Again. 

She scowled at the thought. Every time something went wrong in the world, it seemed like it could be traced back to them. Some ancient evil released, some cursed object stolen, some catastrophic event unfolding. And here they were again, off trekking across the Red Waste, tracking down this so-called “Night Yorb” to fix what they had broken. Meanwhile, everyone else—including her and her team—was left to pick up the pieces, left to live in this endless night. 

“Can you even believe they did it again?” Kipperlilly muttered to herself, though no one was close enough to hear her grumbling. She shook her head, gripping the branch a little tighter. 

Down below, the training continued, but Kipperlilly's thoughts wandered, irritated. She hated waiting. Hated that everything seemed to revolve around The Bad Kids and their messes. Sure, they were supposedly the ‘heroes’ of Aguefort, but Kipperlilly had her doubts. If anything, she thought, they were more like harbingers of chaos. 

“Now turn around and let me hit you in the ass!” Ivy called out from below, cutting through the cool, heavy air of the endless night. 

Kipperlilly snorted, amused despite herself. She had been miles away, lost in her spiraling irritation about The Bad Kids—again—and Ivy’s brash interruption was the exact thing to pull her back to reality. From her spot in the tree, she could see the mischievous smirk on Ivy’s face as she lowered her bow, clearly pleased with herself. 

“Dream on, Ivy,” Oisin piped up from where he stood, stretching his arms overhead with a grin. “I’ve been working on the glutes all summer!” He turned slightly, flexing for emphasis. 

Ivy shot him a mock-serious look, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly. I want to be the one on the team with the juicy ass.” 

That made Kipperlilly laugh as she watched the jaunting display. As much as she wasn’t the biggest fan of Ivy’s new warlock boyfriend—Max, the overtly skinny drow with a cloud of cigarette smoke always trailing him—she couldn’t deny the confidence boost Ivy had gotten since they started dating. Something had shifted inside her, and gone was the shy, survivalist girl who’d spent most of her time quietly in the background. Now, Ivy was squaring up to be a heartbreaker, and everyone could see it. 

Kipperlilly stole a quick glance at Ivy. Her friend was lounging against a tree, her cropped top revealing a toned stomach, her hair now chopped short and jagged, adding to the overall fierce vibe she had going on. It was a far cry from the Ivy she’d known at the start of their friendship. 

It had been just a week into their summer training sessions when Ivy had approached her with a determined look in her eye, holding Kipperlilly’s own dagger out to her. 

“Just cut it off,” Ivy had said, thrusting the blade toward her. 

Kipperlilly blinked, staring at Ivy’s long, thick braid. “Your whole braid?” 

Ivy nodded, her face resolute. “It gets in the way when I notch arrows. Dad always said I should keep it in case I ever needed kindling for a fire, but I can literally set fires with magic now. What’s the point?” 

Still, Kipperlilly had hesitated, her fingers curling around the braid. It was smooth, the strands woven tightly together like a memory of the Ivy she used to know. A quiet part of her wondered if cutting it off would mean more than just a haircut. 

But Ivy’s eyes were shining with conviction. “Come on, Kip. I’ll look hot.” 

And she wasn’t wrong. After Kipperlilly had sliced through the thick braid, Ivy had run her fingers through the uneven, jagged edges, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Since then, Ivy had truly leaned into this new version of herself. She’d swapped out her cargo pants for crop tops and skinny jeans, traded in her practicality for something that felt more free, more her. Heads were definitely going to turn when they got back to Aguefort, Kipperlilly was sure of it. Even she had to admit that Ivy was coming into her own. 

Kipperlilly gave Ivy another quick look now, her sharp eyes scanning the treeline to see if Max was lurking around somewhere. She didn’t like the guy—not one bit. He was always hanging around like a bad smell, uninvited, leaning against trees with that stupid cigarette hanging from his lips. But this week, he seemed to be keeping his distance, and for that, Kipperlilly was grateful. Max had no business being around their training sessions. He wasn’t part of The High Five Heroes. He wasn’t even part of their friend group. 

Ivy might like him, but to Kipperlilly, Max was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience. 

An almighty crash rippled through the woods, causing the branches around Kipperlilly to quiver under her. She tightened her grip on the tree’s rough bark, craning her neck to find the source of the noise. It didn’t take long. Down in the clearing, Mary Ann—small and entirely unfazed—stood beside the remnants of yet another boulder, her hulking axe lodged deep into the rock. The thing was almost larger than she was, but Mary Ann wielded it like it was an extension of her body, which, to be fair, it kind of was. 

“Fucking watch it, Skuttle!” Ruben’s voice rang out from the other side of the clearing, his usual edge of irritation sharpened by the fact that debris from Mary Ann’s latest ‘accident’ had sent dust flying in his direction. He sat atop a nearby boulder, his electric guitar resting across his lap, brushing dirt off its sleek surface like it was made of glass.

When it came to summer glow-ups, Ruben Hopclap had undoubtedly taken the crown. The gnome bard had swapped out his simple mild-mannered outfits for ripped jeans, studded belts, and dark, edgy clothing that looked more at home in a smoke-filled bar than the woods. 

Ruben scowled, muttering under his breath as he ran a hand through his emo fringe, which had now grown long enough to cover one eye completely. Multiple piercings now adorned his ears and nose, the metallic glint reflecting the moonlight filtering through the trees. 

Kipperlilly let out a small snort, thinking back to just last night at The Black Pit, the underground venue that usually attracted all manor of unsavory types. The place reeked of sweat, beer, and something distinctly burned, but it didn’t matter. They’d all been crammed into the audience, a sea of bodies bouncing to the heavy beat of Ruben’s band, My Chemical Gnomance—the newest breakout act of Solace.

It was packed. Dark, humid and thick with excitement as they all jostled in the crowd. Kipperlilly had spent more time on her toes, trying to see over the taller moshers, than actually watching the performance. Still, she couldn’t deny that Ruben’s song, “In Space No One Can Feel You Dying,” was a hit. The bass thrummed through the floor, the guitars screamed through the amplifiers, and his voice—raspier than she expected—had captivated the audience.

Teenagers from all over Aguefort couldn’t get enough of his emo ballads, the kind of music that made you want to stare out a window dramatically and contemplate the meaning of life. Kipperlilly had tried to keep up with the dancing, but her eyes kept drifting back to the chaos of the crowd, particularly where Mary Ann had been. 

Crowd-surfing.

Tiny as she was, she’d been passed around effortlessly by the throng of teenagers, her expression never changing, not even when she was flipped upside down at one point. Kipperlilly had half expected her to flatten some poor kid with her firsts mid-air. But, of course, Mary Ann was as unbothered as ever. 

And now, here she was again, standing amidst the wreckage of another pulverized boulder, giving Ruben the most casual middle finger Kipperlilly had ever seen. No expression. No acknowledgment of the dust still settling around her. Just the slow, deliberate raise of her tiny red clawed hand. 

Ruben responded by striking a chord on his guitar with a flourish. The sound reverberated through the clearing, shattering another nearby boulder, which exploded into pieces and sent chunks of rock hurtling toward Mary Ann. 

Without missing a beat, Mary Ann hefted her axe and swung, cleaving through the largest pieces with the ease of someone cutting through warm butter. The remaining bits disintegrated into dust, floating away in the gentle breeze that blew through the trees. 

Kipperlilly’s lips twitched into a smile. She was glad Mary Ann hadn’t changed. Even with all their hard work over the summer, the kobold remained as stoic as ever, like an unmovable force in the chaos that was their lives. Kipperlilly appreciated that. It had taken her a long time to get used to Mary Ann just the way she was, and now she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Kipperlilly smirked to herself as she pulled out her crystal. Sitting back in her perch high up in the tree, she angled it downward, snapping a quick photograph of the group below. 

“Perfect,” Kipperlilly muttered under her breath as she inspected the shot. It would make for a good addition to the High Five Heroes Instagram account, where they’d been gaining traction thanks in no small part to Ruben’s many, many fangirls. She was glad for it, though. The more exposure they could get as a team, the better. They weren’t going to be overshadowed by The Bad Kids forever. 

With a few quick taps, she uploaded the photo, adding the caption: Training Day in the Endless Night.

She shifted her position on the branch, leaning back comfortably as she began scrolling through her Instagram feed. It was mostly the usual: fan art, other adventuring groups showing off their victories, and some oddly specific ads for new enchanted gear. But as she continued to scroll, her stomach twisted. 

She didn’t follow The Bad Kids—on her personal account or on the team one—but that didn’t stop their faces from haunting her feed. Instagram, in its infinite wisdom, loved to recommend posts from the academy’s golden group. The app seemed determined to remind Kipperlilly that no matter what she and her friends did, the shadow of The Bad Kids loomed large. And apparently, they were all over social media.

“Recommended post. I think not,” Kipperlilly grumbled as she thumbed past yet another picture of them, this time posing triumphantly in front of their stupid battered van. 

She tried to scroll faster, but it only made things worse. Post after post showed off their latest adventures. There was Fabian Seacaster, with his flimsy battle sheet posing like a complete idiot. Then there was another image of them posing with some horrific-looking crystal construct, all covered in battle grime. 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, already feeling the irritation creeping up her spine. Then she froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen, unwilling to scroll any further. 

Kristen Applebees. With her shirt off. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes flicked back to the image, and suddenly, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away. 

Kristen was standing with a wide grin, holding what looked like a massive, enchanted cannon above her head as if it weighed nothing. The girl in this picture wasn’t the awkward cleric Kipperlilly remembered. No. This Kristen was… ripped.

Kipperlilly blinked, her focus shifting to the muscles in Kristen’s arms, the way they bulged under her freckled skin as if she’d spent the last few months doing nothing but lifting weights. Her bare shoulders were glistening slightly, and Kipperlilly found her eyes tracing the defined lines of her biceps, the sharp curve of her collarbone. But it wasn’t just her arms. Kristen was wearing a sports bra—because of course, she would—revealing not only her arms but her abs, solid and cut in a way that made Kipperlilly pause. 

The V-shape that started at Kristen’s hips, right where her yellow track pants rested low on her waist, was… unfair. The pants were horrible—a shade of yellow so offensive that Kipperlilly would’ve normally laughed—but right now, they were the last thing on her mind.  Kristen looked wild. Rugged. Like she’d just walked off the battlefield, muscles gleaming under the remnants of dust and dirt, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and that same goofy grin plastered across her face. 

And Kipperlilly couldn’t stop staring. 

“What on earth…” she muttered to herself, her finger frozen above the screen. 

Kristen had never looked like this before. Or at least, not in Kipperlilly’s mind. The Kristen she remembered was a scrawny, goofy cleric with a mess of ginger hair and a fondness for the world’s ugliest church camp tie-dye shirts. She had always been… well, basic. Unassuming. Easy to ignore. But this?

Kipperlilly blinked hard, shaking her head like she could somehow knock herself out of this bizarre stupor. Why was she looking at her like this? She had never looked at Kristen Applebees like this.

Kipperlilly quickly scrolled past the image, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She snapped locked the screen and shoved it back into her pocket like it had personally betrayed her. 

Was it just because she was tired of scrolling through The Bad Kids’ constant stream of victories? Maybe. Or maybe it was because she hadn’t seen Kristen in months, and this was just… surprising. 

Yes. Surprising. That was all. It wasn’t like she was actually—Kipperlilly let out a groan, tilting her head back against the tree and closing her eyes. 

“If that’s The Bad Kids making you miserable, you could always just block them.” 

Startled, Kipperlilly blinked her eyes open and looked down. Sitting on a lower branch of the same tree, Lucy—the cleric wrapped in one of her signature oversized sweaters—was perched quietly, her legs dangling in the air as if she’d been there all along. Her skin, pale blue and faintly glowing under the moonlight, shimmered with the soft, cool energy of her deity. 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, trying to cover the flustered feeling creeping up on her. “We have to keep an eye on the competition somehow,” she muttered, swinging herself down to sit beside Lucy. The bark felt solid beneath her as she settled onto the branch, drawing her knees up to her chest. 

Lucy smiled, her eyes still closed, clearly finishing a quiet trance with her Goddess. The serene calm around her was almost contagious, like the world was a little less chaotic just from being near her. After a moment, Lucy let out a slow breath and opened her eyes, turning to Kipperlilly with a lazy grin. 

“I suppose so,” she said softly, as gentle as the first snow of winter. 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow at her. “You wouldn’t mind if they never fix the endless night, would you?” 

Lucy’s smile deepened as she looked up at the darkened sky. “Nope. Not at all.” She lifted her hand, palm up, and in the space above her hand, snowflakes began to appear. Tiny at first, delicate, but quickly growing into a small flurry that drifted down like they were in the middle of a soft winter storm. 

“See? It makes communing so much easier for me.” Lucy’s voice had a playful lilt to it as she watched the snow fall. The flakes sparkled in the faint light, swirling lazily before vanishing into the air. 

Kipperlilly stared at the small snowstorm with a smirk tugging at her lips. Lucy always made things look so effortless. “You’re just talented,” Kipperlilly said, shaking her head with mock exasperation. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and Kipperlilly couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Lucy, as always, was a grounding presence. While the rest of the world felt like it was constantly on the verge of chaos—especially with The Bad Kids running around unleashing ancient evils and then trying to clean them up—Lucy moved at her own pace, calm and unbothered by the noise around her. 

Kipperlilly glanced sideways at her friend. “You know, if we’re not careful, you’re going to make everyone think you’re the strongest one on the team.” 

Lucy gave her a sidelong glance, her lazy grin widening. “Maybe I am.” She lifted her palm again, conjuring another brief snowfall. The flakes drifted down onto Kipperlilly’s shoulder, tiny and perfect, disappearing as soon as they touched her. 

“Show off,” Kipperlilly teased, bumping her shoulder against Lucy’s. 

Lucy shrugged, her smile as easy as ever. “Naturally.” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, but there was warmth behind her eyes. Being around Lucy always felt like sitting next to a fire on a cold night—comforting and peaceful, with just enough playful banter to keep things interesting. 

The sound of rustling leaves and light footsteps signaled the approach of the rest of the group as Kipperlilly and Lucy sat in the branches. 

“What time is it?” Oisin asked, brushing his hands off on his pants and glancing up toward the sky as if it might offer some sort of answer. 

Kipperlilly pulled out her crystal, checking the time on the smooth, glowing surface. “Almost s–,” she started to say, but before she could finish, Mary Ann spoke up. 

“Six.” 

Kipperlilly snapped her head toward the small red kobold, blinking in surprise. “How do you do that?” 

Mary Ann just shrugged, her impassive expression never changing. It was moments like these that reminded Kipperlilly how much she’d come to appreciate Mary Ann’s strange, unshakable calm. The kobold seemed to always know things, like the time, the weather, or which direction to go, but never felt the need to explain herself. Kipperlilly didn’t push it. You didn’t push Mary Ann. 

Lucy started to climb down, her movements slow and graceful, like she had all the time in the world. Kipperlilly, on the other hand, jumped, landing effortlessly on the ground despite the great height and her small frame. 

“Great work today,” Kipperlilly said as she dusted off her pants and looked at the others. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Ivy, who had just slung her quiver back over her shoulder, smirked, her eyes bright in the low light. “Sure. I have nothing better to do.” 

Ruben chimed in from behind her. “What about your boyfriend?” 

Ivy shot him a sideways glance, her lips quirking up in a half-smile. “He’s not the boss of me.” 

They all started walking through the woods, the path familiar from weeks of training in the same area. The trees whispered above them, and the cool night air brushed against Kipperlilly’s skin, sharp and refreshing. 

Oisin fell into step beside her, his voice breaking the soft silence. “How are the socials doing?” 

Kipperlilly shrugged. “A few thousand followers now,” she said, trying to sound casual about it, but a hint of pride colored her tone. She’d worked hard on keeping the High Five Heroes visible, pushing out content, connecting with fans, and making sure their name was out there. 

“You’re welcome,” Ruben called from a few paces behind, laced with his newfound playful arrogance. 

Ivy snorted. “It’d be more if we had a better name.” 

The comment hit Kipperlilly in a way she hadn’t expected. Her chest tightened slightly, and she stopped in her tracks, turning to face the group. “What?” 

Oisin hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean… we’re not exactly those same kids who met in Freshman year, are we?” 

“Yeah,” Ivy chimed in, crossing her arms and leaning back against a nearby tree. “We need something that packs more of a punch.” 

Kipperlilly felt a flicker of anger rise in her chest, mixed with a sting of hurt. The High Five Heroes wasn’t just a name—it was her name. She had come up with it, back when they were just a group of kids trying to figure out how to be a team. It meant something to her. And now, they were suggesting it wasn’t good enough?

“Like what?” she asked, sharper than she intended. “All the names you came up with sucked.” 

Ruben, always ready with a suggestion, piped up. “The Nightwardens.” 

Kipperlilly’s jaw tightened. “And always remember how we’re stuck in the night because of The Bad Kids? No thanks.”

Lucy spoke up from behind them. “The Pact of the Forest?” 

“Stupid,” Mary Ann said flatly, not even bothering to turn around as she continued walking. 

Ivy chuckled, her laugh bright against the otherwise muted backdrop of the woods. She turned on her heel, walking backward so she could look at the rest of the group. “What about The Rat Grinders?” 

Kipperlilly furrowed her brow. “What does that even mean?” 

Ivy grinned, clearly amused with herself. “We did nothing but clear out all those rats during our first week of training here. It’s funny.” 

They all paused for a moment, considering it. There was an odd sort of logic to Ivy’s suggestion, even if it was ridiculous. Kipperlilly could feel them turning it over in their heads, weighing the absurdity of it against the playful memory of their early days as a team. It wasn’t terrible, she admitted, but it wasn’t right either.

She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No.” 

The High Five Heroes held weight for Kipperlilly, more than just a casual moniker for their team. It was a connection to their beginnings, to who they had been when they first found each other at Aguefort. Maybe the others were growing past it, looking for something that better represented the group they were becoming, but for her, it was still part of their identity.

“I actually think it sounds good,” Oisin said, breaking the awkward silence as he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Ivy. He wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence as he raised his hand slightly, as though uncertain if he should even be speaking up. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes narrowed, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “No,” she repeated. 

Ivy’s eyebrows lifted, and a sly smile curved at the edge of her lips. “Why don’t we vote on it? All those in favor of The Rat Grinders?”

Oisin’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before raising it again, a little higher this time, but his expression remained cautious, like he didn’t want to upset Kipperlilly too much. 

Lucy, sitting quietly beside Kipperlilly, gave a small shrug, her soft blue eyes glancing over at her friend with an apologetic look. “I’m with Kip,” she said gently. “Change is… a little much.” She offered a small smile as she reached out and took Kipperlilly’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. Kipperlilly knew Lucy was only doing it to show her support, to make sure she wasn’t alone in this. 

Kipperlilly nodded back at her, feeling a brief flicker of relief. At least someone was on her side.

But then Ruben, with his electric guitar slung casually over his shoulder, raised his hand and said, “I’m for The Rat Grinders.” He grinned mischievously, his eyes locking onto Kipperlilly’s with that irritating, smug look that always pushed her buttons. He was doing it on purpose, she knew it. He loved getting on her last nerve.

“Rat Grinders,” Mary Ann deadpanned, raising her clawed hand without even bothering to look at the others. She was already walking ahead, as if the whole conversation wasn’t worth her time. 

“That’s four against two,” Ivy announced with a grin, clearly pleased with herself. “Guess it’s settled then. You better change the socials as soon as possible, Kip.” 

The words hit Kipperlilly like a punch to the gut, and she felt the anger curl, twisting tighter with every breath. It wasn’t just about the name anymore—it was about control. About feeling like everything she’d worked so hard to build was slipping through her fingers, and nobody cared. Too many times she’d fantasized about slapping both Ruben and Ivy for pushing her buttons like this. Change could be good, sure, but not when it felt like they were ripping away something that mattered to her. 

“Whatever,” Kipperlilly muttered, seething with irritation. 

Ruben, of course, couldn’t let it go. He shrugged, flashing her another one of those insufferable grins. “We’re a team, remember. Not a dictatorship.” 

Kipperlilly’s head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. “Excuse me?” 

“I’m just saying,” Ruben replied casually, strumming a light chord on his guitar. “Sometimes you can be a bit of a… well, you know, a bit of a bitch.” 

“Rue!” Lucy gasped, clearly appalled. She shot him a glare, but Kipperlilly didn’t even register it. All she saw was red. 

Before she even knew what she was doing, she lunged at him, her small frame moving with the speed of a trained rogue. She barely registered Oisin jumping between them, his large dragonborn body blocking her from getting to Ruben, but she kept pushing against him, fury pounding through her veins. 

“Hey! Kipperlilly, chill!” Oisin shouted, holding her back with surprising ease now he was so jacked. 

Ivy’s laughter rang out from behind them. “Someone get this on video for a reel!” 

Kipperlilly’s anger surged even hotter at the sound of Ivy’s teasing, and she shoved herself away from Oisin’s grip, storming off ahead of everyone else, her fists clenched tight at her sides. Her heart pounded in her chest, every step heavy with rage. She had had enough of this—enough of their teasing, enough of the name change, enough of everything. 

As she marched through the woods, she spotted a tree directly in her path and, without thinking, drew one of her daggers and stabbed it into the bark with a sharp, satisfying thud. She twisted the blade, feeling the resistance of the wood before ripping it back out, leaving a jagged gash behind. The action made her feel a little better—just enough to keep herself from completely losing it.

“Come on, Kip,” Ivy called after her, still laughing as she jogged to catch up. “We’re just playing around.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t even turn around. “Fuck off,” she spat. 

Kipperlilly kept walking, her dagger still clenched in her hand. She didn’t want to hear whatever Ivy had to say next. She didn’t want to hear anyone. She just wanted to be alone with her thoughts, with the anger that churned inside her chest, and the ache that came from feeling like she was losing control of the one thing that had always belonged to her. 

As Kipperlilly disappeared further into the woods, she could feel the tension still radiating through her body, but she didn’t stop. Not until she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear their voices anymore. 

Not until it was quiet. 

And in that quiet, she let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at the dagger still gripped in her hand. 

Kipperlilly sat cross-legged on her bed, her back propped against the neatly arranged pillows. Her room was just as organized as always—everything had its place. The shelves that lined the walls were filled with adventuring gear, polished daggers, and maps rolled up in precise little rows. But despite the comforting order of her surroundings, her mind still buzzed with the echoes of the day’s frustrations. 

Across the room, Lucy sprawled out on the makeshift floor pallet they’d thrown together earlier. She looked slightly ridiculous in the Copperkettle household, her limbs far too long for the halfling-sized furniture. Her legs, which had once easily curled up in Kipperlilly’s bed when they were younger, now hung awkwardly off the side of the pallet, her oversized sweater bunching up as she tried to make herself comfortable. 

"Do you want to talk about earlier?" Lucy asked softly. She didn't push, didn’t demand answers. It was just a simple question, offered gently. 

Kipperlilly glanced over at her, pulling her knees closer to her chest. She had been angry—as she was most days. But the outbursts still seemed to shock her. The memory of it still lingered, the way her fists had clenched when Ruben had opened his mouth, the overwhelming urge to punch him. She had almost done it, too. It was only Oisin getting in the way that had stopped her. She was glad that he did, even if the release of her darkest thoughts would have been a much needed sense of relief. Kipperlilly wasn't in complete control of her wrath when it reared up. 

Lucy had found her in the woods, almost an hour after she’d stormed off. Kipperlilly had expected Lucy to pepper her with questions, to ask her why she’d lost control like that. But Lucy hadn’t. Instead, she had sat quietly beside her, letting Kipperlilly calm down on her own time. Only when Kipperlilly had been ready to leave had Lucy spoken, and even then, it wasn’t to ask if she was okay—it was just to let her know that she had decided to stay the night with her. 

Kipperlilly pulled her comforter tighter around her shoulders and sighed. "Not really." 

Lucy stretched out on the pallet, folding her arms behind her head. “I liked the High Five Heroes,” she said casually. 

Kipperlilly glanced down at her hands, tracing the pattern on her comforter with her finger. “Me too,” she admitted, quieter than usual. She paused, feeling the words stick in her throat before forcing them out. “But... I get why they wanted a change. The Rat Grinders does sound... good.”

It wasn’t easy for her to admit that. She hated being wrong, hated even more the idea that maybe the others were right to want something new. But even as she said it, she could feel the discomfort gnawing at her. 

Lucy smiled up at her, that slow, easy smile that always seemed to make the world feel a little more manageable on the worst days. “And it’s an inside joke,” she pointed out. 

Kipperlilly nodded, though the smile that tugged at her lips felt bittersweet. “Yeah,” she said, still tracing the lines on her comforter. The Rat Grinders. It was funny, she supposed. And it did have a story behind it. Still, it felt like she was letting go of something. 

Lucy sat up slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “You know,” she said with a grin, “we could probably make some pins. Maybe even shirts.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, a small laugh escaping her. “Of course we could.” She glanced over at Lucy, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “And I’m sure you’d want them in every possible color, right?” 

Lucy winked. “You know me so well.” 

Kipperlilly shifted on her bed, lying down on her side to face Lucy, who had rolled onto her back, arms folded behind her head. 

"Other than Ivy’s newfound bitchiness and Ruben’s new music making him crabbier than usual," Lucy began playfully. "The team is looking great." 

Kipperlilly smirked, resting her head on her pillow. Lucy was usually the sweetest one out of all of their friends, always offering a kind word or a reassuring smile. But there was something about these late-night talks, alone and away from the rest of the group, where Lucy let herself indulge in a little more snark. 

“Is it the music, or is it the fame going to his head?” Kipperlilly teased, her eyebrow lifting in amusement. The constant eye rolls from him were almost too easy to provoke lately. 

Lucy sighed dramatically. “Tomayto, tomahto,” she replied, making Kipperlilly snort softly. 

Kipperlilly rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “And now that the Maidens have graduated,” she said thoughtfully. “I think we really stand a shot. No one else is putting in the work like we are.” 

Lucy hummed in agreement, her voice drifting lazily through the room. “Apparently, we don’t have a big quest in junior year to bump up grades, either. So it’s all classwork and exams.” 

“Exactly,” Kipperlilly said with a smirk. “It’s a shame some people have spent the last few years slacking off.” 

Lucy chuckled softly. “Are you still thinking about joining more extracurriculars?” she asked, turning her head to look at Kipperlilly with curiosity. 

“All of them,” Kipperlilly replied with a grin. She knew the workload would be significant, but Kipperlilly was always at her best when she had little time to dwell on the more unimportant things. The more idle time she found herself with, the more she would sink into her urges. Being left undistracted wasn't the healthier option. 

Lucy groaned playfully. “Jeez, way to make the rest of us look bad. Maybe I will join AV Club with you now that Skrank is gone.” 

Kipperlilly laughed, the sound filling the room with a brief burst of warmth. "It’ll be a good year," she said confidently. She paused, her lips curling slightly in disgust as she added, “As long as Ivy’s… extracurricular activities don’t keep getting in the way.” 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the distaste in Kipperlilly’s tone. “She’s breaking up with him.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, turning her head to face Lucy. “What?” 

Lucy shrugged, still lounging on her makeshift pallet. “I asked her how things were going, and she said he was getting a little needy. She was going to wait until the end of summer, but I don’t think she’s patient enough.” 

Kipperlilly’s expression shifted into one of mild surprise, but there was no sadness in her voice when she replied. “Good. Dating is just a waste of time.” 

Lucy laughed at that, sitting up slightly to look at her more closely. “Do you really think so?” 

Kipperlilly didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” She said it with such certainty, as if any other answer was completely ludicrous. "We have better things to worry about right now." 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her expression soft but curious. “Like what?” 

Kipperlilly waved a hand as if the answer were self-explanatory. “Like the fact that we’re going into junior year, and we’ve got a real shot at being one of the best adventuring teams at Aguefort. Like the fact that everyone else is too busy messing around to notice how good we are. I’m not going to let a bunch of slackers hold us back.” 

Lucy smiled at that, her eyes warm as she leaned back against the wall. “You’re so driven, Kippy. It’s one of the many, many things I admire about you.” 

Kipperlilly felt a small warmth spread through her at the compliment, though she tried to play it off with a smirk. “Someone has to keep us on track,” she said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. 

Lucy just shook her head, her smile never fading. “Still, it’s impressive. I don’t know how you manage to juggle everything.” 

“Easy,” Kipperlilly replied, folding her arms behind her head and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t waste time on things that aren’t important. Like relationships.” 

Lucy tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes watching Kipperlilly with a playful but curious expression. “Yeah, but… we’re still teenagers." 

Kipperlilly furrowed her brow at that, her arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t sure where Lucy was going with this, but she wasn’t in the mood for another debate. “Exactly. School, college—that’s what’s important right now. Romance is just a distraction.” 

Lucy shook her head, her grin soft but amused, like she was indulging Kipperlilly’s stubbornness. “Some of The Bad Kids have been dating, and they’re still—” 

“Don't even go there.” Kipperlilly’s voice snapped like a whip, cutting Lucy off mid-sentence. The irritation bubbled up in her chest before she could control it. She didn’t want to think about The Bad Kids, their perfect little lives, or their constant Instagram updates. 

Lucy’s smile faltered just a little, but she held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” she said, her voice softening, trying to ease the tension. “I’m just saying… How do you know it’s a waste of time if you’ve never tried it?” 

Kipperlilly scowled, still feeling the frustration simmer beneath her skin. “I just do,” she muttered, more defensive than she wanted to be. 

She didn't enjoy this conversation when her parents tried to start a talk with her about urges and boy when she hit puberty, and she wasn't wanting to revisit that now. There was this expectation for most halflings to pair up and get married very young, and her parents, no matter how successful they became, were no different. They met very early and had Kipperlilly. The only thing that set them apart from the majority of their race was that Kipperlilly was an only child. Kipperlilly wanted to break away from the expectation even further, having no desire to court and procreate, at least until she was content with how her future would map out.

Lucy gave her a thoughtful look, tilting her head again, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. “Have you even kissed anyone before?” 

The question was like a stone dropping into still water. Kipperlilly’s mouth tightened, her fingers instinctively fiddling with the corner of her comforter. She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such personal questions, especially not from Lucy. Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch as her mind scrambled for a response, but nothing clever came to her fast enough. Shit.

Lucy’s eyes lit up with sudden realization, and she immediately perked up. “Oh my, you have, haven’t you?” she asked, brimming with excitement. She sat up straighter, practically bouncing on her floor pallet.

Kipperlilly groaned inwardly, wishing she could rewind the conversation and avoid this entirely. “Luce...” 

But Lucy was already scrambling to her feet and moving to sit on Kipperlilly’s bed, her eyes wide with curiosity and glee. “Spill it, Copperkettle! How have you kept this from me?” 

Kipperlilly sat up, running a hand through her loose blonde hair, trying to delay the inevitable. She hadn’t planned on ever sharing this story, and certainly not in this way. “It doesn’t even matter,” she muttered, hoping Lucy would let it go. 

“Maybe not to you,” Lucy replied with a grin, leaning closer. “But I need details. Right now!”

Kipperlilly sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. Lucy wasn’t going to drop it until she spilled. She crossed her arms again and looked down at her comforter, the memory coming back to her in fragments, like a half-remembered dream. A borderline nightmare. “It was in our final semester at Oakshield,” 

Lucy’s eyes were practically sparkling now. “Who??” she asked, leaning even closer, clearly thrilled by this unexpected revelation. 

Kipperlilly hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Nurg.” 

Lucy’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Nurg?” she repeated, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “So that’s why he asked you to the dance! How? Why? When? What??”

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, feeling more embarrassed than she ever thought possible. “I don’t even know,” she said, her voice a little strained as she tried to recall the awkward encounter. “I was walking back to class with some printouts. He was probably skipping class… as usual.” 

Lucy nodded, her eyes still wide, hanging on every word. 

“He just... I don’t know. He stopped me in the hallway. Said he was sorry for always being mean to us, and then...” Kipperlilly paused, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “Then he called me pretty and kissed me. Right there. On the mouth.” 

There was a beat of silence as Lucy processed this information. Kipperlilly wished the Night Yorb itself would just swoop in through the window and eat her, putting an end to this insane torture. 

“And?” Lucy prompted, her voice soft with anticipation. 

Kipperlilly shrugged, feeling awkward under Lucy’s gaze. “And... I just walked away.” 

Lucy stared at her for a long moment before bursting into laughter, the sound filling the room and making Kipperlilly’s face flush even hotter. 

“You just walked away?” Lucy asked, incredulous but laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. “Oh my god, Kip!”

Kipperlilly groaned, pulling the comforter up to hide her face. “I hate this conversation.” 

Lucy laughed again, softer this time, and reached out to poke Kipperlilly’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, though the mischievous gleam in her eyes suggested otherwise. “But seriously, that’s wild. I had no idea.” 

“Well, now you do,” Kipperlilly muttered, rolling onto her side and glaring half-heartedly at the wall. “And I’d appreciate it if you never brought it up again.” 

"But how was it?" Lucy asked, completely relentlessly.

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose, the memory of that awkward kiss resurfacing like an unpleasant aftertaste. She thought about Nurg’s dry lips, the way the kiss had come completely out of nowhere, how he’d smelled faintly of lunch meat, and, worst of all, the dopey grin he’d given her afterward, like he’d just done something he should be proud of. 

“Awful,” Kipperlilly muttered, her expression souring at the recollection. 

Lucy’s eyes widened in mock horror. “That bad?” 

“Worse,” Kipperlilly replied as though recounting some minor tragedy. 

Lucy couldn’t contain her laughter. “Yeah, he wasn’t cute at all,” she managed to say between giggles. 

“Way to state the obvious,” Kipperlilly said, rolling her eyes. The last thing Nurg could ever be accused of was being attractive. Even as a middle schooler with ever-scabby knees, a cracking voice and crooked tusks coming into fruition, there was no way he would even grow up to become a lothario. 

Lucy’s grin didn’t falter as she added, “His friend wasn’t bad, though.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, thinking about Nurg’s bugbear friend from middle school, who had been equally unattractive in his own way—massive and awkward, with an unfortunate habit of snorting when he laughed. “Absolutely not,” she said, giving Lucy a pointed look. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy teased, sitting up a little, her grin playful. “Have you ever found anyone attractive?”

Kipperlilly paused at the question, genuinely thinking about it. Her mind wandered through the faces of the boys at school, the ones everyone else seemed to fawn over. She thought about the few teachers that girls would gossip about during lunch or the famous adventurers and celebrities whose faces probably lined posters in their bedrooms. She searched her memory for anyone who had ever sparked something in her, a feeling, a flutter—anything. 

“Nope,” she said finally, shaking her head.

Lucy hummed thoughtfully, giving a little shrug. “I’m sure there’s a likeminded type A boy out there somewhere with a penchant for schedules and cleanliness who’ll catch your eye one day.” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh at that, a small chuckle escaping her. “Yeah, right. Let me know if you find one." 

But as Lucy’s cheeky smile faded, and the teasing drifted away, Kipperlilly’s face fell a little too. Her laughter faded, and for a brief moment, she found herself thinking about it seriously. She’d never really wanted to find someone attractive, at least not yet, but there was always this expectation—this looming idea that eventually, one day, she’d meet someone, feel something, and know what everyone else was talking about when they blushed and giggled over crushes.

What was she even looking for? 

Nice arms? A cheeky smile? Someone who was driven, maybe. Someone who had goals that aligned with hers. But did any of that really matter? It all felt so abstract, like trying to grasp at something she didn’t fully understand. She’d spent so much time focusing on her future, on school, and the team, that these thoughts about dating felt foreign to her. 

Her mind flicked—unbidden—to that image of Kristen Applebees. The picture of her standing confidently, muscles on display, holding that stupid cannon over her head. Kipperlilly frowned, unsure of why her brain had landed on that particular thought. 

Why was she thinking about Kristen?

Maybe it wasn’t her, Kipperlilly told herself. Maybe it was just the idea of it. That stupid bravado—she hated it when boys did it, puffing up their chests and acting like they owned the room. But when she thought about Kristen in that image, with her wild smile and powerful stance… it hadn’t felt disgusting. It had felt... different.

But it couldn’t be that Kipperlilly found Kristen attractive. That wasn’t it. It was probably just admiration, though she hated to admit it. Kristen was strong, confident, and clearly someone who had been working hard. Kipperlilly appreciated that, even if she hated her. Girls were, after all, generally less disgusting than boys. 

It gnawed at her, that quiet, nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something wasn’t quite adding up. She realized she hadn’t said anything in a while, and when she glanced over, Lucy was watching her, a soft curiosity in her blue eyes. Kipperlilly wasn’t great at talking about her feelings—unless it was forced upon her by therapy or some other situation where it was mandatory—but Lucy was her best friend. If there was anyone she could talk to about this... it was probably her. 

“I might not even… like boys,” Kipperlilly said, her voice hesitant, like the words were testing themselves out for the first time. 

And they were. It had always been that little intrusive thought that quirked in the very deepest and hard to reach places of her brain. Being a teenage girl, unfortunately, meant being around other girls constantly talking about boys. Everything Kipperlilly overheard that they found endearing, she didn't care less about. The thought of strong cologne or scratchy stubble anywhere near her made her feel nauseous. At first she had come to the assumption that she wasn't ever going to be interested in anyone entirely, but the idea of spending her future with someone wasn't a horrible thought. Eventually, when she was ready.

Lucy studied her for a moment, her gaze soft but serious, trying to read between the lines of what Kipperlilly was saying. “As in the fact that you genuinely dislike 99% of the population,” she teased lightly, nudging Kipperlilly’s shoulder, “or… that you might like girls instead?” 

Kipperlilly felt her face heat up at the question, her hands instinctively fiddling with the edge of her comforter as she tried to figure out how to put her jumbled thoughts into words. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a long pause. “Maybe.” 

Lucy’s face softened even more, a kind smile spreading across her lips. “Well, that’s fine! There’s nothing wrong with being gay.” 

Kipperlilly shuddered slightly at the word, not because it was wrong, but because it felt too soon. “I wouldn’t go as far as to put a label on anything,” she said, her voice a little tight, trying to make it clear that she wasn’t ready for that step. 

Lucy shrugged, the gesture easy and nonchalant. “That’s fine, too,” she said with a gentle acceptance. “It doesn’t matter either way. I could date a girl or a guy, I don’t think I care.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow at that, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

Lucy grinned, clearly taking it as a compliment. “Thank you for noticing!” 

They shared a brief laugh, the tension from the conversation lifting just a little. But Lucy’s smile softened again, her voice turning thoughtful. “For me, I think it’ll always be about the person’s soul. Whether they’re a girl or a guy doesn’t really matter as long as I connect with who they are.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind the gesture. “You’re such a cleric sometimes, you know that?” 

Lucy laughed, the sound soft and melodic. “And you’re too analytical all the time, rogue.” 

They both laughed again and Lucy leaned back on the bed, her head resting against the wall behind it, hair falling loosely over her shoulders. 

Lucy’s gaze lingered on Kipperlilly for a moment, a teasing glint in her soft blue eyes. “Have you kissed a girl?” she asked. 

Kipperlilly let out a long sigh, wishing—really wishing—they could drop the topic already. “No,” she said, her voice heavy with resignation. “Just Nurg.”

Lucy didn’t miss a beat. “Do you want to?” 

Kipperlilly turned her head to glare at her, irritation bubbling up again. “Why does it matter?” she snapped. “I don’t… care about all of that.” She huffed, feeling her frustration flare up. Why couldn’t Lucy just let this go? 

But Lucy, ever whimsical, ignored Kipperlilly’s outburst with her usual calm. “I was going to ask if you wanted to kiss me,” she said casually, as if she were suggesting they braid each other’s hair. “But if you’re sure…” 

Kipperlilly whipped her head around to look at her, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?” 

Lucy shrugged, a little smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “What? They do it all the time at sleepovers in the movies.” 

For a moment, Kipperlilly just stared at her, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. Then, before she could stop herself, she laughed. Shaking her head, she muttered, “You’re ridiculous sometimes.” 

Lucy’s smirk widened, her eyes twinkling. “That’s why you keep me around.” She paused, her voice dropping a little softer. “But you know… the offer still stands.” 

Kipperlilly turned to sit fully facing Lucy, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive posture. “Why would I want to do that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend. 

Lucy, ever the clever one, leaned forward slightly, her tone conspiratorial. “So you can see if you like it,” she said with a teasing grin. “It’s an experiment. Trial and error.” 

Kipperlilly raised a brow, her analytical mind catching the hook in Lucy’s logic. Of course, Lucy would know that Kipperlilly’s curiosity about everything—especially things she didn’t understand—was her weakness. 

“And most importantly,” Lucy added with a grin, “so you can say Nurg wasn’t the last person you kissed… Seriously, Nurg?” 

Kipperlilly groaned, covering her face with her hand. The idea of Nurg being her only kiss for the foreseeable future was definitely something she wanted to erase. Maybe Lucy had a point. Ugh.

“Fine,” she muttered, muffled by her hand. 

Lucy’s eyes widened, surprised and excited all at once. “Really?” 

Kipperlilly dropped her hand, sitting up straighter. “Just as long as this doesn’t mean anything more than what it is,” she warned, pointing a finger at Lucy, trying to keep some control over the situation. 

Lucy laughed softly, leaning back on her hands. “Chill out,” she teased, her grin playful. “You’re gorgeous, but I think I’m into taller people. No offense.” 

Kipperlilly gasped in mock offense, clutching her heart dramatically. “Elitist,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the small grin on her lips. 

Lucy just smiled warmly, inching a little closer. “Close your eyes, then.” 

Kipperlilly swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of nerves crawl up her spine. She hated feeling nervous. Hated feeling powerless, and stepping into new uncharted territory she didn't even have a chance to try and control. But this was Lucy. Her best friend. Someone she trusted completely. 

Reluctantly, Kipperlilly closed her eyes, taking a slow breath to steady herself. She could hear Lucy shifting closer, could feel the bed dip slightly as Lucy moved to the edge. Then, she felt it—an icy hand resting gently on her cheek. Kipperlilly froze up, her body tensing instinctively, the chill of Lucy’s touch making her feel a little too aware of everything happening. Her breath hitched as Lucy leaned in, her presence close enough that Kipperlilly could feel the coolness of her breath on her face. 

“Relax,” Lucy whispered, like she was soothing a skittish animal. Perhaps she was, given the fact that Kipperlilly was about one heartbeat away from jumping onto her feet and bolting out of the door. 

Kipperlilly exhaled slowly, her shoulders loosening just a little, though her heart was still racing in her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, but before the words could form, she felt Lucy’s lips brush against hers. 

The kiss was soft, light, and fleeting. Lucy’s lips were cool, like a fresh breeze, and the kiss itself was… nice. Sweet, even. It was gentle in a way that Kipperlilly hadn’t expected. Different from the awkward, fumbling kiss with Nurg, which had felt so forced and uncomfortable. Kissing Lucy was like breathing in fresh mint, crisp and clean. It wasn’t the thrilling, heart-pounding experience she’d seen on crystal screens, but it was pleasant. Enjoyable, even. 

After a moment, Lucy pulled back, her hand dropping from Kipperlilly’s cheek. Kipperlilly blinked her eyes open, her heart still racing, but her mind already working to analyze the moment. 

“Well?” Lucy asked with a smile, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she watched Kipperlilly’s reaction. 

Kipperlilly sat there for a moment, processing. The kiss had been… better than her first one. Definitely better. But it hadn’t exactly set her world on fire. It was just… nice.

She let out a breath and shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It was fine,” 

Lucy laughed, a soft, sweet sound. “Better than Nurg, though, right?” 

Kipperlilly groaned, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.” 

Lucy smiled, scooting back on the bed to give Kipperlilly some space. “Well, now you know.” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, feeling a mixture of relief and confusion. She wasn’t sure if the kiss had answered any of her questions, but at least it hadn’t made things worse. She leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, her mind still whirring. 

“I didn’t really feel anything, though,” Kipperlilly admitted quietly, more to herself. 

Lucy chuckled softly, moving from the bed and back to her floor pallet, stretching her long legs as she settled in. “I assume it’ll be different one day when you actually like someone. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Kipperlilly said, her voice trailing off as she lay back down again. She thought about the kiss, and though it had been nice, it hadn’t answered any of the questions she’d hoped it would. There wasn’t a sudden spark of clarity, no earth-shattering revelation. It was just… a kiss. 

"You have very soft lips, by the way," Lucy giggled from her spot on the floor. "I wouldn't mind doing that again,"

Kipperlilly shoots her a glare. "Don't even think about it,"

This had definitely been one of the weirdest nights she’d had in a long time. Not bad, necessarily, just not what she’d expected. 

As Kipperlilly lay there, her mind wandered back to the argument earlier in the day—the name change, the anger that had flared up inside her, and the way she had almost hit Ruben. She still wasn’t sure how to handle all of that. Maybe she could admit to her friends that she was fine with the name change now, that she understood their reasoning, but part of her didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. Perhaps it would be easier to just update the social media accounts without saying anything, avoiding any more awkward conversations about it. 

But deep down, Kipperlilly knew the name change wasn’t really the problem. 

“Kippy?” Lucy’s voice was soft in the dark, her usual playfulness gone, replaced by a quiet concern that Kipperlilly hadn’t heard in a while. 

“Hm?” Kipperlilly responded, her eyes still closed as she tried to settle into sleep. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Kipperlilly’s heart skipped a beat at the question. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t turn to face Lucy. “I’m not thinking about the kiss, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“It’s not,” Lucy replied, her voice still soft, but there was something more serious flickering behind it. 

Kipperlilly sighed. “Okay, then.” 

The silence stretched between them for a few moments before Lucy spoke again. “You almost hit Ruben today, and… you stabbed a tree.” 

“The tree didn’t feel it,” Kipperlilly said dismissively, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, hoping that would end the conversation. 

But Lucy didn’t drop it. “Kip… I’ve known you for a long time, and you…” 

Kipperlilly could hear the hesitation in Lucy’s voice, the careful way she was choosing her words. “You seem to be struggling a lot recently.” 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her chest tightening at Lucy’s words. She didn’t want to talk about this. 

“Luce…” 

But Lucy pressed on. “You never really told me what happened with Porter, and sometimes… when I look at you, you seem… in pain.” 

Kipperlilly stiffened, her muscles tensing under the covers. “It’s not pain. Don’t be dramatic,” she muttered, hoping that would be enough to shut the conversation down. “I just have anger problems. You know that.” 

Lucy was quiet for a moment, but Kipperlilly could feel her watching, waiting. “I do,” Lucy finally said, her voice steady. “But you used to let it out in those sessions, and now you’re holding it back in. I have a feeling something’s going to happen, and… I’m worried about you.” 

Kipperlilly’s heart clenched at the words, and she sat up, feeling a sharp edge of defensiveness rise within her. “I’m fine, Lucy,” she said, her voice harsher than she intended. “I’m handling it.” 

Lucy sat up too, her eyes soft but unwavering. “Kip… almost hitting Ruben isn’t handling it. Stabbing trees isn’t handling it.” 

Kipperlilly clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She hated this. Hated talking about it, hated feeling like she was under a microscope. 

“I don’t need a lecture,” Kipperlilly muttered tightly. 

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” Lucy said softly, patiently. “I’m trying to help. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Kipperlilly looked away, her throat tight as she tried to swallow down the emotions that were bubbling up inside her. She didn’t want to be seen like this—vulnerable, exposed. But Lucy had always seen through her, hadn’t she? Ever since they were kids. 

“I don’t need any more help,” 

Chapter Text

Summer of the Endless Night: Second Month

Kipperlilly sat at a table in the quiet Elmville public library, books and newspapers scattered across the polished wooden surface, their pages slightly worn from years of use. The air was filled with the scent of old paper and ink, and the occasional sound of a turning page or a muffled cough from somewhere in the stacks. Her leather-bound notebook was open in front of her, and she scribbled furiously, her handwriting quick and precise, as if the ideas in her head were racing to outpace her pen. 

A week ago, her research had started out as something casual—just some light reading about the Society of Shadows. Now that the secret society of rogues was out in the open thanks to Penny Luckstone and the Maidens (unfortunately), Kipperlilly had decided to dive deeper into its history, if only to satisfy her curiosity. But what had begun as casual reading had turned into something much more intriguing. She had stumbled upon a lead, something that could potentially change the course of her entire school year. 

Now, as she stared at the notes in front of her, she couldn’t help but smile. She was closer than ever to finding the rogue teacher at Aguefort—a mystery that had eluded even the most dedicated of students. And it wasn’t just a matter of curiosity anymore. If she could crack this case, she could ace Junior year without even starting a single class. 

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes scanning the titles of the books around her. Her research had led her to the Shadow family, the founders of the Society. But it was Eugenia, the granddaughter of the founder, who had piqued Kipperlilly’s interest the most. Eugenia had been a renowned rogue, teaching generations of students until her death. Except, according to Kipperlilly’s findings, her death hadn’t exactly stopped her from making appearances. 

Eugenia was a ghost. It was genius, really. Nothing was harder to track down than a ghost, and yet all of the clues Kipperlilly had uncovered lined up. The rogue teacher wasn’t some living, breathing person hidden away in the academy. She was a spirit, quietly lingering in the shadows, much like she had in life. All Kipperlilly had to do now was find her grave. Once she did, she’d be able to collect the paper, hand it in, and secure her place as the top rogue student of her year. 

Her fingers flipped through the pages of a book detailing local deaths and burial sites, her excitement growing as she got closer to finding what she needed. The thrill of the hunt was invigorating, and she could already imagine the look on everyone’s faces when she completed the year before classes even started. It was perfect. 

But as she worked, she became aware of a strange feeling—a prickling at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. She froze for a moment, her eyes scanning the pages in front of her without really seeing them, and then slowly, she lifted her head. 

Max. 

The scrawny drow elf was sitting a few tables away, his eyes fixed on her, dark and unblinking. His unkempt mop of white hair fell into his face, and he slouched in his seat with the same lackadaisical attitude that Kipperlilly had always found infuriating. Her heart sank with annoyance. Ivy had finally broken up with him, and yet here he was—still lurking, still watching her like some sort of creepy shadow that wouldn’t go away. Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes at him, her irritation bubbling to the surface as she let out a huff. 

Of course, Max was here. He always seemed to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time, like a mosquito buzzing around her head that she couldn’t swat away. She shook her head and turned her attention back to her work, determined to ignore him. 

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made her wince, and she didn’t have to look up to know that Max had gotten up and was heading toward her table. Kipperlilly’s grip on her pen tightened, her frustration simmering. She didn’t have time for this. She didn't owe him anymore time than she had already unfortunately given him. 

“Hey,” Max drawled, low and lazy, as he stopped in front of her table. 

Kipperlilly didn’t bother looking up. “What do you want, Max?” 

He shrugged, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “Just saw you sitting here, thought I’d say hi.” 

“I’m working,” Kipperlilly said flatly, her eyes glued to the pages of her book, though she wasn’t really reading anymore. She could feel him hovering, and it made her skin crawl. 

Max shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly not getting the hint. “It's summer, Copperkettle. Do you ever relax?” 

Kipperlilly gritted her teeth. “I’ll relax when I’m done.” 

She flipped a page in the book, scanning for any mention of Eugenia’s burial site, trying to keep her focus. But Max was making it impossible. He stood there, fingers tapping lightly against the wooden edge of her table as if testing her patience. 

“How’s Ivy doing?” he asked casually, like they were old friends catching up, as if he hadn’t just been standing there, creeping her out for the last several minutes. 

Kipperlilly let out an audible sigh and dropped the book she was holding onto the table with a sharp thud. She leaned back in her chair, fixing Max with a deadpan stare. “Fine,” she said flatly. “Now go away.”

But, predictably, Max didn’t take the hint. He never did. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his dark eyes darting around the library as if searching for an excuse to linger. “She’s not answering my texts,” he muttered, almost as if expecting sympathy. 

Kipperlilly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Because she broke up with you,” she snapped, her voice dripping with exasperation. “If you’re too much of an idiot to know the exact definition, that means she doesn’t want to talk to you. And neither do I.” 

Max’s fingers drummed against the table a few more times before he finally began to step away, his shoulders slumped. Kipperlilly breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the brief reprieve from his annoying presence. She picked her book back up, hoping that would be the end of it. 

But, of course, it wasn’t. 

Max stopped just before the exit, turning back to face her. “When you see her,” he began, his voice plaintive. “Can you ask her to call me?” 

Kipperlilly’s patience snapped. She slammed the book shut, glaring at him with a fire in her eyes. “I’m not your errand girl,” she hissed. 

“Please?” Max asked, his voice taking on a desperate edge that only annoyed her more. 

“No,” 

Max’s expression shifted, a mixture of frustration and hurt crossing his face. “What’s your problem with me?” he asked, his voice rising just enough to draw the attention of the few other people in the library. Just what this needed–an audience. 

Kipperlilly stood up slowly, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “My problem,” she said through gritted teeth. “Is that you won’t take a hint. Ivy doesn’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to you. No one wants to talk to you.” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to keep her rising anger in check. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and leave me alone?”

Max recoiled slightly, his face reddening with embarrassment. “You don’t have to be such a—” He stopped himself, his gaze flicking away as he clenched his jaw. “Look, I just don’t get why you hate me so much.” 

Kipperlilly felt her anger surge, bubbling dangerously close to the surface. She clenched her fists, trying to keep it from spilling over. “I don’t hate you, Max. I just hate the fact that you’re still bothering my friend after she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be with you anymore. And I hate that you’re wasting my time with your stupid problems.” 

Max’s face twisted into a scowl. “You’re sitting in a library reading books.” 

The insult was juvenile, but in Kipperlilly’s already frayed state. She stood up fully now, her small stature no less intimidating as she squared off with Max. “I’m here trying to do something important." 

Instead of backing down, he stepped closer. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you? Just because you’re some hotshot rogue with a stick up your ass.” 

Kipperlilly’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her whole body trembling with the effort it took not to punch him right there in the library. “Get. Out,” 

Max held her gaze for a moment, his jaw clenched, but he must have seen something in her expression that told him he was treading on very thin ice. “Or what? You gonna hit me?” 

Max’s smirk twisted into that infuriating, smug smile—the kind that had a way of digging under Kipperlilly’s skin like a splinter. 

“Ivy said I shouldn’t piss you off,” he drawled. “But you’re all bark, no bite.” 

That was it. The last straw. Kipperlilly saw red. 

Every little thing that had been simmering inside her for weeks—the frustration, the anger, the pressure—all of it spilled over in one sharp, blinding moment. She moved before she even realized what she was doing. Her hand flew to her belt, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger. In a blink, she charged. 

Max’s eyes widened in shock, and he instinctively raised his hands to shield himself, but it was too late. Kipperlilly’s blade sliced cleanly across his arm, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Max yelped, stumbling back, and the sound of books hitting the floor echoed through the library as chaos erupted around them. 

Kipperlilly’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her body tense and coiled, ready to strike again. The anger was like a living thing, consuming her, pushing her forward, demanding more. Her vision tunneled, focusing on Max’s blood, the look of fear and shock on his face only feeding the fury that roared inside her. 

She moved again, her dagger raised, ready to slash at him once more. But before she could strike, a shimmering magic shield appeared between them, the force of her blade clanging harmlessly against the glowing barrier. 

“Woah! Woah! Stop!” Oisin’s voice cut through the haze, and Kipperlilly blinked, her mind still racing, barely processing what was happening. 

Oisin was there, his large form blocking her path, his dragonborn features stern but calm. His magic shield held firm as Kipperlilly’s dagger scraped uselessly against it, her grip tight, knuckles white. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She wasn’t thinking at all. 

Oisin’s hand came down on her shoulder, firm but gentle, pushing her back. But Kipperlilly’s body reacted on instinct. She pulled back, her dagger swinging toward Oisin in blind rage, but before the blade could connect, Oisin grabbed it mid-swing, his hand glowing with a faint white light as he held the blade in his palm. 

“Kipperlilly!” His voice was sharp now, commanding. 

She froze. The world seemed to tilt back into focus, the fog of her anger lifting just enough for her to realize what she was doing. She blinked, her chest heaving as she stared up at Oisin, her hand still gripping the dagger, his hand bleeding slightly where he’d caught the blade. 

She looked past him, her eyes landing on Max. He was holding his arm to his chest, blood trickling down his shirt, his face pale and shocked. The smugness was gone, replaced with something far more sinister—fear. 

He was afraid of her.

“I—” Kipperlilly stammered. 

Oisin didn’t let go of the dagger. His eyes were locked on hers, his expression unreadable. “I’ll take care of it,” 

Kipperlilly’s breath hitched, her hand trembling as she loosened her grip on the dagger. “Oisin, I didn’t mean—” 

“Go home.” He was firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Kipperlilly’s gaze flicked to his hand, where her blade had cut him. A small bead of blood welled up around the edge of his palm, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at it. All his attention was on her. 

“I—” She blinked, her mind still struggling to catch up with everything that had happened. 

“NOW!” 

She stepped back, her legs shaky. The library had fallen into stunned silence, the few remaining patrons and librarians frozen, their eyes wide as they stared at her as though she was a raging beast. 

Without another word, Kipperlilly turned and bolted for the door. The cool air of the library hallway hit her like a slap to the face, her heart still racing as she stumbled out into the empty corridor. She didn’t stop running until she was outside, the permanent moon glaring down at her as she leaned against the side of the building, gasping for breath. 

What had she done? How had she let things get so out of control? 

She glanced down at her hands, still shaking, still stained with Max’s blood. The weight of it all hit her like a ton of bricks, the adrenaline fading, leaving only a sickening pit in her stomach. 

Her parents were going to kill her. 

No. Worse than that. They were going to be disappointed. And even worse than that, she was going to have to explain what had happened—why she’d snapped, why she couldn’t control herself.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that she could handle it all on her own. Oisin had seen it. Lucy had always seen it. And now she had to admit it to herself. 

Kipperlilly stared down at the crystal in her hand, her thumb hovering over her mom’s contact for what felt like an eternity. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the swirl of thoughts. All she could hear was her own heavy breathing and the distant hum of the streets around her. 

With a shaky breath, Kipperlilly pressed the button. The crystal rang once… twice… three times. Her heart pounded with every ring, a part of her hoping her mom wouldn’t pick up so she could avoid this conversation a little longer. 

But then there was a soft click, and her mom’s warm, familiar voice came through the line. “Hey, sweetheart!” 

Kipperlilly opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Instead of speaking, her chest hitched, and suddenly she was sobbing. The floodgates opened, and all of the frustration, fear, and guilt that she had been holding in crashed over her in waves. She couldn’t stop it. The tears came hard and fast, her body shaking as she sank down onto the sidewalk, curling her arms around her knees. 

“Kipperlilly?” Her mom’s voice was laced with concern. “Baby, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

Kipperlilly tried to speak, but it took a few moments for her to find her voice between the sobs. “Mom…” she finally managed, her voice trembling. “I need help.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Kipperlilly could hear her mom moving, the sound of keys jingling as if she was already preparing to leave. “What happened?” 

Kipperlilly took in a shaky breath, wiping at her face with her sleeve, though the tears didn’t stop. “I… I need to see Jawbone,” she said, her voice cracking. “I can’t… I can’t do this on my own.” 

Her mom didn’t hesitate. “Of course, sweetheart,” she said quickly, and Kipperlilly could hear her dad’s voice faintly in the background, asking what was going on. “I’ll get your dad to call him right away. Where are you?” 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, glancing around the empty street. She was just outside the library, but everything felt so far away and disconnected from reality. “Outside the library,” she whispered. 

“I’m coming to get you,” Winnie said steadily. “Just sit tight, okay? You’re going to be okay.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see her. “I’m sorry, Mom,” 

Kipperlilly closed her eyes again, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself, but her body wouldn’t stop shaking. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep the tears at bay. 

She could hear her mom still talking, telling her that everything would be okay, that they would sort it out, but the words blurred. She slid down the wall until she was sitting fully on the pavement, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to hold it all together even as she broke apart. 

Kipperlilly stared out the car window as the streets of downtown Elmville gave way to the winding road that led up Haversham Hill. Her reflection in the glass looked distant, her expression blank, but inside, her mind was anything but still. It felt like her thoughts were an endless loop of worry, regret, and guilt. She didn’t want to think about what had happened. She didn’t want to think about Max or Oisin. But no matter how hard she tried, it was haunting her. 

Her dad slowed the car as they neared the top of the hill. The house loomed into view—an old Victorian-style manor that sat at the top of Haversham Hill, towering over the trees with an almost menacing presence. Kipperlilly had visited the nearby Cravencroft Cemetery before, but she had never noticed this house. Now, it felt like something out of a nightmare.  

The manor was a patchwork of decay, with a spiraling tower jutting awkwardly off the side, held up by stilts and rafters that looked like they could collapse at any moment. The steep sloped roof had missing shingles, and the iron-wrought gates surrounding the property were rusted and tangled with overgrown ivy. The octagonal windows in the attic seemed to stare down like the hollow eyes of a skeleton, and the fountain in the front, long dry and cracked, was surrounded by a gravel driveway that crunched under the weight of the car’s tires. 

As they pulled up in front of the house, Barden cleared his throat, his mustache twitching slightly as he spoke. “The manor hasn’t had tenants for about forty years,” he said, easily slipping into the spiel as if he were giving a client a tour of a new property. “I was surprised someone wanted it.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the house, hugging her arms tightly around herself. 

She was glad her parents hadn’t asked too many questions. They’d wanted to know whose blood was on her, but when she’d said it was Max’s and that it wasn’t serious, they didn’t pry further. Max had been healed with a simple spell, and, much to Kipperlilly’s relief, he had agreed not to press charges or escalate the situation. But the fact that he’d been hurt at all made her stomach twist with guilt. She couldn’t stop thinking about how easily she had lost control, and the fact that she hadn’t heard from Oisin since only made it worse. 

“Honey?” Her mom, Winnie, turned in her seat to look back at her. Her expression was soft, full of warmth and concern. “We’ll wait here for you, okay? Take as long as you need.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, though she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. She opened the car door and stepped out into the cold air, her shoes mashing against the gravel as she made her way toward the front steps of the manor. The house loomed above her, its windows dark and empty, but she could see a faint glow coming from inside, as if it still held some flicker of life. 

She had been surprised when Jawbone suggested they meet at his new house. It was unusual for a school counselor to meet a student outside of school, let alone at a place like this. But Jawbone wasn’t exactly a regular school counselor. He was different. He always knew what to say when it mattered most, always seemed to understand things that other adults couldn’t. 

And maybe that’s why Kipperlilly had reached out to him, instead of her therapist back in Bastion City. She needed someone who wouldn’t judge her for what had happened. Someone who could help her find a way forward, even when she couldn’t see it herself. 

The manor creaked under the weight of the wind as Kipperlilly made her way up the steps, her hand hovering over the old brass door knocker shaped like a gargoyle. She hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with second thoughts. What if Jawbone couldn’t help? What if she was finally beyond help? 

But before she could dwell on those thoughts, she knocked. 

The sound echoed through the house, deep and hollow, like it was bouncing off walls that hadn’t heard a knock in decades. For a moment, Kipperlilly wondered if anyone would answer. But then, the door creaked open, just a crack at first, then fully, revealing the tall, broad figure of Jawbone. 

He looked as he always did—half-wolf, half-human, his brown fur streaked with silver, his eyes sharp but filled with a kindness. He wore a simple shirt and shorts, casual as ever, but his presence filled the doorway, solid and reassuring. 

“Hey there, Kipperlilly,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly but with a warmth that instantly made her feel a little lighter. “Come on in.” 

Kipperlilly stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The inside of the manor was just as worn and weathered as the outside, but there was a strange coziness to it, as if Jawbone’s presence alone brought life to the old, crumbling walls. The furniture was mismatched, and the air smelled faintly of wood smoke. 

“Nice place, huh?” Jawbone said with a chuckle, as if he could read her thoughts. “Still got a lot of work to do, but it’s home.” 

Kipperlilly nodded but didn’t say anything. She followed him through the hallway, her eyes flicking to the strange paintings that hung on the walls, portraits of people long gone, their eyes seeming to follow her as she walked. 

Jawbone led her into a small sitting room, where a fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He gestured for her to sit on the worn couch by the fire, and she did, sinking into the cushions as the warmth of the flames seeped into her skin. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the occasional creak of the house settling. But eventually, Jawbone sat across from her, his gaze steady but patient. 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked gently, but with a directness that she needed. 

Kipperlilly stared into the fire, her hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t know where to start. She didn’t even know if she could explain what had happened, let alone why she had done it. But she knew one thing—she needed help. She needed it more than ever, and she was past the point of attempting to handle it all on her own. She couldn't do it anymore. 

“I lost control,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the flames. “I hurt someone.” 

Jawbone didn’t interrupt. He just nodded, waiting for her to continue. 

Kipperlilly took a shaky breath, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. “And I don’t know how to stop it from happening again.” 

Kipperlilly stared at her hands, her fingers twisting together in her lap as if they had a mind of their own. Jawbone knew when to listen and when to speak. And right now, she wasn’t sure what she needed more—the silence, or his guidance. 

Jawbone finally broke the quiet, his deep voice steady and calm. “Let’s start at the beginning, m’kay?” 

Kipperlilly breathed out slowly, her shoulders sagging. She stared down at the floor, gathering her thoughts. “I was at the library,” she began, her voice soft and hesitant. “Researching.” 

Jawbone nodded. 

“Max. Max Durden from Aguefort,” Kipperlilly continued, her jaw tightening at the memory of his smug, infuriating face. “He kept asking me about Ivy. They dated for a while, and she just broke things off.” She shook her head. “He’s been… irritating me all summer. But this time, he wouldn’t stop asking questions. He just kept going.” 

Jawbone leaned back slightly in his chair, listening intently. 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her throat tight as she forced the words out. “And then… he started provoking me. Deliberately. Saying things to get under my skin.” She glanced down at her hands again, her voice lowering to a whisper. “And I attacked him.” 

The words were dry in her mouth. Kipperlilly could still see the moment in her mind—the way Max’s eyes had widened in shock, the flash of blood, the look of fear that followed. It played over and over in her head, like a scene she couldn’t escape. 

“Oisin stepped in,” she continued, barely above a whisper now. “If he hadn’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done. I almost—” 

“But you didn’t,” Jawbone interjected gently, his voice firm but kind. 

Kipperlilly blinked, her breath catching in her throat. “In the moment,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “I wanted to. I… I wanted to hurt him.” 

Jawbone scratched his chin thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly. “No, you didn’t.” 

Kipperlilly looked up, her brows furrowing in confusion. “But I did,” she protested, raw with guilt. “I felt it.” 

Jawbone shook his head, his expression calm and patient. “That part of you might have wanted to,” he said slowly. “But that part of you isn’t all of you.” 

Kipperlilly opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to reconcile the version of herself that had lashed out in anger with the version sitting here now, full of regret. 

Jawbone scooted forward in his seat, his hands resting on his knees as he looked her in the eye. “You’re not just your worst moment, Kipperlilly,” he said softly. “That part of you is there, sure. We all have it. But it’s not the only thing that defines you.” 

Kipperlilly stared at him, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. It didn’t feel like that. Right now, all she could think about was the anger, the way it had taken over, the way she had hurt someone. How, in the moment, she had enjoyed inflicting pain on someone else. 

Jawbone must have seen the doubt in her expression, because he smiled, just a little, before continuing. “How did you feel afterward?” 

Kipperlilly hesitated, her eyes dropping back to her lap. “Horrible,” she admitted quietly. “Guilty. Hopeless. Like… like I hate myself.” 

Jawbone nodded, his smile fading as he considered her words. “You know,” he began slowly. “When someone has a problem with drinking, or drugs, or even mental health disorders… they sometimes talk about hitting rock bottom.” 

Kipperlilly glanced up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Jawbone leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s when things get so bad that there’s nowhere else to go but up,” he explained. “It’s a turning point. A moment where they realize that something has to change. And from that point on, it’s about figuring out how to climb out of the hole they’ve found themselves in.” 

Kipperlilly frowned, her eyes dropping back to the floor. “So… you’re saying this is my rock bottom?” 

Jawbone shrugged, his eyes soft but serious. “Maybe,” he said simply. “Or maybe it’s just one of those moments that reminds you how much work you still have to do.” 

Kipperlilly let out a slow breath, her head lowering as she felt his words settle. She was never one to shy away from doing more, and putting in the work she needed, but she was so tired. She was exhausted. Her eyes started to sting, and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now. But it was getting harder to hold it all in.

Jawbone didn’t say anything more for a moment. Then, in his usual, understated way, he stood up from his chair. “I’m gonna go make us some tea,” he smiled, flashing his fangs. “You sit tight, okay?” 

Kipperlilly nodded, unable to speak as she watched him leave the room. She swallowed hard, her throat tight with the effort of holding back her emotions. She hadn’t expected to feel this raw, this exposed. She hadn’t expected to be on the verge of a break down. This was the summer that was supposed to change everything for the better. All of her friends had blossomed, and she was falling apart. 

The soft creak of the floorboards pulled her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up just in time to see Jawbone returning to the room. He held two steaming mugs of tea in his large hands, the warmth of the mugs causing little tendrils of steam to rise into the air. He handed one to her with a small, reassuring smile. 

Kipperlilly wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand before taking the mug. It was warm, almost too warm, but the heat was nice in her cold hands. She wrapped her fingers tightly around it. 

Jawbone settled back into his seat across from her, cradling his own mug in his massive hands. His eyes never left hers, but there was no judgment. Just quiet understanding. 

“Something tells me,” he began, “That you ain’t usually someone who cries.” 

Kipperlilly let out a thick, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not.” 

Jawbone nodded knowingly. “Nothing wrong with crying, though,” he said, taking a slow sip of his tea. “Me? I love a good cry when it comes to it.” 

Kipperlilly looked up at him in surprise. “Really?” she asked, her voice still thick with emotion. 

Jawbone smiled, a soft rumble of laughter escaping him. “Oh yeah. Cried like a baby when we finally signed the papers to this place.” 

That pulled a small smile from Kipperlilly, though it was quickly interrupted by another tear that she wiped away hastily. 

“I’ve barely been able to stop since… the incident,” she admitted. 

Jawbone set his mug down on the table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re in shock, Kip,” he said softly. “You can be the strongest, stubbornest person in Spyre, and ain’t no one can help that. Shock doesn’t care how tough you are.” 

Kipperlilly huffed, feeling a wave of frustration rising again. “Well, it’s inconvenient,” she muttered. “I can’t think when I’m crying.” 

Jawbone’s muzzle curled up into a soft, understanding smile. “And you’re a real thinker. You must hate that.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, wiping away more tears with a sharp, irritated motion. “Yeah,” 

Jawbone took a long sip of his tea, his eyes searching her. Kipperlilly felt like she should say something else, explain more, but every time she tried to gather her thoughts, another wave of emotion threatened to choke her. 

A ghost floated through the wall, drifting lazily into the room as if he’d been there all along. 

Kipperlilly blinked, her mind momentarily too stunned to react. She recognized the ghost immediately—Zayne, a student from Aguefort who had been very much alive during their Freshman year. His dark hair hung down in front of his face, much like Ruben’s, and he wore a mesh shirt and a pair of bondage pants, his style as edgy in death as it had been in life. 

Zayne looked between Kipperlilly and Jawbone, his translucent form hovering just a few inches above the floor. “Shit, sorry, Jawbone,” 

Jawbone chuckled, completely unfazed by the sudden appearance of the ghost. “It’s alright, kiddo,” he said with a grin. “I’ll call for you later, m’kay?” 

The ghost gave them both a sheepish smile and floated upwards, disappearing through the ceiling with a final, casual wave. 

Kipperlilly stared at the empty space where Zayne had been, her mind still catching up to the sudden interruption. “Was that—?” 

“Zayne, yeah,” Jawbone confirmed with a small smile. “He’s been sticking around since... well, you know. Seems to like the place, and he's good for Adaine. Now he's just another one of my kids.” 

“I forgot that Adaine lived here too,” she muttered, her voice still thick with the remnants of her earlier tears. 

And she really had forgotten. Last year, Kipperlilly had noticed Adaine waiting outside Jawbone’s office after one of her own sessions. She had been curious, of course—Kipperlilly wasn’t one to let a mystery go unsolved. A little bit of snooping later, and she’d found out that Jawbone had adopted her. He seemed to have a knack for collecting wayward strays—his niece, Adaine, and now apparently Zayne. It made sense, in a way, but still, it was strange to think of someone like Adaine living here in this old, creaky manor. 

Jawbone gave a small, amused grunt. “Oh yeah, her room’s up in the tower,” he said, nodding toward the spiraling structure that jutted out from the side of the house. “Her sister, Aelwyn, just moved out into her own place.” 

Jawbone reached over to the side table, picking up a framed photograph. He held it out to Kipperlilly, the corners of his muzzle curling into a soft smile. “That’s the whole gang,” he said. 

Kipperlilly took the frame, her fingers tracing the edges before focusing on the photo itself. The picture was full of familiar faces—Jawbone standing in the middle, his arms around a tall wood elf woman who bore a striking resemblance to Fig. Fig herself was there, her bass slung over her back. That must be Fig’s mom, Kipperlilly realized. She didn't know Jawbone and Fig’s mom were together. 

Standing beside Fig was a serious-looking woman with fiery wings folded tightly against her back, cop of red hair blazing as brightly as the flames themselves. Kipperlilly recognized her from the constant school gossip—Ayda Aguefort, Arthur Aguefort’s daughter. The fact that Fig and Ayda were together was something that hadn’t escaped the rumor mill at Aguefort. 

Adaine was there, smiling shyly beside Jawbone, looking much smaller and more at ease than she ever seemed at school. Kristen was kneeling in the front, a goofy grin on her face, and even though this was the pre-summer version of Kristen—before she had transformed into the more confident, muscular person Kipperlilly had seen in that Instagram post—there was something infectious about her presence in the picture. 

Jawbone’s rugged-looking niece, who Kipperlilly had only seen a couple of times, knelt beside Kristen, arm around her shoulders. Ragh Barkrock was in the picture too, his massive hands resting on the shoulders of an orcish woman in a wheelchair who, Kipperlilly assumed, must be his mother. Zayne floated lazily in the back, his ghostly form somehow blending into the scene like he belonged. 

It was such an ordinary, silly family photo that could have been snapped at any summer BBQ or family reunion. And here Kipperlilly was, sitting in their living room, tears drying on her face. 

“That’s a lot of people,” Kipperlilly murmured, her eyes still lingering on the photo. 

Jawbone chuckled softly, his voice rich with affection. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But it sure seems quiet when they ain’t home.” 

Kipperlilly sniffed, realizing with a start that, somewhere along the way, she had stopped crying. She blinked, her thoughts swirling as she processed everything. The Bad Kids, the group she had always harbored a quiet disdain for, looked so different in this context. They weren’t the untouchable, larger-than-life heroes that Aguefort made them out to be. They were just… people. 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, staring down at the photo in her hands. "So, they all just live with you?" 

"Yeah," Jawbone replied, leaning back in his chair. “Well, Ragh is gonna start college in the fall. Full ride for bloodrush, y’know? The Buccaneers. We turned the second sittin’ room into a space for his mom. The stairs are hard for the chair n’ all. Tracker moved out to Fallinel, and Ayda’s between here and Leviathan. We’ve got a portal right upstairs, next to Fig’s room.” 

Kipperlilly nodded slowly as she handed the picture back to him. "And Kristen?" she asked, thinking about the last person in the photo. 

Jawbone’s smile widened just a bit. “Out back in the old church. Converted it into a little living space for her.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow. Of course. 

“I seem to ask you a lot of questions when we meet,” Kipperlilly said after a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her tea mug. “I’m sorry.” 

Jawbone shook his head, his expression soft and patient. “I’m here for whatever you need me to be here for. If you wanna just talk, we can just talk. If you want my advice, I’ll give it. If you wanna cuss and scream, well, that’s fine too.” 

Kipperlilly gave a half-smile, glancing down at her tea. “I’m not crying anymore.” 

Jawbone chuckled softly. “Mhmm. Noticed that too.” 

The warmth of his gentle humor settled over her, and for a moment, she felt the tightness in her chest ease. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

“We’ve been spending most of the summer out in the woods training,” Kipperlilly said after a long sip of tea. “It’s going well, even if Ivy and Ruben have been getting on my last nerve. We’re called The Rat Grinders now.” She made a face. “It wasn’t my idea, but they voted on it.” 

Jawbone raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the name but refrained from commenting. 

“Whenever I’ve had a chance, I’ve been working on some personal projects. I know who the rogue teacher is now,” Kipperlilly continued. “I just have to find her, and I’ll pass my rogue classes for next year.” 

Jawbone tilted his head, watching her carefully. “That’s quite the summer. You sure you’re not overworking yourself?” 

Kipperlilly shook her head quickly. “No. Maybe just for a little while, but it’ll be for the best when I get a head start into next year.” 

Jawbone gave a thoughtful hum, his sharp eyes never leaving her. “Or you’ll have more time than you know what to do with.” 

Kipperlilly paused at that, frowning as she mulled it over. Without most of her classes, she would have a lot more free time on her hands. Even with all of her extracurriculars, it could get boring. 

Jawbone must’ve sensed her hesitation because he leaned forward slightly, his tone more serious but still light. “Now... I didn’t mean to freak ya out.” 

“You didn’t,” Kipperlilly said quickly, her defensive walls coming back up just a little. “We have a lot of plans, and I’m sure there’s a lot of things I can get involved in.” 

Jawbone nodded, letting her rush through the response without challenging it. “Like student council?” 

Kipperlilly blinked, taken aback. “Oh?” 

Jawbone grinned, his eyes twinkling with the suggestion. “Campaigning for your senior year will start soon if you wanna run for it. It’ll be a lot of work, o’course. But you’ve always had a lot of opinions about... y’know, the way things run sometimes at school.” He leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “You could channel some of that and really do something good with it.” 

Kipperlilly sat quietly for a moment, her thoughts spinning. Student council. It wasn’t something she had really considered before. But now that Jawbone had brought it up, she could see the appeal. There were so many things about Aguefort that frustrated her—the way the bylaws always seemed to favor the same groups of students, the unfair treatment of underdogs. Things could change if the right person was in a position of power. And if she were student body president, people would be looking at her. They would be looking at her adventuring party. Maybe it would give her the chance to finally make things fair for the students who felt overlooked, like her. 

Some of my… rage, you mean?” Kipperlilly asked. 

Jawbone’s smile softened, shaking his head gently. “No. Well… maybe. Not the rage itself, but the drive. That fire you’ve got in you, Kipperlilly. You’re full of it. Training with Porter wasn’t the answer, but maybe using some of that energy and pouring it into something that’ll help you out and keep your mind active—that won’t hurt nothing.” 

She stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance. She had so much to think about—too much, it seemed. 

“That… might actually be really good for me,” she admitted. 

Jawbone smiled, his eyes warm. “I think so too.” 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard. “It’s just…” she hesitated, feeling the familiar sting of shame rising up in her throat. “What I did to Max… and Oisin. Oisin looked at me like I was a monster.” She looked down at her hands, fingers curling tightly around the edge of her tea mug. “How could I… how could I be someone people will look up to?” 

Jawbone let out a deep, thoughtful sigh. He stood up from his chair and moved to sit beside her on the couch, the cushions sinking slightly under his weight. 

“You’re not a monster, Kipperlilly,” he said. “And I promise you, Oisin doesn’t think so either.” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, her chest tightening. “You didn’t see how he looked at me.” 

Jawbone was quiet for a moment, letting her words dissipate. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his large hand resting on the back of the couch, close enough to offer comfort but not invading her space. “No one could look at you and see a monster, Kip,” he said softly. 

Kipperlilly glanced up at him, her vision blurred by the tears that were once again threatening to spill over. Jawbone’s eyes were kind, filled with nothing but understanding and compassion. It made her heart ache, knowing how much she had struggled to see herself the way he seemed to. 

Jawbone smiled gently at her, his voice lowering. “You’re just a kid who struggles with something she shouldn’t have to,” he said. “A kid who needs a little extra help.” 

That did it. The tears Kipperlilly had been trying so hard to hold back broke free again, rolling down her cheeks as her shoulders trembled with the effort of trying to keep herself together. She wasn’t strong enough for this, not right now. 

Jawbone didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug. Kipperlilly let herself lean into him, her face pressing into his shoulder as the tears came harder. It was so different from when Porter had hugged her—so different from the cold, cruel embrace she had felt when she thought anger and hate were the only ways to protect herself. Jawbone wasn’t like that. Jawbone was warm, kind, and full of a strength that didn’t come from tearing others down, but from lifting them up. 

Jawbone’s voice rumbled softly above her, soothing and steady. “Why do you have so much faith in me?” she sniffed, muffled against his shoulder. 

Jawbone chuckled softly, his chest vibrating with the sound. “Why shouldn’t I?” he asked, fulled with all the sincerity of Spyre. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. “I ain’t gonna give up on you, Kipperlilly. Nor will anyone else. So you can’t give up on yourself, m’kay?” 

Kipperlilly blinked up at him, her face still damp with tears, but something in her chest loosened at his words. He wasn’t giving up on her. And if Jawbone believed in her, maybe—just maybe—she could start believing in herself again. 

She nodded slowly, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I’ll try,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but there was a flicker of determination in the depths of her being. 

Jawbone grinned, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently. “I know you will.” He chuckled, his smile widening as he leaned back against the couch. “You’re in high school,” he said, his voice full of warmth and humor. “Cut yourself a little slack every now and then.” 

Kipperlilly let out a soft laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. It was the first time she had really laughed in what felt like days. 

Kipperlilly moved through the Far Haven Woods as if she were a shadow, her small, nimble frame slipping between the towering trees without a sound. The woods held a soft, silvery glow under the perpetual light of the endless moon. The air was cool and thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and though her shoes left no trace in the soft soil, she could feel every step, each one bringing her closer to the riverbank where she knew someone would be. 

She wasn’t sure why her feet had carried her here. Maybe it was the silence she craved after the whirlwind of emotions she’d been caught in for days, or maybe it was the pull of something unresolved, tugging at her since the moment she’d turned off her crystal. Ever since… well, the incident, as she’d been calling it, Kipperlilly hadn’t been able to bear the thought of her friends’ voices crackling through the crystal. Not even Ivy’s teasing remarks or Ruben’s off-key humming—things that used to fill her with a comforting sense of normalcy.

Jawbone had helped her step back from the edge, but that didn’t mean she was ready to step forward, either. And the last person she was ready to face was Oisin. She swallowed hard, the familiar heat of her frustration bubbling under the surface. She wasn’t mad at him, not really, but the thought of what he might say, of what he might think after what she’d done to Max, was enough to keep her silent. 

The trees thinned as she neared the river, their long, knotted branches giving way to a wide clearing where the grass grew thick and wild. Kipperlilly paused, half-hidden behind the broad trunk of an ancient oak, and peered out at the scene ahead. The moonlight bounced off the river’s surface, turning the water into a shimmering ribbon of silver. A few feet from the water’s edge, Oisin sat on a cluster of boulders, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, the runes on his arms glowing faintly in the dark. 

She watched him for a moment, not daring to move. Oisin seemed at peace, his eyes half-closed, his hand outstretched as if reaching for something unseen. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, a stone lifted from the ground beside him, hovered in the air for a heartbeat, and then sailed across the river, skipping along the surface with a soft plop, plop, plop before sinking into the dark water.

Kipperlilly felt her chest tighten, the anxiety knotting its way up her throat. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to have to talk to him, to hear whatever he had to say, but she couldn’t stay hidden forever. If she didn’t face Oisin now, the weight of it all would follow her until it broke her completely. So, taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the tree and cleared her throat. 

The sound was small, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Oisin’s head turned slightly, his sharp eyes catching hers for a fleeting second before he looked away again, back to the river. He didn’t say anything, and for a moment, Kipperlilly considered turning around and walking away. But before she could act on that impulse, he shifted, reaching down to the strap of his thigh harness where he kept his spellbook. 

Kipperlilly’s stomach flipped as she watched him pull out her leather-bound journal. The sight of it made her mouth go dry, and she clenched her fists at her sides, trying to keep herself steady. Oisin stretched out his arm, holding the journal toward her without a word, his gaze still fixed on the river. 

"You left this behind," he said quietly, though it lacked any of its usual warmth. That thought hurt her deeply. 

Kipperlilly swallowed hard, her legs carrying her forward before she had the chance to think about it. She crossed the soft grass, her boots making the slightest rustle in the undergrowth, and took the journal from his outstretched hand. She held it against her chest, the worn leather cool under her fingers, and stared down at it, unsure of what to say. 

"Thanks," she whispered, sounding smaller than ever. 

Oisin gave a small shrug, finally turning his gaze back toward the river. "I told everyone you were sick. That you turned off your crystal to get some rest." 

Kipperlilly blinked, caught off guard. "You didn’t have to lie for me," she said, though her words lacked the conviction she wanted them to carry. 

"It wasn’t my place to say anything," Oisin replied simply, evenly. He lifted his hand again, and another stone floated up from the ground, skipping across the water with the same effortless grace as the last. 

Kipperlilly shifted on her feet, her fingers fidgeting with the edges of her journal. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it, the way Oisin just sat there, as if nothing had changed, as if she hadn’t almost lost herself completely. Kipperlilly glanced at the boulder beside Oisin, noticing how its surface was worn smooth by years of rain and wind, a natural seat carved out of the stone itself. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking from the rock to Oisin and back again. 

"Can I join you?" she asked, barely more than a murmur, unsure if she really wanted to stay, or run. 

Oisin shifted, making space on the boulder. He didn’t speak, but the small gesture was invitation enough. Kipperlilly’s feet moved before her mind could second-guess, and she climbed up, settling beside him. The coolness of the stone seeped through her clothes. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest, and stared out at the river, its surface glimmering like molten silver under the endless moonlight. 

For a while, they sat like that, side by side, with only the rhythmic skipping of stones breaking the quiet. The steady flow of the river seemed to match the pulse of Kipperlilly’s own thoughts—slow, yet constant, each one rippling out to stir another memory, another worry. 

She cleared her throat, trying to steady the nerves that still fluttered in her chest. "About what happened…" 

The words trailed off, dissolving into the night air. Kipperlilly’s fingers tightened around the hem of her skirt, twisting the fabric. Her throat felt tight, and she cursed herself for the way her voice shook. She wasn’t supposed to be this way—unsure, fragile. That wasn’t her. 

Oisin didn’t push her to continue. He simply reached for another stone, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface before sending it skimming across the water. 

"I made sure everything was cleaned up," he said eventually, his voice as steady as the river. "Max is fine. I’m fine. The rest of the people in the library… well, that was a little trickier, but I covered for you." 

Kipperlilly let out a long breath. She was thankful—deeply, truly—but the feeling that followed wasn’t relief. It was guilt. Guilt that Oisin had had to fix things, to step in where she’d lost control. 

"That’s not—" She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. "Thank you. Really. But you didn’t have to do that." 

"I had to do something," Oisin replied. 

She nodded, looking down at her hands, the way her fingers tugged and twisted at the edges of her skirt. Her chest tightened again, that familiar feeling of being too much. Too much trouble. Too much anger. Too much for anyone to handle. And Oisin, with his calm demeanor and gentle nature, he didn’t deserve to have to pick up the pieces every time she broke. 

The last thing she wanted was to be a mess that her friends had to clean up. 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak. "I’m diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder," she admitted, the words spilling out into the open space. "I saw my first specialist when I was three or four. It helped, sometimes, but it’s always been there. Haunting me." She paused, her voice trembling slightly. "Sometimes I get so angry that I— that I forget who I am, and I don’t know what to do with it." 

Oisin didn’t react right away. He simply let the admittance digest, giving her the space she needed. Then, after a moment, he just said, "Okay." 

It wasn’t a question or a judgment. Just an acknowledgment. A quiet understanding. 

Kipperlilly glanced at him, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking, but Oisin’s expression remained calm, unreadable. Still, something about the way he said okay made her feel like he wasn’t looking at her like she was broken. It was just… acceptance.

"I have a psychiatrist," she continued, quieter now. "And I see Jawbone at school. I do everything I can to keep it under control. But it’s—" 

"I know," Oisin interrupted gently. "I think all of us do." 

She blinked, surprised. "Really?" 

Oisin nodded. "You hide it pretty well, but we know you better than you think we do." 

A soft smile tugged at the corner of Kipperlilly’s mouth. "I guess that makes sense," she said, her tone lighter now. "I know when Ruben’s upset, and when you get nervous." 

Oisin gave a small nod, his lips curving into a faint smile. "We all know you’re pretty quick to get fired up, but I always knew it was more than that." 

Kipperlilly’s smile faded, a twinge of sadness creeping in. "You did walk me to my first counseling session," she sighed, the memory of that day fresh in her mind. 

Oisin shrugged, his smile softening. "You’re not the only smart one. I know everyone’s school schedules by heart." 

She let out a small, almost sad laugh, looking out at the river again. The sound of the water rushing over the rocks was soothing in a way she hadn’t expected. For a moment, it almost felt like the world had paused, just for the two of them, letting the quiet stretch out, unbroken. 

"And I notice things," Oisin said after a moment, cutting through the stillness. "Something changed this year." 

Kipperlilly bit the inside of her cheek, her thoughts swirling like the river below. She hadn’t meant to change. She hadn’t wanted to. But ever since she’d started tutoring with Porter, something had shifted inside her, something she still didn't understand. 

"I thought tutoring with Porter might be helpful," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the water. "To harness those feelings into something productive. But Porter… he…" 

She trailed off, her voice catching again. The words were there, just below the surface, but she couldn’t find the strength to pull them out. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to. 

Oisin turned his head to look at her, studying her face with that same calm, unreadable expression. "Did he hurt you?" he asked. 

Kipperlilly shook her head instinctively, but then she stopped. Had he hurt her? Maybe not in the way Oisin meant, but… yes. He had hurt her. Not physically, but something about the way he’d pushed her, goaded her, lured her into whatever twisted plan he had—it had damaged her. She hadn’t figured out exactly what he was trying to do, but it must have been something terrible. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes began to burn. She blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears, but it was useless. One welled up in the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek before she could stop it. She rubbed at her face quickly, hoping Oisin wouldn’t notice, but when she glanced up, his expression had already shifted. His calm, unreadable mask cracked, and concern flooded in, softening the sharpness of his features. 

"Kipperlilly…" Oisin’s voice was gentle, but the way he said her name made her throat tighten even more. 

"It wasn’t like that," she said, forcing the words out, but they sounded hollow to her ears, a weak attempt to brush off what had happened. 

Oisin’s brow furrowed, the soft glow of the runes on his arms reflecting in the deep lines of his face. "If he touched—" 

Kipperlilly cut him off, shaking her head. "He didn’t… it wasn’t…." She trailed off again, her hands twisting in her lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her skirt as if it could somehow keep her grounded. She didn’t want to say the words out loud, didn’t want to give them power by speaking them, but they were already there, sitting heavy in her chest. "He took me to a dark place. And brought something out of me." Her voice was barely a whisper now. "And I think… I think he broke me." 

Oisin let out a long, low breath, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet rush of the river, the stones still skipping across its surface, one by one, as if Oisin’s magic was working on instinct alone. 

"I don’t like the way that sounds, Kip," Oisin said softly, his voice steady but carrying a weight behind it that made her feel small, like she was on the verge of crumbling. "If you want to report him—" 

"No." She sniffled and hunched her shoulders, trying to fold into herself, to disappear into the night. "It’s not what you’re thinking." 

Oisin’s jaw tightened, and for the first time since they started talking, his calm broke. "It sure seems like it," he said, a flash of anger creeping into his voice. 

Kipperlilly shook her head again, harder this time, as if trying to shake the memory loose from her mind. "He didn’t hurt me. Not like that." Her voice was strained, fraying at the edges. "But he… he made it worse. I’ve been able to control myself for so long, and he made me lose it. He pushed me until… until I scared myself." Her breath hitched, and she pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the thrum of her heart beneath her fingers. "I’m so terrified, Oisin. Of what I could become. Of what I did."

Oisin’s hand twitched as if he was about to reach out but then thought better of it. He let the silence settle between them again, his eyes studying her face, searching for something. Finally, he shifted closer and held out his hand, his large clawed fingers stretched out in front of her, palm up. It was an offering, a simple gesture, but the sight of it sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over Kipperlilly. 

A tear slipped down her cheek, and this time, she didn’t bother wiping it away. Instead, she let her hand fall into his, feeling the warmth of his body, the roughness of his scales as his fingers closed around hers. His grip was reassuring, and for the first time in days, Kipperlilly felt a flicker of safety, of reassurance. 

"Thank you for telling me," Oisin said quietly, the anger gone. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, a small movement that kept her from spiraling completely. 

Kipperlilly didn’t respond right away. She didn’t know how. The guilt still sat heavy in her chest, thick and suffocating. She looked away, her eyes fixed on the dark water flowing in front of them. 

"I wouldn’t blame you if you were scared of me too," she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear. She hated admitting it, but it was true. If Oisin knew the full extent of what she was capable of, if he really understood the darkness that Porter had pulled out of her, how could he not be afraid? 

Oisin let out a small, breathy laugh, one that surprised her. When she turned to look at him, he was smiling—a soft, almost amused smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

"I’m only afraid of things I don’t know," he said, his voice warm, like the crackle of a fire on a cold night. "If you can name it, if you can put a face to it… what’s there to be frightened of?" 

Kipperlilly just stared at him, her mind struggling to process the simplicity of his words. It was nonsensical, completely illogical, but somehow, in that moment, it made perfect sense. The darkness, the anger, the fear—it was all a part of her, but it didn’t define her. And somehow, Oisin wasn’t afraid of it. Wasn’t afraid of her.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she let the silence stretch on, not an uncomfortable one, but a peaceful, steady quiet that wrapped around them like the night itself. Oisin’s words settled deep in her chest, offering a kind of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. 

Oisin turned back to look at the river, his smile still playing on his lips, and Kipperlilly felt a soft sigh escape her. She rested her head against his arm, the solid warmth of his presence making her feel steady again. His arm draped around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer, and they just sat there, side by side, the world around them quiet and still. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year:
First day of the semester

Kipperlilly bounded down the stairs, the sound of her polished shoes tapping a perfect rhythm against the polished walnut wood. She was dressed with meticulous care: a crisp white blouse, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the first two buttons purposefully undone, hinting at just the right amount of casual rebellion under a soft gray knit vest. Her pleated blue plaid skirt swished as she moved, the fabric soft against her legs, balancing the sharper edges of her outfit with a touch of warmth. 

As she reached the last step, she looked up to see her father leaning against the kitchen doorway, a tumbler of coffee cradled in one hand, his eyes still bleary from sleep. Barden was a halfling through and through—small in stature and a quiet warmth in his gaze that softened the worn lines on his face. He offered her a lazy smile, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Look sharp, Dad,” she teased, coming up beside him. “It’s a big day. First day of junior year.” 

Barden gave a mock salute, attempting to stifle a yawn. “Why, remind me again, are we up at the crack of dawn?” He rubbed his eyes, squinting as if he could somehow blink himself awake. 

Kipperlilly let out a sigh, rolling her eyes but with a fondness in her tone. “I told you yesterday! I’m meeting Oisin early, remember? We're teleporting to the graveyard in Ashgrove, then to school.” 

Barden let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the rogue teacher… teleporting to graveyards… You and your friends are always getting into something, aren’t you?” 

A grin broke across Kipperlilly’s face, and she tilted her head slightly. “What can I say? It’s an adventurer’s life.” 

Her dad handed her a second tumbler, this one filled with coffee just the way she liked it: strong with a hint of honey and cream. She took a grateful sip, the warmth spreading through her like an embrace, a familiar taste that somehow made everything feel just a little more possible. 

“You ready?” she asked, watching him fumble with his keys, stifling another yawn. 

Barden chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice, eh?” 

The two of them headed out, the brisk morning air cutting through the last traces of sleep, filling Kipperlilly with a small but comforting thrill. 

As they slid into Barden’s car, Kipperlilly took another sip of her coffee, stealing glances at her dad, who still looked slightly worse for wear. The dashboard clock read 6:15. 

“So, Bug,” Barden said as he started the engine, breaking the comfortable silence, “you excited to get back to Aguefort?” 

Kipperlilly huffed, her eyes fixed on the road ahead but her mind buzzing with the possibilities of the coming year. She nodded, smiling. “Absolutely. This year’s gonna be different, you know? Today’s probably the most important day of the year. I’ve got a feeling… it’s going to be perfect.” 

Barden smiled, a soft, affectionate look crossing his face. “I have to say, it’s nice seeing you with some pep in your step again.” 

Kipperlilly felt a small, grateful warmth bloom inside her. It had been a journey to get here, clawing her way out of that dark pit she’d been sinking into last year. The summer had been a series of challenges and quiet triumphs, like when she’d finally told her friends about the whole mess with Max. They’d taken it well—better than she’d ever let herself hope. Ivy had even surprised her, one eyebrow raised in that amused way of hers as she’d shrugged and said, “He deserved it. Serves him right for being a stage five clinger.” 

And then there were those Thursday afternoon visits from Jawbone, who’d somehow worked his way into the Copperkettle household with that easy, charming presence of his. Every week, he’d shown up at their door like some strange, hairy beacon of emotional stability, guiding Kipperlilly through tough conversations with her parents that she’d usually rather avoid. Jawbone had a knack for listening, understanding, and somehow—gently—nudging her to confront things she didn’t want to touch. 

Once, she’d come downstairs after a session to find her dad and Jawbone sharing a glass of scotch in the living room, laughing like a pair of old friends. The sight of them like that had almost startled her, like seeing her two very separate worlds colliding. 

“You know,” she said, savoring the warmth of the coffee as she took another sip, “it feels good. And it’ll feel even better when I kick off my campaign for student body president.” 

Barden laughed, a rich, hearty sound that filled the small space of the car. “Now, that’s my girl! President, huh? Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be seeing you on the town council with your mom.” 

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small grin that crept across her face. “Let’s start with Aguefort first, Dad. Then, who knows.” She smirked, feeling that familiar flash of determination pulse in her chest. “One thing at a time.” 

He chuckled again, shaking his head, and the car rolled forward, their surroundings shifting from the cozy suburban streets of Elmville to the sprawling estates and elegant landscapes of Clearbrook. Here, the houses sat on massive plots of land, each one its own little world, surrounded by wrought iron fences and perfectly manicured lawns that stretched on for acres. 

As they passed each mansion, the first glimmers of morning light began to thread through the branches of the old oaks that lined the road. The sky, after being lacking of any color all summer, was now streaked with pink and gold, the colors growing more intense as the sun began to peek over the horizon. 

Barden’s gaze drifted upward, his eyes widening a little as the sunlight washed over the world around them. He let out a low whistle, nearly veering off the road in surprise, his eyes glued to the sunrise.

“Well, I’ll be danged.” 

Kipperlilly followed his gaze, a mix of awe and reluctance bubbling up within her. The sight of the sun—something they hadn’t seen for what felt like ages—sent a warm, tingling sensation across her skin. It was a beautiful sight, no denying that. After months of endless night, the kind that had seeped into every part of their lives, the dawn felt like a miracle. 

The Bad Kids had done it. Again. It was their doing, the reason that the sun was back in the sky, its golden rays spilling over the world like some grand revelation. Kipperlilly wanted to be annoyed, to roll her eyes at the thought of everyone raving about how those insufferable, annoying, too-good-to-be-true teenagers had saved the world yet again. But as the light touched her face, she couldn’t help the flicker of gratitude that rose in her chest, mingling with her annoyance. 

A new day, literally and metaphorically, she thought, her fingers tapping on the tumbler as she glanced sideways at her dad, who was still marveling at the sunrise. 

Trying to steer the conversation away from her thoughts on The Bad Kids and all their heroics, she gestured toward one of the grand homes as they neared their destination. “It’s that one,” she pointed, a smirk playing on her lips. “The last house before the turn.” 

Barden snorted, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin. “I know,” he said, his tone amused. “You forget—I sold the place.” 

She let out a small laugh, her own grin widening. Sometimes she forgot how well-connected her dad was around Elmville, his business deals leaving little pieces of him scattered across town. She leaned over, brushing a quick kiss to his cheek as they slowed to a stop in front of the grand mansion’s gates. 

“Thanks for the ride, Dad.” She squeezed his shoulder, feeling the familiar warmth of his love in that small gesture. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it later.” 

Barden smiled, his eyes soft as he reached over to pat her hand. “Have a good day, Bug. And don’t forget—you’ve got this.” His voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “Love you, kid.” 

“Love you, too,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully as she reached for the door handle. “And don’t start with the mushy stuff.” 

“Too late,” he called after her, his laughter trailing behind her as she slid out of the car, feeling that light, buoyant sense of anticipation for small morning adventure. 

Kipperlilly approached the Hakinvar’s front door, her footsteps muffled by the dense, early morning mist that clung to the air, still heavy with the weight of a much awaited dawn. She glanced up at the towering stone pillars on either side of the doorway, feeling an odd shiver ripple through her. It wasn’t her first time at Oisin’s house—but standing here at such an early hour, with the house looming above her in the sleepy light, she couldn’t help but feel a little… small. 

She took a breath, hesitating at the massive double doors. They were carved intricately with ancient symbols and accented with heavy ironwork. She raised her hand to knock but started to second guess herself. This early, the last thing she wanted was to wake the entire household. And yet, just as she lowered her fist, the massive door creaked open, swinging inward almost soundlessly, and Kipperlilly took an instinctive step back. 

Filling the doorway, Oisin’s father, Mr. Hakinvar, was every bit as formidable as she remembered: a massive, dark blue Dragonborn whose scales glinted like polished stone under the velvet robe he wore. Tendrils hung from his lower jaw, giving him an even more fearsome look, and he leaned on a cane-like staff adorned with small, glimmering gemstones. His eyes, sharp and clear, settled on her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. Wisps of static smoke drifted from his nostrils, wafting through the air around Kipperlilly, kissing at her skin. 

“Mr. Hakinvar…” she began, searching for the right words and feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “How did you—?” 

“Kipperlilly Copperkettle,” he rumbled, his voice deep and almost crackling with an electric edge, “you’re later than I predicted.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, instinctively taking another small step back. “Oh, uh… I’m sorry?” 

Mr. Hakinvar simply huffed, a low sound that sent a few dark wisps of smoke curling out. The edges of his scales seemed to shimmer, a faint aura of static energy emanating from him. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end just by being in his presence. 

“It appears day has finally dawned once more,” he said, his gaze lifting toward the sky as if he were studying it like a particularly interesting piece of art. 

“Yeah,” Kipperlilly replied, shifting awkwardly under his scrutinizing gaze. “Is… is Oisin ready to go, sir?” 

“Momentarily, yes. I rather think so,” he replied, his words slow, almost as if he were relishing each one before letting it go. There was an intensity to him that was hard to ignore, an almost predatory stillness as he watched her, eyes half-lidded and assessing. 

Even though she’d only met him once before—at a birthday dinner for Oisin last year—his presence was unforgettable. He’d spent most of that evening in his study, emerging only to offer a brief, stately toast before disappearing again. Oisin had once confided in her that his father spent a good portion of his time in the Ethereal Plane, where he found ‘quiet contemplation,’ as he put it, preferable to the noise of the material world. That, along with his intense presence, suited the Hakinvar patriarch well. It was rare to see him, and for that, Kipperlilly was not exactly disappointed. He seemed more like a shadowy figure out of a myth than a real person. 

Before the silence could stretch into discomfort, she heard a rustling behind him, and Oisin’s familiar voice called out, breaking the quiet. “Pa, please, don’t scare my friend away.” 

Mr. Hakinvar stepped to the side slightly, just enough for Oisin to slide into view. He was dressed in a crisp, satin-like white shirt and neatly starched pants, the picture of refined neatness, though there was a mischievous spark in his eyes that betrayed his composed exterior. The rounded spectacles perched on his snout softened his otherwise imposing appearance. 

“Nonsense,” Mr. Hakinvar muttered, though there was a glint in his eye that could’ve been the tiniest hint of amusement. 

Oisin rolled his eyes, stepping out from his father’s shadow and offering her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be going now.” 

Before he could move any further, Mr. Hakinvar reached out with one clawed hand, resting it on Oisin’s shoulder. His expression softened, his gaze intense as he pulled Oisin close, pressing his forehead against his son’s in a rare moment of tenderness. There was a brief shimmer, a dark, static-like aura rippling across his scales, and he murmured something in Draconic, his voice low and reverent. 

“Si ickrak'ey whedabra persvek nomeno ir. Ge wer mitne.” 

Kipperlilly watched, tilting her head, curiosity tugging at her as she caught the way Oisin’s cheeks darkened faintly—a rare hint of embarrassment from her usually unflappable friend. 

“Pa,” Oisin said quietly, pulling back just enough to break the connection. “Stop. It’s okay. I’ll see you later.” 

Mr. Hakinvar nodded once, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer. “Be safe, my son.” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Oisin muttered, glancing back at Kipperlilly with a sheepish look. “Bye, Pa.” 

With one last nod, Mr. Hakinvar stepped back, the heavy door closing with a firm, resounding thud behind him. Kipperlilly watched Oisin, noting the slightly flushed look on his face, the way he adjusted his glasses, seemingly still caught off-guard by the sudden display of affection. 

“Sorry about him,” Oisin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s in the middle of a sleep fast. He gets… more overzealous than usual.” 

“It’s fine,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though she couldn’t quite shake the lingering awe. “I don’t mind. He’s just a little…” 

“Intense? Excessive? Eerie?” Oisin offered with a grin. 

She hummed, letting out a soft chuckle. “Well…” 

“Yeah, I know.” He let out a breath, some of the tension melting from his posture. “Come on. We should get a move on.” 

He opened his arms slightly, and without hesitation, Kipperlilly stepped into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. His other hand lifted, blue mist beginning to swirl around them as he murmured the spell, each word resonating with a faint, magical hum that vibrated in her bones. The world around them began to blur, the familiar surroundings of Clearbrook fading as Oisin’s magic took hold. 

“The sun feels good,” he murmured as the mist thickened, his voice a soft rumble in the haze. 

Kipperlilly nodded, pressing her cheek against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Looks like they did it again,” she said, unable to keep the faint hint of spice out of her voice. 

Oisin smirked. “I’ll be sure to join the crowds of adoring fans.” 

“No, you won’t,” she retorted, rolling her eyes even as she held on a little tighter. 

He gave a soft, amused huff. “Now hush. I’m trying to concentrate. And don’t throw up on my shoes. They’re new.” 

“Excuse me?” she shot back, tightening her grip just a little, her stomach already beginning to feel the telltale flip of the teleport spell taking full effect. 

“Hold tight,” he said, his voice a calming anchor as the spell completed, the world around them folding in on itself, sucking them into a pocket of nothingness. The sensation was intense, a rush of wind and color and sound that all blended together into a dizzying spiral, leaving her feeling weightless and slightly nauseous. 

Kipperlilly’s stomach churned, the force of the teleport pulling at her, every inch of her feeling both too heavy and too light at once. She took a sharp breath, squeezing her eyes shut against the overwhelming sensation 

Kipperlilly felt a wave of nausea hit her as the teleportation spell settled them at the front gates of Aguefort Adventuring Academy over an hour later. She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly and trying to ground herself. The feeling was like being spun in a hundred directions at once, then dropped squarely back on solid ground. 

"As convenient as teleportation is," she muttered, scrunching her nose and pressing a hand to her stomach. "I feel so queasy." 

Oisin shot her a grin, adjusting his glasses as he glanced around to make sure they hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention. “You get used to it,” he said with a chuckle, and Kipperlilly could only roll her eyes, still breaking through the nausea. 

She’d take his word for it, but at this rate, getting used to teleportation felt as unlikely as her taking up bardic poetry—fun for some people, but not her particular cup of tea. 

She patted her shirt, feeling the crinkled paper tucked safely inside, her prize from their early morning trip. Her fingers brushed over the outline, its edges sharp and real under the fabric, and she felt a small thrill of satisfaction. 

The memory of that morning flashed back as her eyes, bringing with it the smell of damp earth and the quiet chill of the graveyard air. She and Oisin had arrived in Ashgrove Cemetery just as the sun finally reared its head, the mist curling around the ancient tombstones like ghostly fingers. She’d walked briskly through the graveyard, her eyes trained on her surroundings until she found it: Eugenia Shadow’s grave. 

The headstone was smaller than she’d expected, unassuming, with the name “Eugenia Shadow” barely visible beneath a layer of moss and grime. But this was the spot. She’d spent hours poring over old records, tracking down the location of this grave, her mind racing with the possibilities Eugenia Shadow’s legacy might hold. She dropped to her knees, her fingers brushing the stone as she cleared away the dirt, her heart pounding with anticipation. 

But as soon as the name revealed itself, nothing happened. No glowing runes, no ancient spirit rising up to grant her wisdom. Just silence, the kind that settled into her bones and made her stomach sink. 

She’d stood up, brushing her hands against her skirt, a frustrated sigh escaping her as she tapped her chin, mind working through the next steps. She glanced at her watch, biting her lip. They didn’t have much time before they’d have to head back to school, and she needed some kind of proof that she’d found Eugenia Shadow’s grave. Something tangible. 

“Oisin!” she called, turning to where he was standing a few paces away, his attention focused on his crystal. He glanced up, his expression mildly curious. 

“Can you get me a shovel?” she asked, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she wasn’t about to disturb the final resting place of a centuries-old figure. 

Oisin didn’t bat an eye, only gave a small shrug as he flicked his wrist, and a silver shovel appeared in her hands with a shimmer of conjuration magic. She couldn’t help the small grin that crept onto her face as she took hold of the handle, marveling at the clean, weighty feel of the shovel in her grip. Conjuration magic, she thought, was indeed a wonderful thing. 

Without further ado, she plunged the shovel into the earth, feeling the satisfying resistance of the soil giving way beneath her strength. 

Now, standing at Aguefort’s gate, she could still feel the thrill from how the ghost of Eugenia greeted her with a gleeful laugh to hand her the required transcript. And, unfortunately, the smell of the cannabis the teacher had instantly lit up and offered her for celebration, which Kipperlilly had politely declined. She glanced at Oisin, who was rummaging in his satchel, his expression casual, though she knew he shared her excitement in his own reserved way. 

“Here,” he said, pulling out a small object and holding it out to her. It gleamed in the morning sunlight, catching her eye. She took it, examining the enamel pin in her hand. It was two gears locked together, clamping down to crush the end of a rat’s haunches—a design that was both intricate and oddly satisfying. 

Kipperlilly quirked a brow as she ran her thumb over the pin, feeling the texture of the enamel under her fingertip. “Only Lucy would think of this,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

Oisin smirked, watching her as she attached the pin to her vest. “Lucy had me create them for all of us. You like it?” 

“More than I probably should,” she admitted, giving him a sidelong smile. 

Oisin adjusted his glasses, glancing over toward the growing crowd of students filtering through the gates. “Speaking of Lucy, I should probably go find the others,” he said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “And you’ve got to hand in that paper.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, patting her shirt one last time to ensure the parchment was still secure. “Yeah, don’t want to risk losing it now. Meet you in the commons after?” 

“Of course,” Oisin replied, a soft smile on his face as he turned and began to weave his way through the crowd. 

Kipperlilly watched him go for a moment before she squared her shoulders, taking in the sight of Aguefort Adventuring Academy. The grounds were alive with the energy of students returning for a new year, laughter and chatter filling the air as friends reunited and shared stories of their darkened summer escapades. 

Kipperlilly squared her shoulders, clutching her bag close to her chest as she strode through the front entrance. The school was as chaotic as ever, and she wove her way through the bustling crowd of students with practiced ease, dodging a few first-years who looked as wide-eyed and jittery as she’d felt on her own first day. A wooden shield nearly clipped her above the head as a group of seniors jostled their way down the hallway, sparring playfully as they laughed. She ducked quickly, lips pressed in a thin line. 

One day, she thought, smirking to herself as she navigated the swarm of students, she’d make sure she was known well enough around here that no one would even think about bumping into her.

After a final swerve around a group of spellcasting practice gone awry—two boys fending off animated snakes made entirely of books—she pushed open the heavy door to the administration building. At the counter, a frazzled-looking orcish woman with broad shoulders and green skin leaned over stacks of paper and crystal tablets, desperately trying to juggle them all at once. 

Kipperlilly stepped up to the counter, climbing onto a small stool set up for students her height. The woman looked up and blinked, her gaze darting to Kipperlilly and then back to the papers, which were rapidly threatening to topple. 

“Oh! Hello there!” she greeted, quickly shoving a pile of papers to one side, only for them to scatter onto the floor with a faint slap. She winced. “One moment.” 

Kipperlilly waited, amused as the woman—whose name tag read Grettel Skullscrape—tried to gather her bearings. Grettel finally looked up, flustered but smiling.

“What can I do you for, Miss Copperkettle?”

Kipperlilly straightened, pulling out the carefully folded transcript from her rogue professor. She placed it on the counter with a hint of pride. 

“I have my transcript papers from finding the rogue professor,” she replied, watching for the reaction she knew would come. 

Grettel’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening. “From the rogue professor, you say? My, my, that’s a new one,” she murmured, picking up the paper with a mixture of surprise and respect. She glanced back at Kipperlilly. “Give me a moment, dear. I’ll have to look up that particular bylaw.” 

She stood and rummaged through a tall cabinet behind her, muttering softly to herself as she searched through row after row of dusty folders. Finally, she pulled one out, blowing off a cloud of dust before she opened it, scanning its contents with furrowed brows. 

“Alright, I see,” she murmured, closing the file and handing Kipperlilly back the paper. “So, it looks like everything’s in order. All you have to do is hand this in to upper management, and you’ll be set to pass the year. Congratulations, Miss Copperkettle! Outstanding work!” 

Kipperlilly allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “Fantastic. Thank you, Grettel. Where can I find the principal?” 

At the mention of the principal, Grettel’s face fell slightly, her smile turning into a sympathetic grimace. “Ah… well, Principal Aguefort is on an extended vacation with his daughter, so he’s not exactly… available.” 

Kipperlilly’s smile dropped, replaced by a faint scowl. “Excuse me?” 

Of course, she thought, an annoyed flicker rising in her chest. It was exactly the sort of absurd situation she should’ve expected. Principal Aguefort had a knack for being off on some fantastical escapade at precisely the wrong times, leaving the rest of the school to deal with the consequences. She pressed her lips into a tight line, tapping her fingers irritably against the counter. 

“Right,” she said, the frustration simmering in her tone. “Then where’s Mr. Faeth?” 

Even saying his name made her grimace. Mr. Faeth, the bumbling elf in his endless midlife crisis, seemed eternally caught between moments of tragic existence and bouts of indecision. He was the kind of person who could make the simplest tasks feel like Herculean challenges, and she could already feel her patience wearing thin. 

Grettel gave her a sympathetic look. “Also on vacation, I’m afraid. It seems everyone decided to take the start of term off for a bit of… whimsy.” 

Kipperlilly’s fingers drummed harder against the counter, her jaw tightening. “Absolutely ridiculous.” 

Grettel let out a sigh, casting a regretful glance at the papers in front of her. “Well, if it helps, you could speak to Interim Emergency Backup Principal Grix… though I’ll be honest, he’s not the most conversational.” 

Kipperlilly let out a long, weary sigh, closing her eyes for a moment as she absorbed the information. The last thing she wanted was to deal with an interim emergency principal she hadn’t even heard of. The entire concept sounded dubious at best, and she wasn’t about to waste her morning on a bureaucratic goose chase. 

Grettel continued, a slight nervous edge in her voice, “Or there’s Mr. Stardiamond or Mr. O’Shaughnessy. They could file it where it needs to go.” 

Kipperlilly’s lip curled slightly. Jace Stardiamond was not an option—not after the fiasco that had been last spring break. Just the thought of him and whatever he had going on with Porter made her skin crawl. She would not start her year off running into either of them, or trusting them with something this important. 

“Great,” Kipperlilly replied, her voice clipped. “I’ll find Jawbone. Thanks for your help, Grettel.” 

Grettel nodded, relief crossing her face as she gave Kipperlilly a small, encouraging smile. “Good luck, dear.” 

With a final nod, Kipperlilly turned on her heel and left the admin office, her bag swinging at her side as she made her way back down the hallway. The sounds of laughter and chatter grew louder as more students filled the corridors, the energy in the air buzzing with the excitement and anticipation of a new school year. 

“Kippy!” 

The happy voice cut through the noise of the crowded hallway, and Kipperlilly’s lips curled into a small smile as she spotted Lucy bounding toward her.  

Even from a distance, Lucy stood out—tall and ethereal, with an aura that seemed to warm the world around her, even as it physically chilled it. She wore another oversized sweater, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands, and her Rat Grinder pin bounced against the fabric with every enthusiastic step she took. 

Lucy pulled Kipperlilly into a hug the second she was within reach, wrapping her arms around her in a way that made Kipperlilly feel both dwarfed and protected. 

Kipperlilly lifted her arms, squeezing Lucy’s in return. 

“Touchy today, are we?” she teased, her voice muffled slightly against Lucy’s sweater. 

Lucy laughed, a low, melodic sound. “Me? Touchy? Always.” She pulled back, grinning as she looped her arm around Kipperlilly’s, adjusting so they could walk in step. The height difference was almost comical, with Lucy towering over Kipperlilly, but the way they moved together felt as natural as breathing. 

As they strolled down the hallway, Lucy’s presence worked like a shield, clearing a path through the crowd. With her friend’s height, Kipperlilly no longer had to worry about being accidentally jostled or—worse—smacked with a stray weapon or overenthusiastic spell. 

“Glad everyone loves their pins,” Lucy said, tapping her nail lightly against Kipperlilly’s own Rat Grinder pin, which gleamed on her vest. “Even Mary Ann.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow. “Mary Ann? You sure about that?” 

Lucy shrugged, her face a perfect picture of mock seriousness. “She put it on. I’m taking that as a win.” 

They shared a laugh. Mary Ann was about as expressive as a brick wall, so the fact that she’d worn the pin at all was a small miracle in itself. 

“So,” Lucy said, glancing down at Kipperlilly as they continued weaving through the hallway, “where are we headed?” 

“To find Jawbone,” Kipperlilly replied, patting her bag where her hard-won transcript paper was stashed. “Oisin took me grave-hunting for the rogue teacher this morning.” 

Lucy’s eyes widened, sparkling with curiosity. “And?” 

Kipperlilly pulled the paper out, holding it up with a triumphant smirk. “Aced it.” 

Lucy let out an excited squeal that drew a few glances from passing students. She gave Kipperlilly an affectionate shoulder bump, her grin practically beaming. “Of course you did!" 

Kipperlilly snorted, but her own smile grew wider. They were halfway to the quad hall when a high-pitched shriek erupted from somewhere down the hall, followed by a chorus of giggles and excited chatter. Kipperlilly turned, squinting as she saw a group of students—mostly underclassmen—clustered around, their shirts emblazoned with My Chemical Gnomance logos.

Kipperlilly groaned, recognizing the design. It was the exact same merch Lucy had spent a week hand-drawing at the start of summer for Ruben’s band. Ruben had poured his heart into his music all summer, and apparently, the effort had paid off—maybe too well. The group of girls sported various pieces of merch, from pins and patches to graphic tees, and their excited whispers and adoring looks left no doubt about their dedication. 

“Oh, great…” Kipperlilly muttered, rolling her eyes. “More minions.” 

Lucy let out a laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she nudged Kipperlilly with her elbow. “What can I say? Rue’s a rockstar now. Plenty more where those came from.” 

“Lucky him,” Kipperlilly said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She could already imagine the endless stream of fan letters Ruben was going to get, and the ego boost he’d be hard-pressed to keep in check. As if the guy didn’t need more insufferable ego boosts. 

They maneuvered past the fangirls, one of whom seemed to be clutching a notebook with I ♥ Ruben scribbled in every inch of free space. Kipperlilly suppressed a groan, but she couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Ruben might act above it all, but she knew him well enough to know he’d be secretly thrilled by the attention.

Lucy shot her a knowing look. “Oh, come on, Kippy. You have to admit, it’s kind of adorable.” 

“Only if by ‘adorable’ you mean mildly terrifying,” Kipperlilly replied, deadpan. She shook her head, adjusting her bag. “Anyway, let’s get out of here before they start forming fan clubs in the hallways.” 

Lucy snickered, glancing back at the growing crowd. “Lead the way." 

They made their way down the bustling hallway, finally reaching the wide entryway that opened into Aguefort’s quad. The outdoor space looked buzzing with life, tables and booths set up for clubs ranging from Advanced Combat to the Druid Circle Preservation Society. A small band of bards played an upbeat tune off to the side, and colorful banners waved in the slight morning breeze, adding to the lively, carnival-like atmosphere. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes scanned the various booths, but she quickly zeroed in on one in particular. Near the center of the quad, standing beside a simple wooden table with a sign for Student Body Elections, was Jawbone, his tall, lupine figure easily recognizable. His shaggy fur was peeking out from under a cardigan, the thick fabric stretched across his broad shoulders. Beside him stood Mazey, the highland cow minotaur who had recently been elected student body president. She was clad in baggy dancing pants, high tops, and a loose beanie that perched atop her thick, curly hair.

“You’re signing up, right?” Lucy asked, catching Kipperlilly’s focus on the elections table and nudging her lightly. 

“Absolutely,” Kipperlilly replied, feeling that familiar surge of determination as she took a step forward. This was it—the perfect way to make her mark on Aguefort, to show everyone she was a leader, someone to be respected. And it didn’t hurt that it meant no one would be mistaking her for some random freshman in the hallways anymore. 

Just as she was about to move forward, she felt a gentle tug on the back of her vest. She turned, coming face-to-face with Ivy, her expression smirking and annoyingly mischievous. 

“Imbeciles incoming,” Ivy muttered, her tone laced with dry amusement.

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Ivy tilted her head toward the entrance to the quad, and Kipperlilly followed her gaze. There, stumbling in with a chaotic energy that seemed to part the crowd like the tides, was none other than The Bad Kids. They looked exhausted, but their swagger was undeniable.

At the front of the group was Fabian, somehow managing to look even taller than he had last year, striding in with a fitted jacket that was just this side of ostentatious. Behind him, Riz clutched a massive binder, his new spy gear glinting here and there, a far cry from the worn newsboy cap he used to wear.

Gorgug followed close behind, a horrifically crafted metal bird perched on his arm, chirping in a raspy, robotic voice as he walked. He wore a bandolier filled with various tools and a pair of artificer goggles perched on his head. Kipperlilly remembered seeing something about Gorgug dabbling in artificing, and hated that she was so keyed up on their social media presence

And then there were the girls: Adaine, the one of the group to give Kipperlilly the least visceral of a reaction and Fig looking edgier than ever. Both of them were carrying a large, lumpy trash bag over one shoulder. Kipperlilly’s gaze darted to Kristen, who was also carrying a trash bag, her exposed bicep flexing with the weight of it, muscles rippling slightly as she adjusted her grip. Kipperlilly felt an unbidden, traitorous heat rise to her cheeks as she noticed it. Curse her summer thoughts for resurfacing at the absolute worst times.

“What on earth are they carrying?” Lucy murmured with her entirely pointless curiosity.

Kipperlilly shrugged, forcing her gaze away from Kristen. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she replied, perhaps a bit more curtly than she’d intended.

Ivy crossed her arms, her smirk growing as she watched The Bad Kids saunter toward the elections table. “What do you think they’re doing?”

Kipperlilly’s eyes narrowed, her stomach twisting with a mixture of irritation and something she refused to acknowledge as worry. “Most of them live with Jawbone. Maybe they left their common sense at home.”

Lucy let out a quiet snigger, covering her mouth as Ivy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before them. “Maybe they’re running for student council,” Ivy suggested, laced with a challenge. 

Kipperlilly felt a hot surge of anger flare up inside her, a flash of irritation that seemed to spark at the mere suggestion. The thought of any of them—these chaotic, unpredictable, borderline deadbeats—holding positions of power felt utterly ludicrous. It was only through a combination of sheer luck and adventurer status that they hadn’t been expelled by now, and there was no way they deserved to be in charge of anything, let alone something as important as student council.

“Don’t be stupid, Ivy,” she muttered, jaw clenched. 

But even as she said it, Kipperlilly’s gaze drifted back to The Bad Kids, her eyes narrowing as she watched Riz pick up one of the clipboards on the table. He turned to Kristen, holding it out to her. 

Ivy chuckled smugly as she began to walk away. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” 

Kipperlilly’s fingers tightened into fists, the crinkling of her hard-won paper bringing her back to her senses. She quickly tucked it back into her vest, smoothing the fabric over it as she took a steadying breath. She wouldn’t let them get in her way. She’d worked too hard for this, planned too carefully. 

The metal bird on Gorgug’s arm screeched suddenly, its voice scratchy and unnatural. “I suck!” it yelled, loud enough to make several nearby students glance over. Gorgug’s face flushed, and he quickly lowered his head, mumbling something under his breath as he steered the bird away. 

Lucy leaned in close. “Kippy… don’t do anything you’ll regret.” 

Kipperlilly’s gaze remained fixed on the table, her eyes blazing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied with barely controlled irritation. 

Lucy hummed, tinged with a small amount of concern. “Alright, if you say so.” She squeezed Kipperlilly’s arm gently. “Do you want me to go with you?” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, swallowing back the rush of emotions simmering beneath her surface. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just… stay here.” 

Lucy nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Alright. Good luck.” 

Kipperlilly took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she turned back toward the elections table, her mind steeling itself for the confrontation ahead. This was her moment, and she wasn’t about to let anyone stand in her way. 

As Kipperlilly walked up to the student body elections table, she noticed Riz glancing her way, his sharp eyes narrowing before he leaned over to whisper something to his friends. Part of her hoped he recognized her, if only for the small victory of finally being acknowledged after countless classes where he’d talked over her as though she didn’t exist. But judging by the vaguely confused look on his face, he didn’t recognize her. Why would he? She wasn’t part of his party, not a clue in any of his investigations, and definitely not someone who made his endless list of ‘noteworthy suspects.’ She was just… another student. 

Well, that was going to change. 

Head held high, Kipperlilly directed her attention to Jawbone, who looked up as she approached and gave her his usual friendly smile, one that showed just enough tooth to be vaguely intimidating yet reassuring. Over the last two years, she’d come to know that look well—Jawbone had a way of making her feel like she could be exactly who she was without pretense. 

“Ahem. Hi,” she said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. “I’d like to sign up to run for class president.” 

Jawbone nodded, collecting a few papers from the desk and shooting her a subtle wink. She couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. She’d just grabbed the clipboard when she noticed Adaine and Kristen elbowing each other, leaning in close and whispering in a way that wasn’t even remotely subtle. 

She pivoted toward them, fixing her expression into her fakest of tight-lipped smiles. 

“Hi!” she said, just a touch too bright. 

Adaine moved first, tucking a strand of her loose shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear as she extended a hand, her movements as precise and polished as if she’d rehearsed them. 

“Hi, so nice to meet you. I’m Adaine.” 

Kipperlilly looked down at Adaine’s outstretched hand, the same hand that had been clutching a lumpy trash bag just moments before. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose and clasped it briefly, keeping her expression composed. 

“I know who you are,” Kipperlilly said smoothly, releasing Adaine’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Adaine withdrew her hand, her gaze roaming over Kipperlilly with an analytical look that Kipperlilly recognized too well. She was sizing her up, studying her with a sort of detached interest. It was painfully obvious Adaine didn’t remember her from any of their previous encounters around campus. But that was nothing new. 

“Of course you do,” Adaine replied, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. 

Kipperlilly took the clipboard from Jawbone, who was closely watching the interaction, his gaze flicking from her to Adaine. She knew why—Adaine was his adopted daughter, after all, and this was probably as strange for him as it was for her. She began filling out the form, focusing on keeping her handwriting neat even as Adaine’s question interrupted her concentration. 

“So… who are you?” Adaine asked, her tone casual but her eyes keen. 

“My name’s Kipperlilly Copperkettle,” she replied evenly, meeting Adaine’s gaze without flinching. 

“Kipperlilly Copperkettle?” Adaine echoed, as though she were testing the name out, tasting it. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Kipperlilly noticed Kristen moving closer, stepping up beside Adaine with that same goofy smile she always wore. 

Kristen’s purple tank top revealed the faint outline of her collarbones, and Kipperlilly cursed herself as her eyes flicked there for a second too long. She had zero interest in giving her intrusive thoughts even a second’s leeway. 

“What are you, four different dogs?” Kristen blurted, her mouth curling into a smirk as the others snickered. 

Kipperlilly gritted her teeth, fighting down the irritation rising within her. She signed her name with a swift flourish, passing the clipboard back to Jawbone without a second glance at the laughter bubbling around her. She was above this. She wasn’t going to stoop to their level, especially not over something as ridiculous as her name. 

Just then, Riz cut in front of Adaine, that toothy smile plastered on his face—the same one he wore when he thought he was uncovering some secret or clue in class that was, in reality, painfully obvious to everyone else. 

“Wonderful to meet someone else interested in student government,” he said, all business. “Kristen Applebees is actually also running for—” 

Kristen interrupted with a careless shrug. “I’m toying with the idea.” 

Fantastic, Kipperlilly thought, the sarcasm thick in her mind. Of all the people in their little troupe, it had to be Kristen, the one with perhaps the most chaotic academic record, who thought she could just “toy” with the idea of running. It was absurd. Riz, maybe. Adaine, possibly. Fabian, sure. But Kristen Applebees? It was utter lunacy. 

“Mm-hmm,” Kipperlilly muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. 

Before she could take another step, Fig appeared in her line of sight, sliding up to her with a smirk that screamed mischief. “I love your pin,” Fig cooed, her gaze flicking to the Rat Grinder emblem on Kipperlilly’s vest.

Kipperlilly’s instincts told her that Fig was fishing for something, and she wasn’t about to bite. “Oh, this?” she replied, tapping the pin with a smug smile. “It’s from my adventuring party.” 

“Oh, sick,” Adaine chimed in, leaning in with a curious expression. “Who’s in your adventuring party?” 

Kipperlilly sensed Kristen’s attention hone in on her as well, the cleric crossing her arms over her chest with an expression that was both intrigued and patronizing. 

“Are you in the Buttcrushers?” Kristen asked, thick with sarcasm. 

Kipperlilly forced herself to focus on the question instead of the way Kristen’s green eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked down at her. Kristen seemed taller than ever now, an Amazonian presence that made Kipperlilly grit her teeth. She hadn’t expected her to come back this… imposing. It was as if Kristen had taken up space simply to overshadow everyone else. 

With a tight smile, Kipperlilly replied, “I’m in the Rat Grinders.” 

“Oh!” Kristen replied, feigning enthusiasm. Adaine echoed the sentiment, nodding as though she’d just learned some fascinating new fact.

“Cool, yeah,” Adaine said politely. “Why are you called that? What happened?” 

The air around them felt thick, an undercurrent of energy humming just beneath the surface. Kipperlilly could feel her anger simmering under her skin, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crack. She wouldn’t lose her cool.

“It’s a little inside joke,” Kipperlilly replied. “You know, why are you guys called the Bad Kids?” 

She knew the story, of course. Everyone did. But that didn’t mean she had to acknowledge it. 

Adaine straightened, her face lighting up as though Kipperlilly had given her an opening to share her most beloved tale. “Well, yeah, ‘cause on our first day—” 

Riz interrupted, holding up a finger. “We’re actually called the PhotosyntheKIDs.” 

“We’re not,” Adaine deadpanned, shooting him a glare. “We’re not actually called that.” 

Fabian, who was deep in conversation with Mazey nearby, turned his head just enough to chime in, “No, we are not.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, watching the way they bickered so naturally, so easily. It was oddly fascinating, like watching a dysfunctional family argue over the dinner table. Not that she cared. 

“The PhotosyntheKIDs,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “Cool.” 

“I actually love PhotosyntheKIDs,” Fig added, shrugging as she threw in her two cents. 

Adaine’s face twisted in exasperation. “It’s a bit that Riz thinks we’re called that, but we’re absolutely not.” 

Kipperlilly forced another smile onto her lips, deciding she’d entertained them long enough. “Well, listen, this has been really fun.” 

“So nice to meet you,” Adaine said with saccharine sweetness that almost made Kipperlilly’s teeth ache. 

Kipperlilly held back an eye roll as she turned on her heel, catching a glimpse of a cluster of girls across the quad, screaming with delight over something in their hands. She smirked, a tiny feeling of satisfaction bubbling up in her chest. Whatever nonsense The Bad Kids thought they were about, she was here to make sure they didn’t even stand a chance. 

“Nice to meet you,” Kipperlilly replied, her voice as smooth as she could make it despite the prickle of annoyance under her skin. “You asked who else is in the party. I’m sure you’d recognize Ruben.” 

She pointed toward Ruben, who was surrounded by a growing number of students, all eagerly thrusting scraps of paper and notebooks toward him for autographs. His dark hair fell dramatically over one eye, decked out in chains, looking every bit the brooding rockstar. A grin tugged at Kipperlilly’s mouth. He certainly had impeccable timing. 

The Bad Kids turned to look, and Kipperlilly caught Fig’s face twist into an instant scowl. 

“This fucker,” Fig muttered, crossing her arms as she shot Ruben a withering glare. 

Fabian huffed, his expression one of wounded pride. “Wow.” 

“We saved the world, and not one person has asked for our autographs,” he complained, adjusting the collar of his tailored jacket as though to reassure himself of his importance. 

Kristen nudged Fig. “And you’re in a famous band that’s actually good!” 

Kipperlilly felt a surge of smug satisfaction rise within her as the group began to rant, lost in their own dissatisfaction. She turned back to Jawbone, who was quietly collecting another form for her. She noticed the faint crease between his brows, the way his gaze shifted between her and The Bad Kids with a subtle apology in his eyes. She shrugged a little, giving him a small, genuine smile. Jawbone knew. They’d spent hours together over the working through her frustration and the anger that often bubbled up inside her when it came to these very people. For him to see her handle this interaction without slipping into that familiar fury was probably a relief. 

“Proud of you, kiddo,” he murmured, passing her the new form. 

Kipperlilly nodded, her heart swelling slightly. She could almost feel his quiet support, like a steady hand on her shoulder. And for once, she was proving she could handle her own temper, even as The Bad Kids continued to prattle behind her. 

“Kirsten, you have to run for student government and crush her,” Fabian insisted.

Kristen nodded enthusiastically. “I agree!” 

“First off,” Fig interrupted, frowning as she tried to recall Kipperlilly’s name, “you need to take down… uh, Kipperlilly Copperpetal. Kettle… Copperkettle.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, shaking her head to herself. Did they really have so little awareness that they just openly discussed people right in front of them? She could see Jawbone wince slightly as he flipped through her paperwork, clearly trying his best to ignore the loud conversation happening within earshot. 

“M’kay,” he said, returning his attention to her. “Just hand these off to Mazey, and you’re set.” 

Kipperlilly took the papers with a grateful nod and stepped forward, brushing past The Bad Kids as she approached Mazey. The towering minotaur smiled down at her, her warm eyes sparkling beneath the messy fringe of her hair. 

“Yeah, I’d like to run for class president,” Kipperlilly said, meeting Mazey’s gaze with a steady look. “I think I could really help the school in a lot of ways.” 

Mazey’s smile broadened as she gave Kipperlilly an approving nod. “Great! Just a heads up—campaign hours have to be limited, 'cause you need to find a gap in your schedule.” 

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Kipperlilly replied, just loud enough for the group behind her to hear. “I’ve aced junior year.” 

As she spoke, she reached into her vest and pulled out the signed paper she’d obtained that morning, sliding it across the table to Jawbone. She could feel their eyes on her, watching and listening as the weight of her words sank in. 

Mazey blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “Sorry, what?” 

Kipperlilly watched with a satisfied smile as Jawbone unfolded the paper, adjusting his glasses to read it. A toothy grin broke across his face, and he glanced back at her, clearly impressed. 

“Yes,” Kipperlilly said, “I found the rogue professor. So, according to the bylaws, I’m actually done. I’ll have plenty of time to dedicate to the campaign.” She gave Mazey a small nod of thanks. “Thank you!” 

She turned back toward The Bad Kids, relishing the stunned expressions on their faces. There was a warmth in her chest, a tiny flicker of pride as she saw them speechless, if only for a moment. 

“Very nice meeting you,” she added with mock politeness. “Good luck with the Buttcrushers.” 

She spun on her heel, ready to leave them in the dust. But before she could take more than a step, Fig called out after her, her voice thick with curiosity and challenge. 

“Wait, Kipperlilly, Kipperlilly,” Fig said with a taunting edge. “I’m just curious—what’s your platform? What are the changes you see happening for the school?” 

Adaine leaned in, her face skeptical. “Yeah, you’re probably a soda-in-the-water-fountains kind of girl, right?” 

Fig turned to Adaine, her face lighting up with sudden enthusiasm. “That would actually be so sick.” 

Kristen nodded in agreement, looking thoughtful. “Great idea.” 

Kipperlilly watched as Kristen pulled a pen out of Riz’s pocket, jotting down something on her hand with a gleeful grin. It was almost laughable. If this was what the student body was in for without her guidance, then she had all the more reason to win. She crossed her arms, meeting each of their eyes with a level gaze. 

“My platform is about equality, equanimity, and fairness under the rules,” Kipperlilly replied. “In the past, there’s been an eccentricity to the bureaucratic and administrative decisions at Aguefort that has favored some students over others.” She raised an eyebrow, letting her words sink in. “Very nice to meet you guys.” 

The expressions on their faces—open-mouthed and faintly bewildered—were a reward in themselves. With that, Kipperlilly turned away, pushing past them, her head held high and a smirk of satisfaction curling on her lips. She could feel their stares on her back as she walked, a satisfying reminder that for once, she’d managed to outmaneuver them without a single angry word. 

Kipperlilly marched across the quad, her feet practically drilling into the grass with every step as she headed toward where Lucy was waiting, loitering around a table set up with beekeeping supplies. Lucy looked up, her eyes lighting up as she spotted Kipperlilly’s approach. 

“Howdy! How did it go?” Lucy asked, her usual bright smile flickering into something more cautious as Kipperlilly strode right past her without a word. 

Kipperlilly let out a huff, her pace not slowing as she marched past the beekeeping table, eyes fixed ahead. Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles white. 

Lucy grimaced, quickly falling into step beside her, her long legs easily matching Kipperlilly’s unusually brisk pace. “Oooookay, that good, huh?” 

“You wouldn’t believe how arrogant, egotistical, conceited…” Kipperlilly grumbled, her voice growing sharper with each word she spat. She wasn’t even entirely aware of the words spilling out of her mouth; they were more like steam escaping a boiling pot. 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Very lovely use of adjectives, Kippy.” 

Kipperlilly shot her a glare but couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at her mouth. She let out a heavy sigh as they turned the corner into a quieter part of the quad, a space tucked away from the crowded tables and blaring student conversations. The quiet there seemed to settle around them, muffling the noise of the bustling campus. Kipperlilly finally stopped, her breath coming in short bursts as she clenched her fists at her sides. 

“Kristen Applebees is going to run against me,” she spat, barely containing the indignation in her voice. “Kristen Applebees!”

Lucy blinked, taken aback. “That’s… what?” 

Kipperlilly’s frustration, finally finding its outlet, spilled out in a full-on rant. “They don’t care about this campaign at all!” she began, her voice rising with every word. “It’s all one big joke to them. They have zero interest in anything that’s actually good for the school or anyone else. Kristen is just in it for the attention, and once she wins, she’ll probably just… just skip every meeting or delegate every responsibility to whoever will take it!” 

Lucy nodded, staying silent, but the slight furrow in her brow showed she was listening. Kipperlilly took a deep breath, the anger bubbling inside her propelling her forward. 

“It’s like they don’t even see me as a person,” Kipperlilly continued, her hands flying through the air in frustration. “I’m just another little… little nemesis they can defeat for the fun of it, just so they can add another story to their list of ‘cool things we’ve done.’ And Kristen! She has this… this smirk, like the whole world is hers to play with, and now I’m apparently part of her little game.” 

Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Kipperlilly’s words were still spilling out. “The worst part is, even if she wins, she’ll probably just brush it off as if it were nothing. Like the whole campaign, everything I’ve worked for, is just this fleeting, meaningless thing to her. All they want is the thrill. They’re not here to actually help Aguefort; they’re here to entertain themselves.” 

She took a breath, the fire inside her searing, the words hot as they tumbled out. “I am so tired of them! Thinking they can just walk in, make a mess, and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces.” 

Kipperlilly’s voice echoed slightly in the stillness, her words reverberating off the brick wall beside them. She felt her pulse thumping in her ears, her heart racing. She wanted to hit something, anything, just to release the anger churning inside her. 

Just then, a small figure padded quietly toward them, her eyes steady and expression unfazed. Mary Ann glanced between Kipperlilly and Lucy with a grounding aura in the wake of Kipperlilly’s rant.  

Without a word, Mary Ann slipped one arm around Kipperlilly’s side, hugging her with an unexpected gentleness. Kipperlilly stayed stiff for a moment, too wrapped up in her anger to respond, but as the seconds passed, she felt herself relax. Mary Ann’s steady hold kept her anchored, and for a moment, the urge to punch something faded. 

Lucy chuckled softly. “As if this school couldn’t get any more ridiculous,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

Kipperlilly let out a shaky sigh, glancing at Mary Ann’s calm face and then back at Lucy. “If they want a big, bad enemy…” She felt a renewed determination flood her chest. “I’ll give them one.” 

Mary Ann looked up at her with a faint smile. 

“Super cool,” 

They wanted a fight? Well, they’d just met the girl who was ready to give it to them. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year:

The start of the campaign trail.

Kipperlilly clutched her binder tightly to her chest, eyes narrowed as she navigated the nearly empty hallways of Aguefort Adventuring Academy. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed faintly, casting a greenish hue over the linoleum floors. She was heading toward the locker rooms, her mind already rehearsing her speech—she could practically see the words scrolling in her vision. 

The seniors lingering against the lockers barely gave her a glance, too busy in their own world of gossip and nostalgic half-grins. Kipperlilly figured the rest of the school was already packed into the gym, waiting for Mazey Phaedra, the current student body president, to kick things off. Mazey was kind, graceful, the type of president people liked to vote for because she was 'good for the school.' Kipperlilly respected her, even if she could do without Mazey’s soft diplomacy. Kipperlilly had plans to push some real changes when she won this election—plans that wouldn’t sit well with the 'let’s keep it the way it’s always been' crowd.

She slipped into the locker room and took a seat on the bench, balancing her binder on her knees. As she opened it, her flashcards practically gleamed up at her, covered with scribbled notes and precise bullet points. She’d spent most of last night crafting each line, and it had been a team effort. Lucy’s dads had pitched in with unsolicited, though admittedly insightful, advice, and the whole scene had felt like an extended family workshop. By the end of the evening, though, she had more talking points than she knew what to do with. She needed to keep it punchy, captivating—no one was going to listen to her drone on about administrative diplomacy, even if it was technically important. 

Kipperlilly thumbed through the cards, lips moving slightly as she read, letting the words sink in. Her focus was so tight she didn’t register the sound of the door crashing open until Kristen Applebees came barreling into the room, making an entrance like a bull in an antique shop. Kristen staggered forward, tripping over the edge of her own sneaker before slamming into the equipment cabinet with a clang that echoed through the locker room. 

“Fuck me!” Kristen cursed, her voice a harsh whisper under her breath, immediately looking down at her tangled, untied shoelaces. She shoved her sneaker onto a nearby bench, the bang reverberating in the quiet room, and started knotting the laces in a haphazard, barely secure mess. Kipperlilly allowed herself a small, silent sigh. Kristen’s whole demeanor screamed chaos—the last thing Kipperlilly wanted in a presidential opponent. 

Her eyes flicked back to her flashcards, but she couldn’t help but notice Kristen sidling up next to her, leaning against the lockers with an ease that felt too casual to be an accident. Kristen crossed her arms, her biceps pressing against her chest, biceps which—Kipperlilly noted unwillingly—were about as thick as her own calves. She flicked her eyes back to her cards, forcing herself to focus. 

“Flashcards, huh?” Kristen’s voice was casual, dripping with that easy arrogance she seemed to carry in every interaction. Her dark eyes sparkled with the thrill of a challenge, her mouth curving into a half-smile. 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way Kristen’s voice had a peculiar lilt to it, one that was frustratingly… charming. She answered flatly, “Yes, Kristen. A speech usually requires talking points.” 

Kristen chuckled and Kipperlilly felt a prickle of irritation. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to keep herself calm, and tilted her chin up just slightly to meet Kristen’s gaze head-on. She wouldn’t let Kristen, of all people, throw her off balance. 

“I see you brought nothing,” Kipperlilly noted, letting a touch of smugness slip into her voice. Kristen looked back at her with that easy confidence, lips curling just a little more. 

Kristen shrugged, letting her arms drop casually to her sides. “Don’t need ’em,” she replied, her tone laced with that same infuriating self-assurance. “I have a knack for inspiring speeches. Goddess given.” 

“If you say so,” Kipperlilly muttered, but her voice came out softer than she intended. She looked down at her cards again, pretending they held her absolute attention. 

For a moment, silence settled between them, thick and strangely warm, like the air on a humid afternoon. Kipperlilly tried to focus on her cards, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kristen still lingering, one sneaker propped against the locker, watching her like she was some sort of puzzle to solve. That half-smile was still playing on Kristen’s lips, teasing, challenging, as if daring her to look back up. 

Kipperlilly didn’t want to play into Kristen’s game, but the silence was crawling under her skin. She could feel the weight of Kristen’s gaze, the heat of her presence somehow too close and too far all at once. Finally, she sighed, snapping her cards shut and tucking them back into her binder. 

“Is there something you wanted, Kristen, or are you just here to interrupt my very important preparation?” 

Kristen shrugged, eyes glinting. “Maybe I’m checking out the competition.” 

“Uh-huh.” Kipperlilly raised her brow, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Try not to fall on the stage, Kristen.” 

Kristen grinned, unphased. “Can’t make any promises.” 

Kipperlilly hated that insufferable, laid-back energy radiating from Kristen like she didn’t have a care in the world. Not about the speech, not about the race, and certainly not about the structured, methodical preparation Kipperlilly had invested in. Every muscle in her body tensed as she watched Kristen stroll over to the pull-up bar in the corner. 

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, flipping one of her cards over a little too forcefully. Kristen wasn’t reading notes or thinking through her talking points; she was stretching her arms out, muscles flexing in a way that was both ridiculous and annoyingly impressive, and then, without so much as a warm-up, she leapt up to grab the bar and started doing pull-ups. Actual pull-ups. 

Kipperlilly clenched her jaw, shoving her cards back into the binder with more force than necessary. Who did pull-ups as a pre-speech ritual? What kind of twisted logic led Kristen Applebees to think this was an appropriate way to prepare for the most important speech of their academic careers? 

She wanted to ignore her. Really, she did. But her gaze kept slipping back, tracing the movement of Kristen’s arms and shoulders with a mixture of annoyance and, if she were being honest, a begrudging respect. Kristen’s lack of preparation was infuriating, yet it was hard to argue with her raw, unfiltered confidence. Kipperlilly could feel her hands clenching into fists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes so hard they’d get stuck. 

As if on cue, a young satyr poked his head into the locker room, his eyes widening at the sight of Kristen hanging from the bar and Kipperlilly fuming silently on the bench. 

“Uh… hey, just a few minutes until we’re ready for you both,” he stammered, his eyes darting between the two of them. “And, um, don’t… you know, kill each other?” 

Kristen let out a bark of laughter, pausing mid-pull-up to give the satyr a mischievous grin. “She wishes. It’d make winning the race easier for her.” 

The satyr’s eyes darted nervously to Kipperlilly, who glared back with all the intensity she could muster. With a nervous chuckle, he disappeared as quickly as he’d come. 

Kipperlilly tucked her flashcards into her vest, slamming the binder shut with a crisp snap. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by Kristen’s antics; she had a job to do, and that meant staying focused, staying composed. Rising to her feet, she strode over to the mirror, tilting her chin up as she assessed herself with a critical eye. Her ponytail was tight and neat, the Rat Grinders pin on her vest perfectly aligned. She adjusted the lapels, smoothing down her shirt as she studied her reflection. 

She could be the kind of leader the students could look up to, someone who was calm, collected, and consistent. She wasn’t some haphazard cleric who relied on luck and impulse. No, she was Kipperlilly Copperkettle, and she was here to set a new standard. Losing her cool would give Kristen exactly the reaction she wanted, and Kipperlilly would be damned if she’d let Kristen Applebees get the satisfaction. 

As she fastened a stray hair back into her ponytail, she heard a thud behind her. Kristen had dropped back down from the pull-up bar, standing a few feet away, wiping her forehead with her forearm. Kipperlilly caught a faint whiff of sweat, and her nose wrinkled in mild distaste. 

Kristen smirked at her through the mirror. “You look fine, Kipperlilly.” 

She snorted, shaking her head. “And you’re sweaty.” 

Kristen shrugged, unbothered. “I mean it. You’re kinda pretty, y’know, if you’d just chill the fuck out.” 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes, her pulse quickening at the comment. A backhanded compliment, classic Kristen. If this was her grand plan for winning over the masses, it was no wonder she wasn’t taking this race seriously. 

“Charming,” she replied, her voice dry as a desert. 

Kristen tilted her head, studying her with that lazy, amused expression that drove Kipperlilly up the wall. “What’s your deal, anyway?” 

“My deal?” Kipperlilly turned to face her fully, crossing her arms over her chest. She could see Kristen’s curiosity, the way her eyes flickered, the gears in her brain visibly turning. It surprised Kipperlilly that Kristen even had enough going on up there to sustain a question for this long. 

"Yeah"

“What makes you think I’d tell you?” she asked coolly, arching an eyebrow.

Kristen hesitated, her usual bravado faltering just a hair. “Because… because I’m…” 

Kipperlilly’s lips curled into a smirk as she watched Kristen fumble for words. “Because you’re you? The infamous Kristen Applebees of The Bad Kids? Savior of Elmville?” 

For a moment, Kristen seemed at a loss, then she let out a laugh, that lopsided grin spreading across her face. “Well… yeah.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, turning back toward the mirror. “Right. Well, color me unimpressed.” 

Kristen’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?” 

“Good luck formulating actual words for your speech, Applebees,” Kipperlilly shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she started toward the door. 

Just before she stepped out, she turned, giving Kristen one last look, her chin held high. “Because you’ll need all the help you can get.” 

With that, she marched out, the sound of her shoes clicking on the linoleum floor echoing down the hallway. 

The gymnasium buzzed with an electric energy, filled to the rafters with students packed shoulder-to-shoulder on the bleachers, fidgeting, whispering, shifting in waves of anticipation. Banners draped the walls, bearing the Aguefort crest in bold reds and whites, and a lone spotlight beamed down on a wooden podium set squarely in the center of the makeshift stage. Kipperlilly could feel her heart hammering, its rhythm so loud it seemed to echo through her entire body as she waited at the edge of the stage, clutching her binder to her chest with both hands. 

Mazey Phaedra stepped up to the mic, her polished voice ringing out in that effortlessly soothing way that only Mazey could manage. “And now, let’s welcome our first candidate for Class President: Kipperlilly Copperkettle!” 

The room erupted in applause, punctuated by a few scattered whistles and whoops. Mazey gestured toward Kipperlilly with a flourish, her smile warm and encouraging. Kipperlilly gave her a quick nod and, taking a steadying breath, made her way to the podium. She climbed the small step stool already set up in front of it and steadied herself as she gripped the edges of the podium, her fingers curling around the worn wood. 

The lights above cast a bright, warm glow, blurring the faces of the crowd into a mass of curious eyes and eager, restless energy. She straightened her shoulders, letting the silence fall over the gym. She knew the effect of a good, calm pause—that fraction of a second where the anticipation thickened and she commanded every bit of attention in the room. She was small, yes, but her presence? That was something she could control. 

“Thank you, Mazey,” she began, her voice clear and steady, carrying across the space with a precision that could cut glass. “And thank you all for being here today. I know some of you would rather be in class or, well, anywhere else, but that’s exactly why I’m standing here now—because I believe that every one of you deserves to feel like your voice matters.” 

She paused, letting her words settle, eyes moving over the sea of faces, letting her gaze sweep across familiar and unfamiliar alike. Her heart was still beating a little too quickly, but she held steady, allowing her tone to ground her. 

“We come to Aguefort to be the best,” she continued, her voice growing stronger. “To learn, to train, to be adventurers. But there’s a problem when the rules, the ones meant to help us succeed, start favoring some students over others.” She let her gaze flick to the clusters of students huddled together on the left bleachers, then over to the ones on the right. “I want to make sure that every single student—not just a select few—is given the tools and opportunities to reach their full potential.” 

She saw a few heads nodding, and even some murmurs rippling through the crowd, soft but supportive. She held her chin a bit higher, drawing from their energy, allowing it to fuel her next words. 

“Aguefort’s rules are supposed to be fair, but we all know that’s not always how it works. Some students… they get chances others don’t, and that’s not right. I’m here to change that.” She looked across the room, trying to catch individual eyes, to make each person feel as if she were speaking directly to them. “No more overlooked efforts, no more uneven playing field. Under my leadership, every decision will be made with equanimity, with an eye toward fairness. You’ll get the chance to show what you’re truly capable of—each of you.” 

As her words sank in, her gaze landed on Porter, standing near the back wall, his broad shoulders and earthy, immovable bulk making him impossible to miss. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, his jaw set like stone. Last year, his mentorship had nearly left her questioning her control over her own temper. But she wouldn’t let him or anyone else define her by that anger. She met his steely gaze head-on, letting a defiant smirk tug at the corner of her lips. This wasn’t last year, and she was in charge of who she would become. 

“I believe in a school where you’re not defined by one skill, one title, or one moment,” she continued, her voice unwavering. “Where our facilities reflect our goals, our aspirations. Where we’re not letting dusty bureaucracies hold us back while eccentricities like portals to the third plane get prioritized over the basics we need every day.” 

A loud whoop burst from the middle rows, and Kipperlilly recognized the sound even before she saw him. Ruben Hopclap had shot up from his seat, clapping his hands in rhythmic approval. Beside him, his fan club—mostly first and second-year students who wore shirts with his band logo scrawled across the front—echoed his applause, a ripple of voices following his cue. Ruben was smiling, an oddly fierce look of support lighting his face, and Kipperlilly felt warmth spread through her chest. She couldn’t help a small smile as she saw Ruben raise a fist in the air, flashing her a rare thumbs-up. 

The ripple of applause spread quickly. Students clapped, some cheered, and the support swept across the gymnasium like wildfire. On the other side of the bleachers, she noticed a few members of The Bad Kids—Fabian, with his perfectly poised look of noble irritation, and Gorgug, scratching his head with a furrowed brow—both looking particularly sour. While she shouldn’t enjoy it, the faint amusement tugged at her, boosting her confidence. 

A loud cheer went up as she finished her point, and in the middle of it all, she saw Lucy leaning back in her seat beside Ruben. Lucy met her eyes across the gym, and in the midst of the chaos, winked, a small, supportive gesture that bolstered her resolve. Kipperlilly gave her a brief nod, acknowledging her silently, grateful for her friend’s unwavering support. 

Kipperlilly let the applause die down naturally before she continued, gripping the edges of the podium, grounding herself. “It’s easy to fall into the same old routines,” she said, her voice softer, letting the crowd’s energy settle around them. “But we’re adventurers—we’re here to challenge norms, to push ourselves and each other. I want to make Aguefort a place where you’re encouraged to grow, to become whoever you want to be. Where you’re given the tools to become the heroes of your own stories.” 

She let her words sit for a moment, let the silence stretch, watching as students absorbed what she was saying. Some were nodding, others had thoughtful expressions, and even those who hadn’t been paying much attention were now quiet, curious, caught up in the atmosphere that had settled over the gym. She felt the energy shift, felt the room lean in. 

“So, if you want a president who will fight for your voice, your right to succeed on your terms,” she said, her voice strong and clear, “I’m here, ready to make that change with you.” 

Kipperlilly paced back and forth in the office, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her jaw set in frustration. The room was a jumble of mismatched furniture, stacks of self-help pamphlets, and a soft but slightly threadbare chair that had seen years of emotionally charged halflings, dwarves, gnomes, and teenagers from every background imaginable. Jawbone sat calmly behind his desk, his giant clawed hands wrapped around a massive sandwich layered with what seemed like an impossible amount of meat and cheese. 

Kipperlilly paced a little faster, kicking up bits of lint from the ancient carpet. "It’s just… the absolute audacity of her to try and get under my skin like that!” Her voice rose, echoing off the walls of Jawbone’s office. “When I tell you it took all of my self-control not to slap that smug smirk off her face. And then she pulled…” Kipperlilly groaned, her shoulders sagging. “That.”

Jawbone chewed, his yellow eyes following her as he calmly took a bite from his sandwich, a sympathetic glint in his gaze. But Kipperlilly’s mind was already somewhere else, back to the stage, her heart pounding as she stood in the wings, watching Kristen Applebees step up to the podium, all unprecedented swagger. 

Kipperlilly had thought her speech was secure, unbeatable even. But Kristen… Kristen was something else. She watched as Kristen grabbed the edges of the podium with a casualness that bordered on reckless, and then, to Kipperlilly’s horror, almost sent it teetering over before righting it with one hand. The audience tittered, clearly entertained, some even on the edge of laughter. Kipperlilly’s jaw clenched. 

Kristen flashed that infamous grin, the one that held no worry or sense of responsibility, only a boundless, reckless energy. “Aguefort!” she shouted, her voice loud, ragged around the edges, vibrating with a kind of raw excitement that shouldn’t have been enough to carry a speech. “This year is gonna be nonstop fun! Who’s with me?” She’d strutted around, flexing her arms to an almost ridiculous degree, starting a chant of her name—Kristen! Kristen!—like it was some kind of pep rally. And the crowd responded. Even the students who’d looked skeptical at first were joining in, swept up in the energy, chanting with a mix of bewilderment and excitement.

Kipperlilly could still feel the knot of irritation that had formed in her chest. Fun? Fun? This was supposed to be about leadership, about making the school a place that worked for everyone, not some glorified circus. But Kristen didn’t seem to care. She’d won over half the crowd without a single mention of policy, of making Aguefort better, of anything beyond her own larger-than-life persona. It was maddening.

Now in Jawbone’s office, Kipperlilly's pulse was still racing. She let out a long breath, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as she shook her head. 

"No offense, but I don’t see what your niece saw in her," she muttered, her voice filled with a blend of annoyance and reluctant curiosity. "She has sawdust in her head, Jawbone. Sawdust.”

Jawbone chuckled, his mouth full of sandwich. He swallowed, then wiped his mouth on the napkin draped across his desk. “Hey, now, she ain’t always been like that. I gotta say, she changed quite a lot over the summer.” He leaned back, his massive frame barely fitting in the chair. “To be expected, I guess, when kids go through heavy stuff.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But, uh… yeah, this presidential thing wasn’t what I thought she’d be doin’ either.” 

Kipperlilly sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know you’re just trying to have lunch. I can leave.” 

“Nah, you’re fine, kiddo,” Jawbone said, waving her apology away with a warm, gentle smile, his sharp teeth just peeking through his grin. He slid the other half of his sandwich across the desk toward her. “Here. Sandra Lynn makes a mean four-meat stacker.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she took the sandwich. “Right, Sandra Lynn, your girlfriend.” She raised an eyebrow, her expression wry. “The mom of Kristen’s best friend. I always seem to forget how awkward this is.” 

Jawbone let out a deep, rumbling laugh, his voice rough but kind. “Not awkward at all. It’s my job to be impartial, and I like to think I’m pretty darn good at it.” He gave her a soft but pointed look. “C’mon, eat up, or I’ll counsel the hell outta you for skipping lunch.” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh, a reluctant chuckle that she half-smothered with a bite of the sandwich. It was as hefty as it looked, layers of thick roast beef, ham, turkey, and pastrami all crammed between slices of crusty bread, with a tangy bite of mustard. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until she’d taken that first bite. For a few moments, there was only the sound of her chewing and the faint rustling of paper from the stack of notes on Jawbone’s desk. 

“Y’know, Kipperlilly,” Jawbone said, his voice softer now, contemplative. “Not everything Kristen does is a ploy to rile you up. She’s… she’s going through stuff. And sometimes, yeah, that means she’s a bit of a mess.” 

Kipperlilly swallowed, the sandwich suddenly heavy in her hand. She looked down, fiddling with the edge of the crust. “She just makes everything so stupid,” she said quietly. “It’s like she thinks the entire student body’s just here to be her audience.”

Jawbone tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smile playing on his lips. “Well, that’s one way to see it.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “But sometimes, being a little reckless is just how people deal with things they can’t control. And if that doesn’t sound familiar to you…” He raised an eyebrow, giving her a knowing look. 

Kipperlilly frowned, her mind flashing back to all the times her temper had flared, to the way her fists had itched to hit something when she felt cornered or unheard. She sighed, setting the sandwich down on the desk, her appetite waning. 

“I just… I don’t get it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “People like her for it?”

Jawbone’s gaze softened, his voice gentle. “Sometimes, people like a little recklessness. Makes ‘em feel alive. They see someone unafraid to be a mess and figure maybe it’s okay to be a mess, too.” He looked at her, his yellow eyes kind, a depth of understanding behind them. “Doesn’t mean you have to like it, though.” 

Kipperlilly nodded slowly, chewing on his words as much as the sandwich. There was something in what he said that stirred in her, something uncomfortable but familiar. She hated that Kristen could be that carefree, that loud, that unapologetically herself without worrying about how it looked, what people thought. It was infuriating… and a little captivating. 

Jawbone gave her a small, understanding smile and nodded toward the sandwich. “Eat up, kid. Can't run for president on an empty stomach.” 

Kipperlilly smirked, rolling her eyes. “Alright, alright.” She took another bite, savoring the tangy, smoky flavor. 

Jawbone watched Kipperlilly eat with a quiet, wolfish smile. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his yellow eyes glinting with a knowing look. 

“They’ve been rootin’ around, askin’ about ya, y’know?” he said, his voice carrying an edge of playful intrigue. 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, licking a stray crumb from her lip. “Oh, have they now?” 

“Mhm.” Jawbone nodded, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I think you got under their skin too.” 

Kipperlilly’s mouth curled into a smirk as she leaned back in her chair. “Good. It’s about time.” 

Jawbone laughed softly, shaking his head. “I kept my lips tight, of course. Ain’t at liberty to discuss my students, but… wouldn’t surprise me if they get their hands on your transcripts eventually. Sneaky bunch o’ kids.” 

“Let them,” Kipperlilly said, her eyes sparking with a rare touch of mischief. “All they’ll see is my perfect grades and extracurriculars.” 

Her mind drifted back to the moment she’d told her parents she had officially signed up to run class president on her first day back. The proclamation led to a family dinner out in town at the upscale Brass Chalice, where the lighting was low, and the tables gleamed under flickering candlelight. 

Her father had raised his glass first. “ Anything you might need, Bug, just ask.” 

She’d laughed at that, shaking her head, half-joking. “Like what? A limousine with my face on it?” 

Her mother gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Small thinking for my taste,” she teased, her voice light, but her eyes shrewd. “But you get the idea.” 

Kipperlilly had laughed, taking a sip of her wine. The notion seemed almost absurd at first. She’d always prided herself on her independence, on her ability to achieve her goals on her own. But as she looked across the table, she saw her parents exchange a look—a sly, knowing glance that held more meaning than the words they’d spoken. She set her glass down, eyebrows raised, trying to read the look on their faces. 

“Are you serious?” she’d asked, half disbelieving. 

“Sure we are,” Barden had replied, his tone steady, slicing his steak with a practiced precision. He nodded toward her mother. “Ask your mom. Sometimes, a big gesture or a fully-funded gift can make all the difference with the swing votes.” 

Her mother nodded, a hint of pride glimmering in her eyes as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her wineglass. “It wasn’t just my winning smile and penchant for order that got me onto all those committees, sweetheart. Never underestimate the power of a little ‘support’ behind your ambitions.” 

Barden nodded in agreement, his gaze steady and encouraging. “Besides, anything that ups your chances at getting into whatever university or career your heart desires, that’s money very, very well spent.” 

She’d been left speechless for a moment, caught between the rush of gratitude and a small, unsettling feeling. Kipperlilly wanted this victory to be hers, earned with her own hard work and merit. But she also knew that her parents’ words held a truth about the world that she couldn’t ignore. Especially in a place she had been overlooked for years. She’d smiled at them, raising her glass in silent acknowledgment, tucking away her misgivings for later. 

Back in Jawbone's office, her fingers toying with the edge of the sandwich wrapper. 

“Is she doing it to pander her transcript?” she asked bluntly. 

Jawbone raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Who?” 

“Kristen,” Kipperlilly replied, her tone tinged with a hint of exasperation. “She’s failing all of her classes. Is she only running for president because it’ll keep her from getting kicked out?” 

Jawbone leaned back, scratching his chin thoughtfully, his mouth curving into a faint smile. “Two-way street, Kipperlilly,” he said with a sly smile. 

Of course.

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, rueful smile. “Touché,” 

The hallway was bustling as the bell signaled the end of lunch hour, students scattering in every direction like a hive stirred from its afternoon lull. Kipperlilly wiped the last crumb from her mouth as she stepped out of Jawbone’s office. 

It was time for a period she shared with the rest of her adventuring party. A block of time she usually filled to the brim with practice, planning, or whatever tactical exercise she’d cooked up the night before. But this week, between campaign kickoff and all the preparation, her meticulous agenda for the group had fallen to the wayside, leaving them all adrift in this unscheduled hour. By the end of the week, she’d have their next few months lined up and organized. For now, though, she felt a strange, small thrill of freedom as she walked down the hall, moving at her own pace toward one of their usual meeting spots outside the library. 

The closer she got, the easier it was to spot the huddle of her friends by the wall, clustered around a row of lockers. Lucy wrapped in one of her trademark winter sweaters, was pinning something up with a proud smile. Oisin stood beside her, looking at her work with an approving nod, while Ruben was holding a small stack of papers with a somber expression, as if he were personally responsible for every single page. Ivy was loitering off to the side, her smirk telling the world she had secrets it could never hope to know, and Mary Ann had her claws buried in her oversized teal backpack, which looked ready to swallow her whole. 

Lucy spotted her first and waved, her face lighting up as she called, “Kippy! We missed you at lunch!” 

Ruben nodded, crossing his arms with a slight pout. “Yeah, the Bad Fuckers wouldn’t stop staring at us. Talk about stalkers.”

Kipperlilly chuckled as she approached her friends. “What are these?” she asked, glancing at the sheets they were pinning up and the ones in Ruben’s hands. 

Mary Ann padded over, her bare feet slapping against the linoleum, and handed Kipperlilly one of the fliers. It was neatly designed, simple but striking, with bold text that read, “VOTE KIPPERLILLY COPPERKETTLE – MAKE AGUEFORT FAIR FOR EVERYONE.” Beneath it, a clean outline of Kipperlilly’s face looked back at her, framed by a border of tiny swords and spell scrolls.

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You guys did these?” 

Ivy smirked, flicking a bit of hair over her shoulder. “Lucy did. She’s got too much time on her hands.” 

Before Kipperlilly could respond, Oisin bumped Ivy with his hip, his face breaking into a grin that made his sharp dragon teeth flash. “Stop it, Ivy. They’re great, and you know it.” 

Lucy’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of blue as she readjusted her sleeves and grinned. “I did it out of love," 

Kipperlilly scanned the flyer again, her eyes tracing the careful lines and the lettering that was just bold enough to catch attention without feeling too aggressive. “It’s amazing, Luce,” she said sincerely, "Are we putting these up all over?” she asked, glancing around at the half-pinned stack in Ruben’s hands. 

Ivy rolled her eyes as she pinned up another flyer with a flick of her wrist, her smirk as sharp as ever. “Of course. Hopefully, it’ll give Fabian bad enough indigestion that he spends the rest of the day looking like a gassy oversized infant.” 

Kipperlilly snorted, glancing over her shoulder as the Rat Grinders dispersed into the nearby hallways, each armed with a stack of campaign flyers and determination. The school bustled around them, but they moved with purpose, a quiet rebellion in their deliberate steps. Lucy stuck by Kipperlilly’s side, matching her stride as they headed down a quieter corridor by the cafeteria, the familiar smell of reheated pasta and mystery meat lingering in the air. 

As they began pinning the flyers along the wall, Lucy nudged Kipperlilly with her elbow. “You did eat something, right? If not, I’ve got an apple in my backpack, and I’m not above making you eat it.” 

Kipperlilly smirked, rolling her eyes but feeling the warmth of Lucy’s concern settle over her. “Jawbone gave me half a sandwich that could feed an army. Don’t worry.” 

Lucy nodded, satisfied. “Good. This week’s schedule has been a complete mess with campaign kickoff, so I’m just glad you found a minute to talk to him.” 

Kipperlilly’s smirk softened into something more contemplative, her gaze lingering on the flyer she was pinning up. “Yeah, me too. And apparently, Kristen and her merry band of idiots have been asking about me.” 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a playful, mocking tone. “Oh no, whatever shall you do?”

Kipperlilly let out a small, sarcastic sigh, leaning in conspiratorially. “Better start counting my days until Riz decides to unhinge his jaw and swallow me whole.” 

They both burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the linoleum floors, and for a moment, the weight of the campaign faded, replaced by the warmth of an easy friendship. 

Once they’d settled, Lucy leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. “So… I did hear something on the grapevine today.” 

Kipperlilly gave her a long-suffering look, though her smirk betrayed her curiosity. “You and Ivy really have to start avoiding gossip. It’s rather unbecoming.” 

Lucy tutted, feigning offense. “Fine, fine… I’ll keep my trivial gossip about my fellow clerics to myself.” 

But Kipperlilly stopped dead in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face Lucy, gripping the flyers in her hands a little tighter. “Applebees?” 

Lucy’s face broke into a mischievous grin, her voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “I thought you weren’t interested.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, fighting the undeniable pull of curiosity. “Fine, I concede. Tell me already.” 

Lucy’s eyes flashed, her smirk widening. “Well, this morning, I was communing with Ruvina—you know, as one does—and I always leave the door open a crack in the room because, y’know, small spaces give me the heebie-jeebies.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused. “I’m aware.” 

“So I’m in there,” Lucy continued, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “and guess who I overhear talking to Professor Badgood?” 

“Kristen?” Kipperlilly asked, trying to keep her face impassive, but the curiosity was clearly in her voice. 

Lucy nodded, savoring the suspense. “Yup. She’s talking to her about Cassandra.” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, her brow furrowing. 

“Her goddess of mystery or whatever? Keep up, Kippy!" Lucy continues snapping her fingers to keep Kipperlilly's attention. 'Anyway, she was talking about something that happened at that weird wizard mall Oisin loves. The one where he picked up all that stuff we used for Spring Break last year?"

"Luce..." Kipperlilly tried to hold back the sigh, but Lucy had a knack for going off on a tangent.

"Right! Sorry," Lucy leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper, her tone dripping with intrigue. “Apparently, Cassandra is dead.”

Kipperlilly froze, her mind spinning as she processed Lucy’s words. “Wait, what?”

“Dead as a doornail. Done-zo!” Lucy confirmed. “I mean, come on! I don't think I've ever heard of a cleric who has killed multiple gods. That just... Next level!”

Kipperlilly blinked, feeling the weight of the revelation settle over her. She couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

Lucy shrugged, her tone casual but her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Unfortunately. Imagine being a cleric without a god. No spells, no divine powers. She was even asking Badgood for advice on getting Cassandra back, but… she didn't have much to say about it.” 

Kipperlilly crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her lips as she digested the news. “So you’re telling me that my opponent is an idiotic, clumsy himbo cleric with absolutely no healing powers, no guidance, and no ability to do… well, anything miraculous or heroic?” 

Lucy grinned, nodding with unrestrained glee. “Pretty much sums it up, yeah.” 

The information sank in, and Kipperlilly felt a spark of something wicked and triumphant bubbling up inside her. Kristen Applebees, the carefree, chaotic cleric who could barely keep her shoelaces tied, had been stripped of her powers, left to wander Aguefort with no divine support. Her smirk widened as she imagined the debates, the speeches, the ways this would give her the upper hand without Kristen even realizing it. She could play her cards right, emphasizing real responsibility and capability—things Kristen, quite literally, lacked. 

Lucy watched her, grinning at the look on Kipperlilly’s face. “You’re thinking evil thoughts, aren’t you?” 

Kipperlilly laughed softly, casting a sly glance back at her friend. “Just… strategizing. My opponent has nothing but charm and muscle at this point. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.” 

Lucy gave her a playful shove. “You’re ruthless. That’s why I like you.” 

They continued down the hallway, pinning up flyers. Every once in a while, Kipperlilly would catch a glimpse of the flyers out of the corner of her eye, and with each glance, her resolve only grew. The campaign was no longer just a quest for student body president. It was a statement. With Lucy’s gossip still lingering in her mind, she pinned the last flyer in the hall, leaning back to admire it. 

“So,” Lucy said, breaking the silence as they stepped back to survey their work, “what’s the plan now? Make Kristen aware you know about her… divine misfortune, or keep it up your sleeve?” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head thoughtfully. “Oh, I think I’ll let her figure it out. The more she realizes just how unprepared she is, the better. Besides…” She flashed a wicked grin. “I don’t need to throw the first punch. She’ll stumble all on her own.” 

They shared a laugh, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. Making their way back across the courtyard, a broad stretch of slightly uneven grass bordered by rows of high shrubs and the occasional tall oak greeted them. Near the center of the courtyard, Kipperlilly spotted Ivy stretched out on the grass, her arms folded behind her head, her cropped top riding up to expose her entire midriff. Her expression was the picture of contentment, eyes closed and a slight smirk playing on her lips as she basked in the sun, utterly unconcerned with the world around her. 

Lucy cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out, “Hey, slacker!” 

Ivy cracked one eye open, her smirk widening as she waved a lazy hand in their direction. “I finished already. The rest of you are just slow.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, feeling her usual irritation toward Ivy’s laid-back attitude dissolve into amusement. “Lucy was catching me up on some… interesting gossip,” she said with a smirk. 

Ivy sat up, brushing strands of grass from her hair, her eyes glinting with intrigue. “Oh? About the Seacaster party?” 

Kipperlilly and Lucy exchanged a look, eyebrows raised. “What party?” Kipperlilly asked, folding her arms. 

Ivy’s smirk deepened. “Oh, so you haven’t heard.” She stretched, reaching her arms above her head with a cat-like satisfaction. “Apparently, the almighty Fabian is throwing a party tonight. A little pre-election shindig for Kristen’s campaign. The whole school’s invited… except us, of course.” She laughed, a sharp sound full of mockery. “I’ll take that as a big freakin’ compliment.” 

Kipperlilly’s arms stayed crossed, her brow arching slightly. “New boyfriend invite you?” 

Ivy let out a sharp laugh. “Hardly. Just some pig-headed senior owlbear who'll be licking the wounds of his bruised ego for the rest of the week.” She winked, pleased with her own jab, and Kipperlilly couldn’t help but join her in laughing. 

Lucy shook her head, stifling a grin. “You going?” she asked. 

Ivy snorted, her nose scrunching in distaste. “Please. I’d rather take an arrow to the neck than breathe in another whiff of Fabian’s overpriced cologne. The guy smells like old money and new car leather—hard pass.” 

They all laughed, the easy sound filling the quiet courtyard. Ivy brushed her hands down her pants as she got up, stretching the last of the sun-kissed drowsiness from her muscles. She took a step closer, looking Kipperlilly up and down with a glint of challenge in her eyes. 

“But you should, Kip,” she said, her smirk turning sly. “You should crash it.” 

Kipperlilly gave her a look of disbelief, tilting her head slightly. “Excuse me?” 

“You should crash it,” Ivy repeated, crossing her arms, a mischievous sparkle lighting up her gaze. “It’s exactly the thing they don’t want you to do. You show up, and they’ll be mad as hell. Plus, it’d be hilarious.” 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. “I don’t think so. Last thing I need is to walk into enemy territory without a solid reason.” 

Lucy chimed in, laughing. “Yeah, that’s like… walking straight into the lion’s den. They’re already lucky Kippy hasn’t stabbed any of them yet.” 

Kipperlilly shot Lucy a playful glare, elbowing her in the ribs. “Don’t give me ideas.” 

Ivy sucked in a breath through her teeth, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Pussies,” she teased, letting the word hang, daring Kipperlilly to bite. 

Kipperlilly’s expression remained firm, but she could feel her resolve wavering, Ivy’s challenge slipping under her skin in that irritatingly effective way. The idea of showing up uninvited, throwing off their whole self-congratulatory party, and watching them scramble to deal with her presence—it was tempting, and Ivy knew it. She looked down, pretending to study her shoes, giving herself a second to consider the idea. 

Lucy watched her, noticing the hesitation, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You really don’t have to, Kip. They’re just blowing smoke because they’re intimidated by you.” 

Kipperlilly nodded, but she could feel Ivy’s gaze boring into her, practically daring her to reconsider. She finally looked up, meeting Ivy’s eyes with a hard stare. “Why would I give them the satisfaction?” 

Ivy shrugged, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “Because they don’t expect it. They think they’ve got you figured out. Fabian’s got this whole idea of you in his head—stern, self-righteous, and ‘too good’ to step foot in his stupid house.” 

Kipperlilly considered there was something satisfying about the idea of blindsiding them, of showing that she wasn’t some stiff, predictable pawn. And the thought of seeing Kristen’s reaction… well, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for there, but it was enough to spark her interest. 

Lucy gave her a cautious smile. “It’s risky" 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I'll think about it." 

Ivy’s grin widened. “Now that’s the spirit." 

The engine’s low hum filled the cramped space of her parents’ car. Kipperlilly sat with her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, staring out at the glimmer of lights reflecting off the River Marigold below. The water flowed lazily, golden in the dim evening light, a quiet, sleepy kind of beautiful that stood in stark contrast to the chaos running through her mind. She should be home by now. She should have never left. And she definitely shouldn’t be parked this close to Seacaster Manor, half-mad over a presidential party she had zero intention of attending. 

Her parents had been thrilled when she said she had plans on a Friday night. “About time you went out to have some fun,” her dad had said, slapping her back with a jovial laugh. He thought she was going with her friends to celebrate the new semester—normal teenage stuff. 

Kipperlilly sighed, a sharp exhalation that seemed to slice through the car's stale air. Her gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Seacaster Manor in the distance. The mansion—built from the hollowed-out bones of an actual pirate ship—loomed against the night sky. The wooden masts and uneven hull shone under the streetlights like some ghostly galleon trapped on land, and even from this far away, she could make out the steady pulse of music and laughter drifting down the street. 

Kipperlilly drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, tapping out a rhythm that betrayed the restless energy vibrating through her bones. Ivy’s voice still buzzed in her head, like the irritating echo of a wasp trapped in a jar. 

"I know you're not actually going to go to the party, Kip. But it'd be funny if you just showed up, wouldn’t it? Imagine their moronic faces."

Ivy had thrown the words offhandedly over her shoulder, but they’d buried themselves deep, like seeds finding cracks in the pavement. And now here she was, half a mile down from Kristen Applebees' stupid presidential bash, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that the leather bit back into her palms. 

She leaned back in the seat, squinting at the lights of the manor reflecting on the inky waters of the river. "Stupid," she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop herself. She wasn’t sure if she was calling the idea of sneaking closer stupid or herself for even considering it. Maybe both. Probably both. 

Kipperlilly picked up her crystal. The screen lit up, illuminating her face in pale blue light. She immediately swiped over to The Rat Grinders’ social media page, something she had gotten into the habit of doing whenever she needed a distraction. A small smirk crept onto her face. Their follower count had spiked again—up by another few hundred. The announcement about her running for president had sparked way more interest than she’d expected. The post had hundreds of comments, most of them talking about her campaign. 

Of course, not all of it was about her. She skimmed the fawning remarks directed at Ruben’s latest guitar riff or the thirsty comments aimed at Ivy—“Those legs! 😍”—but it was still good for engagement. Likes, comments, shares—they all kept the algorithm happy. 

Then the suggestions started popping up. That was when things went south. 

Kipperlilly’s jaw tightened as she scrolled past picture after picture of Kristen’s party. Kristen grinning beside wide-eyed admirers, Kristen with her arm around someone’s shoulders, Kristen kissing some random blushing girl on the cheek, Kristen in a cowboy hat for some inexplicable reason. Kipperlilly couldn’t tell if the sight made her want to laugh or throw her crystal into the river. But she kept scrolling, letting the sharp little pang of each new photo sink in. 

“Get over yourself,” Kipperlilly muttered, scrolling faster. She could ignore most of this, dismiss it as the usual nonsense. 

Her thumb froze when a video started auto-playing, the muffled background noise suddenly turning into a roar of laughter and music. The scene flickered to life—Kristen Applebees, standing atop a table, her muscles taut beneath her shirt, her cheeks flushed with the energy of the crowd pressing in around her. Across from her, Ragh Barkrock, looming with that same oafish grin he always wore. 

The two of them grappled, and Kipperlilly’s breath caught in her throat as Kristen threw herself at him, using her whole body to topple Ragh off the table. He hit the ground with a dull thud, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Kristen stood there, hands on her hips, the grin on her face wide and unguarded, like she knew the whole world was watching and she didn’t care one bit. 

“Who wants some?!” Kristen’s voice rang out, carrying through the screen. Her arms shot into the air, biceps flexing like she was showing off for a bodybuilding competition. “Prime presidential beef right here!” 

The crowd roared, chanting her name, their voices blurring into a mass of adoration that made Kipperlilly’s stomach twist. Her grip on her crystal tightened until her knuckles ached. The comments streamed in, relentless and nauseatingly enthusiastic. 

“She had my vote!”

“That’s MY president 🔥🔥”

“Kristen’s gonna CRUSH IT this year!”

The heat flared up from Kipperlilly’s chest, crawling up her neck, burning her cheeks. Her grip tightened around the crystal, her knuckles turning pale. She wasn’t even aware she was squeezing it so hard until her fingers started to ache. 

“That... that idiot,” she breathed out, voice barely audible over the thundering beat of her pulse. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of the river, the distant hum of cars on the bridge—everything except her boiling anger. Kristen was a joke. A godless, brainless joke, and yet people ate it up. The whole town was falling over themselves for her—while Kipperlilly was stuck struggling to scrape by. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she had unbuckled her seatbelt and thrown the car door open. The slam echoed across the quiet street as she stepped out, the cool night air hitting her in a rush. She barely registered the chill, too blinded by fury, too wrapped up in the buzzing haze of it all. 

“What am I even thinking?” she muttered under her breath, slamming the car door shut. She stood for a moment, fists clenched by her sides, staring down the street at the glowing shape of Seacaster Manor. The music, the voices—all of it seemed louder now, echoing down the block as if calling her closer. 

She started walking before her mind could catch up, her boots crunching against the gravel. Each step seemed to make her anger pulse hotter, sharper. The closer she got, the clearer the sound of laughter became, the smell of sea salt and bonfire smoke curling in the air, tinged with the unmistakable scent of expensive liquor. The kind that only someone like Seacaster could afford. Her face twisted into a grimace. 

“This is insane,” she whispered. “You’re insane.” 

But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. She wasn’t sure what she was planning to do, or if she even had a plan. It didn’t matter. The only thought pounding through her mind was Kristen—Kristen with her stupid biceps, her stupid grin, her stupid popularity. She needed to see her, to confront her—prove to herself that she wasn’t scared, that she wasn’t weak, that she wasn’t going to back down from some godless dumbass with a fake smile. 

The manor loomed ahead, its dark wood and brass fixtures gleaming like an old ship stranded on the shore. The music vibrated through the air, growing louder with every step, the voices overlapping in a chaotic hum. A part of her brain screamed at her to turn back—to get in the car and drive home, come up with some story for her parents, anything but this. But the voice was distant, almost swallowed by the rush of blood in her ears. 

She reached the edge of the driveway, her feet pausing on instinct. She looked back toward the car—still parked innocently by the bridge, waiting. A clean getaway. A way out. For a moment, she hesitated, a sliver of doubt cutting through the anger. But the thought of going back—back to the car, back to questions from her parents, back to the crystal filled with Kristen’s stupid smile—was even worse. 

The golden lights that lined the front of Seacaster Manor cast soft halos onto the pathway, illuminating the shrubs and ivy clinging to the porch railings. Kipperlilly crept through the shadows, her movements instinctive and fluid, every step as quiet as a leaf falling. 

Pressing herself against the rough bark of an old tree, she scanned the windows, where figures moved like ghosts behind the thick glass. Shadows shifted, blurring together, and then a pair of faces came into focus. She could make out Riz, sliding up to a group of artsy kids from the Art Club, offering each of them a firm handshake. He had his campaign smile on, probably hoping to rope them into voting for Kristen. 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. Riz didn’t even know their names, couldn’t tell an easel from a palette if his life depended on it. But he was shaking hands, nodding like he knew exactly what each of them was talking about. She, on the other hand, knew them all—every student in the art department, every equipment order they’d placed over the past year. She’d been the one to review their requests, budget allocations, coordinating deliveries. But no, sure, she thought with a flicker of bitterness, Riz would save them all with his toothy grin and empty promises.

Her gaze shifted as Fabian sauntered into the room, dressed in that showy, casually rumpled style he liked to wear, like he hadn’t spent an hour picking it out. He spotted Mazey, and his posture shifted, taking on that familiar swagger, that lazy, cocky strut she’d seen a hundred times before. She almost snorted; it was clear he was tracking Mazey like a dog sniffing out a treat. Mazey’s too good for him, she thought, crossing her arms against the tree and pressing herself deeper into the shadows. I hope she knows that.

Before she could keep cataloging the various cliques and characters, the front door creaked open. Instantly, Kipperlilly stiffened, sliding back a few steps and melting further into the thick bushes lining the yard. The porch light flared as the door swung wider, and she held her breath, watching the shadowy figure as they stepped outside and closed the door behind them. She braced herself to dart further into the shadows if they came any closer. 

But the figure didn’t move forward. Instead, they leaned back against the porch railing, tipping their head up to stare at the night sky. 

Kipperlilly's eyebrows furrowed as she realized who it was: Kristen Applebees, of course, standing there in the glow of the porch light, looking less like the obnoxious musclehead she usually presented herself as and more like… Kipperlilly wasn’t quite sure. Kristen looked different. Softer, somehow. Not grinning or showboating for a crowd, not hyping up her gaggle of fans. Just… there. Looking at the stars, or maybe thinking, if that was even possible.

Kristen pulled her crystal out of her pocket, her thumb sweeping over the screen as she scrolled through whatever feed she was undoubtedly addicted to. Kipperlilly’s lip curled in a reflexive sneer. Of course. Kristen couldn’t even take a breath of air without checking her feed to see how much attention her latest stunt had drummed up.

Kipperlilly inched a bit closer, her boots sinking soundlessly into the damp earth as she crouched down behind a tree near the porch. She leaned just far enough to watch Kristen, but still hidden from view. It was just as satisfying as she’d imagined—seeing Kristen out here, alone, scrolling through her crystal like the self-absorbed phony she was. But there was something about the way Kristen held herself, her shoulders slightly slumped, the tightness around her mouth, that gave Kipperlilly pause. 

She watched as Kristen’s eyes flitted across the screen, her lips pressing into a frown, her brow creasing as if the comments—or whatever she was reading—weren’t quite as complimentary as she’d hoped. Kristen let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her shoulders slumping a little further as she tilted her head up again, the porch light catching the shadows under her eyes. Kipperlilly felt a prick of something—curiosity, maybe—needling at her chest. 

Kipperlilly frowned, tilting her head. Was Kristen actually… thinking? Reflecting? She almost wanted to laugh, but something about the way Kristen looked in that moment held her back. She had expected Kristen to be all bravado, basking in the afterglow of her victory dance in there, eating up the attention like it was her lifeblood. Instead, here she was, leaning against the porch railing, scrolling through her crystal like she was looking for something she couldn’t quite find.

Kipperlilly tried to shake off the feeling, grounding herself in the annoyance that had brought her here. She didn’t need to feel sorry for Kristen Applebees. Kristen had everything she wanted—friends, followers, a room full of people chanting her name. And yet, here she was, staring off into the night like she had something missing. Like she was as clueless about what she wanted as the rest of them. 

She’d come here on impulse, anger simmering just under her skin, but now she couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or irritation keeping her rooted to the spot. She almost shook herself free, ready to turn back toward the tree line and leave Kristen to her mysterious brooding. 

But something—maybe the spark of frustration that Kristen always seemed to ignite in her, or maybe just the sheer stubbornness that defined her every move—made her step forward, out of the shadows and into the low glow of the porch light. 

“Skipping out on your own party?” 

The words slipped out before she could reconsider, a taunt wrapped in casual disinterest. Kristen’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they scanned the darkness until they landed on Kipperlilly. The moment their eyes met, Kristen’s posture shifted, her shoulders squaring and her fingers curling around her crystal, which she quickly shoved into her pocket, as if she’d been caught with a secret. 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, letting a slight smirk tug at the corner of her mouth. “A party you’re not even enjoying?” she continued, her voice light but edged with a mocking tone. “Now that’s a surprise.” 

Kristen’s gaze narrowed, her mouth twisting into a sarcastic grin as she crossed her arms over her chest. “A party you’re not invited to,” she shot back, her voice dripping with disdain. “Get lost, Kepperpetal.” 

Kipperlilly’s smirk deepened, unfazed. If Kristen wanted to play this game, she’d have to do better. “It’s Copperkettle,” she said, her tone dry and precise, “and you know it.” 

Kristen shrugged, letting her arms drop with a dismissive wave. “Do I?” 

Kipperlilly held her ground, eyes narrowed as she met Kristen’s gaze with a steady calm. “Yes.” 

For a beat, neither of them moved. They stood there in the wash of golden light spilling from the porch, two opposing forces, both too stubborn to break eye contact. Kipperlilly took a slow, deliberate step closer, her smirk melting into an unreadable expression. She could feel the simmering anger, but she kept it in check, watching every flicker in Kristen’s eyes. 

“Speaking of names,” Kipperlilly said, her voice smooth and taunting, “you’re trying to make your own legendary now?” 

She watched the way Kristen’s jaw tightened, a barely concealed flicker of irritation crossing her face. It was satisfying, in a way, to see her get under Kristen’s skin. Taking a jab at the campaign was a smart move, something to throw Kristen off balance. 

Kristen’s response came with a strained smile, her lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you know me. Always aiming for legendary.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. She crossed her arms, studying Kristen as though she were dissecting a particularly tricky puzzle. “I suppose throwing Ragh off a table counts as legendary now?” 

Kristen’s expression shifted to a smirk, her confidence slipping back on like armor. “Jealous?” she asked, her voice light and almost playful, as if she’d gained the upper hand again. 

Kipperlilly’s lips twitched into a sharp smile, her eyes narrowing as she let out a short, derisive laugh. She’d known Kristen would try to turn the tables, but she wasn’t going to let her. Her voice dropped, taking on a tone that was equal parts exasperation and scorn. “Of you wrestling a graduated oaf in the middle of a party full of underage drinking? No.” 

Kristen rolled her eyes but held Kipperlilly’s gaze with a smirk of her own, a challenge flickering behind her eyes. “Well, you’re obviously stalking my stuff on Instagram,” she shot back, her voice laced with mockery. 

Kipperlilly felt a spike of annoyance heat her cheeks, though she did her best to keep her expression cool. Kristen’s words had hit close to the truth, but she wasn’t about to let her have that satisfaction. With an arched brow and a look of pure disdain, she replied, “Hardly. When it shows up as a recommended post, it’s hard to ignore.” 

Kristen’s smirk widened, her eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. She let out a small, smug snort. “Already? That was only posted ten minutes ago. Looks like I’m going viral.” 

Kipperlilly’s composure slipped, just for a moment, as a small, hot spark of anger burned through her chest. She clenched her fists, feeling the nails dig into her palms as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Kristen was so insufferably smug, so sure of herself, so… oblivious. 

She took another step forward, her body tense and her fists balled at her sides. She didn’t try to hide the contempt that sharpened her voice as she spat out, “Your whole campaign is stupid, and you know it. Someone like you should never be president. You’re just one big joke.” 

There. She’d said it. The words left her mouth with a bitter satisfaction, slicing through the cool night air, hanging there like a challenge. She watched Kristen’s face carefully, looking for any hint that her words had struck a nerve. 

But instead of backing down or flinching, Kristen’s expression shifted, her face settling into a look of calm defiance. With a shrug, she gestured to Seacaster Manor, where the sounds of laughter and music drifted out into the night, echoing through the yard. 

“And yet, here I am,” she said, her voice light but laced with an undeniable edge. “At a party where everyone loves me. And you? You’re out here, alone, with no invite, and no one chanting your name.” 

The words hit Kipperlilly like a slap, her chest tightening as an unexpected sting of anger surged up inside her. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, her fists clenching even tighter, her knuckles turning bone-white in the faint light. Kristen’s grin widened, her gaze taunting and unshakable. 

The sight of that smile—careless, smug, utterly indifferent to anything she’d said—only made the anger swell inside her, white-hot and sharp. Kipperlilly’s breath came out in a harsh, shaky exhale, her chest tight with the effort of keeping herself in check. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off Kristen’s face, to force her to understand, to see her for who she really was. But here she was, standing there with that maddening grin, as if she’d already won something Kipperlilly hadn’t even realized she was competing for. 

She fought to steady her breathing, to keep the rising tide of anger from spilling over. She couldn’t let Kristen get to her like this, couldn’t let her see the effect her words had. But no matter how hard she tried to push it down, to stay calm, the anger was there, fierce and unrelenting, coiled tight in her chest. 

Kipperlilly met Kristen’s gaze, her own eyes cold and steely, refusing to back down even as her heart raced. She could still hear the laughter and cheers echoing from inside the manor, each sound a cruel reminder of everything Kristen had—everything Kipperlilly didn’t. And she knew that, as long as Kristen stood there, smiling with that infuriating confidence, that anger would keep burning, refusing to be silenced. 

“Oh, you hate that, don’t you?” Kristen said, voice low and taunting, every syllable dripping with arrogance. “That someone like me can win people over. And you, with your perfect grades and your perfect little boring life? You can’t.” 

Kipperlilly’s jaw tightened. Her fists clenched so hard that her nails dug into her palms, the sting grounding her. “Shut up, Applebees,” she snapped, hating how her voice trembled with the force of her anger. She could feel her heartbeat drumming against her ribs, a familiar heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. 

Her breath hitched as she tried to remember what Jawbone always said about staying calm, about not letting herself slip into that dangerous red zone. Breathe, Kipperlilly, she reminded herself, don’t let her see you crack.

Kristen’s smirk only widened, her eyes glinting with something wicked and amused. “Or what?” she asked, leaning in even closer, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “You’re going to sneak into my house and kill me in my sleep? Do you know how many times I’ve died and come back? I’ll do it again, just to piss you off.” 

Silence fell between them, thick and loaded with tension. Kipperlilly could feel it, heavy and electric, pulsing in the narrow space that separated them. And then, slowly, her lips curled into a smirk of her own. Kristen thought she could intimidate her, but Kipperlilly had a weapon Kristen couldn’t touch: her mind, her razor-sharp wit, her ability to strike where it hurt the most. 

In a low, measured whisper, Kipperlilly murmured, “With what god, Kristen?” 

She saw it, the flicker of surprise in Kristen’s eyes, the way her breath caught just a little. Kipperlilly’s heart pounded with the thrill of it, the rush of seeing Kristen’s confidence falter, even if only for a split second. She took a step closer, her voice as cold and sharp as a blade. 

“That’s right. Your god died, didn’t she? Because of you.” 

Kristen’s hands curled into fists, her entire body stiffening as she stepped closer, towering over Kipperlilly with barely restrained fury. The warmth radiated off Kristen in waves, almost suffocating in the cool night air, but Kipperlilly didn’t flinch. She didn’t need to. She knew, without a doubt, that she was faster. Stronger, in ways Kristen could never understand. Even if Kristen tried to swing at her, Kipperlilly would have her on the ground before she could blink. 

A thrill shot through her—a dark, twisted excitement at the thought of finally putting Kristen in her place, of showing her who was really in control. She held her ground, her gaze unwavering, her smirk widening as she saw the hurt flicker in Kristen’s eyes. 

Kristen’s voice came out in a harsh, low hiss. “Shut your mouth.” 

The words rolled over Kipperlilly like a spark on dry kindling. She knew everyone had a weak spot, and Kristen’s was like an open wound. She had hit it, and she could feel the power of it, the satisfaction humming beneath her skin. This was what power felt like: watching Kristen Applebees, the mighty and beloved, brought low, stripped of her bravado, left raw and vulnerable. 

“Or you’ll shut it for me?” Kipperlilly sneered, her voice sharp and cutting. “With what, Kristen? Your no magic?”

The words landed hard, she could tell. She could see it in the way Kristen’s face twisted, the momentary flash of pain in her eyes. For a moment, Kipperlilly reveled in it, in the way her words sliced deep, finally silencing the girl who seemed to live for the sound of her own voice. She liked Kristen much better like this—quiet, subdued, finally without the smug grin. 

But the satisfaction was fleeting. She saw Kristen’s shoulders relax, the tension easing out of her muscles, her fists loosening as she took a steadying breath. Her gaze shifted, and her smirk faded, replaced by something sharper, something real. 

“I don’t need magic to win this,” Kristen said, her voice soft but unyielding. “You think it’s about magic? About some dumb title? You think you can beat me by taking a shot at Cassandra?” 

Kipperlilly didn’t answer, didn’t move. She felt herself tense, her heartbeat steady but loud in her ears, her smirk fading just slightly as Kristen’s words landed in the quiet between them. 

Kristen took a step back, her gaze unwavering, her eyes never leaving Kipperlilly’s face.  “This isn’t about gods. It’s about who’s willing to fight. And guess what? People like me. They like that I’m not perfect. That I’ve messed up. Because they’ve messed up, too.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, the words sinking in, her smirk faltering for the first time. She could feel something cracking, something sharp and cold pressing in against her chest, unsettling and strange. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. 

Kristen’s voice softened, the taunting edge gone, replaced by a quiet conviction that felt more powerful than any smirk or sarcastic remark. “You keep thinking you can tear me down because I’m not like you,” Kristen said, her voice firm, steady. “But maybe that’s the reason people are cheering for me, not you.” She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not perfect, and I’m sure as hell not boring.” 

Kipperlilly’s mouth tightened into a thin line, her confidence suddenly feeling like a flimsy shell. Perfect. The word clanged against her mind, echoing with a painful clarity she couldn’t ignore. She’d spent her whole life chasing that—being perfect, being controlled, fighting against the anger that lurked just beneath the surface, the darkness she could never let show. Perfect was armor. Perfect was safe. Perfect was the only thing she could trust. And here Kristen was, acting as if that was something to be pitied. Something boring.

For the first time, Kipperlilly didn’t have something cutting to say. She just stood there, her fists unclenching, her gaze fixed on Kristen’s face, watching the flicker of triumph in Kristen’s eyes. It wasn’t the smirk that got to her. It was the honesty, the rawness in Kristen’s words, the quiet strength that Kipperlilly hadn’t expected. She felt unsteady, as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted, and she hated it. 

Finally, she tore her gaze away, a cold, hollow feeling settling in her chest. She couldn’t be here anymore. She couldn’t stand this close to Kristen, couldn’t let herself feel… whatever this was. 

Without looking back, she forced her voice to steady, to be as cold and indifferent as the night air. “Go back inside, Kristen. Enjoy your party.” 

She didn’t wait for Kristen’s response. She turned on her heel, her boots crunching over the gravel as she walked away, every step pulling her further from the manor, from the laughter and cheers and the infuriating warmth that lingered from her encounter with Kristen. She could feel her heart pounding, her hands trembling just slightly as she slipped back into the shadows, her smirk gone, replaced by something she couldn’t name. 

And as the darkness wrapped around her, she realized, with a strange, unwelcome certainty, that Kristen’s words would echo in her mind long after the lights of Seacaster Manor faded into the distance. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year

The weekend aftermath of the party

Kipperlilly gripped the wheel, her knuckles whitening under the faint glow of the dashboard lights. The streets of Elmville stretched out in front of her, empty and quiet, streetlights casting pools of pale yellow over the damp pavement. She had been driving for hours now, looping through familiar streets, circling back to Clearbrook and the outskirts of town, unable to settle the firestorm of thoughts that had followed her from Seacaster Manor. Every corner she turned, every block she passed, Kristen’s smug smirk floated back to the forefront of her mind, taunting her, refusing to let her find peace. 

How did Kristen have the gall to look at her like that? With that confidence, that maddening bravado? Kipperlilly had encountered her fair share of obnoxious people in Elmville, but there was something about Kristen’s particular brand of smugness that dug under her skin and burrowed in, like a stuck thorn. And what had Kristen even said? That people liked her because she wasn’t perfect? That they could somehow relate to her messiness, her failures? As if that was something admirable, something worth aspiring to. 

Perfect, Kristen had called her. The word echoed in Kipperlilly’s head, both a compliment and an accusation. Perfect, as if that was the thing that made her unlikable. That just showed how little Kristen knew her—how little anyone knew her, really. If Kristen thought her life was some flawless, polished thing, then she had no idea what it was like to live with the constant urge to keep everything contained, to maintain control. Kipperlilly had been fighting herself for as long as she could remember, keeping the anger that simmered beneath her surface in check, trying to be the best, to be untouchable. She wasn’t perfect. But why, then, did it feel so strangely satisfying to think that maybe Kristen saw her that way?

She sighed, the sound soft and heavy in the stillness of the car. The urge to turn back toward Seacaster Manor lingered, just a faint pull in the back of her mind. She could see herself kicking down the front door, storming in, letting that anger she kept so tightly bottled up finally burst free. But she wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t. She was better than that. 

Finally, her hands eased their grip on the wheel as she pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a stop by a small cluster of trees. The quiet surrounded her, settling into her chest like a weight. She checked the time on the dashboard—3 a.m. It was late, and the exhaustion was starting to creep in, dulling the edges of her anger. With a sigh, she reached for her crystal and checked her messages. 

There was a text from her mom: 

Hope you’re enjoying the night out with your friends. We left the porch lights on. Love you xx

A pang of guilt settled in her chest. It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, really. It was just a small lie, a harmless one. Her parents didn’t need to know about her midnight drive, her sudden urge to get away from everything. As long as she was safe and responsible, they wouldn’t have to worry. And Kipperlilly was always responsible. 

She let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting out the window, past the trees to the faint silhouette of Cravencroft Cemetery and the looming shape of Mordred Manor beyond, bathed in the pale light of the moon.. The Bad Kids could still be partying on the other side of town, and a part of her itched at the thought of doing a little snooping of her own. It was a terrible idea. She knew it was. But before she could talk herself out of it, she found herself stepping out of the car, closing the door softly behind her, and making her way down the road toward the manor. 

The night air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. The manor grounds were silent as she approached, slipping through the shadows with practiced ease, every step measured and careful. Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from the thrill of it—the feeling of being invisible, of slipping past unseen. She was confident in her skills, knew she could disappear into the night if needed. She wasn’t planning on going inside, anyway. Just a little recon, a quick look around. 

Jawbone had mentioned in passing that Kristen’s bedroom was set up in an old chapel on the grounds, separate from the main manor. That would be her target. As tempting as it would be to snoop through Fig or Adaine’s rooms, Kristen was the one at the top of her list tonight. 

Kipperlilly rounded the corner of Seacaster Manor, blending into the shadows like she was part of them, silent and invisible. She followed a narrow, overgrown path that led away from the main house toward a small, decrepit chapel. The structure looked ancient, the stone dark and mottled with age, ivy creeping over the walls in tangled webs. Stained-glass windows cased dim, muted lights onto the ground, the colors softened and muddied from years of dust and neglect. 

She approached cautiously, scanning her surroundings before slipping up to the chapel wall, keeping herself low and hidden in the shadows. The faint glow of a lamp leaked through the window, flickering as if it were struggling to stay alight, casting fractured colors across the cold stone floor inside. The faint, almost ghostly light made the space feel otherworldly, like a place caught between reality and memory. 

Kipperlilly leaned up on her toes, just enough to peek through the lower corner of the window. She squinted, adjusting her gaze to the dimness inside, and then her eyes found what they were looking for. 

There, sprawled messily over the bed in the center of the room, lay Kristen Applebees, limbs splayed out in every direction. Kipperlilly furrowed her brow, taken aback for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d expected Kristen to be anywhere but here, but part of her had imagined her in the thick of the party, surrounded by her entourage, feeding off the cheers and laughs that had filled Seacaster Manor earlier. But here she was, draped across the bed like she’d simply collapsed there, exhausted, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of sleep. 

Kristen looked… different. There was none of her usual bravado, none of that insufferable cocky grin or arrogant stance. She looked like a regular teenager, her face softened in sleep, her brow unfurrowed and her mouth slightly open, almost vulnerable. Her muscles, so pronounced when she was awake, were relaxed, no longer carrying the weight of that effortless strength she seemed to exude during the day. Her hair was a tangled mess around her head, nothing like the rugged, haphazard style she sported when she was fully conscious. It was more like a child’s messy halo, wild and unkempt, and her almost too-small tie-dye shirt from her early days at Aguefort had ridden up, revealing a sliver of skin, making the shirt look like an ill-fitting crop top. 

Kipperlilly’s brows knitted together as she watched Kristen shift in her sleep, letting out a faint groan as she rolled over, nearly sliding halfway off the bed in the process. Her face scrunched up, a faint frown crossing her features as though she were in the middle of a bad dream. For a moment, Kipperlilly felt a strange flicker of something unplaceable. This was Kristen—her competition, her irritation, her rival. Yet here she was, looking utterly defenseless and… well, useless. Vulnerable in a way that Kipperlilly hadn’t imagined her capable of being. 

She leaned closer. If Kipperlilly really was villain The Bad Kids wanted to make her out to be, she could slip into that chapel, right now, undetected. She could smother Kristen with a pillow, and she probably wouldn’t even wake up in time to fight back. It would be so easy, so simple. Kristen was right there, utterly oblivious to anything around her. 

But Kipperlilly shook her head, the ridiculousness of the thought bringing her back to reality. This wasn’t some battlefield, and she wasn’t here to destroy Kristen—well, not literally, anyway. She wanted to beat her, sure, to outsmart her, to make her see that she wasn’t as untouchable as she seemed. But she wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t the kind of person who would prey on someone in their sleep. Besides, this was Kristen Applebees: tough, loud, confident Kristen. It was… jarring, seeing her like this, vulnerable and oblivious, like any other kid at school. 

Kipperlilly sighed softly, pulling back from the window, feeling a strange heaviness settle over her. There was no satisfaction in watching Kristen sleep, no thrill in this kind of invasion. She’d wanted to see Kristen shaken, wanted to find something that would give her an edge, but this… this wasn’t it. There was nothing here but the faint, embarrassing realization that she had spent the night stalking someone who wasn’t even aware of her presence. 

She straightened, ready to slip back into the shadows, when her gaze fell to her chest, where the small, gleaming pin of the Rat Grinders rested. She tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips as an idea began to form. She reached up, carefully unclipping the pin, feeling the cold metal between her fingers as she rolled it over in her hand. 

It was petty, maybe even childish, but the thought of leaving her mark outside the chapel—of leaving something for Kristen to find and wonder about—was satisfying in a way that nothing else tonight had been. It was a reminder, a little symbol that said, I was here. I saw you. It was subtle, nothing that could get her in trouble, but enough to let Kristen know she wasn’t untouchable, not even in her own space.

With a quick, light step, she approached the front door of the chapel, crouching down to place the pin on the ground, directly in front of the door. She arranged it carefully, making sure it was unmistakable, positioned just so in the moonlight. She imagined Kristen’s reaction, the confusion, the hint of annoyance when she found it, that fleeting moment of knowing someone had been close enough to touch her space, to disrupt her sanctuary. 

Satisfied, Kipperlilly straightened, brushing her hands off on her jeans. She took one last look at the chapel, at the faint light filtering through the stained glass, casting fractured colors over the worn stones. For a brief moment, she wondered if Kristen would realize it was her. If she’d know, instinctively, that this was Kipperlilly’s doing. She hoped so. She hoped that small, quiet act would linger in Kristen’s mind, a subtle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this competition, that Kipperlilly was there, watching, waiting. 

With a final smirk, she melted back into the shadows, slipping out of the chapel grounds and weaving her way toward the street. 

Kipperlilly sat in the red-lined booth of Krom’s Diner, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee mingling in her nostrils. She cupped her coffee mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep into her palms as she took a careful sip, the slight bitterness jolting her awake in a pleasant way. Morning light streamed through the diner’s big glass windows, glinting off the chrome edges of the counter. The place had a vintage charm, all 40’s style with checkered floors and a long line of swivel stools by the counter. Krom’s had been a staple for students at Aguefort, a place to regroup, strategize, and unwind between their various adventures and high school dramas. 

Lucy sat across from her, looking uncharacteristically bright and chipper in a horribly loud yellow sweater, the sleeves comically long. Next to her, Ivy slouched in the booth, her hair falling into her face as she nursed a glass of water like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her mesh shirt did little to hide the exhaustion in her slumped chest. Ruben had his head down on the table, his curly fringe a tangled mess, one hand dangling over the edge as if gravity itself was too much for him this early in the day. Mary Ann, in a fluffy pink hoodie, was wholly absorbed in her Quokki Pet device with a level of focus unmatched by anything else around her. Oisin sat at the end of the booth, completely surrounded by an assortment of magic books that spilled onto the table, leaving little room for breakfast. 

Oisin was flipping through pages of an enchantment tome, muttering under his breath, his round glasses slipping down his snout as he glanced up at Kipperlilly and Lucy. “So, I found a few enchantments that could really enhance our weapons,” he said, pushing his glasses back up and gesturing to a particularly complex diagram of glowing runes. 

Ruben let out a dramatic groan, lifting his head just enough to shoot Oisin a bleary-eyed glare. “I get it. It’s cool or whatever, but why the hell do we have to be here so early?” 

Oisin glanced at his watch, deadpan. “It’s 10.” 

“Early,” Ruben mumbled, flopping back down onto the table.

“Don’t be dramatic, Rue,” Lucy chided, her tone soft but teasing. She gave Kipperlilly a sideways grin. “Kip was up all night staking out that party, and she’s fine.” 

Ivy perked up, her eyes widening as she straightened in her seat, suddenly more awake. “Wait. You actually went?”

Oisin quickly looked around the diner, his eyes scanning for any alarmed looks from the older patrons nearby. They were regulars, of course, but Ivy’s voice had a way of carrying, and there were a couple of regulars who didn’t exactly take kindly to the Aguefort students sometimes rowdy energy. 

“Inside voice, Ivy,” Oisin muttered, his expression exasperated. 

Ivy rolled her eyes, waving him off. “Hush. Don’t be a spoil sport.” She turned her attention back to Kipperlilly, leaning forward, curiosity bright in her eyes. “So? What happened?” 

Kipperlilly gave a small, nonchalant shrug, letting the suspense hang in the air a moment before answering. “I just showed up outside and… talked to Kristen.” 

Oisin raised an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses. “Talked?” 

Kipperlilly let out a low, amused laugh, feeling a thrill at the memory. “Well, I told her she was a godless moron, and she told me I’m unlikable.” 

Ruben snorted, lifting his head enough to mutter, “Sounds fun.” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, tapping her fingers against the edge of her mug. “The night was a waste.” She decided to keep her midnight escapade to Mordred Manor to herself. They didn’t need to know about that particular lapse in judgment. Some things were better left unsaid, especially if she didn’t quite know what had compelled her to do it in the first place. 

Ivy’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned closer, her voice low and eager. “Please tell me she was at least a little bit pissed off that you showed up.”

Kipperlilly’s smirk widened, the memory of Kristen’s flustered reaction replaying in her mind. “Of course.” 

The group chuckled softly, even Ruben managing a sleepy grin before he dropped his head back onto the table with a sigh. The laughter faded as a stout dwarf waiter approached the table, his uniform neatly pressed despite his graying beard and the slight stoop to his shoulders. He had a rugged charm, with a thick mustache that curled slightly at the ends and a warm, gruff voice that always made them feel welcome. 

“Mornin’, kids,” he greeted, pulling a small notepad from his apron pocket. “What’ll it be today?” 

Lucy, ever the early bird, ordered first with a cheerful smile. “I’ll take the blueberry pancakes, extra syrup, please. Oh, and some sausage on the side.” 

Kipperlilly glanced over the menu quickly before settling on her usual. “I’ll have the breakfast skillet. Extra hash browns.” 

Ivy leaned back, squinting at the menu as if it were a puzzle. “Just… coffee. And a cinnamon roll." Ruben mumbled something incoherent, his eyes still closed.

Oisin rolled his eyes, nudging Ruben’s shoulder. “You’re getting an egg and cheese sandwich, Ruben. And Mary Ann here will have the short stack and orange juice.” At his mention of her name, Mary Ann looked up just long enough to nod approvingly before tucking herself closer into Oisin’s side, her Quokki Pet held close as she continued her intense game. 

The waiter gave a curt nod, scribbling their orders down before heading back to the kitchen. 

“So,” Oisin said, returning to the conversation as he adjusted one of the many books spread across the table, “about these enchantments. I think we could add an energy absorption spell to Kip’s daggers. You know, to channel any incoming magical energy and convert it into, say… a little extra power on impact.” 

Kipperlilly’s interest piqued at that, and she raised her eyebrows. “Absorb magic and throw it back? Not bad, Oisin. Not bad at all.” 

Lucy beamed at him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “See? This is why we’re here early. We get breakfast and spell theory.”

Ruben, face still planted against the table, groaned. “Yeah, yeah. Breakfast and brain science. F.Y.I, your sweater is too loud.”

“Maybe get to bed before 4 a.m. next time?” Ivy muttered, though there was a hint of sympathy in her voice as she reached over to pat Ruben on the back. 

The conversation drifted back and forth as they waited for their food, the soft murmur of voices from other booths and the clink of cutlery filling the cozy silence. Kipperlilly found herself relaxing, her mind temporarily freed from the endless cycle of strategizing and rivalry. It was good to be here, to just sit and talk, to hear the soft laughter and tired voices of her friends, their usual bickering and banter. 

Eventually, the food arrived, steaming plates filling the table, and the conversation slowed as everyone dug in. Oisin nudged Ruben, passing him his sandwich, and Mary Ann blinked up from her game just long enough to grab her plate of pancakes with a quiet, “Yummy.” 

Kipperlilly was leaning back in the booth, an amused smirk on her lips as Ivy recounted the latest mishap in her ranger training class. Ivy was gesturing wildly, her hands painting the story as she recounted how one of her classmates had mistakenly tried to identify “edible” plants by smell alone and ended up with a mouthful of skunk cabbage. 

Kipperlilly was still snickering when she felt a faint vibration from her pocket. Frowning, she pulled her crystal out, expecting a message from her parents or maybe one of the Rat Grinders’ group chats. 

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the notification. 

@ChosenApplebees followed you.

What the hell? 

She barely registered her friends’ voices as she quickly opened Instagram, navigating to Kristen’s profile with a sense of disbelief. She’d scrolled through Kristen’s feed before, of course. She had to scope out her competition, even if she hated every minute of it. But it was usually in an effort to find some kind of weakness, some slip-up she could use to gain an edge. The profile hadn’t changed much—an endless stream of photos and videos capturing Kristen’s chaotic life. Kristen flexing with her friends after a dungeon run, selfies with that cocky grin, even goofy group photos that, admittedly, looked kind of fun. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes drifted over the photos, her gaze lingering a little too long on a shot of Kristen hefting her staff above her head, muscles taut and grin wide. She looked like she was having the time of her life. Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, scolding herself for even caring about Kristen’s antics. There was no rhyme or reason to her profile, no aesthetic or carefully planned composition. It was just a collection of idiotic moments—Kristen grinning or flexing or laughing with her friends. And maybe Kipperlilly hated the way her eyes seemed to stay on those pictures a little longer than necessary. 

Why had Kristen decided to follow her? Was she scrolling through her profile right now, maybe reading her posts with that smug grin?

She felt a weird itch of irritation—or was it nerves?—and quickly tapped the follow-back button, figuring it would at least allow her to message Kristen directly. She tapped over to the message tab and typed out a quick response before she could overthink it. 

Kipperlilly: ???

Satisfied, she locked her crystal and set it back on her lap, determined to focus on the conversation around her and shake off the strange feeling Kristen’s follow had stirred up. But her crystal buzzed again almost immediately. 

Kristen: Thanks for the pin, boo boo.

Kipperlilly’s eyes widened, her lips twitching into an annoyed grin. Of course Kristen had found it so soon. She’d hoped the pin would leave a mark, a reminder that Kipperlilly was one step ahead, even on her own turf. And here Kristen was, playing it off, still managing to sound so annoyingly smug even in a text. 

Her fingers flew over the keyboard before she could think better of it. 

Kipperlilly: Are you serious right now?

Kristen: Dead serious.

Kipperlilly huffed, tossing the crystal down onto her lap, but it continued to pull at her focus like an itch. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by Kristen, not here, not with her friends around. She didn’t need them reading into things or, worse, making fun of her for the message chain. 

“Hey, you okay, Kippy?” Lucy asked, noticing her huff and raised eyebrows in concern. 

Kipperlilly waved a dismissive hand, forcing a casual tone. “Fine. Just a message from a... friend.” 

The word felt strange on her tongue, tasting faintly like irritation. She hadn’t even known Kristen could be considered a friend of anyone. 

Ruben scoffed, raising his head just enough to look at her with a half-lidded, skeptical expression. “All your friends are sat at this table.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I have other friends.” 

Ruben snorted, rolling his eyes. “Like who?” 

Kipperlilly opened her mouth to retort, but Mary Ann cut in without looking up from her Quokki Pet. “Shut up, Ruben.” 

Everyone burst out laughing, and even Ruben couldn’t hide his amused grin as he muttered a few colorful insults under his breath, earning another round of chuckles from the table. 

Kipperlilly glanced down at her phone again, drawn by the faint light from her screen. Kristen had sent another message. 

Kristen: What’s the matter, didn’t think I’d notice your little gift?

Kipperlilly let out a low, frustrated growl, her fingers tightening around the phone. Kristen was infuriating. She’d left that pin as a message, a subtle declaration of rivalry, and Kristen had somehow twisted it into something casual and teasing. 

Kipperlilly: It wasn’t a gift. It was a warning.

She tapped send, her irritation barely contained. She wanted Kristen to feel unnerved, to realize that Kipperlilly was watching, that she wasn’t going to back down. But Kristen just seemed… amused. The thought gnawed at her, her competitive instincts bristling. 

She was pulled back to the conversation when she caught Lucy’s exasperated expression as she held out a plate toward Ivy. 

“You have elven metabolism, Ivy. You can’t train on just a cinnamon roll. Here, take a pancake,” Lucy insisted, pushing the plate toward. 

Ivy recoiled, scrunching up her nose. “I’m not eating your empty carbs.” 

Lucy gasped, hand flying to her chest in mock offense. “Empty carbs? It has blueberries!”

“Drenched in syrup,” Ivy shot back, crossing her arms. 

“Hater,” Lucy said with a grin, nudging the plate a little closer.

Ruben finally looked up, smirking as he joined in. “If you pass out in the woods, I’m burying you without bothering to check for a pulse.” 

Ivy narrowed her eyes, smirking as she moved to stick a finger into his ear in retaliation. Ruben jerked back with a laugh, swatting her hand away. 

“Get your nasty fingers away from me!” he grumbled, but Kipperlilly could still see his smile, even if he attempted to hide it. "I don't want to know where they've been." 

“Both of you, quit it,” Oisin cut in, adjusting his glasses as he flipped a page in his book, a look of long-suffering patience on his face. “Save the bickering for training.” 

“Gladly,” Ivy quipped, sitting back with a smirk. 

Kipperlilly scowled as her ryes flick back down to her crystal and she read Kristen’s latest message. 

Kristen: Oh really? That you'll be back at my doorstep again tonight? I know it's a new hype to have a crush on me, but any normal person would just ask me out.

She sat up straighter, gripping her crystal a little tighter. The sheer audacity! A crush? Her? Kristen was clearly delusional, probably assuming half of Elmville was obsessed with her just because she had a reputation for saving the world here and there. Typical. Kipperlilly’s fingers flew over the keyboard before she could think better of it.

Kipperlilly: I absolutely do not have a crush on you. Not in a million years.

She tapped send with a fierce satisfaction, locking her crystal quickly afterward as if to avoid any further temptation. But the moment she looked up, she was met with a pair of steady, unblinking yellow eyes from across the table. Mary Ann was staring at her with that calm, deadpan gaze, but Kipperlilly felt the intensity behind it, a quiet curiosity that made her skin prickle. Mary Ann’s look was like a silent interrogation, like she was studying her the way she might study the stats of her Quokki Pet. Kipperlilly shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of her own face, of the warmth creeping up her cheeks. 

She cleared her throat, half-listening as Ivy and Lucy discussed which part of the woods would be best for training later. As the conversation drifted around her, she lifted the back of her hand to her cheek, discreetly feeling the warmth there. Was she blushing? No, there was no way she was actually… reacting to this. She was definitely not blushing because of a message from Kristen Applebees. The thought was absurd.

But then her crystal buzzed again. She should have ignored it, should have left Kristen on read and turned her attention back to her friends. But her resolve slipped, and she glanced down. 

Kristen: So you didn’t just want to watch me sleep?

Kipperlilly’s heart leapt into her throat. The nerve of this girl. 

Kipperlilly: No.

The response felt sharp and controlled, a quick shot meant to shut Kristen down. She could almost feel herself cooling down, relaxing back into her seat… until her crystal buzzed again. 

Kristen: So you didn’t peek into my windows even a little bit?

Kipperlilly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Kristen was baiting her, pushing her buttons on purpose, and she knew that. She also knew that Kristen couldn’t possibly have seen her through the window, which meant this was just a calculated attempt to rile her up. But still, Kipperlilly felt the heat creeping back into her face, her fingers hovering over her keyboard as she debated her response. 

She typed a quick, firm reply before she could second-guess herself. 

Kipperlilly: No.

She was about to lock her crystal again when Kristen’s reply popped up instantly, making her pulse jump. 

Kristen: Good, because I sleep naked.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she replied before she could think better of it. 

Kipperlilly: No, you don’t.

The moment she hit send, she regretted it. She’d given herself away. She could practically feel Kristen’s smirk through the screen as her response came in almost immediately. 

Kristen: So you DID peek at me? ;)

Kipperlilly clenched her teeth, typing back with growing frustration. 

Kipperlilly: Are you done?

Kristen: Never, babycakes. oxoxox

Kipperlilly: Don’t call me that.

Kipperlilly: You’re infuriating.

Kristen: Can’t talk right now. About to get hot and sweaty doing some yardwork. TTYL.

Kipperlilly let out a low, exasperated grumble, her frustration bubbling over. She locked her crystal with a decisive click and shoved it into her shorts pocket, determined to shake off whatever this strange, infuriating interaction had stirred up. Kristen was playing games, trying to goad her, but Kipperlilly wasn’t going to let her win. 

She glanced up, forcing herself to focus on her friends, only to notice Oisin giving her a curious look, one brow ridge raised in concern. 

“You feeling okay, Kipperlilly?” he asked, tilting his head. “You look… red.” 

Before she could respond, Lucy leaned over, her hand warm as she placed it against Kipperlilly’s forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said, her eyes narrowing in concern. “Could you be getting sick? Do you want me to check?” 

Kipperlilly swatted her hand away, fighting the urge to pull her collar up to cover her face. “There isn’t anything wrong with me,” she replied quickly, hoping her tone sounded dismissive rather than defensive. “Stop fussing.” 

Lucy gave her a doubtful look but backed off, lifting her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, if you say so.” 

Ruben, with a mouth full of food, chuckled “If you’re sick, stay the hell away from me.” 

Ivy snickered, reaching over to nudge Ruben’s arm. “I vote we just put her down now if she's contagious.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, trying to play off the heat she knew was still evident in her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she said firmly, picking up her coffee to give her hands something to do. 

Oisin gave a small chuckle as he turned a page in his spellbook. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve been wrestling a fire elemental.” 

Kipperlilly’s grip on her coffee mug tightened, the reminder of her texts with Kristen flaring in her mind. “I’m just… warm. Diner’s stuffy,” she muttered, refusing to give them any more fuel for teasing. 

Lucy glanced at her sideways, but didn’t press the issue, thankfully. Instead, she picked up a forkful of her pancakes and held them out toward Ivy. “Here, Ivy. Just one bite.” 

Ivy sighed, eyeing the fork like it was poison. “I swear to-.” 

Ruben rolled his eyes, nudging Ivy’s shoulder. “Just eat the damn pancake, dumbass." 

Ivy shot him a glare, then, with exaggerated reluctance, leaned over and took a small bite off the fork. She chewed slowly, like she was trying to make a point, and then finally swallowed, giving a dramatic shudder. “There. Happy?” 

Lucy grinned, victorious. “See? Didn’t kill you, did it?” 

Oisin, still flipping through his book, glanced up with a sigh. “If you two are done bickering, maybe we can actually discuss the route for today’s training.” 

Ivy smirked, crossing her arms. “Oh, I’m ready for training. The question is, are you ready to keep up?”

Oisin met her gaze with a raised eyebrow, his expression calm and unbothered. “I’ll let my spellbook do the running. But I’d love to see you try.” 

The crystal was easy enough to ignore now, tucked away in her pocket, and for the first time that morning, she felt the tension ease from her shoulders. She had no doubt Kristen was waiting for her to respond, waiting to reel her into another infuriating exchange. But right now, she had no intention of letting Kristen intrude on her morning even more than she had. 

Kipperlilly moved soundlessly through the heart of the Far Haven Woods, each step a calculated press of her boots against the earth, barely leaving a trace behind. The towering trees stretched overhead, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of greens and shadows that dappled the ground beneath her feet. She felt completely absorbed by the forest, the sounds of rustling leaves and faint bird calls blending into a backdrop that made her all but invisible. In her hand, her dagger lay poised and ready, its blade turned backward to prevent any accidental snagging on the brush. She kept it loose at her side, fingers flexing against the cool metal as she moved with fluid precision. 

She slipped through the undergrowth, a shadow among shadows, until she found a break in the canopy. Sunlight filtered through, and she glanced up, using the angle of the light to estimate her position in the woods. Her sense of direction had sharpened over years of practice, but she knew the forest could be deceptive, its twists and hidden trails meant to lead others astray. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Every moment here was more than training—it was a reminder that she was as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves. 

After a few more silent steps, she caught sight of her target. She crouched low, slipping behind the broad trunk of an oak, scanning the clearing ahead with careful, practiced patience. There, with his back turned, Ruben sat at the base of a tree, absentmindedly plucking at his guitar strings, oblivious to the quiet hunt that had brought her to this point. She climbed the nearest tree, her small form hidden among the leaves, and from her perch, she studied his every movement. He was focused on his guitar, his head tilted and one knee pulled up, completely unaware of her presence. 

Kipperlilly took a deep, steadying breath, narrowing her gaze as she mentally counted her timing. One second. Two seconds. In a flash, she brandished her knife, leaping from her spot and dropping down, swift as a hawk. She landed perfectly, pinning Ruben beneath her, her dagger pressed lightly to his throat in a mock threat. 

Ruben’s eyes shot wide, and he let out a strangled yelp. “Holy shit!” 

Kipperlilly smirked, her face inches from his, her gaze as sharp as the blade she held. “How was that?” 

Lucy’s voice drifted from somewhere nearby, her crystal held up as she checked the stopwatch. “Fourteen minutes. That’s a record. Where did Oisin teleport you to?” 

Kipperlilly let a smile of pride flash across her face, settling back a bit but keeping her knee firmly planted against Ruben’s chest. “By the border, behind the lake.” 

Lucy whistled, clearly impressed. “Nice! That’s farther than last time, too.” 

“Great,” Ruben grumbled, wincing as he shifted under her. “Can we celebrate when I’m not being suffocated?” 

With a laugh, Kipperlilly released him, sitting back and extending a hand to help him up. “Didn’t hear me coming at all?” 

Ruben took her hand, hauling himself to his feet with a groan. He brushed the dirt from his clothes, still looking grumpy as he held his shoulder, which he’d apparently landed on a little too hard. 

“Why even bother asking?” he muttered, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “We never do.” 

Lucy walked over, her expression softening as she lifted a hand to Ruben’s shoulder. A faint blue mist appeared beneath her palm, glowing with a soft, icy light as she healed him. “Better?” 

Ruben rolled his shoulder experimentally, frowning. “You didn’t have to. I’m tough.” 

Kipperlilly caught Lucy’s eye, both of them struggling to suppress their laughter at his halfhearted bravado. Ruben caught them grinning, and with a colorful mutter under his breath, he turned to retrieve his guitar, strapping it over his shoulder and mumbling all the way back to the main clearing where the rest of the group was sparring. 

As he disappeared into the trees, Lucy chuckled, nudging Kipperlilly with her elbow. “ Not bad for an afternoon warm-up, Kippy. You really flew in this time.” 

Kipperlilly shrugged, a faint smile touching her lips. “Yeah, felt good. Oisin’s starting to give me better drops.” She glanced in the direction where Ruben had gone, rubbing the handle of her dagger thoughtfully. “He did look surprised, didn’t he?” 

Lucy laughed. “More like terrified. He’s never going to admit it, though.” 

Kipperlilly smirked, pleased with herself as they followed Ruben’s trail. The sparring sounds of summoned magic and focused shouts grew louder, guiding them to the clearing where the rest of the Rat Grinders were practicing. Ivy was currently sparring with Oisin, her bow notched as she ducked and dodged his summoned illusions, each flickering image fading before she could land a shot. Mary Ann perched on a nearby boulder, intently focused on her Quokki Pet, her axe balanced across her shoulders, seemingly unfazed by the action swirling around her. 

Ivy noticed them approaching and grinned, shouting over her shoulder, “Hey! Who was the victim this time?” 

Lucy held up her crystal triumphantly. “Ruben. And Kipperlilly shaved another two minutes off her record!” 

Oisin paused mid-spell, brushing a stray leaf off his shoulder and looking thoughtfully at Kipperlilly. “I should arrange something more challenging. Maybe a nice, cozy drop right in the heart of the briar thicket?” 

Kipperlilly grinned, a spark of excitement flashing in her eyes. “Bring it on.” 

Mary Ann looked up from her game just long enough to deadpan, “What if she never comes back?” 

Ivy laughed, notching a new arrow that shimmered with green light. “Ouch, Mary Ann, don’t hold back!” 

Ruben, who’d been grumbling nearby as he tuned his guitar, muttered, “I’d pay to see her wrestle a briar vine.” 

Kipperlilly gave him a sidelong look, crossing her arms. “You'd get lost trying to find me.” 

“Not lost, Kip. Strategically avoiding danger,” he replied, strumming a melodramatic chord on his guitar with a wink.

They laughed, the sound echoing through the trees as the group settled back into their training. Ivy and Oisin resumed their sparring, their movements fluid and fast, each step calculated as they circled one another. Kipperlilly joined Lucy in watching, appreciating Ivy’s speed and the way she twisted, graceful and efficient, around Oisin’s illusions. 

Kipperlilly held up her crystal, grinning as she framed Oisin and Ivy mid-action. Oisin’s hands glowed with magic, and a shimmering image of a wyrm unfurled from his palms, curling through the air like a ghostly serpent. Ivy, quick as a fox, aimed her bow and let loose an arrow, which seemed to bend reality as it flew, warping the air around it before striking the illusion dead center. The spell shattered into fragments of light, casting a brief, ethereal glow over the clearing. 

She snapped the video, a quick but perfect capture of the moment, and grinned as she reviewed the footage before adding it to The Rat Grinders’ Instagram story. Their followers were going to love this one. A couple of freshman adventuring parties had recently started following them, and she could already see the notifications flooding in, new likes and views lighting up her screen. She felt a swell of pride. They were setting a good example, showing the younger adventurers how dedication and teamwork could lead to something spectacular. 

Satisfied, she switched over to her personal account. A line of stories popped up on her feed, and she leaned back on the fallen log, tapping through them lazily. The first one was from Penny Luckstone, who had now graduated. The video showed Penny with two of her adventuring teammates, Zelda Donovan and Ostentatia Wallace, both grinning with Bastion City’s bustling market square in the background. They were laughing and pointing at some vendor stalls, looking genuinely carefree. Kipperlilly smiled to herself. The Seven Maidens had made it as a professional team after graduation, and honestly, they deserved it. They were good at what they did, and they never went around school flaunting their skills like trophies. She admired that. 

The next story was from an old middle school acquaintance—a bugbear now working at the local steel factory. He had a giant hammer slung over his shoulder, his hard hat slipping low over his brow, and he gave the camera a proud grin. Kipperlilly chuckled. Being an adventurer hadn't been in the cards for him, but he seemed happy being perfectly ordinary. 

Then, without thinking, she swiped to the next story and felt her heart lurch when she realized whose it was. Kristen. 

Her thumb hovered over the screen, but it was too late to swipe back. She watched, almost frozen, as Kristen’s face appeared on the screen, adjusting her crystal to prop it up on something. She looked like she’d just finished setting up the angle, and then she stepped back into the frame, her gaze set with a small, determined smirk. Kristen wore a sports bra and athletic shorts, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. An axe rested over her shoulder, its blade catching a glint of sunlight as she squared her stance in front of a large, dead bush. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes widened slightly, her attention locked on the screen as Kristen brought the axe down in a powerful arc, each swing precise and controlled. Muscles rippled beneath her skin, her arms flexing as she hacked away at the bush with a steady rhythm, each strike landing with satisfying finality. She moved with such ease, as if this was just another task in her day, but there was a focus in her gaze, an intensity that Kipperlilly found herself inexplicably drawn to. 

Kristen took a step back after the final swing, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She paused, casting a quick glance toward the crystal with that same lazy smirk, and then slung the axe back over her shoulder, her expression cool and confident. Without a word, she reached forward, picked up the crystal, and the story ended. 

The next story automatically began playing, but Kipperlilly barely registered it, her mind still caught in the scene she’d just watched. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating for a moment as she felt an inexplicable urge to go back and replay it. She clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes slightly. What was she doing? Watching Kristen wield an axe wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that should be this captivating.

With a quick, almost irritated huff, she locked her crystal and shoved it into her pocket, hoping the motion would snap her back to reality. But the image lingered, Kristen’s powerful swings, the way her muscles moved, the way she looked so… comfortable in her own skin. There was something strangely compelling about it, something that made Kipperlilly’s mind buzz with questions she didn’t want to ask. 

She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to shake the feeling. Why did Kristen look good doing that? The thought was ridiculous, completely absurd, and yet there it was, unwelcome and persistent. Her heart was beating a little too fast, her face still warm from a mixture of confusion and something else, something harder to pin down.

“Everything alright, Kip?” Lucy’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Kipperlilly glanced up, realizing she must have looked dazed. 

Clearing her throat, she forced a casual nod. “Yeah, just checking the feed. Looks like we’re trending with the freshman groups.” 

Lucy smiled, giving her an approving nod. “Good. They could use the inspiration from people who actually know what they’re doing.” 

Kipperlilly nodded along, her fingers absently tracing the handle of her dagger as she tried to push the lingering image of Kristen’s story from her mind. It was just a video. Just Kristen trying to look impressive, like she always did. It didn’t mean anything, didn’t need to mean anything. And yet, she couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted, something small but undeniable, leaving her feeling off-balance. 

Ivy walked over, interrupting her thoughts as she flopped down on the log beside her, letting out a long breath. “Oisin teleported me through the tree line again,” she grumbled, mock-pouting. “Feels like my stomach’s been twisted into a knot.” 

Kipperlilly chuckled, glad for the distraction. “That’s what you get for challenging him. He’s not going to go easy on you just because you’re pretty.” 

Ivy raised an eyebrow, grinning. “And who says I want him to go easy on me?” 

“Point taken,” Kipperlilly replied, smiling back. 

The sun was barely up, casting soft, gray light through the windows of the Copperkettle home as Kipperlilly padded down the stairs, her footsteps light against the polished wood. As she reached the bottom step, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted down the hall, pulling her toward the kitchen. 

Inside, her parents sat at the kitchen table, heads bent over a spread of papers. Her mother, looked up first, a warm smile lighting her face as she noticed Kipperlilly’s more relaxed appearance. 

“Sweetheart! No training today?” Winnie asked, taking in the sight of Kipperlilly’s hair falling over her shoulders and her casual clothes. 

“We decided to take the day off,” Kipperlilly replied, heading for the coffee pot. She poured herself a cup, inhaling the rich aroma before grabbing an apple from the counter. “Ruben’s off recording with his band anyway.” 

Winnie’s eyes sparkled as she took another sip of her own coffee. “You should wear your hair down more often, baby. It looks lovely like this.” 

Kipperlilly gave a small smile, brushing a few loose strands behind her ear. “Thanks, Mom. But it’s not exactly practical.” 

Her father chuckled, looking up from the papers with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Speaking of practicalities, Bug,” he said, reaching over to hand her a beige folder. “Take a look at this.” 

Kipperlilly took the folder, glancing down to see Copperkettle Real Estate emblazoned on the cover in crisp, professional lettering. She raised an eyebrow. “A work thing?”

Barden leaned back, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Just take a look.” 

She opened the folder, her gaze scanning over the neatly organized documents inside. Her breath caught as she processed what she was seeing. Blueprints of a natatorium—an indoor pool complex, complete with facilities, locker rooms, and a gallery—designed specifically for the grounds of Aguefort Adventuring Academy. There was a sign-off from the school council and town planning committee, and a note indicating that the entire project was funded by Copperkettle Real Estate and its investors. 

She felt a flicker of excitement, a reminder of a conversation from two nights ago. 

It was late Friday evening, and Kipperlilly had been wearing a groove into the living room floor, her mind churning with ideas that led nowhere. She’d been ranting for at least twenty minutes now, and her parents had watched her patiently from their spots on the couch and armchair. Winnie sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling as she listened, while Barden leaned back in his armchair, nursing a small glass of scotch. 

“If you wanted to throw an event,” Winnie suggested calmly, her tone encouraging, “I’m sure we could pull some strings to make it something memorable. Something that would catch people’s attention.” 

Kipperlilly winced at the thought, brushing her hair back with an irritated gesture. “It’s just… it seems too early for that. No one would show up, and I’d look desperate. Kristen’s been… well, she’s been known around the school since we started.” 

Barden rubbed his chin thoughtfully, swirling the glass in his hand. “You'll have to think of something that’ll grab attention. Something that people will remember.” 

She sighed, finally plopping down beside her mom on the couch, feeling the weight of the competition. “But what? Aguefort isn’t around, or I’d just ask him if the school needed new equipment or something.” 

Her parents exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them, and then Winnie tilted her head with a small smile. “I think we have a file for the school in the town hall records. Arthur comes in at least a few times a year with some new, ridiculous idea. Most of them get denied for lack of funding or because they’re just… well, impossible.” 

Kipperlilly huffed a laugh, imagining Aguefort and his endless, harebrained schemes. “You see why he’s so infuriating?” 

Both her parents laughed, sharing her amusement. 

Barden leaned forward, giving her a steady look. “I’ll look into it. See if any of those ideas have merit. Maybe we’ll find something that’ll stick.” 

Now, two days later, Kipperlilly sat at the kitchen table, staring down at the plans that had emerged from that conversation. She looked up at her dad, barely able to keep the smile off her face. 

“Please tell me this isn’t a joke.” 

Her father chuckled, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast, his eyes twinkling with pride. “When your old dad says he’ll look into something, you’d better believe he’s serious.” 

“This is… this is incredible.” She ran her fingers over the crisp blueprints, imagining what the natatorium would look like, imagining the announcement she could make, the excitement it might generate. 

“And it’s all set for you to announce it whenever you’re ready,” Winnie added, reaching over to squeeze her daughter’s hand with a proud smile. 

Kipperlilly could hardly believe it. A natatorium on school grounds would be a huge draw—something that would benefit the entire student body, not just for the campaign. It was practical, useful, something Aguefort had apparently suggested before. But, more importantly, it was something that would leave a mark. 

Her parents watched her, clearly pleased with her reaction. “This isn’t just a donation,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “This is… this is perfect.” 

Winnie beamed, her pride shining through in her voice. “It’s something you can put your name on, darling. A mark of what you bring to the school.” 

Barden cleared his throat, smiling as he took another sip of his coffee. “And honestly, we like the idea too, Bug. That school’s done you a world of good, and if we can give back, all the better.” 

Kipperlilly felt a rush of gratitude bubble up in her chest, overwhelming her for a moment. Before she could overthink it, she let out an uncharacteristic squeal and shot up from her chair, wrapping her arms around each of her parents in turn. Winnie and Barden both looked surprised, their usual composed expressions melting into delighted smiles. They returned the hug, her mother pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as they held her tightly. 

“Thank you,” Kipperlilly murmured, unable to hide the slight emotional quiver to her smile. 

Winnie stroked her back gently, smiling warmly. “Our pleasure, darling. After the rough summer you had, you deserve something good.” 

Barden nodded in agreement. “If you want to announce it tomorrow, we can have a team at the school by afternoon to tape off the area and start sectioning off the grounds.” 

Kipperlilly’s grin stretched even wider. “Yes, please!” 

With another quick squeeze, she released her parents, and they all returned to the breakfast table. Kipperlilly could barely contain the thrill coursing through her, each sip of coffee only sharpening the excitement that now buzzed under her skin. Her mind was already racing with ideas, a mental checklist of the steps leading up to the announcement. 

Barely an hour later, she was sprawled across her bed, her stomach pressed against the soft, rumpled covers, with her crystal held to her ear. Her room was bright, the morning sun streaming in and warming the space, reflecting off the carefully organized shelves that held her collection of training manuals, small enchanted trinkets, and the latest equipment she’d saved up for. She could hear the soft hum of excitement in her best friend Lucy’s voice on the other end of the call, vibrating through the line. 

“Kippy, that’s crazy good!” Lucy practically squealed. “Oh, oh, maybe Oisin can look over the plans and, like, minor image something so everyone can see what it’ll look like!”

Kipperlilly smiled, a light laugh escaping her. “You are a genius.” 

Lucy made a dramatic, satisfied sound. “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

Kipperlilly rolled onto her back, still grinning. “Seriously, though. I don’t think there’s anything Kristen could do that would top this.” 

“True!” Lucy sounded just as pleased. “Do you think you should wait to announce it, you know, build the suspense?” 

Kipperlilly shook her head, her excitement too palpable to consider waiting. “No way. Hit them hard and fast. Right now.” 

“Exactly!” Lucy laughed. “And you know I’m more excited than you are.” 

“It’s a personality trait,” Kipperlilly said, chuckling. “And honestly? I love it.” 

Lucy giggled, the sound warm and familiar. “Well, you’ve kept me around this long, haven’t you?” 

Kipperlilly laughed, her heart lighter. “Yep. Lucky you.” 

“On that note, gotta go! My brother’s coming over for lunch, and my dads are freaking out trying to make the house look ‘guest-ready,’” Lucy said with a playful groan. 

“Good luck with that circus,” Kipperlilly teased. 

“Thanks! Love you, bye!” 

“Love you too,” Kipperlilly replied, still smiling as she ended the call. 

For a moment, she stared at the plans lying open beside her, her mind already running over the details, imagining the thrill on her classmates’ faces when she made the announcement. She knew Kristen’s Bad Kids were always pulling off wild, impossible feats, sometimes with little more than sheer bravado, but this—this felt like a power move that no one, not even Kristen, could ignore. 

Still riding the high of Lucy’s excitement, she grabbed her crystal again, snapping a photo of the plans and sending it straight to their Rat Grinders group chat. 

Kipperlilly: We’re going to announce this tomorrow. Suck on this, Bad Kids!

The message delivered with a satisfying little swoosh and she rolled onto her back, letting the warmth of the morning sun wash over her as she lay there, her thoughts drifting. This wasn’t just a campaign move; it was a promise to herself, a way to claim her space and prove she wasn’t just a shadow of anyone else. She could already imagine Kristen’s reaction, though she would probably mask it with that casual bravado. 

As much as the thought of her rival made her bristle, Kipperlilly couldn’t deny the strange sense of energy she felt every time Kristen entered her mind, that infuriating spark of competition she couldn’t quite shake. She hated it, but she loved it, too. 

Just as her thoughts were starting to wander further, her crystal buzzed. She glanced at the screen to see a flood of replies lighting up from her friends in the group chat. 

Ruben: Are you kidding me right now?

Oisin: This is seriously impressive!

Ivy: Kristen is gonna GAG.

Mary Ann: Pool’s fine.

Kipperlilly sat up in her bed as she scrolled through the remaining notifications on her crystal. A few emails, some messages from the extracurricular groups she managed, the usual to-do list filling her inbox. But as she scrolled, that nagging feeling returned, an itch she couldn’t quite ignore. She took a deep breath, her thumb hesitating just long enough to make herself irritated before tapping over to Instagram. 

There it was, the last message from Kristen, staring back at her: 

Kristen: Can’t talk right now. About to get hot and sweaty doing some yardwork. TTYL.

Kipperlilly huffed, narrowing her eyes at the words. “Talk to you later, huh?” she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. Kristen had clearly not bothered to follow up on that, so maybe the girl was as full of empty promises as she was of lazy campaign slogans. But even as she thought it, her mind flashed back to the video she’d seen yesterday, Kristen hacking away at that dead bush, all determined focus and muscle, all… undeniably captivating in a way that had been annoyingly hard to shake.

She groaned, clutching a pillow to her face as if she could smother the thought away. It was stupid—Kristen Applebees, of all people, getting under her skin like this. She could practically hear the girl’s laugh in her head, that easy, careless chuckle. But still, her fingers drifted over her screen, and before she knew it, she was typing a message. 

Kipperlilly: Did you want anything yesterday, or was that just to annoy me?

She hit send and immediately shoved the crystal to her side, her heart thudding embarrassingly fast. What was she even doing? She didn’t need to be encouraging Kristen or giving her any more space in her head. But there was something inexplicably satisfying about sending that message, about giving in just a little to the pull that had been gnawing at her since yesterday. 

A response came almost immediately, and her eyes flicked back to the screen. 

Kristen: You’ve been busy thinking about me doing that yardwork, so you had to reach out today, huh?

Kipperlilly scowled, though she couldn’t deny the tiny thrill of the banter. Kristen was obnoxious, yes, but she wasn’t entirely wrong either, and that only made it worse. She knew Kristen had an annoyingly inflated ego and probably expected everyone to be fawning over her, but the worst part was… Kristen didn’t sound like she was gloating. Her reply felt almost casual, friendly even, like she wasn’t aiming to provoke, just—talking. 

Her fingers tightened around her crystal as she glanced around her room, trying to shake off the odd warmth creeping through her chest. Kristen was just a person, she reminded herself. Just a person with more charm than sense, who couldn’t get by on much other than flirting and making jokes. But she was also someone people seemed to gravitate towards, a girl who had… a kind of pull. 

She took a slow breath, her heart still racing, and typed back. 

Kipperlilly: You’re deflecting. I think you’re the one thinking about me.

As she sent it, a smile tugged at her lips. Two could play at this game, and if Kristen wanted to mess around, well, she wasn’t going to be the one left flustered. She settled back against her pillows, feeling an odd spark of satisfaction as she imagined Kristen reading her response. After all, if Kristen hadn’t followed her in the first place, none of these messages would even exist, and she would have been free to focus solely on her campaign. But no, Kristen had chosen to start this, and now here they were. 

Kristen’s reply came almost instantly. 

Kristen: You got me. I’ve been thinking about you in your perfectly pressed vest this whole time.

Kipperlilly’s laugh burst out before she could stop it, echoing around her quiet room. It wasn’t a polite chuckle or the restrained smile she usually gave in public—it was a genuine, uncontrollable laugh, a kind she rarely experienced outside her close circle of friends. And somehow, Kristen, of all people, had managed to pull it out of her. 

Kipperlilly: That’s what I thought.

She could almost picture Kristen grinning at her reply, that goofy, self-assured smile Kipperlilly had seen too many times, the one she’d been trying hard not to think about. But there it was again, as vivid as if Kristen were in the room with her. Kipperlilly’s face warmed, and she set the crystal down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the strange mix of irritation and something else entirely. 

As she lay there, the memories of their past interactions flickered in her mind. It was ridiculous. Kristen was an arrogant goof with no sense of restraint, and yet… that goofy smile, the easy confidence, the ridiculous bravado—it was starting to feel like more than just an annoyance. 

With a frustrated groan, Kipperlilly stood up, her feet hitting the floor with a solid thunk as she began to pace. Her room was impeccably organized, each shelf lined with neatly stacked books, her equipment polished and stored carefully, her walls adorned with training charts and adventure maps. This was her sanctuary, her carefully curated space of order, but somehow, it was all wrong right now, the stillness of the room only amplifying the restless energy thrumming through her. 

Her mind was racing, her thoughts drifting back to Kristen again and again, that stupid video of her hacking away at the bush, the easy banter, the way Kristen’s laugh had sounded so unforced, so natural. She clenched her hands into fists, standing still in the middle of her room, letting the realization sink in, as unwelcome as it was undeniable. 

She was attracted to Kristen Applebees. 

The thought landed with a heavy finality, sending a wave of reluctant acceptance washing over her. She could barely bring herself to say it, even in her mind, but it was there, impossible to ignore. She was drawn to her, not just in the sense of rivalry or competition, but in a way that made her stomach flutter and her heart pound in a way she hadn’t experienced before. 

She sank down onto the edge of her bed, the weight of the realization pressing against her, grounding her. It was absurd, ridiculous even. But denying it wouldn’t change the truth. 

The feeling settled in, softening the sharp edges of her irritation and leaving behind a strange, nervous thrill that made her cheeks warm. She took a deep breath, clutching the edge of her bed, trying to make sense of it all. Kristen was an infuriating, arrogant, flirtatious disaster of a person. But, in a way, that was exactly why she couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

Kipperlilly lay back, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling, and for once, she let the thought stay. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year:

The natatorium unveiling.

Jawbone’s office was as cozy as ever, with walls covered in worn posters and inspirational quotes that felt distinctly optimistic, though charmingly outdated. The scent of herbal tea mingled with a faint whiff of the outdoors, and Jawbone's well-loved cardigan draped over his broad, shaggy frame. 

Kipperlilly sat across from him, crossing her legs as she watched him flip through the folder of natatorium plans. Jawbone adjusted his glasses, leaning closer as he skimmed through the blueprints. His expressive ears perked up, and a low whistle escaped him as he reached the budget sheet. 

“Jeez… this is good stuff. Hot dang,” he said, shaking his head in admiration. He took off his glasses, tapping the pages thoughtfully with their frame before giving her a wide grin. 

Kipperlilly settled back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m going to announce it this afternoon,” 

Jawbone handed her back the file, his smile widening. “Now that’s how you run a campaign. Good on ya, Kip. A lotta kids are gonna benefit from this, and the Helions can suck it.”

She couldn’t help. “That too.” 

They shared a chuckle, and Kipperlilly tucked the file into her bag, feeling her accomplishment settle in. She had a rare sense of certainty that, for once, everything was falling into place. Despite the few hiccups, this was going to be the best year at Aguefort yet. 

As the laughter died down, Jawbone leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. “So, how was the weekend?” he asked casually but his eyes were attentive. “We doin’ okay?” 

Kipperlilly nodded, though a tiny tension coiled in her chest. Her weekend had been eventful—perhaps more so than she’d let herself admit. “It was… enlightening,” she said, choosing her words carefully. 

But perhaps, not carefully enough.

Jawbone raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh really? Wanna elaborate on that, or we goin’ the cryptic route today?” He chuckled, reaching for his mug of tea, his claws carefully balanced around the delicate handle. 

She glanced at the mug—it had a cartoonish wolf howling at the moon and the phrase 'You're a howlin' good dad'. A gift from Adaine, no doubt.

Clearing her throat, she smoothed an invisible crease on her skirt. She had been musing over one particular thought since it had reared it's ugly head, and had been back and forth whether she wanted to bring it yo to Jawbone or not. But that rational part of her brain was winning the battle, which told her that transparency was key, even if only with a very, very select few.

"I actually did have something I think I need to talk about." 

"M'kay, shoot," he said, setting the mug down and giving her his full attention. 

She took a measured breath. "Whether or not it'll be relevant to my counseling sessions or treatment plans for my particular issues, I just wanted to let you know that I'm strongly leaning towards the analysis that I'm a lesbian."

Jawbone's ears perked up slightly. A warm smile spread across his face as he raised a furry brow. "The analysis?" 

She met his gaze evenly. "Yes." 

"Like it's a diagnosis?" he asked with a gentle teasing. 

She hesitated, then affirmed, "...Yes." 

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, good for you. I'm glad to hear it." 

She shifted slightly in her seat. "...Thank you." 

"Anything in particular bring this on?" He leaned back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Or anyone, perhaps, I should be askin'?"

Her mind immediately flashed to Kristen, her grin, her stupidly confident swagger. That brief exchange of messages, the way Kristen had teased her, how she’d laughed in spite of herself. The memory was clear, too clear, and she quickly forced it aside, straightening in her chair with a small, forced cough. 

Steeling herself, she straightened. "Of course not. I just thought I should mention it to my counselor. My stance on not thinking about that kind of thing until much later still stands. I'm not interested." 

Jawbone nodded thoughtfully. "Okay then. Duly noted. Do you wanna talk about it at all?" 

She pursed her lips, glancing around the room. A framed photo caught her eye—it was of Jawbone with Tracker, seemingly on a camping trip, all smiles and marshmallows. She wondered what Kristen's relationship with Tracker had truly been like. She had caught sight of them a few times and it seemed fairly stable, which was very perplexing knowing how unpredictable Kristen seemed to be. People had layers, she supposed. She had her own, after all. 

"Nothing really to discuss," she replied. 

He chuckled again, leaning back in his chair. "Okie dokie, good talk." 

Kipperlilly stepped out of Jawbone’s office at the end of the session, her thoughts still tingling from their conversation. She was glad to have keyed him in on some of her most recent thoughts - after all, it was important to be honest with healthcare providers, even if he was just a high school counselor. He had shifted into being more than that for her, and if she was going to talk to any adult about those specific parts of her life, Jawbone would be first choice. 

The afternoon light filtered in through the tall windows of the hallway, lighting up the faded posters and scuffed lockers in a warm light. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass grew stronger as she made her way toward the exit, already feeling her heart pick up speed at the thought of her upcoming announcement. 

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her crystal and noticing a text from Oisin. 

Oisin: We’re almost set out back. Waiting for you to get here, and Ruben will post the announcement on IG.

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Her fingers moved quickly over the screen. 

Kipperlilly: On my way.

Excitement built within her as she slipped the crystal back into her pocket and headed toward the back of the school. This was it—her campaign’s first major move, and she was ready to make it count. 

An hour later, Kipperlilly was looking over the back lawn of the school, where her campaign had set up an impressive scene. A large section of the field had been roped off with bright yellow tape, catching the attention of passing students even from afar. In the middle of it all stood a small wooden platform, hastily constructed but sturdy, with a sign reading, “Copperkettle Real Estate, coming soon.”

A few workers from her father’s company were just finishing up, giving her thumbs-ups and waves as they packed up their tools. She made sure to shake each of their hands as they left, thanking them for their work and watching with satisfaction as they cleared the area. 

Ruben was lounging on the edge of the platform, his legs dangling as he scrolled on his crystal, already tapping away to manage the social media post. He glanced up when she approached, his face breaking into a smirk. “Everyone should be coming out soon. That post got a lot of buzz real fast.” 

“Of course,” Ivy chimed in, smirking as she crossed her arms. “This school is full of nosy little brats.” 

Oisin rolled his eyes, his hands moving carefully as he conjured up a small, swirling minor image. “Be nice, Ivy!” 

Mary Ann, perched beside Ruben, gave a deadpan nod. “Facts, though.” 

Oisin shot her a playful dirty look, and she just shrugged, unfazed. 

Lucy wandered over to Kipperlilly, nudging her shoulder and offering a smile. “So, you know what you’re gonna say?” 

She straightened her posture, feeling confidence take root as she nodded. “I always do.” 

A ripple of noise began spreading across the back lawn as students started to gather, curious faces peering over shoulders, chatter building into an excited hum. The news had spread fast—students poured out of the school’s double doors, forming a loose semicircle around the platform, their voices mixing in a cacophony of questions and speculations. 

“Copperkettle Real Estate? Isn't that the other girls' name?” 

“Are they building something here?” 

“What’s going on? This wasn’t here last period!” 

A couple of heads turned toward her, recognizing her name, and Kipperlilly felt the weight of dozens of eyes settling on her. She spotted some of the familiar faces from her classes, some staring in disbelief, others whispering to each other as the crowd continued to grow. She adjusted her ponytail, taking a quick breath to center herself as she waited on the side of the platform with the Rat Grinders at her back. 

The buzz of the crowd rose, and Kipperlilly could hear snippets of conversation that made her smile in quiet satisfaction. 

“That’s Kipperlilly Copperkettle, right? She’s running for president, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah, but what’s with all the real estate stuff?” 

She couldn’t help but enjoy the confusion; it only meant her plan was working. Her gaze drifted over the crowd, and then she spotted a group of students pushing their way to the front: Kristen Applebees, standing beside Riz, Gorgug, and Fabian. Kristen looked just as perplexed as everyone else, her brow furrowed as she glanced around at the makeshift setup, obviously trying to piece together what was happening. Kipperlilly felt a thrill seeing Kristen there, her reaction part of the payoff she’d been anticipating. 

Gripping the enchanted megaphone she’d brought, Kipperlilly climbed onto the platform, standing atop a small box to give her just enough height to be seen over the crowd. She took a breath, letting the buzz of anticipation around her feed her energy, and then lifted the megaphone to her mouth. 

“Attention, students!” Her voice rang out, amplified and clear, pulling everyone’s eyes to her. “As you all know, I’m Kipperlilly Copperkettle, and I’m running for president of Aguefort Adventuring Academy!” 

There was a smattering of polite applause, the kind that came when people were acknowledging her, not fully invested yet. But Kipperlilly held steady, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. They hadn’t seen anything yet. 

“Today, I am proud to announce the groundbreaking of something truly special.” She paused, letting the suspense build as whispers spread through the crowd. “On behalf of Copperkettle Real Estate, I’m gifting all of you—yes, all of you—a brand-new natatorium!” 

Gasps rippled through the students, the initial confusion melting into surprise and excitement as her words sunk in. 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. She had their full attention now. “No longer will we have to travel to Hudol for swim meets or water-based studies! By spring break, Aguefort will have its very own state-of-the-art, heated swimming pool and hot tubs for our athletes and adventurers. The Copperkettle Natatorium will keep us all in tip-top shape, ready to face any challenge!” 

The reaction was immediate. Cheers and shouts erupted from the crowd, students bouncing on their heels, some even fist-pumping as they celebrated the news. Kipperlilly scanned the sea of faces, taking in their excitement, her gaze pausing on Kristen, who looked—was that annoyance? Satisfaction bloomed within her. She had her rival exactly where she wanted her. 

Oisin stepped forward beside her, his fingers raised in an elegant motion as he began casting a spell. As the students continued to cheer, a glimmering light spread across the sky above them, and an enormous illusion shimmered to life. A grand building with sleek, shining glass walls and a vast, crystalline pool at its center appeared overhead, a brilliant mirage of the natatorium. The structure looked every bit as luxurious as Kipperlilly had promised, and gasps of awe rippled through the crowd as they took it in. 

Then, just as she expected, Oisin took it a step further. Out of the illusion’s entrance, an enormous owlbear leapt forward, its feathers and fur practically bristling as it let out a fierce roar. Facing off against it was a shadowy monster that snarled, its form twisting and shifting as if pulled from the darkest corners of their textbooks. The two creatures clashed dramatically, sending bursts of light and shadow across the illusion as they wrestled above the students’ heads. 

The crowd went wild, chanting Kipperlilly’s name, their voices loud and filled with energy. She felt the thrill of it all, the buzz of excitement, and the satisfying sense of having captured everyone’s attention. Standing tall, she flashed a smile. 

“While some of us would prefer to party and goof off, I will strive to keep Aguefort a place of learning and training,” she declared. “A place where we become the adventurers of tomorrow—fighting fit and ruthless.” She raised her fist, rallying the crowd. “So what do you say, Aguefort?”

The students roared in approval, their voices thundering across the field, echoing back to her with a power that made her heart race. Above them, the illusion shifted to show a vision of the natatorium filled with students swimming laps, practicing water spells and lounging in the steaming hot tubs. 

Mary Ann padded up to her, handing her a handful of glossy flyers, each one featuring a colorful image of the natatorium and details on its many facilities. The rest of the Rat Grinders held similar stacks, ready to distribute them to the excited students gathering around. 

“I’ll be here to answer any questions you have!” Kipperlilly announced, holding up a flyer. “And I have a bunch of flyers with all the facilities we'll be offering! Come and see me!”

A wave of students surged forward, hands reaching out for the flyers, eyes wide with excitement. Kipperlilly began handing them out, moving through the crowd with a smile, shaking hands and exchanging quick greetings. She recognized a vast majority of them from her extracurriculars and clubs, and as she handed out flyers, she greeted each by name. 

“Hey, Lora! Looking forward to seeing you on the debate team tomorrow. 

“Davin, still rocking those archery skills?” 

“Paige, you’re going to love the new hot tubs—perfect for post-practice!” 

Each time she greeted a student by name, she saw their faces light up, clearly impressed that she knew them and their interests. She had always made a point of remembering names, and now it was paying off in spades. 

Close by, she heard Ivy muttering, “Okay, ouch! Watch the claws!” as a particularly enthusiastic student reached out to grab a flyer. Kipperlilly smirked as she continued to pass out the flyers, her confidence soaring. This was her moment, and it felt perfect. 

As she continued mingling, she couldn’t resist glancing over at Kristen once more, catching a glimpse of her expression. Kristen stood with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Kipperlilly, her mouth a firm line of annoyance. There was no smugness, no glib comment ready to spring from her lips—just the look of someone who’d been thrown off balance. 

In that moment, she felt a fierce thrill. She’d done it. She’d made an impact that Kristen couldn’t ignore, one that everyone was talking about, and she could practically feel the change in the school’s atmosphere as she stood there, surrounded by the buzzing crowd. 

One student handed her their flyer back, asking if she could sign it as a keepsake. She laughed, genuinely touched, and obliged, jotting her name with a quick flourish before passing it back. Soon, a few more asked for autographs, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit amused—and a little overwhelmed—as she signed the flyers, their excitement infectious. 

As she passed out the last flyer, a younger student, eyes bright, came up to her. “Thank you for doing this, Kipperlilly! I’ve always wanted to try water magic, but we never had anywhere to practice.” 

Kipperlilly’s heart softened and she smiled, resting a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “That’s exactly why I’m here. I want Aguefort to be a place where everyone has the chance to try something new, to challenge themselves. That's what my party did this summer, and it feels great.” 

She watched the young student walk away, satisfied as she took in the remaining crowd. They were buzzing, still talking excitedly about the new natatorium and everything it would mean for the school. She glanced around, noticing that Kristen and her friends were nowhere in sight. They’d probably slipped out as soon as they could. She smirked, picturing them in a frenzy, trying to figure out how to respond to such a huge announcement. Whatever they came up with, she’d be ready. 

As the crowd started to thin, she caught sight of Mary Ann slipping out from behind the wooden platform, her yellow eyes wide and alert as she looked around. 

“They gone?” Mary Ann asked, her voice soft and her expression a perfect deadpan. 

Lucy raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Were you… hiding?” 

Mary Ann gave a tiny shrug. 

Ivy wiped her hands on her pants, her expression one of exaggerated disgust. “I should have done the same. Some of those kids were sticky.” 

Kipperlilly snorted. “No, they weren’t. Stop it, Ivy.” 

Oisin chuckled, coming up beside her and draping a clawed hand over her shoulder. “That was… really great, Kip. Seriously, I think you blew them all away.” 

Before she could respond, Lucy came bounding over, a wide grin splitting her face as she threw her long arms around Kipperlilly, pulling her into a bear hug that lifted her slightly off the ground. “That’s my bestie!” 

For the next hour, the feeling lingered. Everywhere Kipperlilly walked on campus, students turned to look, some smiling or nodding in acknowledgment. A few even called out her name, cheering or offering compliments as she passed. For once, she didn’t feel like she had to duck her head or push her way through a crowd. Instead, the students seemed to part for her, like she belonged there, like she was a real presence among them. 

It felt good. It felt right. This was why she was doing it—to give people like her, the underdogs, the recognition they deserved. She had worked hard, and now, finally, people were noticing. There was a satisfaction in it. Validation she hadn’t fully anticipated. 

As she reached her locker, she took a deep breath, letting the wave of emotions settle as she opened the door, shuffling some folders and papers around to make room for a new stack of campaign materials. Her focus was broken by a voice nearby, slightly muffled as it drifted down the hallway. 

“She was supposed to meet us after she talked to her brother.” 

Kipperlilly’s ears perked up, instantly recognizing the low, awkward voice of Gorgug. She carefully peered from the side of her locker door, spotting him standing with Adaine and Fig. Gorgug was rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncertain, while Adaine fidgeted with her crystal. 

“Did she text you back yet?” Adaine asked, her tone worried. 

Fig huffed, crossing her arms. “No. Which is rude as hell, if you ask me.” 

Adaine glanced around, as if Kristen might materialize out of thin air. “She’s probably still with Bucky. Or maybe… she’s processing that pool thing.” 

Gorgug gave a slow nod. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Fig didn’t look convinced. “Still gonna kick her ass for not answering. Friends don’t leave friends on read.” 

Her smirk deepened as she watched them. So Kristen really was thrown off—so much so that she was avoiding even her friends. The satisfaction of it, the sweetness of her victory, was almost intoxicating. She closed her locker, taking a moment to savor the idea of Kristen off somewhere, stewing in her own irritation. 

The soft chime of her crystal buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention back. She took it out, her eyes flicking to the screen where she saw a message from Mary Ann. 

Mary Ann: Plushie.

She tilted her head, a bit puzzled. 

Kipperlilly: What?

Mary Ann: I lost my strawberry plushie.

Kipperlilly chuckled softly, the small smile lingering on her lips. She knew how important that plushie was to Mary Ann—she carried it around every day, after all. Her friend seemed to create attachments to just about anything she owned, and though it was peculiar, it was rather sweet. 

Kipperlilly: Want me to see if I can find it?

Mary Ann: Yes.

Mary Ann: I haven’t looked on the field.

She glanced at the time on her crystal, noting she had a free period. She was about to head to the library, but she could spare some time to search for Mary Ann’s plushie. 

Kipperlilly: I have a free period. I’ll go check.

There was a brief pause before the next message came through. 

Mary Ann: Love you.

Kipperlilly sighed to herself as she walked toward the bleachers by the Bloodrush field. After an hour of basking in the school’s attention, she had to admit—while the recognition was nice, it was also a bit overwhelming. Out here, in this quieter area of the campus, with only the hum of the breeze and the creak of the old bleachers, she felt a welcome calm. 

Her eyes scanned the ground as she neared the worn metal bleachers, the paint peeling away in spots, the low bars throwing shadows over the cracked earth beneath them. She spotted a tiny strawberry plush keychain nestled in the dirt, just peeking out from beneath the edge of the bleachers. She let out a small chuckle, crouching down to dust it off before tucking it securely into the pocket of her skirt. Mary Ann would be relieved to have her precious plushie back. 

She was about to turn and head back to the main building when a soft sound stopped her in her tracks. A sniff, faint but unmistakable, caught her attention, and her ears perked up. 

Curiosity got the better of her, and she looked toward the shaded area beneath the bleachers. There, in the dim light, she saw a shock of red hair and those unmistakable, awful yellow joggers. Kristen Applebees, tucked away beneath the bleachers, her head hanging down as she stared at the dirt between her shoes. Kipperlilly hesitated, but something kept her feet moving until she found herself ducking under the bleachers too, stepping carefully until she was right across from Kristen. 

She hopped up onto the beam opposite Kristen, swinging her legs in a casual, practiced motion that let her settle in comfortably. She tilted her head, letting a smug, overly sweet smile creep across her face as she spoke. “Skipping classes now?” 

Kristen didn’t lift her head. “Why do you care?” 

Kipperlilly cocked an eyebrow, watching her with that same smug smile. “Not very presidential of you, Applebees.” 

Finally, Kristen looked up and swiped furiously at a tear trailing down her cheek. Kipperlilly froze, surprised to see the vulnerability written all over Kristen’s face. Kristen quickly turned her head away, shoulders tensing even more as she hid her expression. 

“I don’t have time for your shit right now, Kipperlilly.” 

But she didn’t flinch. “At least you said my name right this time.” 

For the briefest second, she saw a tiny smile tug at the corner of Kristen’s mouth before it disappeared. Kristen turned away, still not meeting her eyes, and Kipperlilly could tell that whatever was bothering her, it was something big. This wasn’t about the election announcement—that much was clear. If it had been, Kristen would have been putting on her usual show of bravado, cracking jokes or rolling her eyes. No, this was something different. 

Kristen’s voice came out quieter this time. “I’m serious. I’m dealing with some stuff, and I just wanna be alone.” 

They fell into an awkward silence. Kipperlilly continued to swing her legs as she studied Kristen’s profile, the way her shoulders slumped, the slight tremor in her hands. This level of deflecting was all too familiar to her; she was a pro at it herself. Something deeper was going on, something that had Kristen looking so raw and drained. 

A year ago, Kipperlilly would have reveled in this, pleased to see Kristen knocked down a peg, basking in her pain as some twisted form of retribution. But that side of her—vindictive, sharp, always ready to hurt—wasn’t a side she was proud of. Last year, she had been driven by that darkness, consumed by it. Always close to lashing out that she’d hurt people she cared about. Max. That jock on the field. Oisin, who had bled because of her own outburst. And even Riz, who she sometimes caught herself fantasizing about hurting. 

But looking at Kristen now, she realized she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who thrived on others’ pain, who used their weaknesses as a stepping stone. She wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged for her strengths and hard work, but she didn’t want it to come at someone else’s expense. 

She thought back to the night of the Seacaster Party, remembering how it had felt to jab at Kristen where she knew it hurt. It had felt good in the moment, but now, that satisfaction was tinged with something sour. Perhaps it was her recent admission to herself—that confusing, undeniable attraction to Kristen—that changed her perspective, softened her view of the girl sitting across from her now, clearly struggling with something she was reluctant to share. 

Because, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain—maybe even to herself—she cared. 

Kipperlilly hesitated, her words slower and softer than usual. “If this is about your god... I’m sorry I said that stuff about your magic. That wasn’t nice.” 

Kristen let out a dry snort, bringing one knee up to her chest while the other leg dangled, her worn boot digging into the dirt. She waved a hand dismissively. “This isn’t about Cassandra. Not all of it, anyway.” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, taking in the other girl's posture, the way her shoulders sagged, her eyes glassy and distant as if holding back tears she didn’t want to shed. It was a quiet, raw side of Kristen she’d never seen before, so unlike the loud, attention-seeking mask she wore in the hallways. Kipperlilly felt an ache in her chest watching it. She knew that feeling—feeling helpless and out of control. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Kristen’s response came instantly. “No! Definitely not with you. No offense.” 

She raised an eyebrow, half-smiling as she replied, “None taken. I am the enemy, after all.”

Kristen’s mouth lifted in a reluctant laugh, and she shook her head, letting her chin rest on her knee. The brief moment of warmth between them was small but felt significant, like a bridge neither of them expected to find. Kipperlilly couldn’t help but smile a little, too, remembering the way Kristen had managed to make her laugh last night despite herself. 

“My parents just suck huge dragon ass,” Kristen muttered finally, her voice dripping with frustration. 

She hadn't been expecting Kristen to actually open up.

Kipperlilly’s smile widened. “I won’t tell Oisin you said that.” 

The cleric let out a small, genuine snicker, her fingers absentmindedly picking at a tear in her horrible yellow joggers. They fell into a comfortable silence, and Kipperlilly felt the urge to speak up a few times, to fill the quiet with some well-placed quip or question. But watching Kristen relax ever so slightly in her presence, seeing her carefully built walls come down even just a little, made her decide against it. She knew better than most people not to push when someone was fragile. 

They weren’t friends, after all, and it wasn’t her place. 

And if she were honest with herself, the last thing she wanted was to give Kristen another reason to think she’d turn any vulnerability into a weapon. She’d done that before, and it had felt satisfying then, but now… now it felt different. 

Instead, she sat in silence, twirling the end of her ponytail absentmindedly, her legs swinging back and forth off the beam. She’d stay here, unspoken permission from Kristen allowing her presence, even if they weren’t exchanging words. 

Finally, Kristen broke the silence. “You did good with that pool idea.” 

She felt a strange warmth in her chest at the compliment. From anyone else, she would have accepted it, but hearing it from Kristen somehow felt… different. She lifted her chin, smirking as she shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide just how much the comment meant. “I’m just curious to see what you’ll try to do next.” 

Kristen sighed, stretching her arms over her head until her hands rested against the beam above them. The motion pulled her tank top up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin along her waist. Kipperlilly felt her gaze drift before she forced her eyes back to Kristen’s face, hoping her own cheeks weren’t betraying her. 

“I literally can’t. I’m not made of money, and I’m living with my ex-girlfriend’s uncle. If I didn’t, I’d be homeless.” 

Kipperlilly’s smirk faded as she absorbed the words, her brows knitting together. She’d known Kristen lived with Jawbone, along with others. But she’d never thought to wonder why—never considered that Kristen’s parents might not be in the picture. She mentally kicked herself for not realizing sooner, for assuming that everything about Kristen was loud and carefree and uncomplicated.

“I know you live with Jawbone,” Kipperlilly said carefully. “With Fig, her mom, and Adaine. Ragh and his mom, too.” 

Kristen raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk quirking at her lips. “Of course you do. You did watch me while I was sleeping.” 

Kipperlilly’s cheeks burned, and she straightened, immediately defensive. “I wasn’t watching you.” 

A lie, and she knew it. They both did. She could almost feel the heat rising to her cheeks as Kristen gave her a sideways glance, the smirk on her face growing into a full, annoyingly charming smile. 

“Sure you weren’t,” Kristen teased, eyes bright with mischief again. 

Kipperlilly felt her stomach twist, part in irritation, part in something else she wasn’t ready to admit. That stupid smile—Kristen wielded it like a weapon, somehow perfectly designed to slice through Kipperlilly's exterior. Kipperlilly had always rolled her eyes at The Bad Kids’ “tragic” backstories and how she thought it gave them an unfair advantage at what they do. She’d told herself she wanted what they had, and she envied them. But sitting here, looking at Kristen, she faltered. 

Maybe there was something real beneath the bravado, something she’d been too blind—or too bitter—to see before. Maybe Kristen’s life wasn’t as easy as it looked from the outside, and maybe that loud, joking exterior was more armor than confidence. 

The silence stretched between them again, but it felt different. Kipperlilly no longer felt the need to fill it. Instead, she simply sat with Kristen, letting the quiet hang, letting her presence be whatever Kristen needed it to be. And as she watched Kristen pick at the fabric of her joggers, fidgeting in a way that seemed almost vulnerable, Kipperlilly felt that ache in her chest grow stronger. 

For the first time, she wasn’t thinking of Kristen as her rival or her competition. For the first time, she saw Kristen—really saw her—as a person. And it made her want to know more, to understand the girl sitting across from her, to be there in whatever way Kristen might let her. 

Utter insanity.

“I figured you all just lived there because it was a big house and you’re all so close,” she said quietly. 

Kristen let out a quiet snort, shaking her head. “It’s like a wayward house for people who don’t have anywhere else to go. Fig’s mom and Jawbone are... like, a thing, but Adaine’s parents? They’re literally evil. Like, actual bad guys. Ragh’s mom’s house got blown up, and there was room at the house, so...” She shrugged, as if that explained everything, though Kipperlilly could see the stiffness still in her shoulders. It said everything, without her needing to utter another word.

Kipperlilly chewed her lip, her chest tightening. She’d made so many assumptions—so many wrong ones. Her envy for Kristen’s so-called “perfect” life suddenly felt hollow. She’d even spoken to Jawbone in her sessions, bitterly ranting about how Kristen and her friends were all just living some heroic life that gave them something to fight for. But this? This wasn’t heroic. It was lonely, filled with trauma no one should have to endure. 

“I’m sorry,” Kipperlilly whispered. “That’s… tough.” 

Kristen shrugged again, putting on a boyish smirk as she slapped her fist into her palm. “It’s cool. It’s whatever.” 

There it was—that bravado again, the protection, turning everything into a joke or deflection. Kipperlilly had seen it enough to know exactly what it was. She’d done the same thing herself, more times than she could count. 

Tilting her head slightly, Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes, curious. “Why do you do that?” 

Kristen’s brows furrowed, and she looked genuinely confused. “Do what?” 

“Act like a goof when you get uncomfortable.” 

For a moment, Kristen’s bravado cracked, and she turned her face down, fingers once again picking at the tear in her joggers. “Better than crying about it,” she muttered. 

Kipperlilly swung her legs a little slower now, her polished shoes tapping lightly against the beam as she sat there, studying Kristen’s profile. Kipperlilly was struck by how… soft Kristen looked like this. No bluster, no laughter or chaos, just her, vulnerable and real. Maybe this wasn’t the side of Kristen that made the student body adore her, but it was the side that her friends, and maybe even Tracker, had once loved. And Kipperlilly could feel it—the ache in her own heart that told her she could like it, too. 

Kristen finally shook her head. “So what? Everyone deals with stuff in their own way.” 

Kipperlilly nodded slowly, taking in the truth of that. She felt it resonate within her. “Yeah, I guess they do.” 

Kristen was everything she wasn’t—messy, loud, imperfect. And somehow, that imperfection made her… real. 

Kipperlilly glanced down at her own polished shoes. “I just… you don’t always have to hide behind that, you know?” 

“I guess.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t think. She just moved. In one quick motion, she slid off the beam, her polished shoes hitting the dirt with a soft thud. She closed the distance between them before she even registered what she was doing, until she was standing right in front of Kristen, her heart pounding in her chest. Kristen blinked, startled, their faces suddenly close, almost level as Kristen remained seated. 

Kristen’s eyes widened. “What are you—” 

Kipperlilly lifted a finger to Kristen’s lips, silencing her with a gentle “Shh.” 

She could feel Kristen freeze beneath her touch, those wide, vulnerable eyes staring back at her, searching. Kipperlilly hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even imagined being this close, but something about Kristen drew her in like a current she couldn’t fight.  

She let her finger linger a moment longer before finally dropping her hand, letting it rest on Kristen’s leg. She could feel the strength there, the tense muscle beneath her palm. Kristen was strong, powerful in ways she wasn't, and yet here she was, completely still, completely caught off guard. 

Kristen didn’t push her away. She didn’t move. 

Kipperlilly’s gaze drifted to Kristen’s mouth, noticing the way her lips parted slightly, the vulnerability in the soft line of them. She’d never really understood the pull people felt, the way Ivy was drawn to Max or the way Nurg had tried to kiss her. Attraction had always felt abstract, distant. 

But this—this was different. Her pulse quickened, her thoughts blurring as she tried to make sense of what she was doing, of why her hand lingered on Kristen’s leg, of why her own breath felt shaky and her heart loud in her ears. 

Without a word, Kipperlilly took a step closer, sliding into the narrow space between Kristen’s legs. Her heart pounded, louder than ever, but she didn’t pull back. She was so close now that she could see every fleck of green in Kristen’s eyes, a deep shade of fresh moss. She hadn’t noticed before, not when Kristen had only been a rival, someone to outwit and surpass. Now, staring into those green depths, Kipperlilly was struck by how beautiful they were. 

Kristen’s breath hitched, her knees instinctively parting to make room. “Seriously, what’s going on?” 

Kipperlilly’s lips quirked. “Be quiet.” 

She moved even closer, her pulse racing with each inch, a dizzying feeling washing over her. It was completely overwhelming, and yet it felt right. And maybe it was a mistake, but she didn’t care. Right now, she was exactly where she wanted to be. 

Kristen looked at her, a hint of a smirk breaking through her confusion. “Are you going to kill me?” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help it; she let out an exasperated laugh. “You are utterly impossible.” 

And then, before either of them could say anything more, she leaned in, cupping Kristen’s face gently in her hands. Her heart hammered wildly as she closed the distance, pressing her lips softly against Kristen’s. It was nothing like she’d imagined—she hadn’t imagined it at all, not really. But the feeling was electric, a warmth spreading through her, like fireworks sparking to life in her chest.

Kristen’s surprise melted like heated butter as her hands slid to Kipperlilly’s waist, gripping the fabric of her shirt, hesitant but willing. Kipperlilly could feel the strength in Kristen’s callused hands, yet they held her gently. And as Kristen kissed her back, all Kipperlilly’s scattered thoughts faded. She lost herself in the warmth, the softness of Kristen’s lips, the feeling of being utterly consumed. A different fire than she was all-too used to. 

At first, their kiss was tentative, but Kipperlilly felt something stir, a need to draw closer. Her arms slid around Kristen’s neck, pulling herself against her, deepening the kiss. Kristen responded, her lips parting slightly, inviting Kipperlilly in. She surrendered completely, her pulse throbbing as their breaths mingled. 

Kristen’s hands tightened at her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Kipperlilly tilted her head slightly, and their kiss deepened even further. She tasted her, the light touch of their tongues meeting, a flash of intensity that left her dazed. It was more than she’d ever felt, more than she knew she could feel, and it took everything in her to eventually slow down, to breathe. 

As the kiss softened, Kipperlilly made herself pull back, breaking the connection reluctantly. The moment their lips parted, she felt a sudden, painful loss of warmth, as though Kristen’s presence had left an imprint on her skin that was still thrumming with life. She took a step back, watching as Kristen’s eyes fluttered behind her closed eyelids, her lips slightly parted. She was still caught in the moment, as if she were reaching out to something just beyond her grasp. 

And then reality crashed over Kipperlilly. Her pulse surged with panic, the weight of what she’d done sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel afterward, but the raw desire she saw on Kristen’s face was too much, too real. She wasn’t ready for this, whatever this was, and she couldn’t bear to linger and risk saying anything that would break the spell. Her breath hitched, and without a second thought, Kipperlilly turned on her heel, her feet moving instinctively. She slipped away into nothingness, her footsteps light as she disappeared up into the bleachers, making her escape with the skill of a true rogue. The distance between them grew as she moved faster, her mind still buzzing with the warmth of Kristen’s touch, the feeling of her lips, the gentle press of her hands. And even as she slipped back onto campus, blending into the bustle of the students as if nothing had happened, she could still feel Kristen lingering in her mind, pulling at her heart.

What had possessed her to do it? A kiss like that wasn’t just a whim. And the last thing she wanted to do was be forced to answer any of the questions she knew Kristen would have. A part of her wondered if Kristen had even wanted to kiss her back or if it was just an instinctive response. 

She wasn’t sure which answer would be worse. Both left her feeling untethered. 

“Kippy!” 

She felt a cool hand tug on hers, pulling her back to reality.

“Luce?” She blinked, trying to shake off the daze she’d been in. 

Lucy’s brow arched. “I’ve been calling out for you the whole length of the hallway. No big deal or anything.” 

“Sorry,” Kipperlilly said, managing a small smile as they began walking in step. “I was… lost in my head.” 

Lucy glanced at her, eyes sharp. “Good lost or bad lost?” 

She let out a dry laugh. “Does it have to be one or the other?” 

Lucy shrugged, a grin breaking through as she linked her arm with Kipperlilly’s. “I guess not. Anyway, have you heard about Ruben?” 

Kipperlilly gave her a skeptical look. “I hear a lot about Ruben, mostly over the internet from weird girls with too much eyeliner. Most recently, I read he’s actually a sex-symbol construct,” she said, scrunching her nose in disgust. “Which is disturbing on levels I can’t even begin to describe.” 

Lucy snickered. “Ew, that’s definitely a new one. But no, he’s met someone.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from her own mess of emotions. The last time one of the Rat Grinders got into a relationship, it had ended with actual trauma. And that was exactly why Kipperlilly couldn’t risk seeing Kristen again. She wasn’t about to become another case of self-inflicted drama.

“Who?” she asked, half-interested but grateful for the distraction. 

“Some girl named Wanda. She showed up in his class on the first day and, apparently, has been stalking him… maybe?” Lucy rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Or maybe he’s just wishful thinking. Either way, she’s a ghost; I haven’t seen her yet.” 

“Wanda who?” She asked, mentally rifling through faces of classmates, but the name didn’t ring any bells. 

Lucy shrugged. “Beats me. He’s keeping it vague, as if we’re all desperate to solve his romantic mystery.” 

Kipperlilly chuckled, though her attention drifted as they passed an open door on the left. She caught a glimpse of Jawbone in the teachers’ lounge, leaning against the counter and talking to Corsica Jones, the young fighting teacher, dressed in athletic wear with her ever-present sword in a holster on her back. 

“Kippy, you okay?” Lucy’s voice brought her back, her eyes darting between Kipperlilly and the teachers’ lounge. “You seem dazed, and that’s a weird look for you.” 

“A lot’s happened today, that’s all,” she replied. 

Without breaking her gaze from the lounge, she stopped walking, pulling Lucy to a halt beside her. 

Lucy tilted her head, following her line of sight. “What are you—?” 

“Could you give me a second? I need to talk to Jawbone,” Kipperlilly interrupted, her eyes flicking to her friend with a hint of a smile. 

Lucy looked momentarily puzzled, then nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. “About the speech you gave?” 

Kipperlilly gave a curt nod, offering Lucy a grateful smile before she let go of her arm. She stepped into the staff lounge, her footsteps hesitant as she approached Jawbone, who was leaning against the counter with his glasses perched on the bridge of his snout. Beside him, Corsica Jones was energetically shaking a protein shake, her long braids bouncing as she eyed Kipperlilly with a raised brow. 

“Hey, Jawbone, do you have a second?” She asked. 

Corsica shot her a look, eyebrows still lifted. “This is the faculty lounge, Miss Copperkettle.” 

Jawbone chuckled, waving a hand to ease her off. “It’s all good, Corsica. What’s up, Kip?” 

Kipperlilly glanced awkwardly between the two of them, feeling Corsica’s eyes linger with mild curiosity as she sipped from her shake. 

“I, uh… I lied,” she admitted sharply. 

Jawbone raised a furry brow, his eyes glinting with interest, and cleared his throat, his ears perking up slightly. Then he shot a quick glance at Corsica. “Mind giving us a sec, bud?” 

Corsica’s mouth curled in a small grin as she waved him off. “No prob. Gotta get to class anyway,” she said, giving Kipperlilly a final nod before striding out of the room and shutting the door behind her. 

As soon as they were alone, Jawbone moved to lean against a nearby armchair, pushing his glasses further up his snout as he looked her over, a teasing glint in his eye. “Alright, kiddo. Do I need to sit down for this, or…?” 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help a dry laugh. “No, it’s not that serious.” 

But as she said it, she felt her own nervous energy bubbling. She glanced down at her pleated skirt, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the neat folds as she summoned the nerve to continue. 

“So… when you asked if there was someone that prompted my sudden confession this morning, and I said no…” She looked up, meeting his gaze directly. “I was lying.” 

A slow smile crept over Jawbone’s face, widening until it was a full-on grin. “Alrighty then,” he drawled, clearly pleased. 

“There is someone,” Kipperlilly continued. “And I… well, I just kissed this person, so I guess there’s no lying to myself about it anymore.” 

Jawbone’s grin turned into a big, toothy smile. “Well, hell yeah! Good for you!” 

Kipperlilly held up a hand, cutting off his enthusiasm. “That doesn’t mean I want to date. I have my priorities." 

He nodded, his face deadly serious, though his eyes were bright with amusement. “Right. Because you don’t have the time, and it doesn’t fit in with the plans.” 

She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms as she leveled him with a suspicious glare. “Are you making fun of me?” 

Jawbone grinned. “Not at all.” 

“Mhmm,” she muttered, but despite herself, she couldn’t help a small smile. 

“So… the kiss,” he pressed, leaning in with a curious gleam in his eyes. “How was it?” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, crossing her arms tighter. “I’m not discussing that.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t leave me hangin’ here,” he teased. “Did you kiss her, or did she kiss you?” 

Kipperlilly pursed her lips, feeling her face heat up, but decided to answer anyway. “I initiated,” she said slowly. “But she thought I was trying to murder her at first.” 

Jawbone let out a booming laugh, his whole body shaking. “Atta girl! Young love. Can’t beat it.” 

She shot him a glare, but her irritation didn’t last long under his warm, encouraging smile. “That’s not what it is,” she insisted, her voice firm but unconvincing even to her own ears. 

“Sure,” he said, with exaggerated understanding. “Uh-huh.” 

Kipperlilly exhaled sharply, shaking her head in frustration. “I’m serious. It’s not going to happen again.” 

Jawbone nodded along. “Mhmm. M’kay.” 

She looked away, feeling the familiar frustration of not being taken seriously. “I don’t even know if she liked it,” she mumbled. 

He shrugged. “Well, she kiss you back?” 

Kipperlilly frowned, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her skirt. “Yes,” she admitted quietly, almost reluctantly. 

Jawbone tilted his head, giving her a patient look. “You’re a smart cookie, Kip. Why question it?” 

She opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss. All her usual rationalizations fell flat, and for once, she didn’t have a ready answer. 

After a long pause, she sighed, waving her arms as if trying to dispel her own confusion. “I don’t know. It was a mistake.” 

His smile softened. “If you say so, but in my professional opinion, it doesn’t seem like it.” 

She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “What does that even mean?” 

He shrugged. “You don’t do much unless you’re sure about it. You think things through, even if you don’t always realize you’re doin’ it. So let me ask you this—do you feel angry about the kiss?” 

Kipperlilly blinked, taken aback by the question. She combed through her emotions carefully, searching for the irritation that usually swelled whenever something didn’t go according to her plans. Typically, when anything didn’t align precisely with her expectations, it sparked a fire of frustration within her. She’d kiss Kristen without a plan, without any preparation, and yet… there hadn’t been any anger. Not even a flicker. Panic, maybe, and regret creeping in around the edges, but anger? No. She felt… 

She bit her lip, finally looking back at Jawbone. “No,” she admitted. 

Jawbone’s smile widened, filled with an affectionate smugness. “Interestin’.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she huffed, crossing her arms, but her lips betrayed her with the faintest hint of a smile. 

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he said, his face the picture of innocence. 

She gave him a dubious look. “Mhm. Well, I’m leaving now.” 

He chuckled, nodding as he stood up from the armchair, his warm gaze following her as she moved toward the door. “Alrighty then. Don’t do anything else crazy today.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn't help but smile as she pushed open the door, slipping back into the hallway. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year

The Frostyfaire Folk Festival

Kipperlilly Copperkettle lay in bed, her head sinking into the pile of blankets she’d pulled up to her chin. Sunlight snuck through the heavy velvet curtains her father insisted they needed for “REM sleep”. She wasn’t ready to leave the comfort of her bed yet; not just because it was Saturday, but because this week had been… well, a lot. 

There was a peaceful hum in the room, a sort of cocoon of silence she knew she wouldn’t have if she pulled back those curtains and faced the day. But she couldn’t stay hidden forever. She sighed, brushing a stray hair out of her face, and let her mind wander over the events of the week. 

Winning over Elmville’s student body had, admittedly, been amazing. For the first two years at Aguefort, she’d felt like another face in the crowd, someone most students barely noticed. But as a candidate for student body president with her own Instagram page detailing her stances and goals (the natatorium project being a clear crowd favorite), people were finally paying attention. Students had started stopping her in the hallways, asking questions about her campaign, complimenting her Rat Grinders training posts, and even pretending they’d been following her for ages. She couldn’t deny the thrill of it all. The validation of finally being seen and appreciated. Yet with every new follower and every friendly exchange, the one person she’d been hoping to avoid loomed closer. 

Kristen Applebees. 

Kipperlilly’s heart did a little jump, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to push the thought away. Kristen, with her scrunched-up nose when she laughed too hard, and the way she always managed to bring warmth into any room she entered. Kipperlilly could still feel the press of her lips from Monday’s kiss—a quick, heart-thundering moment that left her mind whirling and her pulse racing. And then, just as quickly as it had happened, she’d spent every day of the rest of the week meticulously evading Kristen. 

To be fair, it had taken a bit of strategic thinking and no small amount of research. After all, Aguefort’s campus wasn’t small, and Kristen was rather unpredictable at the best of times. Kipperlilly had studied Kristen’s schedule in detail: Tuesday, she had LGBTQ+ Alliance; Wednesday, she had found out would be the day she and her friends bad booked an empty classroom to talk campaign strategy; Thursday, she had back to back cleric classes. Kipperlilly had crafted her own route around school, her own excuses to be on the opposite side of campus whenever Kristen’s name popped into her mental calendar. She’d become a ghost in Kristen’s periphery, slipping away before Kristen even had a chance to glance her way. 

But dodging Kristen had left her with an ache she didn’t want to acknowledge. She could still feel the pull, the want to cross paths with her again. It was an impulse she’d been stifling all week. 

On Tuesday, she’d been in the library, sitting at one of the narrow tables in the far back, a book on rogue maneuvers open in front of her. She hadn’t been paying attention to the page, though. Not when her crystal had buzzed with a notification. Her heart had nearly stopped when she saw Kristen’s name pop up. 

The message was simple: "hey." 

Kipperlilly remembered how she’d stared at it, her mind blanking, a surge of nerves twisting in her stomach. She’d almost replied. Almost. Her fingers had hovered over the screen, and for a long, silent moment, she’d considered writing back. 

“What do you want, Kristen?” she had whispered under her breath, casting a glance around the silent library, as though Kristen might somehow overhear. It wasn’t an angry question. It was soft, gentle even, the kind of question that was really a wish in disguise. 

She hadn’t replied, though. Kipperlilly had tapped her crystal screen off, shutting out the soft glow of Kristen’s message, and forced herself to focus on the rogue maneuvers instead. And yet, no matter how many pages she turned, she couldn’t shake the faintest hope that Kristen might reach out again. 

Wednesday, Kipperlilly found herself back at training with The Rat Grinders. The Far Haven Woods felt a little quieter, with an eerie stillness that wrapped around her as she crouched low among the trees. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but her mind had drifted again, lost in the memory of Kristen’s hands gripping her waist on Monday. The way Kristen had pulled her close, the feel of her breath warm against her mouth. It was a sensation that had been replaying in Kipperlilly’s mind every chance it got, no matter how hard she tried to shove it aside. 

Kipperlilly shook her head, trying to refocus on the drill. They were supposed to be practicing stealth maneuvers, moving silently from one shadow to another without making a sound. And yet, every step she took felt heavier than it should, her senses blurring with the lingering memory of that kiss, and the nagging curiosity of why Kristen had reached out. 

An unexpected rustle sounded to her left, and before Kipperlilly could react, she felt the sharp sting of an arrow grazing her shoulder, slicing through her shirt. She let out a startled yelp, stumbling back and clutching her shoulder. 

“Ow!” she hissed, pressing a hand against the spot where the arrow had hit, feeling the warmth of her own blood starting to seep through her fingers. 

“Oh, fuck!” Ivy’s voice rang out, both startled and somehow amused. Ivy was peering at her from a nearby tree, wide-eyed, bow still held in her hands. Her hair was tousled from hours of practice, and her expression was caught between guilt and triumph. 

“What happened?” Oisin’s voice boomed from the clearing. Kipperlilly caught a glimpse of him squinting through his round glasses as he jogged toward them. 

“I… actually got her,” Ivy called back, voice seeping with pride.

“Kipperlilly?” Oisin asked, laced with disbelief as he reached her side, his heavy footsteps thudding against the forest floor. 

Through gritted teeth, Kipperlilly managed, “Didn’t… see you.” 

Oisin chuckled, his normally composed expression softening as he glanced down at her. “Didn’t think I’d ever see that happening.” He stepped closer, his eyes soft with concern, but there was a glint of humor there too. 

Ivy smirked as she lowered her bow, throwing it over her shoulder with a shrug. “Yeah, what’s going on, Kip? Losing your touch?” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, huffing out a low “Shut up,” but there was no real bite to it. She couldn’t quite muster the energy to snap back like she usually would. 

As they made their way back to the clearing, Ivy’s teasing expression didn’t falter, her gaze flickering to Kipperlilly every few moments with a glimmer of curiosity. Kipperlilly could feel it, that silent question lingering in Ivy’s eyes, as if she knew there was more going on than just a stray arrow. 

Back in the clearing, Lucy was waiting for them. The frost genasi cleric was bundled in one of her usual oversized sweaters, the sleeves long enough to cover her hands entirely. As soon as she saw the blood seeping through Kipperlilly’s white shirt, she gasped, hurrying over. 

“Oh my gosh! Kipperlilly!” Lucy was soft with concern as she reached for her, gently peeling Kipperlilly’s fingers away from the wound to get a closer look. 

Ivy grinned, nudging Oisin. “I won,” she declared, as if the whole thing had been a competition from the start. 

Kipperlilly shot her a flat look, muttering, “Not funny.” 

Lucy didn’t pay any attention to the banter. She’d pulled back Kipperlilly’s shirt slightly to inspect the wound, her pale blue eyes narrowing with concentration. Oisin, ever the gentleman, had politely turned away to give Kipperlilly some semblance of modesty. 

“This is deep,” Lucy murmured, her brow furrowing as she traced a cold finger along the edge of the wound. 

“Thank you,” Ivy quipped, folding her arms smugly. 

Lucy shot her a playful glare before pressing a hand over Kipperlilly’s shoulder, her magic weaving through her fingers in a gentle, icy glow. Kipperlilly shivered as she felt the cold wash over her, numbing the pain, the warmth of Lucy’s magic sinking deep into her muscles. Yet she couldn’t help but notice the way Lucy kept glancing up at her with that quizzical look. 

Kipperlilly could almost hear Lucy’s unspoken question. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t get distracted, didn’t lose focus. But Kipperlilly had been slipping. 

Lucy finished with a sigh, inspecting the now-healed wound with a satisfied nod. “Good as new,” 

Thursday hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as Kipperlilly had hoped. In fact, it had nearly been a disaster, one that could’ve unraveled the whole careful plan she’d set up. 

The morning had started well enough, and by the time she was walking through the main hallway with Oisin after lunch, she felt as if she’d found a rhythm. Avoid Kristen. Avoid any hint of what had happened between them. Pretend she was totally focused on the campaign, on her friends, on anything but the way her mind kept circling back to that kiss. 

Oisin had been chatting with her about potential electives for incoming freshmen. They’d been talking about maybe setting up an “Adventuring Basics” class, something to catch up students who’d never dealt with the unique chaos of Aguefort before. Kipperlilly had been listening, nodding along, only half her attention on him. And then, out of nowhere, she saw Kristen. 

It was like time slowed, her stomach doing a little flip as Kristen came around the corner at the far end of the hallway, her arm slung around Fig’s shoulder. Kristen was laughing, that big, infectious laugh of hers, shoving Fig in the shoulder in that playful way she did. Kipperlilly froze, heart pounding. All her careful planning, all the meticulous scheduling, and somehow, here Kristen was, right in front of her. 

Without thinking, Kipperlilly’s hand shot out, grabbing Oisin by the arm. She pulled him sharply toward the nearest door, a janitorial closet, and ducked inside with him, shutting the door behind them in one swift motion. 

The sudden darkness was thick and silent, and Oisin let out a startled, “What the heck?” His voice echoed slightly in the small, cramped space. 

“Shh!” Kipperlilly hissed, pressing her back against the door and holding her breath, listening intently for the sound of Kristen and Fig’s laughter. Her heart thudded in her chest, each beat heavy and distracting. She felt Oisin shift beside her, his confusion practically radiating in the tiny space they now shared. 

She heard him murmur a quick spell, and suddenly a soft, warm light bloomed from his palm, illuminating the pitch-dark closet. He was watching her with raised brows, his expression a mix of concern and amusement as he held his hand up like a torch between them. 

They stood there for a moment, locked in silence. She counted to five, then ten, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow. At last, she let out a quiet sigh, her grip on the doorknob relaxing. 

Oisin tilted his head, giving her a curious look. “Kip… Uh… You’re pretty, but we’re friends…” 

Kipperlilly blinked, looking up at him with a look of incredulity. “What?” 

He raised an eye ridge, his expression amused and a little bit teasing. 

Realization dawned, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m just avoiding someone.” 

Oisin’s face relaxed, his mouth curving into a grin as he chuckled softly. “Okay, good. Had me worried for a second there.” 

“Yeah, no. Not in a million years,” she replied, giving him a deadpan look. “No offense.” 

“Kind of offensive,” he quipped back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“I’m gay,” she said, the words coming out before she could second-guess herself. That was a revelation she hadn’t expected to make in a dark janitorial closet of all places. 

Oisin’s eyes widened, and he looked down at her with an expression that was somewhere between surprise and acceptance. For a guy who usually had an answer for everything, he looked almost speechless. 

“Oh,” he managed after a beat, his face softening. “Cool. That’s… something.” 

“Yep,” she replied, her voice as nonchalant as she could muster, trying to ignore the way her cheeks warmed under the steady glow of his light spell. “The coast is clear.” She gave him a quick nod before reaching for the doorknob and stepping out into the hallway. 

Friday found Kipperlilly curled up in her favorite spot in the Copperkettle house. It was a cozy reading nook nestled under a bay window overlooking the small, well-tended garden. Outside, the last light of the day was casting everything in a warm, golden glow, the kind of light that softened the edges of everything it touched. She’d grabbed a book, something on the history of Spyre she’d read a dozen times, just for the comfort of having it open on her lap. It was supposed to be a peaceful evening, a night to catch up on some extra credit and cram in a little more training. 

But her attention wasn’t on the book. Instead, her gaze kept drifting back to the crystal in her hand, the screen glowing softly with Kristen’s message. That single “hey” still sat there, simple and quiet, and somehow, it had grown louder in her mind each day she’d left it unanswered. 

She shifted her focus away from the message thread to Kristen’s profile, scrolling through her recent photos. Her thumb paused over the latest one, taken at the Seacaster party. Kristen was grinning widely, her arm thrown up in a mock cheer, half-holding a cowboy hat in place as she lifted a red Solo cup to the camera. Those Wrangler jeans—absolutely horrendous, Kipperlilly thought, with an amused snort. But somehow, on Kristen, even that ridiculous outfit seemed endearing. 

Kipperlilly could almost hear the laughter that must have followed that picture, the carefree way Kristen seemed to barrel through life with a sort of reckless joy that was, annoyingly, charming. A few days ago, it had been those same lips against her own, those clumsy hands pulling her closer. The thought made her cheeks flush, a strange mix of warmth and frustration. How did Kristen manage to be both so goofy and so… disarming? 

She let herself glance down at the comments, unable to resist the tiny urge to see what everyone else thought. 

Date me!

Oh my gosh, soooo hot! 😍

Cowgirl up, Kristen!!

Look at that smirk 😏

Each comment seemed more exasperating than the last, a parade of hearts and starry-eyed emojis, all directed at Kristen. She gritted her teeth, flicking the screen away from the comments and back to the message thread, the sight of that single “hey” staring back at her like a challenge. 

Did Kristen even care that she hadn’t replied? For all Kipperlilly knew the bumbling cleric had forgotten about it altogether, swept up in another mystery, another joke, another kiss with someone else. She could have had half the girls at school, judging by these comments. Kipperlilly’s stomach twisted, and she shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. 

“Hey, sweetheart!” Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back into the present. Kipperlilly glanced up, hurriedly locking her crystal as she looked over at her mother, who was standing by the archway that led to the kitchen. Winnie was dressed in one of her typical, impeccable suit dresses. A deep green today. 

“Did you have a good day at school?” Winnie asked, crossing the room to sit beside her on the window seat. 

“It was fine,” Kipperlilly replied, offering a small smile as she shifted the book to the side. “Busy. Yours?” 

Winnie’s face brightened as she settled onto the seat, her heels dangling a few inches above the floor, a familiar, warm presence at Kipperlilly’s side. “Oh, you know how it is,” she said with a fond sigh. “We had to relocate Frostyfaire at the last minute. It was a bit of a headache. But we managed, and all the vendors are set up again. Still planning to come with us tomorrow?” 

Kipperlilly nodded, a genuine smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah. I promised Ruben I’d be there.” 

“Good,” Winnie said with a laugh. “That boy’s music is… well, let’s say a little ‘deep’ for my taste.” She grimaced playfully. “But the kids seem to love it.” 

Kipperlilly chuckled, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Tell me about it. I can barely get through one of his songs without needing a nap afterward. Honestly, I prefer his parents’ music.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Winnie said, laughing along with her. She reached over, resting a hand on Kipperlilly’s knee, her touch gentle and grounding. “One of the many, many things I love about you, darling. You never change.” 

Her mother gave her a warm smile, then rose, loosening the tie in her hair as she walked toward the hallway, humming softly to herself. 

But as the room settled into silence again, she felt that familiar ache tugging at her. There was something inside her that had changed, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. And she wondered if that quiet, subtle shift—this confusion, this yearning she didn’t know how to control—was something her mother would notice eventually. Or worse, something that would change everything. 

Now it was early afternoon on Saturday, and The Frostyfaire Folk Festival was well underway by the time Kipperlilly arrived, and she could feel the lively atmosphere surrounding the Thistlespring tree. Its branches stretched high above the bustling scene, causing dappled sunlight to spew across the festival grounds, creating a patchwork of light and shade on the grass below. She glanced around, taking in the sights and sounds. The soft strumming of lutes blended with the quiet chatter of festival-goers, the occasional squawk from a bird companion perched on a druid’s shoulder, and the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting from nearby food stalls. 

Her mom had been here since dawn, overseeing the flow of vendors and visitors, busying herself with the endless list of tasks that came with being on the town council. Kipperlilly, however, had decided to take her time getting ready, and she’d arrived a little later with her dad. 

“You look lovely, Bug,” Barden said as they walked along the festival path together. 

Kipperlilly smiled, feeling a little self-conscious as she glanced down at her outfit. She had decided to go with a loose, baby-blue pleated skirt that brushed just above her knees, paired with a soft, oversized sweater in cream. Her hands absently adjusted the blue ribbon she had painstakingly tied into her hair that morning, half-pulling it back and letting the rest fall loose around her shoulders. 

“Thanks, Dad. Lucy helped me pick it out,” she replied, brushing an imaginary bit of dust off her sweater. 

“Lucy coming today?” he asked as they navigated through the crowd. 

“She’ll be here later for Ruben’s band,” Kipperlilly said. Ruben’s music might not be her favorite, but it was always fun to watch him perform. 

Barden chuckled softly. “So, that means you’re free to check on the vendors with your mother and me?” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes in playful exasperation, giving her dad a light nudge with her shoulder. “I guess so. But don’t expect me to smile and nod at every single stall.” 

Barden patted her shoulder, the warmth of his hand reassuring. “I think we can handle a few grumpy faces if it means having you around.” 

As they walked, Kipperlilly took in the eclectic mix of people passing by. Druids with their earthy attire and wildflower crowns, rangers with animal companions trotting faithfully by their sides, and festival-goers dressed in vibrant hues, laughing and chatting. There was a tent nearby where people were filing in, some of them shedding outer layers of clothing, and Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow as she watched. 

Barden noticed her glance and whispered conspiratorially, “Ignore that one.” 

Kipperlilly shot him a curious look, and he leaned in, dropping his voice. “Nudist tent.” 

She wrinkled her nose in mock horror, shooting him an exaggerated look of disgust. “Gross. If you or Mom go in there, I’m getting myself emancipated.” 

Barden laughed, his chuckle a warm, rumbling sound that blended seamlessly into the lively atmosphere. “No plans to, but noted,” he replied, giving her a wink. 

Eventually, they spotted Winnie bustling about near a row of brightly colored stalls. Despite the earthy surroundings, Winnie looked as polished as ever, dressed in a crisp suit dress that matched Barden’s smart attire. Kipperlilly chuckled to herself, noticing how her parents stood out amidst the sea of druids and hippies. But the town’s residents seemed unfazed, greeting the Copperkettles warmly, offering handshakes and smiles as they passed by. After all, they were major investors and organizers of the festival, and their presence here was met with nothing but appreciation. 

They started making their way through the vendor booths, checking in on the festival-goers, sampling wares, and tasting foods. She moved from stall to stall with her parents, smiling politely and nodding as vendors handed her samples of herbal teas and tiny honeyed pastries. 

At one stall, Kipperlilly’s attention was caught by a flash of pink. A tiny colorful marmoset perched on a vendor’s shoulder, its wide, curious eyes watching her intently. Before she could react, it leapt onto her shoulder, tiny claws gripping her sweater as it sniffed her cheek. She let out a surprised laugh, freezing as the marmoset pressed its soft, warm face against her cheek, almost like a gentle hug. 

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Barden teased, his grin widening as he watched her interact with the tiny creature. 

The vendor, an elderly gnome with twinkling eyes, chuckled from behind the stall. “That’s Peaches! She has a knack for picking out kind souls,” he said, his voice warm and scratchy. 

Kipperlilly carefully stroked Peaches’ soft fur, feeling a little rush of delight as the marmoset purred contentedly. “She’s adorable,” Kipperlilly said, scratching the creature gently under its chin. 

After a few more moments, Peaches returned to the vendor’s shoulder, and Kipperlilly and her parents continued their rounds, visiting more stalls and enjoying the lively festival atmosphere. 

They were stopped at a stall selling handmade crafts with a table full of beaded jewelry, carved wooden animals, bright fabric bags. Her parents had struck up a conversation with the vendor, an elderly druid whose silvery hair was adorned with wildflowers. Kipperlilly stood just to the side, her hands clasped behind her back, taking in the intricate jewelry laid out on the table. Then, without warning, a prickle ran up the back of her neck. 

And then she heard it. Kristen’s laugh; unmistakable, bright and loud, full of a joy that could cut through any crowd. Kipperlilly’s stomach did an involuntary flip, and she clenched her hands a little tighter, her mind racing. She had half-expected to run into The Bad Kids today, knowing that Gorgug’s parents hosted the festival. They lived right here in the Thistlespring Tree, after all. She’d even tried to mentally prepare herself for this, hoping that maybe her gut would tell her whether to run or… stay. She took a breath. 

Slowly, she glanced sideways, just in time to catch sight of Fabian wiping his mouth with a napkin, looking disgruntled as Kristen laughed beside him, her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, quickly turning back to her parents’ conversation. 

But she couldn’t help herself. When she looked back, Kristen was staring at her. 

There was an almost comically dumbfounded expression on her face, as if she’d just stumbled upon a deity in the middle of the festival. Kristen’s green eyes were wide, fixed right on Kipperlilly, and for a second, she felt her cheeks grow warm. 

And then, against her better judgment, Kipperlilly’s face softened into a small, unguarded smile. She didn’t mean to smile back, but there it was, a gentle warmth spreading through her as their eyes met. 

Kristen’s lips curved into a smile in response, her expression lighting up, and for a split second, the noise of the festival seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them. But before Kipperlilly could even process it, Fabian nudged Kristen with his elbow, snapping her out of the moment. Kristen turned back to her friends, and the spell was broken. 

Kipperlilly cleared her throat, trying to brush off the lingering warmth in her cheeks. “I’m going to check on Ruben,” she said to her parents, hoping her voice sounded steady. 

Her mother gave her an encouraging nod. “Okay, sweetie! Have fun.” 

Kipperlilly shot them a quick smile before weaving through the crowd, heading toward the large stage where Ruben’s band would be performing later. She could feel her heart beating a little faster, and she pressed her hand against her chest, willing it to settle. She wanted to talk to Kristen. She realized that now. But not here, not with all of Kristen’s friends around, eyes on them, watching. 

As she reached the stage, her attention was caught by the sight of Ruben perched on a crate, tuning his electric guitar. His bandmates, the rest of My Chemical Gnomance, were scattered around, setting up amps and drums, arranging the tech for their set.

Kipperlilly smirked as she walked over, giving Ruben a lighthearted look. “I haven’t seen your gaggle of teenage fangirls yet.” 

Ruben looked up and gave her a wry smirk. “They’ll be here… unfortunately.” 

She laughed, settling onto another crate beside him. “Don’t lie. You love it.” 

Ruben rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he continued tuning. “I don’t hate it,” he admitted, shrugging with a sort of nonchalant charm that only Ruben could pull off. 

As they chatted, one of Ruben’s bandmates, a gnome with a wild mane of curly rocker hair and a leather jacket far too big for him, walked by, carrying a drum piece. “This is gonna be a real turnout, dude,” he said to Ruben, grinning wide. “Almost ready for sound check.” 

Ruben nodded, standing up and swinging his guitar over his back. Kipperlilly caught a glimpse of Gorgug approaching from the side of the stage, accompanied by a small girl with long, black hair streaked with purple. She wore dark makeup, several piercings, and had an aura of quiet confidence that made her stand out. Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes slightly, curiosity piqued. 

“Who’s that?” she asked, nodding toward the girl. 

Ruben turned around, and his eyes widened. He quickly straightened, running a hand through his bangs, trying and failing to look casual. “That’s… Wanda Childa. She’s in my class.” 

Kipperlilly’s lips twitched into a small smirk, remembering Lucy mentioning Ruben’s massive crush on a girl named Wanda. “Lucy told me about her. But why is she with Gorgug?” 

Ruben shrugged, though his gaze stayed fixed on Wanda. “Probably just giving her directions or something. I was kind of hoping she’d come today. She, uh… loves my music.” His voice softened, and Kipperlilly could practically see the tiny hearts popping around his head as he watched Wanda. 

She rolled her eyes. Most edgy teens seemed to love Ruben’s music. The whole emo thing was practically a requirement for his fanbase. But there was something different in his gaze, an earnestness that Kipperlilly found almost endearing. 

“Well, I’ll leave you… to it,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“Cool, cool. See you later,” he replied absently, though he wasn’t really looking at her. His attention was entirely on Wanda as he adjusted his jacket, clearly trying to look effortlessly cool. 

Kipperlilly sighed, amused by Ruben’s single-mindedness, and turned to head back out into the festival. As she left the stage area, she took a deep breath, the scent of warm grass and spiced cider filling her lungs. Her mind drifted back to Kristen, to the way her eyes had lit up when she’d seen her, that quick moment of unfiltered happiness that had passed between them. 

How had it come to this?

She wondered if she’d find Kristen again in the crowd, if maybe this time, she’d have the courage to say something, to close the gap she’d been keeping between them all week. But for now, she kept walking, letting herself get lost in the crowd, hoping the answer would find her when the time was right. 

It turned out, the answer was a little light stalking.

Kipperlilly adjusted her vantage point, sitting comfortably on a thick branch of an old oak tree, her legs dangling as she kept her eyes on the subject of her latest obsessive thoughts. Kristen, as usual, was impossible to miss. Her choice of clothes; a bright horrific yellow set of track pants should have been burned instead of bought, made her stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of earthy greens, browns, and soft natural tones. It was as if she were determined to announce, I am not one of you.

The problem wasn’t spotting Kristen. The problem was that she was always surrounded by people. Upon first finding her, she was talking to Riz, who had his nose practically in the dirt beneath a tree, no doubt on some detective mission that required smelling the soil or inspecting an ant trail. Kipperlilly just watched from afar. Approaching Kristen was impossible while she was with someone else. Especially Riz, whose hawk-like observational skills were legendary. 

Why did Kristen have to be so likable? People always gravitated toward her. Even in a place like this, she wasn’t given a moment alone. 

Kipperlilly sighed, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. She could wait. Patience wasn’t her strongest trait, but for this, she could make an exception. And her patience was rewarded when Kristen finally said something to Riz and began walking off into a denser part of the festival grounds. 

This was her chance. 

Kipperlilly moved carefully. She climbed higher into the tree, grabbing a nearby branch to pull herself up to a better vantage point. From there, she could see Kristen ambling toward a quieter area of the festival, away from the crowds and bustling vendors. It was perfect. She moved from branch to branch, the canopy providing cover as she followed Kristen. She didn’t rush, taking her time to anticipate Kristen’s direction and stay ahead of her. This kind of precision wasn’t just her skillset; it was her comfort zone. 

When Kristen stopped to browse a vendor selling jars of brightly colored honey, Kipperlilly settled onto a thick branch high above her. She tilted her head, watching the way Kristen ran a hand through her hair, seemingly debating whether she needed honey in every shade of the rainbow. Probably not, but Kristen had that way of making even mundane choices seem oddly charming. Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and reached for a handful of acorns nestled in the crook of the branch. 

She took aim and flicked one downward. It hit Kristen’s shoulder with a light thunk. 

Kristen stopped, brushing at her shoulder and glancing around. Kipperlilly grinned. Of course, Kristen didn’t look up. Why would she? It was classic Kristen, head in the clouds but never thinking to check them for rogue halflings armed with acorns. When Kristen began to walk again, Kipperlilly threw another acorn, this time with a bit more force. It hit Kristen squarely on the top of her head. 

“Hey!” Kristen whispered loudly, rubbing the top of her head as she frowned, finally tilting her gaze upward. 

Kipperlilly leaned forward, her grin widening as she met Kristen’s eyes. She felt a rush of triumph when Kristen’s expression shifted from irritation to surprised recognition. 

Kristen scowled playfully. “That hurt!” 

Kipperlilly pressed a finger to her lips, signaling for Kristen to stay quiet, and then pointed to the tree branch beside her, gesturing for the cleric to join her. Even here, at a festival full of tree-loving hippies, the action was all on the ground. It was better to keep this moment out of sight. 

Kristen hesitated, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. For a moment, Kipperlilly wondered if she would actually do it. Kristen had been the one messaging her, after all. She’d seemed like she wanted to talk. But what if she had been wrong? What if she’d misread everything? 

Before her spiraling thoughts could take root, Kristen sighed and stepped toward the tree. Relief washed over Kipperlilly as she watched Kristen grab the nearest branch and begin climbing. It was clear that the cleric wasn’t particularly adept at this, Her movements were clumsy, her grip a little too tight. Kipperlilly fought back a laugh, knowing it wouldn’t help Kristen’s already questionable confidence. 

Kristen made it halfway up before her foot slipped on the bark, her body jolting downward, arms flailing for a moment as she tried to catch herself. 

Kipperlilly moved quick as a whip. She leapt down from her comfortable perch, grabbing hold of Kristen’s arm before she could fall. “Careful,” she said through gritted teeth, using all her strength to pull Kristen up. Kristen wasn’t small. She was nearly twice Kipperlilly’s size, and those muscles weren’t just for show. Kipperlilly’s arms burned with effort, but she managed to help Kristen up. 

Kristen groaned as she hoisted herself onto the branch next to Kipperlilly, finally settling with an audible oof. Her limbs dangled awkwardly as she tried to find a comfortable position, but her long legs seemed entirely out of place in the dense tree. Kipperlilly couldn’t help but watch, her lips twitching with amusement at the sheer absurdity of the red head looking like a gangly fawn caught mid-step.

Once Kristen finally settled, Kipperlilly realized they were still holding hands. It hadn’t been intentional. She’d grabbed Kristen’s wrist when she’d slipped climbing up, her reflexes kicking in before her mind could catch up. But now their fingers had somehow entwined, and neither of them seemed to be letting go. Kipperlilly hesitated for a moment, then slowly released her grip, clearing her throat and leaning back against the trunk of the tree. 

“I’d hate for you to break something on your way up here,” she said, her voice softer than she intended, though her lips quirked into a mischievous smile. 

Kristen shot her a playful glare, still catching her breath. “I would ask why you’re hiding up in a tree throwing acorns at me, but I’m kind of learning to stop asking you questions.” 

The laugh escaped before Kipperlilly could stop it, surprising even herself. She shook her head, resting against the thick branch with a small smirk. “You’re a fast learner. I still don’t understand how your grades used to be so terrible.” 

Kristen gasped, her jaw dropping dramatically. “Hey!” She crossed her arms, glaring at Kipperlilly with mock indignation. 

Kipperlilly just smiled wider, the warmth of the moment catching her off guard. The dense leaves above formed a protective canopy, filtering out the light and muffling the festival noise below. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world was inconsequential. It was a strange feeling, one Kipperlilly wasn’t sure she liked, but she also couldn’t bring herself to run away. Not just yet.

Kristen fidgeted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her legs swung freely off the branch, and she leaned back against the trunk with exaggerated care, as if the whole tree might collapse under her weight. Kipperlilly stifled another laugh, watching Kristen’s awkwardness with a fondness she didn’t dare admit. 

“Okay, well,” Kristen said finally, throwing her hands up, “I guess I’m here now.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t know where to start now that she had Kristen alone. It had been a long agonizing school week of avoiding Kristen and trying to get her head on straight… or not straight, as it turned out. But shockingly, she was speechless.

Luckily for the both of them, Kristen seemed incapable of staying quiet for too long.

“So…” Kristen began, shifting slightly to face her. “What’s going on? Why are you ghosting me?” 

Kipperlilly blinked, startled by the directness. “I’m hardly doing that,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren’t entirely true. 

Kristen raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “You kissed me,” she said plainly, “and then you disappeared. And didn’t message me back.” 

There it was. The elephant in the room, laid bare. Kipperlilly met Kristen’s gaze, feeling her pulse quicken. Her mind raced, every possible explanation and excuse colliding in a jumble of thoughts. She could say the kiss was a mistake, but it wasn’t. She could say she didn’t want it to mean anything, but it did. Everything about Kristen felt like a contradiction, and Kipperlilly was caught in the middle of it. 

After a long pause, she gave a small nod. “True,” she admitted. 

Kristen stared at her, waiting for more. The silence stretched between them, and Kipperlilly could see the wheels turning in Kristen’s head, the confusion flickering across her face. For once, Kristen seemed at a loss for words. She could sense that Kristen wanted her to say more, to offer some explanation, some reassurance. But Kipperlilly couldn’t bring herself to do it. What was she supposed to say? She wasn't about to put her heart on her sleeve and make herself vulnerable.  

Finally, Kristen threw up her hands, exasperated. “And… we’re not going to talk about it?” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, studying her. It was rare to see Kristen like this, so open and unsure. She looked more like a puppy waiting for a command than the confident, laughing girl she had been avoiding all week. 

“No,” Kipperlilly said simply, shaking her head. 

Kristen just stared at her, wide-eyed. “No?” 

“No,” she repeated. 

Kristen shifted in the tree, stretching her legs in front of her and letting one dangle slightly while the other bent at the knee for balance. Her attempt to settle looked awkward at best, her lanky limbs at odds with the natural curves of the oak. She let out a soft grunt of frustration before finally finding a position that seemed at least semi-comfortable. 

“Okay, cool. Cool. That’s totally fine,” Kristen said, dripping with sarcasm. 

Kipperlilly glanced over at her, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. Kristen’s tone was almost petulant, and it was hard to take her seriously when she was sprawled across the branch like an overgrown child pretending to nap in a treehouse. 

For a moment, they sat in silence. Kipperlilly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering there as she averted her gaze to the scene below. The festival bustled with vendors chatting animatedly with customers, druids demonstrating herbal remedies. The faint hum of music from a nearby bard mixed with the laughter of children darting between the booths. It was picturesque, almost idyllic, but Kipperlilly felt none of the peace it promised. 

If they weren’t going to talk about the kiss, what was there to talk about at all? Kipperlilly bit the inside of her cheek, a sharp reminder of her own boundaries. She had been the one to draw the line, but now she found herself questioning it. Why had she been so intent on getting Kristen alone if not to address the very thing she now refused to discuss? 

Twirling the same strand of hair between her fingers, Kipperlilly sighed quietly. She should say something, anything, if only to make herself look less like an idiot sitting in awkward silence. But before she could gather the courage, Kristen broke the quiet with her usual tactlessness. 

“So…” Kristen tilted her head, her lips curving into a wide, dopey grin. “Do you hang out in trees often?” 

The words were so unexpected, so perfectly Kristen, that Kipperlilly couldn’t help but laugh. She tried to stifle it, shaking her head and biting back the sound, but it escaped anyway. 

“Not often,” she admitted, her lips twitching with the hint of a playful smile. She tucked the strand of hair behind her ear again, more for something to do than necessity. “But it seemed like the perfect place for us to talk without anyone… noticing.” 

Kristen’s grin softened slightly, and for a moment, Kipperlilly wondered if she’d understood the gesture for what it was: an olive branch. She felt a strange mix of hope and vulnerability at the thought, a softness creeping into her edges that she hadn’t expected. Or maybe Kristen just had that effect on her—making her feel softer, or stupider, or maybe both. 

Kristen shifted again, her expression turning bashful in a way that seemed almost out of character. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking off into the distance before speaking. 

“You… you look good, by the way.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, her breath catching in her throat as a sudden heat rose in her chest. She studied Kristen’s face, taking in the pink flush spreading across her pale cheeks and the way her gaze flickered nervously between Kipperlilly and the tree trunk. 

Kristen pressed on, stumbling over her words. “I mean… your sweater is cute, and I like your hair like that. It’s pretty, not being so tied back. You have a nice… face. Your face is nice. I like it.” 

The rush of warmth in Kipperlilly’s chest climbed to her cheeks, and she was sure she must be blushing. Kristen, who usually carried herself with easy confidence, now looked utterly flustered. Her words spilled out like a runaway cart, and Kipperlilly couldn’t decide whether to laugh, hide, or lean into the dizzying awkwardness of it all. 

Finally, she settled on a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Thanks, I guess,” she said. Her gaze flickered over Kristen’s outfit, and she raised an eyebrow. “You look… like you.” 

Kristen’s grin returned in full force, wide and unapologetic. She leaned back against the branch with an exaggerated nonchalance, spreading her arms to take up as much space as possible. “I know. I’m hot.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked any real bite. There she was—the Kristen she knew, the Kristen who could make arrogance seem charming, the Kristen who was infuriatingly magnetic. “You’re impossible,” Kipperlilly muttered, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her with the faintest upward twitch. 

Without giving Kristen a moment to say anything that might ruin the fragile atmosphere (or worse, make Kipperlilly second-guess herself) Kipperlilly moved. Crawling across the branches, she settled herself between Kristen’s legs, balancing on the sturdy branch and holding the trunk for support. Her heart was pounding, and her mind screamed at her to stop, but her body had other plans. Her hand fisted in the front of Kristen’s garish purple tank, gripping the soft fabric like it was the only tether she had to this moment. 

Kristen blinked, her wide eyes darting between Kipperlilly’s face and the hand gripping her shirt. “What—” 

But Kipperlilly didn’t let her finish. She pulled on Kristen’s shirt, using the motion to guide herself forward, and kissed her. 

This kiss was different. The first time had been hesitant, full of uncertainty and a vulnerability Kipperlilly hadn’t been ready to confront. But this time, there was no hesitation. She wanted this. Really wanted this. And as soon as their lips met, she knew, somehow, that Kristen wanted it too.

All those days of avoiding Kristen, of trying to bury the feelings that had been threatening to fizzle over, now seemed like wasted time. She didn’t know how to explain it, couldn’t have put it into words even if she tried, but she could show Kristen. And that’s exactly what she was doing. 

For a moment, Kristen seemed frozen, caught off guard. But then Kipperlilly felt her relax, and suddenly Kristen was kissing her back. Kipperlilly’s chest felt like it might burst, her emotions crashing over her in waves too strong to name. 

And then Kristen pulled back, just slightly, breaking the kiss. The loss of contact made Kipperlilly’s heart sink. That sharp edge of anger, the one that always seemed to be laying in wait, flared in her chest. Her eyes narrowed, but before the fire could fully ignite, Kristen spoke. 

“Can’t resist the yellow joggers, huh?” Kristen said, her grin breaking through the haze of the moment like a beam of light. 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes further, ready to lash out, but the heat in her chest cooled in an instant, replaced by something much softer. Kristen was so infuriating. So captivating. So… Kristen.

“Shut up, Applebees,” Kipperlilly muttered, before pulling Kristen back into the kiss. This time, there was no pause, no beating around the bush. Kristen’s lips moved against hers with equal fervor, and when Kristen’s tongue brushed against her bottom lip, Kipperlilly shuddered. Her grip on Kristen’s shirt tightened, and she felt herself melt into it. 

She parted her lips, meeting Kristen’s kiss with her own growing confidence. When their tongues met, a soft, needy sound escaped from her throat before she could even think to stop it. Embarrassment flared for half a second before Kristen responded, her hand moving to Kipperlilly’s waist. Kipperlilly wasn’t sure if Kristen was pulling her closer or if it was her own grip on Kristen’s shirt dragging them together. All she knew was that she didn’t want this to end. No running, no ghosting. Just this. This infuriating, delicious chaos. 

At least it was, until—

“Kristen? Kristen!” 

Riz Gukgak really was the bane of Kipperlilly’s existence.

She froze, her breath hitching. Kristen tensed against her, their eyes meeting in an instant of wide-eyed panic. “Oh, shit,” Kristen muttered under her breath. 

They both looked down. Riz stood at the base of the tree, squinting upward, his notebook clutched tightly in one hand. Beside him, Adaine’s pale face tilted upward, her features etched with mild concern. 

And then... CRACK.

The branch beneath Kristen gave way, splintering with a sickening sound that seemed to echo in the quiet of their shared panic. 

Kipperlilly’s instincts took over. She scrambled away, clutching at the trunk of the oak, her fingers digging into the rough bark as she watched Kristen tumble downward, her yellow joggers flashing through the branches like a beacon. Leaves rustled and snapped around her, and Kipperlilly winced as Kristen’s descent came to an abrupt halt. 

"Kristen?"

Kipperlilly watched as Riz and Adaine rushed to Kristen's side. She clung to the trunk, her breath frozen in her chest, her heart pounding so loudly she swore the three of them must hear it even from the ground.

"What are you doing in a tree?” Adaine asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Then Kristen groaned and slowly pushed herself up, one hand rubbing her shoulder while the other braced against the ground. Relief flooded through Kipperlilly so fast she almost felt dizzy. At least Kristen was in one piece. 

Kipperlilly shifted slightly, peering through the thick branches to get a better look at the scene below. Kristen sat up straighter, her expression caught somewhere between sheepish and indignant as she brushed dirt and leaves from her joggers. 

“I was just… you know…” Kristen gestured vaguely at the towering oak above her. “Embracing the spirit of the festival.” 

Kipperlilly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Kristen was a terrible liar, but the attempt was quite endearing. 

Riz held up a hand, already turning to walk away. “I don’t even want to know.” 

No, you really don’t, Kipperlilly thought, leaning back against the trunk and letting out a quiet breath of relief. At least Kristen seemed to be on the same page about not explaining what they’d actually been doing. The last thing Kipperlilly needed was Riz (or anyone, for that matter) piecing together what had happened in the branches above.

Kristen climbed to her feet, still dusting herself off as she muttered something Kipperlilly couldn’t hear. Adaine looked unimpressed but didn’t press further, and Riz had already moved on, probably writing the entire incident off as another one of Kristen’s inexplicable whims. 

Kipperlilly shook her head softly and started moving again, crawling along the thicker branches to circle around the back of the tree. There was another branch hanging low enough to let her shift to a neighboring oak, giving her the perfect path to escape without being seen. 

Her legs, however, were another story. They felt shaky, less steady than they should have been, and she knew exactly why. Kissing Kristen was like throwing a match into a barrel of fireworks. Explosive, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. Even now, her chest felt tight, her cheeks warm as the memory of Kristen’s lips against hers played on a loop in her mind. 

Kipperlilly shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts away as she swung down from the tree and landed softly on the ground. Her shoes crunched against the dirt path, and she took a moment to steady herself before slipping back into the flow of the festival.  

This was dangerous. Letting herself feel this way, whatever this was, about Kristen was a risk she wasn’t sure she could afford to take. Kristen was larger than life, bold and brash and utterly magnetic. And Kipperlilly… well, she was just trying to keep her head above water most days. What were the odds that Kristen would want to stick around for someone like her?

The vendor’s cheerful voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Care for a sample, dear?” 

Kipperlilly blinked, looking up at the older gnome behind the counter. “Oh, uh, sure,” she said, reaching out to take the small paper cup he offered. She popped one of the candied nuts into her mouth, the sweet, spiced flavor grounding her for a moment. She smiled faintly, nodding her thanks before moving on. 

She needed to get a grip. Kipperlilly Copperkettle didn’t let herself get swept up in feelings; especially not the kind that made her chest ache and her head spin. She had a campaign to focus on, friends to keep close, a life to manage. Letting Kristen Applebees barrel into her heart like a stampeding rhino was not part of the plan. 

But even as she tried to steel herself, she knew it was too late. The cracks were already there, and no amount of logical reasoning was going to patch them up. 

Kipperlilly exhaled sharply and adjusted her path, heading back toward the stage where Ruben and his band were setting up for their performance. Maybe a little distraction would help. 

As she neared the stage, the crowd thickened. It was hard to miss the growing throng of fans gathering in front of the not-at-all modest setup where My Chemical Gnomance was preparing to perform. The occasional scream of delight rang in her ears when someone caught a glimpse of Ruben or one of his bandmates tuning their instruments. It was almost absurd, the sight of an emo band preparing to blast angsty power chords in the middle of the serene, hippy-druid vibe of the Frostyfair Folk Festival. But, judging by the crowd, they were probably thankful for the hype.

Kipperlilly was just about to weave her way closer to the stage when she felt a heavy weight drop onto her back. She stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, her arms flailing slightly to regain balance. 

“I have literally been looking for you everywhere,” Lucy’s voice chirped from behind her. “Someone needs to put a tracking device in your shoes.”

Kipperlilly straightened up, smirking as she turned to find Lucy, draped in what could only be described as a jacket made entirely of leaves with a few small flowers peeking out from the seams. 

Kipperlilly reached out and plucked at one of the larger leaves, examining it with a bemused expression. “This is… festive.” 

Lucy groaned, running a hand over the jacket’s lapel. “I know! But... urgh! I never wear green. Is it too much? Do I clash?” 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, studying her friend with a mix of amusement and genuine thoughtfulness. “You look right at home, actually,” she said, letting the leaf fall back into place.

Lucy visibly exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. “Okay, good. My dads helped me put it together, and y’know…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at herself. “They’re not exactly great at keeping it lowkey.” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, trying not to grin. Lucy’s dads, much like Lucy herself, were not known for subtlety. It was both a strength and a source of endless amusement. “I’m sure it was hard for you to hold them back,” Kipperlilly teased. 

Lucy pulled a face, faux-innocence in her eyes. “Well…” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a laugh. 

“Where’d you get to, anyway?” Lucy asked, folding her arms. “Your parents said you were with Ruben, but I didn’t see you.” 

Kipperlilly faltered for a fraction of a second. She could easily say she’d been wandering around the festival. Lucy wouldn’t question it too much. But lying, even about something small, left a sour taste in her mouth. She’d spent too much of last year dodging and deflecting the truth about Porter, her anger, and everything else. This year was supposed to be about turning over a new leaf, about being honest with the people she cared about. 

But then again, not everything had to be said, especially when Kipperlilly didn’t even know how to make sense of it herself. Her tryst with Kristen was still a tangled mess in her mind, and it wasn’t ready to be shared—maybe not ever.

“Just walking around,” she said with a casual shrug. 

Lucy quirked a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? ‘Cause I walked around the whole place twice. Do you know how many free samples you get when you walk around this place twice?”

Kipperlilly smirked. “Weird. We must’ve just missed each other.” 

“Hmm…” Lucy narrowed her eyes slightly, as though trying to see past the thin layer of deflection Kipperlilly had thrown up. But after a moment, she let it go, her expression softening. “Fine. I’ll let it slide this time. But if you’re holding out on me and there’s a secret vendor giving out full-sized pastries, we’re fighting.” 

Kipperlilly chuckled. If Lucy suspected anything, she didn’t push, and Kipperlilly made a mental note to appreciate that later. She wasn’t ready to share what had happened... Not until she knew what it meant, or if it meant anything at all. 

As they moved closer to the stage, the energy of the crowd ramped up. The band had started their soundcheck, and even that was enough to elicit excited squeals from the growing horde of fangirls pressing against the makeshift barricade. Ruben’s dark fringe swayed in time with his head as he adjusted his guitar strap, his brooding demeanor as effortless as ever. His bandmates milled around behind him, chatting and tweaking amps. 

Kipperlilly and Lucy found a spot a little further back, where the crowd thinned out and the sound wasn’t quite so deafening. 

“I have to admit,” Lucy said, leaning close to be heard over the noise, “Ruben’s really got a following now. Remember Freshman year when he performed that cute medley for my birthday?” 

Kipperlilly laughed, nodding. “I think he still has stage fright from your dads being too supportive.”

Lucy grinned. “They did wear matching ‘Ruben’s Biggest Fans’ shirts…” 

The memory was enough to make them both laugh. 

Lucy nudged her with an elbow. “So, are you staying for the whole set, or do you have more mysterious wandering to do?” 

Kipperlilly smirked, tilting her head toward Lucy. “Depends. Are you gonna interrogate me the whole time?” 

Lucy shrugged, her grin playful. “Only if you keep being suspicious.” 

My Chemical Gnomance launched into their most popular hit, In Space No One Can Feel You Dying, and the crowds went berserk. Kipperlilly tapped her foot in time with the music, her arms crossed as she leaned against Lucy’s side. For a brief, shining moment, everything felt normal. Just a festival, just music, just friends.

Then the sky changed. 

It was so sudden that Kipperlilly didn’t register it at first. The bright blue expanse above dimmed to an ominous gray, thick clouds rolling in unnaturally fast, their edges crackling with vibrant electricity. The temperature dropped, and the atmosphere shifted, heavy and oppressive, as if the world itself were holding its breath. The crowd began to murmur, voices tinged with confusion and unease. 

“What the…?” Lucy’s voice was barely audible over the hum of the crowd. 

Before Kipperlilly could respond, a blinding crack of lightning struck the center of the festival grounds. The electric bolt left a burning afterimage in her vision, and when she blinked it away, she saw him: Interim Emergency Backup Principal Grix. 

His golden frame gleamed vibrantly, his massive wheeled stand rumbling ominously as he hovered above the festival. His mechanical arms were splayed wide, crackling with barely contained energy, and his glowing eyes scanned the crowd with a chilling intensity. When he spoke, his voice boomed, cold and metallic, reverberating across the grounds. 

“ORDER MUST BE RESTORED!” Grix declared. “THIS CHAOS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.” 

Kipperlilly’s heart skipped, and she grabbed Lucy’s arm, pulling her down behind a booth stacked with handmade jewelry. The two crouched low, peering through the chaos as Grix descended, his wheels spinning menacingly over the uneven terrain. Festival-goers screamed and scattered in all directions, toppling booths and trampling picnic blankets in their desperation to escape. 

“What is happening?” Lucy hissed, her blue skin tinged with a faint frost as her anxiety triggered. 

“I… have no idea,” Kipperlilly replied, her mind racing. She peeked out from their hiding spot just in time to see Grix raise a hand, his fingers crackling with green energy. 

A beam of disintegration magic shot from his hand, heading straight for the stage. 

“No!” Kipperlilly gasped, her eyes locking onto Ruben, who was frozen in shock behind his microphone stand. The beam streaked toward him, its destructive light growing brighter as it closed the distance. 

Just before it could hit, a shimmering barrier of arcane energy materialized in front of the stage, absorbing the blast with a loud crackle. The beam fizzled out harmlessly, leaving Ruben unharmed but visibly shaken. 

Kipperlilly squinted through the chaos and spotted Adaine, her pale hands outstretched and glowing faintly with residual magic. Her expression was sharp and focused, her lips moving in another incantation as she prepared for whatever Grix might throw next. 

As if things couldn’t get worse retro-fitted contraptions; lawnmowers, dryers, and other mechanical oddities with far too many appendages, surged through the festival, their motors growling as they chased after fleeing festival-goers. Kipperlilly winced as one particularly aggressive machine tripped a vendor and sent a display of herbal teas flying. 

Lucy’s eyes widened as she took in the chaos. “Are those… sex machines?” 

“They’re… I think so,” Kipperlilly replied, her voice laced with disbelief. 

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “This place is insane.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t respond. Her focus was locked on Ruben, who had ducked behind an amp on the stage, his guitar clutched tightly to his chest. The Bad Kids were already in the thick of the fight. Adaine was slinging spells, Fabian and Riz were doing their best to help Gorgug wrestle his parents out of the grip of a particularly clingy machine, and Fig… or maybe that Wanda girl, it was hard to tell… was hurling blasts of hellfire at Grix. 

It was chaos, but for once, Kipperlilly was glad the Bad Kids were here. She never thought she’d see the day when their antics were a relief, but today, they were holding the line. 

Her gaze shifted, searching for Kristen. Her stomach dropped when she spotted her standing near the edge of the fight, her fists clenched and her jaw tight. Kipperlilly’s heart sank further. Kristen didn’t have a god anymore. She didn’t have spells, or divine healing, or any of the powers she’d once relied on. She had muscles, sure, but what good would those do against murderous machines and a Warforged principal with a vendetta? 

But then Kristen started running. 

Kipperlilly’s eyes widened in horror as she watched Kristen sprint toward the stage scaffolding. Without hesitation, Kristen began to climb. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kipperlilly whispered under her breath, her pulse racing. She knew for a fact that climbing was one of Kristen’s worst skills. Watching her ascend the scaffolding was like watching a particularly uncoordinated bear try to scale a tree. 

Lucy noticed her panic. “What? Hiding?” she asked, confusion etched across her face. 

“No, I…” Kipperlilly trailed off, her thoughts scrambling for a solution. She couldn’t just watch Kristen fall... or worse, get herself killed. She had to do something. 

“Stay here,” Kipperlilly said abruptly. 

Lucy grabbed her arm. “Wait, what do you mean? Kip—” 

“Just… please,” Kipperlilly insisted. She squeezed Lucy’s hand briefly, then darted away before her friend could protest further. 

The world around her blurred as she weaved through the fleeing crowd. The air buzzed with panic, the ground vibrating beneath her feet as machines tore through the festival. But Kipperlilly’s focus was locked on one thing: Kristen. She didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what she’d do when she got there, but she couldn’t let Kristen do it alone. 

As soon as she reached the scaffolding, Kipperlilly clung to the cold metal bars, her chest heaving with each breath as she climbed. The battlefield was a distant roar in her ears, but she couldn’t ignore the glimpses she caught as she ascended. Fig—definitely Fig—was frozen mid-stride, her face twisted in frustration. Gorgug was similarly immobilized, his massive frame straining against some unseen force. And Riz… Riz wasn’t moving at all. He stood rigid, his gun raised but his expression blank, unnervingly still. 

This was bad. Really bad. 

When Kipperlilly finally made higher, she paused, pressing herself against the scaffolding’s framework to catch her breath and take stock of the situation. Kristen was above her, climbing higher, her muscles flexing as she pulled herself up bar by bar. Kipperlilly’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw how unsteady Kristen’s footing was, her boots scraping against the slick metal. 

Grix’s booming, metallic voice shattered the moment of stillness. “Riz Gukgak, eliminate the cleric.” 

Kipperlilly’s stomach dropped as she watched Riz raise his gun, the barrel swiveling to aim directly at Kristen. 

Kristen froze, her voice breaking into a desperate scream. “Riz! No!” 

The gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening. Kipperlilly’s ears rang, the sound slicing through the screaming bystanders like a knife. Kristen ducked instinctively, and the shot went wide, ricocheting harmlessly off the scaffolding with a metallic clang. But the movement threw her off balance, her foot slipping on the thin metal bar she’d been using for support. Kipperlilly’s heart stopped as Kristen’s grip faltered and she began to fall, her arms flailing in open air. 

Without thinking, Kipperlilly lunged. She let go of her secure spot and leapt to the front of the scaffolding, adrenaline surging as she reached out. Her hands caught Kristen’s wrist just as her body plummeted, the weight nearly pulling Kipperlilly down with her. 

“I got you!” Kipperlilly gritted out, her voice strained as she clung to the scaffolding with one hand and held Kristen with the other. Every muscle in her body screamed as she pulled, the metal groaning beneath their combined weight. Slowly, inch by inch, she hauled Kristen back up until she could grab the bars herself and scramble back to safety. 

Kristen collapsed onto the narrow platform, her breathing ragged as she looked up at Kipperlilly with wide, startled eyes. “Thanks… I, uh… almost went splat.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t respond right away. Her hand was still gripping Kristen’s wrist tightly, trembling from the effort of holding her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a reminder of how close she’d come to losing Kristen. Sure, she’d trained for dangerous situations with The Rat Grinders, but nothing had ever felt this raw, this utterly real. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Kipperlilly whispered. Her gaze darted toward the battlefield, where Grix loomed, crackling with energy. “Everyone’s—” She stopped herself, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Everyone was in danger. Everyone was vulnerable. And Kipperlilly had no idea how to help. 

Kristen grabbed her shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “Kipperlilly.” Her voice was steady, despite the real fear in her eyes. “You need to get Ruben out of here. Get him off the stage. Now.” 

Kipperlilly blinked, searching Kristen’s face for any sign of hesitation. But Kristen’s expression was resolute, her jaw set. She was afraid, Kipperlilly could see that, but she was also determined. 

“Do you have a plan?” Kipperlilly asked, voice trembling with doubt. 

“Maybe,” Kristen said with a small nod. “We’ll find out.” 

For a moment, Kipperlilly just stared at her. Trust Kristen? Trust this Kristen? The one with no god, no magic, just an overwhelming sense of responsibility and that insufferable confidence?

But then again, wasn’t that what Kristen had been doing all along? Throwing herself headfirst into impossible situations and somehow making it work? 

Kipperlilly let out a shaky breath, her resolve hardening and she nodded sharply. 

She turned and leapt from the scaffolding, her body twisting in the air as she reached for the lower bars. Her landing was far from graceful, her knees jarring painfully as she hit the ground, but she didn’t stop moving. 

The stage was in disarray. Ruben was still crouched behind an amp, his guitar clutched tightly to his chest as he stared wide-eyed at the advancing machines. One of Grix’s energy bolts slammed into the ground nearby, sending a shower of sparks flying, and Ruben flinched so hard he nearly dropped his guitar. 

“Ruben!” Kipperlilly yelled, sprinting toward him. She slid to a stop beside him, grabbing his arm and tugging. “Come on, we need to move!” 

Ruben blinked at her, his face pale. “I—what—” 

“Now, Ruben!” Kipperlilly snapped, her voice cutting through his panic. She grabbed his guitar and slung it over her shoulder, then yanked him to his feet. He stumbled but followed her as she dragged him toward the edge of the stage, her eyes scanning for a clear path through the crowd. 

As they reached the steps, another spell exploded nearby, the force of it knocking them both off balance. Kipperlilly hit the ground hard, her elbow slamming against the dirt, but she didn’t let go of Ruben. 

“This way!” she hissed, pulling him toward the relative cover of a fallen tent. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out her next move. She couldn’t fight Grix, couldn’t stop the machines, couldn’t do anything except keep Ruben safe. 

For a fleeting moment, it was silent outside the tent. The festival grounds, once a cacophony of energy bolts, screeching machines, and terrified screams, fell into an eerie lull. Kipperlilly pressed her palm flat against the canvas, her breath shallow as she strained to hear through the muffled fabric. No spells firing. No grinding metal. Just the faint rustle of the wind through the wreckage. 

And then— 

“Take this fireball, bitch!” Fig’s voice tore through the stillness, loud and unmistakable, followed by the deep whoosh of a fireball roaring through the air.

Kipperlilly couldn’t stop herself from peeking out, the edge of the tent cold against her cheek as she surveyed the battle outside. The Bad Kids were moving again, unfrozen and now completely locked onto Grix, who towered over the battlefield. Adaine’s hands glowed with arcane energy as she shouted another incantation, and Fabian charged forward, his sword gleaming as he dodged through the debris. Riz was crouched low, firing precise shots with his gun. Fig, wielding her guitar like a flamethrower, let loose another burst of fire. The force of it blew feathers and bits of debris into the air, revealing that all of them, including Kristen, were inexplicably covered in a fine layer of grime and feathers. 

Kipperlilly blinked, her mind momentarily blank as she processed the absurdity of the scene. Where had the feathers come from? Had the Thistlesprings’ machines exploded into some kind of poultry nightmare? The thought was absurd, but so was everything else happening right now. 

Ruben’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “What’s going on?!” His eyes darted wildly as he clutched the guitar Kipperlilly had shoved at him earlier. “Wanda! Can you see Wanda? Is she okay?” 

“If she’s got any sense,” Kipperlilly muttered, “she’s as far away from here as possible.” 

Still crouched low, she dared another peek. The Bad Kids were holding their own against Grix, but the metallic principal wasn’t going down easily. Her gaze shifted, catching a glimpse of blue skin and an oversized jacket made of leaves. 

Lucy. 

She was still cowering behind the same cart where Kipperlilly had left her, her knees pulled to her chest and her face pale with fear. Kipperlilly’s heart skipped a beat, a fresh wave of urgency surging through her. 

She turned back to Ruben, gripping his arm tightly. “We need to go.” 

Ruben nodded, though his face was still pale. “Where?” 

“To Lucy,” Kipperlilly said. She didn’t wait for him to respond before pulling him up and darting out from the tent. The festival grounds were a mess of overturned stalls, scattered debris, and fleeing festival-goers, but Kipperlilly’s focus was singular: get to Lucy, then get out of this nightmare. 

The pair weaved, Kipperlilly darting around the debris as she Ruben along behind her. Every time she glanced back to check on him, her chest tightened at the panic etched across his face. He wasn’t built for this kind of chaos—none of them were. 

“Come on,” she urged, her voice sharper than she intended, but the desperation in her chest left no room for softness. 

Finally, they reached Lucy, who scrambled to her feet the moment she saw them. Her eyes were wide and glassy, tears threatening to spill as she grabbed Ruben and pulled him into a crushing hug. 

“Rue!” Lucy’s voice cracked as she clung to him. “Oh, I was so scared. I thought—” She choked on her words, her hands trembling as she buried him into her form. 

“It’s okay,” Ruben said, his voice shaky but soothing as he patted her back. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

Kipperlilly gave them a moment, her eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of immediate danger. The chaos was still concentrated around Grix and the Bad Kids, who were putting up an impressive fight but hadn’t yet managed to bring the Warforged principal down. 

“We can hug later,” Kipperlilly said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “We need to find our parents. Now.” 

Lucy sniffled and pulled back, nodding as she wiped at her face. “Right. Yeah. Okay.” 

Kipperlilly gestured for them to follow her, her mind already mapping the quickest route out of the festival grounds. The thought of her parents; her mom bustling around the vendor booths and her dad chuckling at some druid’s bad joke, tightened her throat. Were they okay? Did they even know what was happening? She shoved the worry aside. She couldn’t afford to spiral right now. 

“What about the Bad Kids?” Ruben asked, his eyes flicking toward the battle. “Will they—.” 

Kipperlilly’s chest clenched. She hadn’t let herself think about what Kristen might be doing now—or what might happen to her if Grix turned his attention her way. But Kristen had told her to get Ruben out, and she’d made a choice to trust her. She had to trust her. 

“They’ve got it under control,” Kipperlilly said, more for her own sake than Ruben’s. “They've done it before.” 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year

The week before winter break

The Frostblade house always felt like a haven to Kipperlilly, a cozy pocket of sophistication tucked into the bustling streets of downtown Elmville. The townhouse stood tall and narrow, its brick exterior softened by ivy crawling up its sides. Inside, the décor was an eclectic blend of vintage and modern, every room adorned with thoughtful touches. Brass antique fixtures stood against dark wood paneling, and the muted glow of art deco lamps highlighted geometric-patterned rugs. The dining room was no exception. 

Kipperlilly sat at the Frostblade’s expansive crystal dining table, her legs swinging slightly under her chair. The table itself looked like it had been carved from an enormous block of ice, though it was comfortably warm to the touch. She was seated beside Lucy, who was flipping idly through her notebook. 

Cassiel swept into the room with a pitcher of water in his hands. His sharp features were framed by neatly styled, pale blonde hair, and his silver eyes shimmered with what she had later learned to be celestial energy. Kipperlilly didn’t know why Cassiel always looked so polished. It was as though he walked straight out of one of his much beloved paintings, but she didn’t question it. He was just… Lucy's Dad. 

“Be a dear, Lucy,” Cassiel said, holding out the water pitcher with a knowing look. 

Lucy groaned in response, her frost-blue hand reaching out begrudgingly to brush against the glass. A faint shimmer spread across the surface, and condensation quickly formed, droplets racing down the sides as the water grew colder. 

“Thank you, darling,” Cassiel said, placing the pitcher on the table and settling back into his chair. 

Kipperlilly’s gaze shifted to the other side of the table, where Khorak sat, his broad shoulders filling the space between him and the edges of his chair. The contrast between Lucy’s dads was striking. Cassiel’s lanky frame and refined demeanor seemed worlds apart from Khorak’s towering, muscular presence. He wore a bright pink shirt with The Rat Grinders logo stretched tightly across his chest and biceps.

Kipperlilly stifled a grin. The sight of Khorak, a hulking goliath, proudly wearing their team merch was always amusing. 

Cassiel glanced up from his plate, his silver eyes twinkling. “So, girls,” he began, leaning slightly forward. “What exactly happened at the festival yesterday? One moment we’re enjoying ourselves, and the next... was it a robot man?” 

Kipperlilly sighed, poking at her food with her fork. “Our interim principal malfunctioned, I assume,” she said dryly. 

Lucy leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, but The Bad Kids were there. You know, from school? They totally kicked his butt.” She waved her hand. “Shame about Ruben’s set, though. And the festival getting cut short. And my jacket got ripped.”

At this, Kipperlilly heard a sniffle, quiet at first but unmistakable. She turned her head just in time to see Khorak wipe his nose with a napkin, his face drawn into a heavy frown. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. 

“Oh no, Dad!” Lucy exclaimed, sitting up straight and reaching for his arm. “I’m fine, really! We can fix the jacket. None of us got hurt, I swear.” 

Khorak sniffled again, his massive hand clenching the napkin tightly. Cassiel reached across the table, resting his slender fingers on top of Khorak’s much larger hand. The gentle gesture immediately softened Khorak’s frown. 

“Don’t worry, love,” Cassiel said with a teasing lilt. “He was just terribly worried until you all found us and we knew you were okay. You know how he is.” He gave Khorak’s hand a comforting pat and smiled warmly. “Such a worrywart.” 

Khorak grumbled something under his breath. His face, however, betrayed him when his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of reddish purple. Kipperlilly bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Seeing someone so intimidating look so bashful was… oddly adorable. 

As Lucy launched into an animated retelling of everything that had gone down at Frostyfaire, Kipperlilly found herself half-listening, her gaze drifting down to the smooth crystal device in her lap. Her fingers itched to check it. Kristen had texted her earlier, and though she’d ignored it at the time (thanks to Lucy’s endless bedroom redecoration plans), it was tugging at her focus now. She unlocked the screen. 

Kristen: Thanks for yesterday btw. I wouldn’t be able to rock having two broken legs.

The corner of Kipperlilly’s mouth tugged up, unbidden. She typed back quickly, her thumbs moving faster than her brain. 

Kipperlilly: You wouldn’t ‘rock’ being dead either.

The memory of yesterday’s chaos resurfaced, but this time it came with a strange warmth. Kristen had reached out to her almost immediately after the festival was safe again and all the bizarre machinery and rogue principal nonsense was dealt with. Kipperlilly had assumed that Kristen would be too busy moving on to the next thing to spare her a second thought. But no. Kristen had asked if she was okay. She’d even asked about Lucy and Ruben. Kipperlilly had melted on the spot, her tough exterior folding embarrassingly fast. 

Her phone buzzed in her hand. 

Kristen: Maybe zombie chic will suit me. What u up to?

Kipperlilly glanced up briefly. Lucy was still talking, her hands gesturing wildly as she described the machines with x-rated appendages. Cassiel was nodding along, looking appropriately intrigued, while Khorak frowned slightly, his arms crossed in quiet disapproval. 

Kipperlilly: Hanging at Lucy’s with her dads. You?

Kristen: Just at home thinking about u.

Her chest tightened. Kristen could be so... so Kristen. She rolled her eyes, hoping it might dislodge whatever was making her feel so stupidly giddy.

Kipperlilly: Sure you are.

Kristen: Will I see you at school tomorrow, or are you going to disappear again?

It was an innocent enough question, but Kipperlilly stared at the words, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Kristen hadn’t pushed her too hard this past week. Even after Kipperlilly had spent days avoiding her, dodging her messages, and generally acting like a coward, Kristen had let her be. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t going to let Kipperlilly slip away so easily. 

Kipperlilly: We’ll see.

She locked her phone and slid it face down onto her lap, turning her attention back to the table just as Lucy’s voice broke through her haze. 

“Who are you texting?” Lucy asked. Her sharp blue eyes flicked to Kipperlilly’s lap, clearly trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. 

Kipperlilly stiffened, her grip tightening around her fork. “No one,” she said quickly, but the words felt unnatural. She sighed inwardly at her own mistake. Lucy knew her too well to buy that. 

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “No one?” she echoed, her tone turning suspicious. “You sighed after locking your phone. That’s either guilt or drama.” 

“It’s not.” Kipperlilly cleared her throat, keeping her gaze fixed on her plate. “It’s just Mary Ann.” 

Lucy tilted her head, considering this. “Weird,” she said after a beat. “I thought she had that game tournament thing this weekend. Or was that next weekend?” 

Kipperlilly shrugged, hoping to keep her voice as casual as possible. “Not sure.” 

Lucy narrowed her eyes slightly, her pencil still twirling idly in her hand. “I would’ve thought she’d mention it if it was today.” 

Kipperlilly didn’t respond. Her mind raced for something to say, but Lucy had already moved on, mercifully diving back into her retelling of the festival. Kipperlilly relaxed, letting her best friend’s voice wash over her. But her pulse still thrummed unevenly, her mind cycling through what she had gotten herself into. 

Dinner was good, just as it always was in the Frostblade household and when it was over, Kipperlilly stood by the front door, watching as Lucy reached up to grab her jacket from the hooks. It had been a long-standing routine. The coat hooks were obnoxiously high. Normal for a house built with giant-kin in mind, but entirely impractical for Kipperlilly. 

“So,” Lucy started, shaking out Kipperlilly’s coat before handing it to her, “Dad thinks I should keep the blue paint for the walls, but maybe I’ll try a different shade. I don’t know… it’s been blue forever. Maybe I should just go white?” 

Kipperlilly shook her head with a knowing smirk. Lucy always had to have some kind of creative project to keep herself busy. She couldn’t leave things alone for too long, or she’d start getting restless. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Neither of them could stand feeling like they weren’t doing something.

“But you love blue,” Kipperlilly pointed out, slipping her arms into her jacket. 

Lucy rolled her eyes and gestured at herself dramatically. “Of course I do. It’s the best color. Your favorite too.” 

Kipperlilly huffed a laugh. “One of them.” 

Lucy grinned and poked her shoulder. “Because of me, obvi!"

Kipperlilly didn’t argue. She had never really put much thought into why blue had always been one of her favorite colors, but it was true that Lucy had always been a constant in her life, just like that familiar shade. Maybe it was just one of those things. Things that became part of you without you ever really deciding it. 

She zipped up her coat, hesitating for just a second before saying, “I think yellow is growing on me recently.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. What a stupid thing to say. But... was it? Maybe it was true.

Lucy tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face before she shrugged. “Huh… I’ll remember that for your birthday.” 

Before Kipperlilly could respond, Lucy wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug, pulling her close. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said warmly. 

Kipperlilly hesitated for just a moment before hugging her back. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Can’t wait to hear all the hype over Frostyfaire.” 

Lucy groaned dramatically. “Oh yeah… that’s gonna be so fun. The Bad Kids save the day again!” She threw her arms up in an exaggerated motion, as if she was narrating a grand epic.

Kipperlilly chuckled, shaking her head. “Well… they kinda did.” 

Lucy immediately dropped her hands and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with my bestie?” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and shoved lightly at Lucy’s arm before turning to open the door.

The next morning, Aguefort’s hallways were buzzing.

Kipperlilly knew it was coming, but she still found herself rolling her eyes as she stepped through the doors and into the current of students caught up in an unrelenting flood of chatter. Grix vs. The Bad Kids. It was all anyone seemed to be talking about.

She had to admit, even she was still replaying the fight in her head. She had stood there, watching, as the Bad Kids jumped into the fray without a second thought. There hadn’t been a moment of hesitation. No strategy meeting. No waiting to see if someone else would step in. They had thrown themselves straight into the fire, fighting not just for themselves but for everyone. Every single festival-goer who had been in danger.

And then there was Kristen. 

Kipperlilly felt a familiar twist in her stomach as she approached her locker. Kristen had been just as impulsive as the rest of them, but unlike the others, she didn’t have magic. No spells. No divine intervention or enchanted weapons. She had nothing backing her up except her ridiculous, overwhelming determination. 

It had been so incredibly stupid. And yet Kristen had fought anyway. Without magic. Without any of the things that should have made her capable of standing toe-to-toe with something as terrifying as what happened that day. And Kipperlilly had to admit... Kristen deserved the admiration she was getting.

That thought alone made Kipperlilly groan, dragging a hand down her face as she opened her locker. If last-year Kipperlilly could see her now, she would have left herself to rot in the Mountains of Chaos out of sheer disgrace. Because the truth was, Kristen had earned this moment.

"What’s wrong with you?" 

Kipperlilly jumped and spun around so fast she nearly dropped her bag. There, standing unnervingly still behind her, was Mary Ann. 

Kipperlilly let out an exasperated breath, pressing a hand to her chest as she glared at the small red kobold. 

"You have got to stop doing that!" she hissed, still trying to slow her pulse.

Mary Ann blinked up at her with those sharp, unreadable yellow eyes. "Doing what?" 

Kipperlilly scowled, rubbing her temples. "Sneaking up on me like that." 

"I don’t sneak," Mary Ann said plainly. "I just walk. You’re just distracted." 

Kipperlilly opened her mouth to argue, but... damn it. She wasn’t wrong. She had been distracted lately. More than usual. More than she should be. She sighed, rolling her shoulders back, trying to shake off the weird tension knotting in her spine. Mary Ann was still staring at her, her expression not giving anything away, but Kipperlilly felt the scrutiny. It was unsettling how thoroughly Mary Ann could pick her apart with just a look.

"...What is it?" Kipperlilly finally asked, shoving her locker open. 

Mary Ann tilted her head. "You’re different." 

Kipperlilly’s hands froze mid-motion. Her grip tightened on the book she’d been pulling from her locker. She took a breath, forced herself to shake it off, and smoothed out her skirt, slipping back into her usual, slightly scowling, unimpressed expression. 

Different? What did that even mean? Was she different? She had to admit, her mind had been feeling a little hazier lately. She’d been losing focus during training, catching herself softening around the edges in ways she wasn’t sure she liked. But surely it wasn’t that obvious. She’d been making progress. She’d been working on herself.

Had she really changed so much that Mary Ann, who barely reacted to anything, was calling her out on it?

Kipperlilly swallowed, clearing her throat as she turned back to her locker, shuffling around her things just to keep her hands busy. "I don’t know what you mean." 

She heard a rustle of movement, but didn’t pay it any mind until Mary Ann suddenly leaned in and sniffed her. Kipperlilly jerked back so hard she nearly banged her head against her locker. 

"—What the hell was that?!" 

Mary Ann just blinked at her, her tail twitching behind her. "You smell different." 

Kipperlilly stared. "What?" 

Mary Ann shrugged. "Dunno." 

Kipperlilly gawked. "What do you mean I smell different?! What does that even... what can you smell?!" 

A new kind of panic set in. Not the same panic that had her reaching for a dagger in a fight, but a weird panic that sent her brain into an immediate spiral. Could she smell emotions? Could she smell— 

Without thinking, Kipperlilly grabbed the collar of her sweater vest and sniffed it herself. Fresh laundry soap. Same as always. Nothing weird. Nothing different. 

She looked back at Mary Ann, still dumbfounded. "You’re seriously... unbelievable." 

Mary Ann just blinked at her again. Kipperlilly swore she saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in those yellow eyes, but it was gone before she could confirm it. 

Without another word, Mary Ann adjusted the straps of her backpack. "I have Bloodrush practice." 

And just like that, she turned on her heel and walked away, bare scaled feet slapping against the tile floor, leaving Kipperlilly standing there, absolutely baffled. 

She stared after her for a long moment, wondering (not for the first time) if Mary Ann was some kind of menace sent to drive her personally insane. Then, with an irritated sigh, she turned back to her locker, grabbing the rest of her things. 

She needed to get to the library. If she was going to be distracted, she might as well put her mind to something useful, and those new training schedules weren't going to write themselves. Not that she would be satisfied with them if they could. 

Kipperlilly pushed open the heavy doors of the library, relishing the hush that greeted her. Unlike the hallways outside, the library was calm, steady and predictable. Kipperlilly liked predictability. Making her way toward the back corner, she weaved between tall bookshelves to head towards the back. Fewer students ventured this far, which made it ideal. The ones who did tended to be serious about their studies, rather than the type that liked to sit around crunching on noisy snacks or whispering loudly about whatever scandalous nonsense was floating through the school.

But as she rounded the last bookshelf, she stopped short. There, sitting at one of her favorite tables, was Kristen with a pen clenched between her teeth, staring off into space like she was contemplating the vast mysteries of the universe. Kristen Applebees. In the library. What a bizarre paradox she had walked into. 

For a moment, Kipperlilly just watched her, a fluttering sensation settling somewhere deep in her belly. Kristen, completely unaware of her presence, was tapping a shoe absently against the floor, her brows scrunched in thought, looking... well... Kristen-like. Her posture was an absolute mess. Her legs were sprawled out, hair rumpled, and there was a dark grass stain on her pants that made Kipperlilly’s nose scrunch. Had she fallen down a hill on the way here? 

Trying to fix her expression into something neutral (and absolutely not fond), Kipperlilly folded her arms and spoke. 

“Careful,” she said, smirking, “or you’ll get ink poisoning.” 

Kristen jolted so hard she nearly swallowed her pen, eyes going wide as she whirled around. 

“Holy fuck!” she gasped, clutching at her chest. “Did you have to do that?!” 

Kipperlilly clasped her hands in front of her, feigning innocence. “I actually wasn’t even trying that time.” 

Kristen let out a breath, shaking her head as she pulled the pen from her mouth. “Just naturally creepy then. Got it.” 

Kipperlilly’s smirk widened a little as she slid into the chair across from her, carefully brushing her pleated skirt beneath her as she crossed her legs. She could feel Kristen watching her, and she did her best to appear unbothered, even though she didn’t know why she was trying so hard. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t get caught sneaking up on me,” Kristen said. “One more scare like that, and I might’ve actually thrown a chair at you.” 

Kipperlilly leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind next time. But I figured you’d be out watching Bloodrush practice with the rest of your party. Seems more your style than hiding away in here.” 

Kristen smirked, tapping her pen against the edge of the table. “Were you looking for me?” 

Kipperlilly refused to acknowledge the way her stomach did something ridiculous at the teasing lilt in her voice.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. 

Kristen chuckled, flipping a page in the book in front of her. “I’ve got to finish this essay before winter break,” she admitted, her smirk dimming slightly. “Honestly? I’ve been putting it off, and now I feel like I’ve completely fucked it up.” 

Kipperlilly’s gaze flicked down to the book on the table. She tilted her head. It was actually a pretty complicated text, and she felt a little guilty that she was surprised to see Kristen reading it at all. 

“What’s it on?” she asked. 

Kristen tapped her pen against the page. “Pantheons. How they relate to modern-day religion. You know, gods and faith and how people use stories to explain the unexplainable.” 

Kipperlilly blinked. She hadn’t expected something fascinating.

“...Interesting.” 

Kipperlilly reached across the table before she could think better of it, snatching the paper Kristen had been scribbling on. Her eyes scanned over the writing. And then she winced. 

“Has anyone ever told you,” Kipperlilly said flatly, “that you have absolutely awful penmanship?” 

Kristen snorted and leaned back in her chair. “Maybe once or twice.” 

Kipperlilly just shook her head as she handed the paper back. Her mind was still turning over the subject of the essay. She knew quite a bit about cleric studies thanks to Lucy. Lucy never had to write essays. Cleric coursework was mostly introspective deity work and hands-on spell practice. So why was Kristen writing a paper?

“I didn’t think cleric students had to write essays,” Kipperlilly said, watching her carefully. “I always figured you’d get off easy, unlike wizards.” 

Kristen shrugged, flipping the paper over. “They don’t, usually. But I can’t exactly do anything else.” She twirled the pen between her fingers. “Professor Badgood’s doing me a favor so I don’t fail out entirely.” 

Kipperlilly’s fingers twitched slightly against the table. Right. Kristen didn’t have a god anymore. 

It was so easy to forget, sometimes. Because Kristen still carried herself like she had the entire world at her back, like she could take on anything. But she had lost something. Something important. And this essay, this alternative coursework, was just another reminder that she was trying to figure out how to move forward without it.

Kipperlilly opened her mouth, then hesitated. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. It felt strange, sitting here across from Kristen Applebees... casually, like they weren’t technically supposed to be mortal political enemies. Like they hadn’t made out in a tree. Like Kipperlilly wasn’t currently struggling so much to not lean across the table and kiss Kristen on her stupid, stupid mouth again.

Instead, she blurted out, “I did… take a peek at your transcripts.” 

Kristen froze mid-word, lifting her head slowly. Kipperlilly immediately regretted speaking. She had no idea why she had just admitted to literally breaking into the school files. That was a wild thing to admit. She could’ve played it cool. She could’ve pretended like she had just heard about Kristen’s grades, rather than looked them up herself like a creep. But, well. She supposed everything was just on the table now.

Kipperlilly shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “They’re not very colorful.” 

Kristen let out a sharp, exhausted sigh and rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Yeah, well,” she muttered, “we’ve kinda been on a non-stop world-saving mission since we started here. Plus, I didn’t even get around to filing paperwork for my deity until this year. But we all got a kick up the ass.” 

Kipperlilly’s thoughts whirled. That actually made a lot of sense. While the rest of the students had been focused on their studies; taking exams, completing coursework, getting through the year, The Bad Kids had been off, well… saving the world. 

She had spent years being irritated at how often people talked about them, how they were always at the center of everything. But until now, she hadn’t really thought about what that meant for them as students. This was a school, after all. Grades did matter. And Kipperlilly had always been someone who deeply believed in academic achievement. She had instilled that belief in her friends, in her own routine, in everything. 

She leaned back slightly, tilting her head. 

“So that’s why Riz joined all those clubs,” she said, thinking aloud. “And why the rest of you have actually been showing up to class lately?”

Kristen propped her chin on her hand, nodding. “Pretty much,” she admitted. “We figured there’d be another world-ending crisis that’d eat up most of our grade again this year. But so far? Nothing. And now we’ve gotta play catch-up, packing as much as we can into the school day so we don’t get kicked out.”

Kipperlilly huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “So… that’s why you entered the presidential race.”

Kristen laughed, but it wasn’t her usual, bright sort of laugh. It was sharp, bitter. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Exactly. It’s not like I can do anything else. Not without Cassandra.” 

Silence settled between them and Kipperlilly didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t good at offering comfort or finding the right words when things got too real. She had spent so long keeping her own emotions tightly locked up that seeing someone else’s pain felt like watching a crack form in a mountain.

So she didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she watched Kristen return to her essay. 

The silence between them felt oddly easy. Another unexpected surprise. Kristen wasn’t exactly known for being quiet. If anything, she seemed incapable of shutting up most of the time. But right now, neither of them needed to say anything.

Kipperlilly let her mind wander, turning over thoughts she hadn’t let herself examine before. She had originally entered the presidential race because she wanted to make the school better. Better for people like her. For people who weren’t born with a legacy, or didn’t have the kind of immediate infamy that The Bad Kids had been gifted by their reckless, chaotic, world-saving adventures.

And she had been making the school better. She had been putting in the work to ensure that students who weren’t already well-known had resources to help them succeed. But... did she really need the title of president to keep doing that?

Kipperlilly already had perfect grades. She was already building her skills, training hard. Maybe she wasn’t a seasoned adventurer yet. Maybe she hadn’t been put to the test in high-pressure situations. But she was damn good at what she did. She was smart. She was capable. And she was still a teenager. She had time to get where she wanted to be. But Kristen?

Kristen had already had her big moment. She had already saved the world three times. But none of that mattered now, because she had lost everything that had given her purpose. She was a godless cleric. And from what Kipperlilly knew, from everything she had heard from Lucy about faith and devotion, that was like losing a part of your soul. 

Kristen needed something. Kipperlilly’s chest ached as she watched her work, brow furrowed, jaw set. She couldn’t bring back Kristen’s god. But she could do something. She could—

“I don’t need the president title.” 

Kipperlilly watched as Kristen blinked, her pen hovering just above the paper, frozen mid-thought. 

“Huh?” Kristen finally managed, the inflection coming out as a slow drawl, like her brain hadn’t fully caught up to what had just been said. 

Kipperlilly leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table. She hadn’t exactly planned to say that out loud. But now that it was out there, she might as well commit to it.

“If you do a good job and promise me you won’t turn the school into a circus,” she said, trying to think the words through before vocalizing them, “I’ll back off. The presidency is important, and Mazey is a good example of that. Now that she’s been put in a real position of power with Aguefort gone and you guys destroying Grix, it matters. This school matters to a lot of people. So, if you can promise me you won’t let it go to shit…”

She trailed off, but Kristen sat up straighter, eyes locked on her with an intensity that made Kipperlilly’s stomach do something stupid. Kristen was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world that existed in that moment. She tried very hard to ignore how that made her feel. 

“Then what?” Kristen asked. 

Kipperlilly exhaled, adjusting the pleats in her skirt. “Then I’ll back off and stop with the stunts.” 

Kristen blinked. “You’ll… throw the election for me?”

Kipperlilly shrugged, averting her gaze. “Not throw it. I’ll just… let whatever happens, happen. I won’t try so hard. I’ve got other clubs to focus on, and a yearbook to put together. There’s more to this school for me than just being president.” 

She finally looked up, and... oh. Kristen’s face was soft. Like she had been carrying something unbearably heavy and, just now, Kipperlilly had lifted it off of her shoulders. Like those words, those simple, logical words, had made something inside of her ease, loosen, breathe. The sight of it made Kipperlilly’s chest ache. 

Kristen swallowed, her throat visibly tight. “Kip…” 

She felt heat rush to her face. People close to her had been calling her that her entire life, but hearing Kristen say it, hearing the casual affection in it, the way it slipped past her lips so easily. It was unfair.

Kipperlilly forced herself to smirk. “Kip?” 

Kristen just hummed in response, but Kipperlilly, ever an observer, saw the faint pink dusting her pale cheeks. Oh, that was… interesting. How sweet. How completely and utterly disarming. 

Cleared her throat, Kristen looked down at her paper. “Thank you.” 

Kipperlilly waved a hand like she was trying to swat the words away. She was not about to let this moment get too tender. Kristen thanking her was making her stomach flip, and she hated how much she wanted to hear it again. And again. 

She didn’t regret making this decision, but she definitely didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not the why behind it. If she ever admitted that to herself, she would never live it down. Whatever was going on between them; whatever this was, needed to stay a secret. Kipperlilly had only just started to see this side of herself, and she wasn't ready to share that with the world. She didn't even know if she ever would be. 

“Don’t mention it,” she said, composing her face. “Maybe best if you don’t tell your friends either.” 

Kristen let out a small chuckle, shaking her head, but didn’t argue. She turned back to her essay, tapping her pen against the paper, and Kipperlilly watched her, waiting for some kind of protest. None came. Kristen agreed... just like that. It was oddly nice. She had expected Kristen to fight her on this, to argue, to push back in that ridiculous, determined way she was practically infamous for. But she didn’t. She was remarkably good at doing as she was told, when she wanted to be. 

Kipperlilly could live with that. 

She pulled a book from her bag and settled in, flipping to the first page. She was going to try very hard not to think about how weird this whole situation was. How strange it was to be sitting here with Kristen Applebees, quietly existing in the same space without any of their usual back-and-forth. How much she liked being close to her. 

This was fine. Everything was completely fine. 

At least, it would be if Kristen was in any way capable to just focus on her schoolwork instead of her. She didn’t even have to look directly at her to notice it. Kipperlilly could feel Kristen’s gaze puncturing through her personal space.

Kipperlilly did her best to keep her face neutral, to not react, to not let Kristen know exactly how much she was getting under her skin. But god, it was difficult when Kristen was staring at her like that, head tilted slightly, her stupid smirk just lopsided enough to be effortlessly, unfairly charming. 

Then, just to make things worse, Kristen spoke. 

“So…” she started, “I probably shouldn’t tell anyone about us either?”

Kipperlilly’s body jolted like someone had set a tripwire in her chest. She knew she shouldn’t let it show, had to play it cool, but the way Kristen had said that so boldly, as if they were a fact, as if this was already something, threw her completely off guard. 

She looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow. “There’s an ‘us’ now?” 

Kristen paused, tapping her pen against the edge of the table before doodling absentmindedly on the corner of her paper. Kipperlilly knew what that meant. Kristen was trying to play it cool. 

She was bad at it. 

Kristen hummed, the picture of false nonchalance. “Well… you did kiss me.” She lifted her head slightly, meeting Kipperlilly’s eyes, grin widening. “Twice.”

Kipperlilly barely held back her flinch. Why did Kristen have to just say things like that? So plain, so direct? Why did she have to smile like that, so easy and bright, like she wasn’t aware of what that did to people? Kipperlilly tried to smirk.

“And you kissed me back,” she countered smoothly.

Kristen grinned, leaning back in her chair. 

“Sure did,” she said teasingly. “And I’d do it again, too.” 

That did it. Kipperlilly felt her face heat instantly. Damn it.

Why did Kristen have to be like that? To act like this was just some fun little game, like it wasn’t real, like she wasn’t cutting right through Kipperlilly’s carefully constructed walls? 

Kipperlilly took a deep breath and carefully marked her place in her book and set it down on the table. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked Kristen directly in the eye. 

“Do you always act like a horny frat boy?” she asked.

She had meant it to sound pointed, but her voice came out a little too soft around the edges. 

Kristen laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “Pretty much.” 

Kipperlilly gave her look that should have been enough to shut anyone down, but, of course, it only made Kristen smirk harder.

But then, just for a second, Kipperlilly felt her expression soften. For some reason, she couldn’t get mad at Kristen. That fire in her belly, that usual spark of irritation that came so easily to her, was just… gone. Stepped aside. Made room for something soft, stupid and fluttering.

She crossed her legs under the table, gaze flicking briefly to Kristen’s paper before she forced herself to look back up. 

“We shouldn’t say anything,” Kipperlilly said resolutely. “The Rat Grinders get all fired up thinking you’re our competition. Especially now, after The Maidens graduated. And then there’s the campaign.” 

Kristen’s grin faltered slightly, but her eyes twinkled. 

“You don’t want everyone to think you’re backing off because you like me?” she teased.

Kipperlilly’s lips twitched slightly, threatening a smile. It was infuriating. It was also… true, in a way. But it wasn’t the entire point. 

“You know that’s not why,” she said. 

Kristen tilted her head, considering her, and for just a moment, Kipperlilly saw the shift. The way her eyes softened, the way she stopped teasing, just for a breath of a second. That, more than anything, made Kipperlilly want to kiss her again. 

And she absolutely could not do that. Not right now. 

“But you do like me?” Kristen pressed.

Kipperlilly blinked. What an unnecessary question. Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t that the whole problem? Kipperlilly didn’t dignify it with an answer. Instead, she nodded toward the papers still scattered across Kristen’s side of the table. 

“Write your essay, goof.” 

Kristen snorted, shaking her head, but didn’t push any further. She just turned back to her paper, grinning slightly to herself as she started scribbling again. Kipperlilly let out a slow breath, trying to re-center, trying to breathe, trying not to acknowledge how fast her heart was beating. 

It wasn’t a big moment. No grand confessions. No dramatic declarations. Just… something quiet. Something that felt peaceful, in a way Kipperlilly wasn't used to in the slightest. 

She focused back on her book and tried to focus on it. Tried being the operative word.

It wasn’t the words themselves that were the problem; she liked this book, had been meaning to finish it for weeks. The issue was that she could feel Kristen’s presence. Not just see her in her peripheral vision, not just hear the soft scratch of her terrible handwriting against paper, but feel her. 

Kristen was warm. She radiated it. And even across the table, Kipperlilly felt it curling around her, pulling her into orbit. She took a steadying breath, flipping a page, pretending to absorb the words. 

It lasted exactly three minutes. 

“How do you spell ‘impiety’?” 

Kipperlilly didn’t even find it in her to sigh. She had been waiting for Kristen to open her mouth again, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for long. Still, she didn’t look up. 

“I-m-p-i-e-t-y.” 

Kristen hummed. “Okay, cool.” 

This time, the silent only lasted the briefest moment. 

“And what does it really mean?” Kristen’s asked again, obviously started to get frustrated. “This book doesn’t make any sense, but I think that’s what Badgood was talking about.” 

Kipperlilly let out a small sigh, closing her book. She stood, gliding around the table to sit down beside Kristen. She leaned in to read over her shoulder, her eyes skimming over the page. 

Kipperlilly did not think about how their arms brushed. She did not think about how solid Kristen felt next to her, how relaxed she was despite the clear frustration in her voice. She did not think about how soft she looked when she turned to glance at her. 

“Impiety is a perceived lack of proper respect for something considered sacred,” she explained. 

Kristen turned her head to look at her fully, and Kipperlilly kept her eyes on the paper. If she looked up, she would break. 

“Like sacrilege?” Kristen asked. 

Kipperlilly nodded. “It could be, yes. It depends on the context.” 

Kristen hummed in thought, tapping the pen against the table. And then, so casually it nearly sent Kipperlilly into a spiral, Kristen draped her arm around the back of Kipperlilly’s chair. 

It was effortless. Thoughtless. Like it meant nothing, and Kipperlilly forgot how to breathe. She didn’t move, barely dared to blink, waiting to see if Kristen would pull away. But she didn’t. She stayed right there, warm and close, her arm not quite touching Kipperlilly’s shoulders, but close enough that Kipperlilly felt it. 

Kristen grinned at her. “You’re really smart, you know that?” 

The compliment caught Kipperlilly off guard. And worse... she felt herself smile before she could stop it. 

“I’m aware,” she said, smoothing her skirt. 

And then, impossibly, she leaned into Kristen. 

Not much. Just enough that she slotted herself neatly into Kristen’s space, just enough that Kristen didn’t have to move her arm away. Why did Kristen have to seem so inviting? Why did Kipperlilly feel so drawn to her? Not that long ago, she hated even being in the same room as her. 

Kristen glanced down at her, the corner of her mouth twitching, like she was amused by how easily Kipperlilly had settled in. Kipperlilly fought the urge to glare at her. Instead, she reached forward and nudged Kristen’s paper toward her. 

“But you’re almost done with this draft,” Kipperlilly said, as if she hadn’t just melted into Kristen’s side like a complete idiot. “Finish it.” 

Kristen blinked, glancing at the mess of words scrawled across the page. “Draft? I was just gonna hand it in.” 

Kipperlilly sighed. Of course she was. 

She slid the paper closer, pointing to a rough doodle in the margins. It was an absolutely awful sketch of Gorgug in the middle of lassoing the Night Yorb, wearing a shirt that proudly declared 'Shrimp Party'. What was it with The Bad Kids and seafood? 

“If you want to keep kissing me,” Kipperlilly said, as flatly as she could manage, “you’re not handing in an essay with this.”

Kristen groaned dramatically, tossing her head back against the chair. “Fine. You win.”

That was… too easy. Kristen was unbelievable. 

Kipperlilly cleared her throat, snatching up her book and flipping it open to a random page. Kristen chuckled softly beside her, and even though Kipperlilly was very deliberately not looking at her, she could feel the way Kristen kept sneaking glances her way. Each time Kipperlilly felt it, she cleared her throat a little louder. Each time she did, Kristen would roll her eyes and turn back to her writing, biting back a grin. 

They sat there for a while; close, quiet, warm. It was nice. It was really nice. 

Kristen finally scribbled the last period with a dramatic flourish. She shoved the paper away and leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh of relief, letting her arms hang over the sides of the chair like she had just completed an epic battle. 

Kipperlilly set her book down and arched a brow. "Was that so bad?" 

The cleric groaned, holding up her hands as if they'd been through the wringer. "That was awful. My hand’s going to fall off, and I can’t even Cure Wounds myself."

Kipperlilly giggled before she could stop herself. Talk about dramatic. It wasn't a common thing for her to laugh so freely, but Kristen apparently had a way of pulling those reactions out of her. They were opposites in every way. Kipperlilly was meticulous, controlled and razor-sharp when she wanted to get something done. Kristen was... a mess. A loud, disastrous, reckless mess. And yet, Kipperlilly found herself utterly captivated. 

The warmth in her belly stirred again. The kind she had felt under the bleachers, in that tree, whenever Kristen looked at her like she was something worth reaching for. But they weren’t hidden away now. They were in the library, an actual public space. Kipperlilly glanced around, scanning for any prying eyes. No one seemed to be within eyeshot at all. 

Satisfied, she leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Kristen’s cheek. She lingered just a second longer than she should have, but as she started to pull back, Kristen’s hand came up to cup her cheek, keeping her close. 

Kristen stared into her eyes, and Kipperlilly knew what was coming. Kristen wanted to kiss her. 

There was no hesitation this time, no awkward fumbling, no second-guessing. When Kristen kissed her, Kipperlilly leaned into it, letting herself feel it. The first time had been reckless. The second had been desperate. This? This was intentional. Something both of them had seen coming before it even happened, and it made it all the better. 

It wasn’t deep, wasn’t frantic. It was warm and soft and real. Kipperlilly's heart pounded against her ribs, a steady drum of yes, yes, yes. 

When they pulled apart, she braced herself for reality to come crashing in. For someone to burst through the moment or to interrupt and send her scrambling. But no one did. No one was watching. No one was even aware. It was just them, in this little slice of peace they had carved out for themselves. 

Kristen looked at her like she was precious and it made Kipperlilly’s throat feel tight.

Kristen started to lean in again, like she wanted to steal another kiss, but Kipperlilly pressed a hand to her shoulder, stopping her before she could. 

"Not here," she whispered. 

Kristen blinked, then pulled back, her lips twitching into a half-smile. "Okay, okay… but thanks. For sitting here with me. For, you know, everything." 

Kipperlilly fought to keep her smile in check as she packed her book back into her bag. "You’re not bad company. As long as you stop talking." 

Kristen chuckled. "Don’t hold your breath for that." 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and reached for Kristen’s book, ready to help shove the mess of notes and loose paper into her bag. But as soon as she opened it, she was met with a horrific sight. Pens, crumpled-up receipts, random spell components... and a very ratty stuffed teddy bear.

Kipperlilly faltered. That was not what she had expected. 

She plucked it out of the bag by one of its threadbare legs and held it up, staring at it. "What the hell is this?" 

Kristen grinned, folding her arms behind her head. "Don’t hate on it. It’s a magic item." 

Kipperlilly narrowed her eyes. "Sure it is." 

Kristen snatched the bear from her hands, holding it up in front of her face and making its tiny arms move like it was waving. "It holds concentration on spells. And it’s cute."

Kipperlilly felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Of course Kristen Applebees had a raggedy old bear as a magical focus. Of course she did.

She shoved it back into Kristen’s bag and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. Kristen followed suit and threw her bag over her shoulder and have Kipperlilly a sly look. 

"So… wanna go find somewhere to make out?" 

Kipperlilly’s mind blanked. Whoa, what now? But before she could respond, the bell rang. 

“I’m going to the Far Haven Woods to train,” she said, gathering her things. If anything, she was fairly proud that she sounded extremely nonchalant. Kristen didn’t need to know how appealing the offer was. 

Kristen just shrugged, shifting her bag from one shoulder to another. “Your loss.” 

Kipperlilly’s mind started to whir. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to spend more time with Kristen. Of course she did, though she wouldn’t be so crude about it. She was attracted to her, hellishly and annoyingly so. But this was all so new to her, and she didn’t exactly know how to navigate it. She was glad she already made plans to train, or she would have absolutely followed Kristen somewhere and made some decisions when she wasn’t in the right mind to be able to think them through. But she did want to be with her. To try and figure out what all of these feelings were. 

“Winter break starts next week,” Kipperlilly finally said. “We have plenty of time for that.” 

She certainly sounded more casual saying that than she felt. 

Yet Kristen hesitated. “Yeah, about that. We’re actually going to Kei Lumennura for the Moonar Yulenea festival. We’re teleporting out on Saturday morning.” 

Kipperlilly was a little surprised by how much that disappointed her. They had just started… whatever this was. And now Kristen was leaving when they might have actually had some time away from prying eyes and this stupid presidential campaign. Where they didn’t have to be rivals anymore and could figure some things out. Honestly, it meant this might be the last time they saw each other until the new year. And it kind of stung. 

“I’m sure that’ll be fun,” Kipperlilly said, masking her disappointment. 

“Fabian’s family invited us, so we’re all going. Even Zayn.” 

The rest of The Bad Kids, and the families, Kipperlilly assumed. Jawbone included. She tried not to think about how that made her anxious, because Jawbone was her counselor and the last school break they had, she had completely fallen apart. Instead, she focused on the strangest part. Zayn. 

“Isn’t he dead?” 

Kristen smirked. “Yeah… we’ve gotta take his whole grave with us, so that’s complicated. Plus, we’ve got some leads in Fallinel about the mystery we’re looking into.” 

Fallinel. Why did that scratch something in Kipperlilly’s brain? She searched it, until her eyes flickered down to Kristen’s lips. And then she remembered how she had seen Kristen kissing someone in the parking lot back in sophomore year, and how seeing it had piqued her interest. Of course… Tracker was in Fallinel. And of course, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to imagine that Jawbone and the rest of the ragtag found family would want to visit her. Kristen included. Kipperlilly couldn’t help but ask. She had to satiate the small ball of jealousy starting to form before it grew into something unmanageable. 

“Isn’t Tracker there?” 

Kristen must have been more emotionally innate than Kipperlilly was, because she let out a sigh and stepped closer to her. It wasn’t much, but it gave Kipperlilly comfort that she didn’t know how to express. 

“And her new elven princess girlfriend,” Kristen confirmed. “So, nothing to worry about.” 

Was Kipperlilly that obvious? Her eyes snapped up to Kristen’s and narrowed. She wouldn’t let Kristen see through her that easily. 

“I’m not worried.” 

Kristen grinned wider. “Good.” 

Kipperlilly wasn’t sure what to say after that. This was it, she supposed. The end of their little study session, and whatever this nice moment had been. People would be coming into the library soon. Before she could talk herself out of it, Kipperlilly rolled up onto the tips of her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to Kristen’s lips. It was a little harder this way, given their height difference, but she had managed bigger hardships. 

Without another word, Kipperlilly walked away as soon as she pulled back, leaving the library. After all, they couldn’t exactly be seen leaving together. 

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she kept her head down, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. No one was paying attention to her, and she was grateful for it. If anyone had seen her and Kristen in the library— 

She shut the thought down before it could go too far. This was fine. It was fine. Kipperlilly slipped into the crowd, merging back into the routine of her day as if nothing had happened at all.

Kipperlilly shifted her bag higher on her shoulder as she pulled her crystal out of her pocket, her thumb flicking over the screen. She had a message from Lucy. 

Lucy: I’m running late, but I’ll meet you in the parking lot when I’m done?

Kipperlilly moved out from the mob of walking students to lean against the wall as she tapped out a quick reply. 

Kipperlilly: Sure.

She glanced up toward the library doors, then immediately scowled at herself. Absurd. She had just spent time with Kristen, had actually had a meaningful conversation with her, had kissed her. Twice. And yet, her mind was already jumping to the idea of finding her again. What the hell was wrong with her? 

Jawbone was always telling her she needed to let herself just be a teenager. And maybe that’s what this was. A stupid, ridiculous infatuation. But it felt euphoric, and now that she had a taste of touching Kristen, of kissing her, the idea of going through winter break without seeing her made something heavy settle in her chest. Was this normal? Was this what people meant when they talked about missing someone in this way? 

It wasn’t like they had no time left before the break. But with end-of-semester prep, exams, and extra training, she’d barely have a second to herself. The Rat Grinders would be glued together more tightly than ever, and she doubted the Bad Kids would be any different. Sneaking in even a few moments together? Almost impossible. 

Unless... 

Kipperlilly swung her bag around and fished out her notebook, flipping to a fresh page. She ripped it out neatly, tucking the notebook back before pulling out a pen. Glancing down the hallway to ensure no one was paying attention, she pushed off the wall and started walking, her mind sorting through the mental maps she kept stored away. Kristen’s locker wasn’t hard to find. She’d made it a point to avoid it all last week, which had only sharpened her awareness of exactly where it was.

She smirked to herself as she approached, taking the pen between her teeth as she stretched up slightly, fingers expertly working the combination lock. This was child’s play. She’d cracked tougher locks in her first year at Aguefort. Still, the faster she got in and out, the better. If someone caught her, she could play it off as a campaign stunt. Not that she really cared about the campaign anymore. 

The lock clicked open, and she pulled the door ajar and immediately regretted it. What the fuck.

Kristen’s locker was a disaster zone. Crumpled papers, half-eaten snacks (was that a banana peel?), loose spell components, old ticket stubs, random trinkets, and actual, literal trash. Kipperlilly took a slow, steadying breath through her nose. She was no crazy neat freak, but this was next level. How had Kristen survived this long living in such disarray? 

Pushing aside her disgust (which, bafflingly, didn’t make her like Kristen any less), she used the edge of a textbook which, based on the state of it, had barely been touched, to press her note against, scrawling in her small, precise handwriting: 

I’ll come over Friday night.
K
(p.s. clean your locker)

Smirking to herself, she folded the note and slid it between some of the less disgusting papers, making sure it wasn’t too obvious but also not completely lost in the hell-scape. There was a real possibility Kristen would never find it, but Kipperlilly liked to think she’d at least try. 

Satisfied, she shut the locker with a quiet click, spun the lock, and adjusted her bag as she strode away.

The hallways had begun to fill up again, the post-class rush starting to bleed into the last few minutes before the next bell. Kipperlilly slipped into the flow of students, keeping her head down, her face carefully neutral. They couldn’t exactly be seen leaving together. That thought made her frown. The secrecy wasn’t because she was ashamed—far from it. But this was still so new, so precarious. She didn’t need The Rat Grinders up in arms over her suddenly playing nice with Kristen Applebees. And the Bad Kids? They had a terrible habit of meddling. The last thing she needed was Fig rolling up to their next debate with a knowing smirk, making some loud, embarrassing joke about how the best way to defeat your enemies is to date them. 

Still. Still.

She found herself glancing over her shoulder. Wondering if Kristen had left the library yet. Wondering if she’d check her locker before the end of the day. Kipperlilly groaned and picked up her pace, dodging a group of freshmen as she made her way toward the parking lot. 

This was going to be a long week.

Kipperlilly stepped through the double doors and was met with the late autumn breeze threading through the strands of her ponytail. The Aguefort grounds were still buzzing with a few stray students trying to make it to their classes on time. She tugged her sweater vest down and readjusted her bad strap as she scanned the area for Lucy. 

Sure enough, Lucy was perched on a stair railing, swinging one long leg idly as she gazed at the sky. The moment Kipperlilly came into view, Lucy’s head snapped toward her, and her entire face lit up with unmistakable joy. 

“Kippy!” 

Before Kipperlilly could so much as brace herself, Lucy slid off the railing and engulfed her in a hug. It was easy to forget sometimes just how much bigger Lucy was than her, but right now, with her feet slightly leaving the ground, it was very, very obvious. Even so, Kipperlilly exhaled and let herself sink into the embrace. 

As Lucy finally pulled back, she tilted her head slightly. “You’re even later than I am,” she mused, crossing her arms. “What were you up to?” 

Kipperlilly hadn't prepared for the interrogation, but it wasn't like she had been doing anything particularly scandalous. “Just finishing up in the library.” 

Lucy narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was scanning for any inconsistencies, but before having time to press, Mary Ann padded up to them. Her hoodie drawn up around her scaled face and her feet slapped against the ground. 

“How was practice?” Lucy asked, turning her attention to her. 

Mary Ann shrugged, adjusting the straps of her backpack. “I hit Gorgug real good in the face.” 

Lucy made a valiant attempt at holding back her laughter, pressing her lips together, while Kipperlilly blinked at Mary Ann in disbelief. “Uh… I’m pretty sure that’s not part of the game.” 

Mary Ann simply lifted a clawed finger. “It’s a cheat code.” 

That was enough to crack Lucy, who let out a loud laugh as they started walking toward the Far Haven Woods, where the rest of their party would already be gathering for their evening training session. 

As they walked, Kipperlilly felt the faint vibration of her crystal in her pocket. She pulled it out, unlocking the screen with a flick of her thumb. A notification from Instagram awaited her, Kristen’s name staring back at her. 

Kristen: You know, you could have just messaged me on here, but the note was cute ♥

Kipperlilly sucked in a breath as something far too giddy blooming in her chest. Kristen had a point. She could have just messaged her. She was kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner. But she had spent so much time avoiding Kristen that she’d fallen into old habits. Without giving herself time to overthink, she typed out a quick reply. 

Kipperlilly: Do you want me to come over, or not?

Before she could even lock her crystal again, Lucy bumped into her side lightly, nearly making her drop it. 

“Is everyone else already there?” Lucy asked, glancing down at the screen. 

Kipperlilly’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t been texting their party, but Lucy didn’t know that. 

“What?” Kipperlilly asked, a beat too late. 

Lucy nodded toward her crystal. “You’re messaging them, right?” 

Kipperlilly gripped her device a little tighter. “Oh. Yeah. They are.” They better be, or this was going to look incredibly suspicious. 

Lucy seemed satisfied with that answer and continued walking, stretching her arms behind her head. “Okay, cool. ‘Cause we have to be overly prepared to take a break over winter. We've been doing great recently... and should probably also bulk up on some post drafts for reels.” 

Kipperlilly barely heard her. Her crystal vibrated again, and she flicked her gaze down just in time to catch Kristen’s response. 

Kristen: Yeehaw! can’t wait!

Kipperlilly quickly locked her screen and shoved her crystal back into her pocket before Lucy could notice the heat creeping up her neck. This was ridiculous. She had just told herself not to get distracted, and yet here she was, already counting the hours until Friday night. 

Chapter Text

Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Junior Year

The end of fall semester

Kipperlilly sat at the kitchen island with her elbows pulled in and her eyes set firmly on her crystal screen, scrolling through a news post she wasn’t actually reading. She barely noticed the steam rising off her breakfast. Or the fact that her perfectly brewed coffee was getting cold. 

“Kip,” her mother said without looking up, sliding a second mug of coffee across the counter to where Barden usually stood reading the daily bulletin. “You’re poking at your eggs like they insulted you.” 

Kipperlilly startled and looked up, realizing she’d absentmindedly moved one of the yolks into a perfect little spiral with the edge of her fork. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, straightening up and adjusting her sweater vest. 

Winnie gave her a sidelong glance and lifted a delicate brow. “Don’t apologize. I’m just surprised. You usually finish your eggs before I can even plate mine.” 

Kipperlilly dropped her fork with a clink and reached for her coffee, taking a sip and trying to control her face over the distaste of it being so cool. She forced a shrug. 

“I guess I’m just tired.” 

Winnie hummed and didn’t press. Not right away, anyway. She took her seat across from Kipperlilly and tucked a napkin onto her lap. Her mother could sell a six-bedroom haunted manor to a devout paladin and somehow make it feel like it was their idea... and that was the danger with her. Winnie Copperkettle noticed everything.

“So,” her mother said, casually.. “Is it the idea of seeing your grandparents again that’s got you in knots?” 

Kipperlilly’s ears twitched. 

Winnie smiled knowingly over her coffee cup. “You know how Nana gets this time of year. She’ll try to feed you seventeen slices of ham and knit you another sweater with sleeves longer than your whole body.” 

Kipperlilly let out a soft laugh despite herself. “She always picks yarn that clashes with everything I own.” 

“She does it out of love,” Winnie said, and then, softer, “But it is… a lot of love.”

Kipperlilly leaned back in her chair and stared at the pattern in the marble of the kitchen counter. It was a perfect excuse. It gave her the out she needed. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s what it is. Just… trying to brace myself.” 

Winnie’s expression softened in a way that made Kipperlilly want to squirm. “We don’t have to do a big dinner if you’re not up for it. You’ve had a long semester.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Kipperlilly said quickly. “I can handle Nana and Grandpa. I’m looking forward to seeing them. I just need to make sure I have a plan of escape when they don't want to let me go.” 

Her mom gave a knowing little smirk and stood to go rinse her mug. “I’m sure you will.” 

But the truth was, it wasn’t her grandparents that were making her stomach flutter like a disrupted familiars’ nest. It was Kristen. 

More specifically, it was the fact that every time she caught herself smiling at her crystal like a complete moron, or daydreaming about how soft Kristen’s jacket had felt when she leaned against her shoulder in the library, she didn’t know what to do with herself. 

As she had predicted, the rest of the school week had passed with grueling slowness. Classes blurred together, and the only thing that kept her from bursting into a pile of nervous energy was the sheer number of after-school commitments she had taken on. Between Yearbook deadlines, planning committee wrap-ups, and Rat Grinder training drills, she didn’t even have time to find Kristen again. Not that she wasn’t tempted.

She was always tempted. 

She had been counting down the minutes to Friday evening in secret; marking off boxes in her planner with increasingly heavy black ink, and pacing in her room while pretending to be deep in academic thought when she was really just rehearsing what she might say when she showed up at Kristen’s house. 

If she even had the guts to show up at all. 

Kipperlilly sighed and finished her tea in two big gulps. Winnie’s voice floated down the hall from the coat hooks. 

“Do you want me to pick up extra rolls for tonight?” 

Kipperlilly blinked. “Tonight?” 

“For dinner,” her mother called. “Your father said something about Oisin and Ivy coming over for dinner after going to the mall?” 

Right. That was a thing. Kipperlilly had completely forgotten. 

“Sure!” she called back. “Extra rolls are good.” 

She stared at the mostly untouched plate of eggs in front of her and pushed them gently away. 

She still had the rest of the day to work through, but Friday was almost here. Kipperlilly still didn’t know what exactly she wanted from all of this, or how long it would last, or what it meant, but she was tired of being afraid of wanting things.

The day dragged along slowly and instead of spending lunch with the rest of the Rat Grinders, Kipperlilly had the last committee meeting of the calendar year to sit through. The quiet annex of the library was the kind of environment where she normally thrived. Instead, her notes were a mess. 

She stared at the notebook in front of her, where she’d carefully written Winter Formal Last Minute To-Do at the top in her neatest script, only to trail off halfway through the first bullet point. Her pen hovered in midair, paused above the second line like it might gain the will to write on its own. Mazey was still talking about centerpieces.

“-and we still need to finalize the centerpiece enchantments,” she said with a flip of her hair, flicking through her planning binder. “Last year’s exploded because someone used fire-based glitter, so this time we’ve gotten the senior artificers on board to—” 

Kipperlilly didn’t hear the rest. Because Kristen had just wandered into her thoughts again, completely uninvited. 

She hadn’t even meant to think about her. But it was impossible not to. At the beginning of the semester, she used to sit in these meetings and boil with frustration over the fact that Kristen wasn’t taking the race seriously. She hadn’t come to a single committee meeting. Didn’t help with any of the fundraisers. Barely contributed to the school in any way (other than saving it from terror). 

Now? Kipperlilly was just annoyed that Kristen wasn’t here to distract her in a more productive way. Like leaning back in a chair until it nearly tipped over. Or whispering something dumb and completely out of pocket to her when she should have been listening. 

Kipperlilly sighed softly and leaned back in her chair. She needed to focus. This was the last big event of the semester. The formal may have been just for seniors—but it still meant this was a major PR event for the council. She had to look like she cared. 

But her mind was drifting again. 

She still didn’t entirely know what to expect on Friday. Was it just to hang out? A casual debrief of the semester? Was Kristen planning something? Something more? Was Kipperlilly supposed to bring a gift? Her heart thudded at the thought. 

She knew Kristen was leaving the next morning to spend Moonar Yulenea in Fallinel. One night—that was all they’d have until the new year where they would be back at school and back to whatever their twisted version of a presidential campaign had turned into. One weird, warm, possibly-kiss-filled evening. The thought of it made her stomach twist. 

A gift felt excessive. Weird? She didn’t even know what Kristen liked. Sure, she liked Kristen—liked her smirk, and the warmth she had felt in the very limited one-on-one time they had spent together recently, and the way she was always fidgeting with something in her hands. But knowing a person and knowing them were two different things.

She knew Kristen fought for people. Knew she always leapt before she looked. Knew that her handwriting was awful, and that she kept a magic teddy bear in her school bag like that was a perfectly normal thing for people to do. Knew that she wore cowboy hats completely unironically and somehow, she didn't look like an idiot when she did. But did she know Kristen’s favorite kind of music? What her favorite food was? What would she even get her? 

A book? Too formal. A snack? Too impersonal. A dumb little trinket? Actually… maybe that was the right idea. Kipperlilly turned the idea over in her mind as Mazey moved on to committee responsibilities for decorating. Kipperlilly was only at this meeting to show face, so she couldn't bring herself to lock in and fully commit herself to it anyway. 

She could stop at one of the trinket stores in the mall. If she was sneaky, maybe she could break off from her friends for fifteen minutes without them noticing. Something small and maybe even a little stupid. That’s what Kristen would like, right? Her cheeks warmed at the thought of Kristen’s dumb, smug grin when she opened the gift. Maybe it could be something that would sit in her locker and make her think of Kipperlilly... Without anyone else seeing it and knowing where she got it from. 

Something… affectionate. Not too affectionate, but it had to be something—  

“Kipperlilly?” 

She snapped upright in her chair. “Yes?” 

Mazey blinked, then grinned. “Just checking you didn’t fall asleep with your eyes open.” 

“I’m fine,” Kipperlilly said quickly, tucking her half-filled note page closer to her. 

The perfect plan finally barreled its way into her brain later that day. She strode down the east hallway of the school, hands tucked casually into the strap of her bag. She looked, to anyone who passed her, like someone with a destination; a study hall, maybe, or a tightly scheduled training session with her party. And that was exactly what she wanted them to think.

What she wasn't doing, clearly, was plotting a high-level infiltration of the school’s administrative office to loot a potentially apocalyptic magical artifact. That would be ridiculous. And yet, the idea had rooted itself in her brain like a stubborn weed. The aforementioned had to be something meaningful. Something that made Kristen feel… seen.

Then she’d remembered the crown.

The Nightmare King's crown wasn’t even locked away. That was the most absurd part of it. The last time Kipperlilly had been in Aguefort’s office, (before he disappeared on one of his multidimensional time-hopping expeditions), she’d caught sight of it. Just sitting there. On a shelf. Gathering dust next to an enchanted book and a half-empty tin of cinnamon sugar almonds. 

She could practically see the scene forming in her mind: Kristen unwrapping a charred sliver of obsidian, a relic of Cassandra. Not powerful enough to curse anyone. Just… a fragment. Something that might help Kristen feel like her story wasn’t over just because her god was gone. 

Kipperlilly’s pace slowed as she reached the administrative wing. The halls weren’t totally abandoned, but most of the office staff had left early for their own holiday errands. Her eyes flicked up to the magical wards scrawled across the doorframe. Simple stuff. Nothing that would trigger an alarm unless the door was blown off its hinges. Amateur work, really.

She crouched down, fingers working deftly to slide a thin pick from her satchel. The lock itself clicked within seconds and eased the door open just far enough to slip inside. Just as she remembered, the office was utterly bizarre. Posters of Aguefort’s face covered one wall, all of them enchanted to blink at irregular intervals. The other side was dominated by an enormous armoire filled with items that should probably be in a museum. Or a vault. Or, frankly, in another realm altogether. Among them was the crown, just where Kipperlilly remembered it to be.

She reached up, fingers ghosting over the rim of the crown. Carefully, she pressed her palm against one of the back spires, testing its give. It wobbled just slightly, like a loose tooth. Just enough. With a deep breath, she pulled a small dagger from her belt, angled it behind the spire, and gave it a practiced twist. 

She held her breath as the tiny sliver came free in her hand. A shard of crown no longer than her thumb, jagged and glinting at the edge. She wrapped it quickly in a handkerchief from her bag and tucked it away. 

She'll figure out what to do with it later.

The mall was decked out in full Moonar Yulenea glory, with every store window glowing with enchanted fairy lights and faux snowflakes that shimmered as if caught mid-fall. A chorus of softly caroling dryads hovered above the central fountain, harmonizing in six-part harmony while a group of pixie teens tried to shoot mistletoe darts into a giant inflatable gelatinous cube set up for the holidays. 

Kipperlilly walked alongside Ivy and Oisin, half-listening to their ongoing debate. 

“They’re charming,” Oisin insisted, turning a tiny enchanted snowglobe over in his claws. Inside, a wizard in a floppy hat threw sparkles into the air as tiny griffins danced around him. 

“They’re kitsch,” Ivy replied dryly as she squinted at a display of utility pocketknives with seasonal engravings. 

Kipperlilly kept a step behind them, her hands jammed deep into her jacket pocket, thumb rubbing y against the soft edge of the handkerchief tucked inside. The shard of the crown was still there, nestled in secret. Her plan was simple: find a chain, maybe with a small clasp. She could hang the shard from it, box it up, and— 

“Ooh,” Ivy said, suddenly pivoting toward a shop with black-tinted windows and a hanging neon sign that read Chaîne of Fools. "We should go in.”

Kipperlilly blinked. Oh.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” she said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant. Her chance had presented itself. Problem was… she hadn’t exactly worked out how she’d get the chain without arousing suspicion.

The interior of Chaîne of Fools was dark and glossy and Kipperlilly took a quick sweep of the place, a little surprised to see far too many cute friendship anklets and matching ring sets that read 'Hexed' and 'Blessed'. She expected the place to have something a little... edgier.

Kipperlilly lingered near the back as Ivy and Oisin gravitated to the gaudier section. A display near the corner boasted engraved necklaces that read 'Don’t Flirt With Me, I Bite' and 'Yes, I Have a Girlfriend. She’s Stronger Than You'. She wrinkled her nose.

“Just get this for Lucy,” Ivy said, tossing a necklace at Oisin. It had a pendant shaped like a tiny ice cube that glowed faintly blue. 

“That's... a little on the nose,” Oisin sniffed, but he was turning it over in his claws anyway. Kipperlilly exhaled slowly, slid toward the farthest case, and tapped her fingers on the glass. Simple chains. Gold, brass, copper... and a perfect slender silver chain. 

“Need help?” came a cheerful voice. 

A young tiefling with three nose rings and bright green hair popped up behind the counter, giving Kipperlilly an overly friendly grin. 

“I’m good,” Kipperlilly said. Then realized how weird it looked to be standing at the far back, mumbling to herself. “Actually, uh. I need that chain. The thin silver one.” 

The tiefling raised a brow. “Gift?” 

“Yes,” Kipperlilly said too quickly. She could feel Ivy and Oisin’s attention shifting toward her. She cursed herself for bragging weeks ago that she was already finished with her holiday shopping. “For my guidance counselor .”

That… wasn't what she had expected to come out of her mouth. But there it was. She committed. 

“He’s helped me a lot, and I thought, you know. Pendants are personal.” 

There was a silence. 

“That’s actually kinda sweet,” Oisin said, stepping beside her and peering over the case. “What’re you putting on it?” 

Kipperlilly cleared her throat. “A small… trinket. I found something he might find sentimental." 

“Weirdly thoughtful of you, Kip,” Ivy added, appearing on her other side. “But guess that means he's doing a good job at making you less of a sociopath.” 

“I'm not a sociopath,” Kipperlilly muttered as she handed over a few gold coins and took the chain, delicately slipping it into the small velvet bag the tiefling offered her. She could feel Ivy watching her, but thankfully, the conversation turned as soon as Oisin spotted a case of charm bracelets and started debating whether Ruben friend would find it cool or just plain insufferable.

Kipperlilly's heart thudded against her ribs now that she had successfully gotten away with her covert mission. She tried not to be a sentimental person. But then again, didn't she have a hard time letting go of their team name? Hadn't she been the one who had been the most apprehensive about changing their image so drastically, even if she was the one who pushed for it? 

She wasn’t even sure what kind of person she was when it came to feeling fluttery over getting a gift for someone special. She thought about that all the way home from the mall, ignoring how Oisin and Ivy bickered over the rangers nonchalance when it came to sentimental gift shopping in the back of the Copperkettle car.

The warmth of her family kitchen always seemed to hit differently during the holidays. The windows were slightly fogged from the heat of the oven. A few hours later, the last few scraps of dinner sat on the table: rosemary roasted chicken, glazed carrots, mashed potatoes, and the barely touched extra rolls Winnie had insisted on. 

Kipperlilly sat curled in her usual spot at the corner of the table, her feet hooked over the crossbar of the chair and her fingers absently turning a water glass in slow circles. As much as she enjoyed being able to host her friends, Kipperlilly had been trying to work out the logistics of turning an artifact shard into a pendant... and if she even had all the tools she needed in her room. She hadn't even realized she’d still been disassociating until Ivy elbowed her lightly from across the table. 

“You spacing out again?” Ivy teased, her brow cocked as she leaned back and stole a roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “You know, if you keep acting mysterious and distracted like that, someone’s going to start thinking you're up to something villainous.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time." 

Across the table, Oisin looked up from where he was stacking his knife and fork neatly on his empty plate. “Someone thought that? Who?” he asked. 

“Who do you think?” Ivy deadpanned, shooting him a smirk. 

Winnie chuckled from where she was perched on one of the kitchen stools, swirling a glass of wine. “Well, I think that must be jealous that you're so brilliant, baby.” 

“Mom,” Kipperlilly groaned, hiding her face behind her hand. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Oh, please,” Ivy said through a mouthful of roll. “She just doesn’t want to admit she likes it.” 

Kipperlilly glared at her, but it didn’t stick. Though Ivy’s smugness usually irritated her, it seemed that the holiday spirit was dampening her usual bite. She refused to believe it was anything to do with her more recent self discoveries. 

Oisin leaned back in his chair slightly, tilting his head toward the ceiling as he sipped at his cider. “We’re leaving for Gravalvia on Monday,” he said. “My parents are taking me to see an entire side of the family I’ve never met.” 

“If it's your dad's side... I would say that's deeply concerning,” Ivy said with a smirk and grabbed her glass and leaning an elbow against the table. “We're on our ‘traditional hunt’ again. Same as every year.” 

“You secretly love it,” Kipperlilly said, rolling her eyes. 

“I love the gear,” Ivy corrected, but the fond look on her face gave her away. “Last year he showed me how to forge my own silver-tipped arrows using a dug out forge.” 

Barden, who had been quiet during the chatter, rose from his chair and started collecting plates. “Let's hope you kids don't tire yourself completely out before we all make that trip to the Mountains of Chaos.” 

That was the part of winter break that Kipperlilly had really been looking forward to. They had talked about all heading up to where Lucy's family celebrated their heritage, and this year the stars finally aligned and they were all making the journey. Even the majority of parents were on board for the trip.

Oisin, carefully balancing a stack of plates in his hands. “Let me help with cleanup.” 

Kipperlilly stood too. “I’ll help," she said, before shooting Ivy an expectant look. 

Ivy raised both her hands. “Sorry, gotta dip. I’m in charge of picking up the elkhound jerky for the trip tomorrow so I have to grab that on the way home.” 

Kipperlilly opens her mouth to point out that, of course, Ivy was leaving before having to lift a finger, but her mother was quicker to the punch.

"Tell Thorn I said happy holidays. And that we shall have to visit sometime soon. It's a shame he wont be coming with us to the mountains."

Ivy chuckles as Winnie stands to give her a hug. "You know my dad. I'll stand more of a chance multiclassing into sorcery than he would leaving Elmville."

As Ivy grabbed her bag and stepped out the front door, Kipperlilly followed Barden and Oisin into the kitchen. The sink was already filling with warm, soapy water, and Barden handed Kipperlilly a towel. She didn’t say much, just quietly dried each plate Oisin handed her. 

Before long, a muffled sigh came from the formal dining room and Barden chuckled as he closed the cabinet he had just restacked with pots. "I better go help Win with those crystal candelabras. You kids got this?"

They both nodded and her dad wiped his hands and disappeared around the corner, leaving the two of them alone.

Oisin didn’t say anything for a moment. He just adjusted the water flow slightly as he rinsed off a serving dish. But Kipperlilly could feel that quiet attention Oisin had when he was trying to be delicate with something he wasn’t sure was ready to be touched. 

“Is it for someone special?” he asked. 

Kipperlilly blinked and looked up. “Hm?” 

“The chain,” he said, without turning. His talons worked over the rim of the dish before setting it on the drying rack. “The one you bought today." 

Kipperlilly’s grip tightened just a little on the towel. “It’s for Jawbone,” she said. “I told you that.” 

Oisin didn’t look at her, but the corner of his snout twitched like he was trying not to smile. 

“I know,” he said. “And I can tell when you’re lying.” 

Kipperlilly groaned softly and grabbed the dish to dry it, not being remotely as considerate with it as Oisin had been. 

“Do I know her?” he asked, quietly. 

Kipperlilly paused. He asked so softly, which made her know that he was offering a way out. He wouldn't be upset if she brushed him, and the whole line of questioning off. 

Kipperlilly inhaled sharply through her nose and set the dry dish in the rack. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Oisin dried his hands and didn’t press. He simply nodded and turned off the faucet. 

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. You’re not ready to talk about it.” 

Kipperlilly kept her gaze locked on the countertop, pretending to fuss with the towel. She felt prickly all over, like her own skin was trying to warn her to shut it all down, to shut him down. But... it was Oisin.

Oisin, who had sat with her and listened to her come clean about how much she was struggling with her anger, and gotten defensive on her behalf when he had learned about Porter. Oisin, who was the only one of her friends she had actually admitted her sexuality to. Oisin, who would never, never, make her feel small for something that made her heart race.

“When you are,” he said, softly, “I’m always here to listen, Kip. About anything.” 

That made her look up just enough to see him standing beside her, the edge of his sleeves damp and rolled past his elbows. He wasn’t looking at her: he was looking at the stack of plates, like they were the most interesting thing in the world. But she knew him. She knew that was his way of giving her space, so she could make the next move. 

“I know,” she said eventually. “Thanks, Oisin.” 

He nodded once, without looking up. “Anytime.” 

The final bell rang out on Friday, but Kipperlilly didn’t bolt from her seat. She packed her bag slowly, checking and rechecking her things, not because she needed to, but because her heart was racing and her palms felt like they’d been dunked in a pot of nervous sweat. 

She made it through the last school day of the semester, and all she had to do now was head home, get all of her ducks in a row... and finally see Kristen and stop these incessant thoughts from completely overtaking her entire brain. 

When she did, her parents didn’t ask questions when she told them she was going out. That alone felt like a small miracle. Maybe they assumed she was training with the Rat Grinders again, or maybe they thought she was spending the night with at Lucy's to watch movie after movie at Lucy's insistence. Either of those answers would’ve been easier to explain. 

She’d texted Kristen before breakfast to ask if they were still planning to see each other that night. Kristen responded a few minutes later with a flood of emojis: sparkles, hearts, a frog for some reason? All of which seemed aggressively enthusiastic. Kipperlilly stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds trying to decode it. 

The walk from her house to Mordred Manor passed very quickly, thanks to the way Kipperlilly was so stuck in her head, she barely registered the streets she passed. The house loomed with its crooked chimney stacks and ivy-covered walls. Kipperlilly had been here before. Twice, actually. Once, for her emergency session with Jawbone... and once more, when she was spying on Kristen. (That one still made her cringe.) 

This time, she was here because she wanted to be. Because Kristen wanted her here. Because, apparently, this weird, funny, annoyingly warm person had somehow become someone Kipperlilly… liked being around. And that was terrifying. 

Keeping to the shadows, she crept along the gravel path, ducking under the overgrown archway that led toward the old chapel where Kristen's bedroom was... if you could call it that. Kipperlilly did wonder if that was some kind of inside joke—putting Kristen Applebees in a decommissioned church that was probably a callback to her Helioic days. It suited her, though. It was different. 

She reached the chapel door and paused. Her heart beat against her ribs and Kipperlilly just stood there, staring at the wood. She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated, then did it quickly: three short taps before she lost her nerve. 

The door creaked open a moment later, and there Kristen was. Hair askew like she'd been wrestling with gravity. A goofy, open grin that made Kipperlilly's stomach do a weird little somersault. Her body leaned slightly sideways like she hadn’t figured out how to stand still yet, as awkward and endearing as ever. Kipperlilly felt her lips twitch into a smile before she could stop them. 

But then she saw the state of the room behind her. 

“Oh my god, Kristen,” she blurted, the words escaping before she had time to filter them. “It’s worse than I imagined.” 

It wasn’t just messy. It was disaster-level messy. Books were stacked in unstable towers, clothes draped over pews, socks in teacups, and what looked like three half-melted candles stuck into a bowl of cereal. A pair of boots dangled from the rafters by their laces and the whole room smelled of something that was a little too reminiscent of old pizza. Kipperlilly had imagined it wouldn’t be tidy. But this? 

Kristen laughed and stepped aside to let her in. “I warned you, didn’t I?” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow, stepping delicately over a mountain of crumpled clothes. 

“You didn’t warn me. You said ‘it’s a little messy,’ not ‘it looks like a dragon exploded in here.’” 

She reached the center of the room, turned slowly, taking it all in. A gay flag hung crooked on the wall, half-finished school notes littered the floor but despite it being a warzone, it was so uniquely Kristen, that Kipperlilly couldn't quite bring herself to hate it. 

Kristen closed the door behind them and shrugged. “It’s lived-in.” 

Kipperlilly snorted, unable to help herself. 

She wanted to snoop. Every inch of the room tugged at her rogue instincts. Kristen was the type of person who left pieces in her wake that were just shouting to get pieced together to reveal a story. A glance at a half-scrawled journal entry. A note tacked to the wall. A broken symbol of... something tucked inside a drawer. But Kipperlilly didn’t need to rifle through Kristen’s life like it was one of her beloved assignments. She was here because Kristen wanted her to be. That thought settled warm in her chest.

Instead, she reached into her satchel and tugged out the small bundle wrapped in cloth. She felt her lips twitch, just a little, into something almost smug. 

“Well,” she said, eyeing the clutter with mock disapproval, “since you obviously need help managing some parts of your life, I brought you something.” 

Kristen blinked. Her loose tank slipped off one shoulder, exposing a constellation of freckles trailing down her arm. She looked ridiculously dense... and kind of beautiful. 

“For me?” 

“Yeah,” Kipperlilly said, suddenly self-conscious. “I figured you’re away for Moonar Yulenea. Just… open it.” 

Kristen took the bundle carefully. She watched as she started to work at the knot slowly, like she knew there was something important inside. As the silver chain spilled out, catching what little light there was in the room, Kipperlilly’s stomach clenched. The shard dangled, blackened at the edges, jagged and toothy. A piece of the thing Kristen had died fighting. Was this all a terrible idea? Kipperlilly’s mouth felt dry.

For a second, Kristen didn’t say anything. Just stared. Her eyes traced the length of the pendant, following the chain between her fingers. She didn’t look up and Kipperlilly cleared her throat. 

“I stole it from Aguefort’s office,” she said, her smirk only half-hearted. “It’s a piece from the crown of the Nightmare King. Thought you could use a little piece of it to keep Cassandra close.” 

Kristen’s hand stilled. Her thumb swept over the shard’s uneven edge, and for a moment, her whole face changed. Something passed behind her eyes, soft and shadowed, and Kipperlilly couldn’t place it. That made her nervous. 

Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe it was too much. Maybe it was cruel to bring back something from that time. She hadn’t meant it like that. She hadn’t wanted to hurt her. She just... wanted her to have a piece of it.

“I…” Kristen started, but her voice faltered. 

Kipperlilly watched as Kristen swallowed, still not meeting her gaze. Her shoulders curled slightly inward. Kipperlilly didn’t move, she just watched. Then, slowly, she realized Kristen wasn’t angry. She wasn’t horrified or even sad. She was… moved. Something in her posture had tenderized. And that tenderness cracked something open in Kipperlilly so fast it made her knees weak. 

Kristen finally looked up. “Thank you… But I haven’t gotten you anything.” 

Kipperlilly shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.” 

She meant it. This, whatever it was between them, it hadn’t come with rules. They hadn’t made promises or said things out loud. But Kipperlilly didn’t need to be promised anything to want to give her something that mattered. Finally, Kristen laughed and brushed her hair behind her ear with a hand that was still shaking just a little. 

“Oh, I’ll find something from Fallinel.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes, though her stomach fluttered like someone had just cast Gust of Wind through her midsection.

“Something tells me you’re a terrible gift shopper.” 

“I’m not!” 

But the grin on her face said otherwise, wide and bright and painfully genuine. Kipperlilly wanted to be annoyed by how much it charmed her. It would’ve been easier if Kristen wasn’t so completely adorable when she was trying to defend her honor. But no. Of course her rival-slash-sort-of-maybe-more-than-friend had to be charming even when she was wrong.

“Sure, you aren’t.” 

Kipperlilly stepped forward and reached out, grazing her fingers lightly against Kristen’s wrist. Her skin was warm, and Kipperlilly’s touch lingered. 

“Speaking of gifts…” 

She could hear her own heartbeat. She could feel it in her ears, in her fingertips. This was bold. She knew it. But there was no one here to see. No library shelves to duck behind. No looming threat of someone noticing. Just her and Kristen.

Kristen tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing in that curious, eternally unassuming way. 

“You’ve got more?” 

Kipperlilly didn’t answer. Not with words. Just let a smirk curl at the corners of her mouth. 

“Not exactly something I can wrap.” 

She rose onto her toes, hands settling against Kristen’s sides as she closed the distance between them. The kiss came easy, easier than she expected. Like gravity took over.

And Kristen (sweet, flustered, infuriating Kristen) didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her waist and kissed back, and the world narrowed to the feeling of it. The warmth. The press. The way it made her forget everything else. The kiss deepened like the swell of a wave, crashing over everything else. 

Kipperlilly had kissed Kristen in three different instances before. But those kisses had been fleeting or clumsy things built on impulse and nerves. This wasn’t like those. This was so much worse in the best way. She poured the week’s worth of frustration into it. The nights she’d stayed up too late thinking about Kristen’s smile, the afternoons where she’d gotten distracted in extracurricular meetings because she couldn't stop thinking about this moment. All of it came rushing out now in the way she kissed her. Eager, focused, a little too much. 

And it was so much.

Because Kristen kissed her back with the same energy. Pulled her close, almost tripping over her feet in the process. Kipperlilly barely registered the way her own body leaned, how Kristen lost her balance, or how they both toppled backwards onto the bed until it was already happening. The mattress creaked loudly under them, the old frame groaning in protest, but Kipperlilly didn’t care. Didn’t even flinch. 

They landed tangled, her on top, her hands braced on either side of Kristen’s shoulders, and for once the ridiculous height difference didn’t feel like a hindrance. Kristen didn’t stop. If anything, she leaned up into it, lips parting against Kipperlilly’s own, and when her tongue brushed against Kipperlilly’s mouth, Kipperlilly couldn’t help herself. She let her in. 

Heat rushed through her, quick and dizzying. Her heart thudded loud enough that she was pretty sure Kristen could hear it. Her fingers clenched in the soft fabric of Kristen’s sweatshirt, and god, this girl was going to be the end of her. 

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths came ragged. Kipperlilly hovered above her, and all she could do was stare. 

Kristen looked up at her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, eyes glazed and lips kiss-bitten. Her pupils were blown wide and she looked starved. The sight of her made something tight coil low in Kipperlilly’s stomach.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound nonchalant. “I figured it was time to stop dancing around it.” 

Kristen just blinked. Kipperlilly would have bet gold that the cleric had forgotten how sentences worked. 

“Yeah, about time.” 

There was something ridiculous about how flustered Kristen looked, but also deeply satisfying. Because Kipperlilly felt like that all the time around her, and now… she wasn’t the only one. So she kissed her again. Because how could she not?

This one was softer. Not slower necessarily, but sweeter. Like permission and confession all in one. She shifted slightly, sliding further onto Kristen’s hips to straddle her. Her hands settled at either side of her shoulders. Kristen’s body was so warm beneath her, her skin flushed where Kipperlilly had touched it. 

Kristen’s hands slid up Kipperlilly’s sides, fingers dragging over the fabric of her shirt, bunching it slightly as they went. Her hands found the small of Kipperlilly’s back, resting there like an anchor. Strong but not demanding, just there. And that was almost worse. That gentle hold made Kipperlilly want to dissolve.

She could do this for hours. Could spend whole days in the quiet rush of it: lips brushing, hands exploring, breaths mingling between open mouths kissing. 

Kristen’s lips moved, trailing away from her mouth, down the curve of her jaw. Soft, careful kisses that left Kipperlilly breathless. One pressed just below her earlobe and her breath hitched, goosebumps blooming across her skin. Then Kristen found a spot just below her ear. Kipperlilly didn’t know she was that sensitive there—had no idea—but her body reacted before she could think. A low, embarrassing sound broke from her throat, half-gasp, half-moan, and she immediately stiffened in surprise.

Her fingers tangled in Kristen’s hair, pulling her in without thinking. She didn’t want her to stop. She wasn’t sure she could want that. Her mind buzzed with static. Her body was fire and nerves and instinct. She didn’t know what this was or what she wanted from it, only that she wanted more. Kristen’s hands traveled lower, skimming the hem of her shirt. And then—

A warm palm slid over her hip. Downward to her butt... and squeezed. Kipperlilly gasped. The sensation sent a jolt through her spine. It wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t even inappropriate, not really. But it was enough to snap her back to herself.

That’s where this was going?

Her brain scrambled. She hadn’t thought about this. She hadn’t planned for… that. Not tonight. Maybe not anytime soon. Maybe not ever. And the part that scared her most? She wanted it. A lot. And that made everything way more confusing. But it was too fast, too much.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed Kristen’s wrist and pulled her hand gently away, breaking the kiss with a sharp inhale. Kristen looked up at her, dazed and blinking, cheeks flushed. Her lips were still parted, a little swollen, and her brow furrowed in sudden confusion. She looked like she couldn’t form words yet. 

Kipperlilly forced a small smile, sitting up slightly, her hands still resting on Kristen’s hips. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to breathe like a person who was not overwhelmed. Kristen, of all people, could not get through to her this easily. At least... not any more than she already had. So she resorted to her smarts.

“You have to get up early.” 

Kristen blinked at her, brows drawing together. 

“What?” 

Kipperlilly raised an eyebrow. “Saturday morning teleports are always early. You need to sleep.” 

Kristen made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan and let her head fall back into the pillows. Her hair fanned out around her like a halo, which felt dangerously ironic. 

“How do you always know everything?” 

Kipperlilly leaned back with a slow exhale, shifting her weight off Kristen’s hips and planting her hands carefully on the bed. The springs beneath them creaked again as she slid to the edge. She stood, already brushing the creases out of her shirt, like she needed to reassemble herself into something less disheveled. Less obvious. 

Kristen’s cracked mirror leaned against the far wall, smudged with fingerprints and a streak of something that might’ve been paint, or ink or... who knew, honestly. Kipperlilly made her way over to it, fingers moving to smooth her shirt, adjust the hem, pat down the halo of flyaways around her ponytail. 

Behind her, Kristen shifted on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, watching. Kipperlilly could feel it. She wasn't just being glanced at. Not half-seen. Looked at. Her stomach flipped. She bit the inside of her cheek, pretending she didn’t notice, even though Kristen’s gaze was loud as a drumbeat.

Of course she noticed. Kristen was leering, and doing a terrible job of hiding it. It wasn’t even subtle. Her reflection in the mirror showed Kristen with her chin in her hand, a soft, lazy grin tugging at her lips. It made Kipperlilly’s breath catch in her throat for half a second before she schooled her face back into calm.

Because seriously. Seriously. Kristen Applebees had been all over Spyre. She had visited beautiful ancient places in Fallinel, traversed forests no one else had been into for years, travelled through the expansive red waste with literally nothing but the blazing sun un the horizon. Yet she was looking at Kipperlilly like this? Like she was something rare and glittering and spellbound? It was absurd... and it made her want to smile.

She let herself tidy her ponytail one more time, fingers nimble as she pulled the tie free, smoothed the strands back, and redid it tighter. It was almost funny how much she’d initially worried about Kristen going back to Fallinel over break. How much she hated that idea. Of Kristen seeing her ex again.

But the truth was right here, sprawled out in bed with crooked teeth and that messy blonde hair and the most infuriatingly genuine eyes in the world. Kristen looked wrecked. Soft, unmade, rumpled in the best way. And Kipperlilly couldn’t believe how fast the sight had gone from nauseating to... well, not bad at all. In fact, if she was honest, it was very appealing.

She didn’t want to leave. 

It wasn’t just that Kristen looked good. Or that the kisses were so good Kipperlilly was seriously considering talking to Jawbone about the potential that she had completely lost her mind in addiction. It was everything. Just being around Kristen. The safety of it. The feeling that maybe she could let herself be soft for once.

But the night was ticking away. Kristen would be gone by morning. Teleporting out with the others to somewhere that didn’t have a single Solesian tower for miles. No phone calls. No texting. No blasé checking in. Just silence for three whole weeks.

Kipperlilly already missed her. And Kristen hadn’t even left yet. 

“You could stay over," Kristen blurted out from behind her. 

Kipperlilly blinked at her reflection. For a second, she thought she’d imagined it. There was no way Kristen could read her mind. Probably. She turned slowly, meeting Kristen’s gaze in the mirror. Kristen looked almost bashful now, like she hadn’t expected the words to come out quite like that. Her head was tilted, a hopeful smile dancing at the edge of her mouth. 

Kipperlilly didn’t answer right away. Did she want to stay over? 

Her parents wouldn’t care. If anything, they’d be happy that she was actually having a good time for the holidays. They’d assume she was at Lucy’s. Or with any of the other Rat Grinders. It wasn't like Adaine, Fig or even Jawbone would just walk in and find her there. They were probably already asleep so they could be up early in the morning for the trip. The chapel was tucked away. No one would see her come morning. No one would know. It was just a sleepover. 

Not a big deal. Right? Totally innocent. 

Her hand moved before she could think about it, tugging the hair tie free again. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. 

“Have you got any clothes I can sleep in?” 

She kept her tone breezy, though her chest was tightening again. A little smile tugged at her lips. Kristen wanted her here.

Kristen’s whole face lit up. “Yeah, of course!” 

She practically launched herself off the bed, scrambling toward her dresser. Clothes went flying: some onto the floor, one sock bouncing off the edge of a chair. She rummaged with no system at all, humming something tuneless under her breath until she finally turned around with a victorious grin, holding out a bundle. Kipperlilly took it with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

“But no funny business,” she said, leveling a finger at her with mock sternness. “Turn around.” 

Kristen laughed, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright.” 

She spun and flopped onto the bed, facing away, already scrolling through her crystal after scrabbling her way under the blanket like Kipperlilly wasn't even there. 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and let out a quiet breath. She changed quickly, peeling off her normal school attire, replacing them with what Kristen had offered: soft basketball shorts, far too big, and a t-shirt so bright it felt like a medical hazard. Tie-dye, with ‘Harvest Camp’ printed across the front in faded white letters, half-flaked away. Of course it was a church camp shirt.

She stared at herself in the mirror again for a moment, brushing her blonde hair back from her face. She remembered Kristen wearing a shirt just like this one freshman year, back when she thought Kristen was annoying and weird and a little too eager for her own good. Now, she looked at the shirt and felt… oddly comforted. 

Funny how things change. 

Kipperlilly padded softly across the creaky floorboards, the shorts threatening to slide off her hips with each step. It wasn’t her usual sleepwear, but she had to admit, it was kind of cozy. Stupidly cozy. She hesitated at the edge of the bed. Just for a moment. 

She’d shared beds before. Plenty of times. She and Lucy always crashed in the same bed when they were at the Frostblade house. It made sense, seeing as Lucy's bed was so large and Kipperlilly barely took up any room in it. Of course, the same couldn't be said for Lucy ever being able to sleep in Kipperlilly's halfling sized bed at her place. With Lucy, it had never felt weird. She’d known Lucy since middle school. There was history there. 

This was different. This was Kristen’s bed. Kristen Applebees’ bed.

Kipperlilly pulled back the covers as casually as she could and slid in. Maybe if she moved slowly enough, it wouldn’t feel like such a big deal. Maybe she could trick herself into believing this was just another regular night with a friend. 

But the second she sank into the mattress, she was hit with the smell. Kristen’s smell. Warm and sweet and foresty, like old candles and clean sweat and something just faintly divine. Not overwhelming, but definitely there. Kipperlilly turned over onto her side, her back to Kristen, trying to settle. 

She stared into the darkness and immediately regretted it. The awkwardness of the moment crept into her skin like a slow fog. This had been a mistake. Too intimate. Too much. She could feel her heart beating too fast, as though her own body was accusing her of overstepping.

Until Kristen moved without any of her same hesitation. She shifted close and wrapped an arm around Kipperlilly’s waist, not gentle but not rough either... but with a certainty. She pulled her in, tucked her in, until Kipperlilly’s back was flush with her front and they fit together as though they had been carved that way. 

Kipperlilly exhaled, her shoulders dropped and her hands found Kristen’s without thinking, fingers resting over hers. She felt Kristen bury her face in the crook of her hair, just above her nape, warm breath tickling her skin. The steady rise and fall of Kristen’s chest against her back slowed her pulse. The sheets rustled as Kristen settled in behind her. 

For the first time in a long while, her brain quieted. 

So this was what it felt like…

To not have every thought crashing against the next like a hailstorm. To not be calculating her next move, or chewing through her own emotions like gristle. This was stillness. This was (annoyingly) Kristen. 

“I never thought I’d say this,” Kristen mumbled, muffled by hair, “but I’m gonna miss you while I’m away.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes. She was glad Kristen couldn’t see her do it, because it was exactly the kind of unbearably sincere thing she’d expect from her. She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a laugh. Admitting she’d miss her back? Not a chance. 

“You’re only gone for winter break,” Kipperlilly said instead, in the way she always defaulted to. “Just don’t go getting yourself killed. I’ll have to get Lucy to bring you back—just so I can kill you again.” 

She felt Kristen’s body shake with a breathy laugh behind her. “Is that a promise?” 

“Idiot.” 

But the word came out soft, and Kristen would be able to hear the smile in her voice. 

Kristen’s hands shifted beneath hers, fingers curling slightly, playing with the edge of the shirt. Her thumb traced idle little arcs just below the hem, brushing Kipperlilly’s skin in a way that wasn't even intentional, just something to do with her hands. Completely thoughtless and Kipperlilly let it happen. 

They settled into silence again. Not awkward, not heavy. Just full. Kristen’s arm was still around her, holding her in place. It was a lot. Kristen was bigger than her, taller and broader and solid in a way that could have been suffocating. And yet... it wasn’t. It was good. It was nice.

Kipperlilly closed her eyes. But just as she let her breath slow, she felt Kristen’s fingers wander. 

They moved higher. Just a little. Not a grab this time, not an attempt to sneak anything. It was a tentative brush, like maybe Kristen was asleep and dreaming. Maybe not. The touch hovered, featherlight, venturing just close enough to make Kipperlilly’s eyes snap open. 

Nope.

Her hand shot up grabbing Kristen’s hand and pulling it away with a swift little jerk. Absolutely incorrigible. Kristen gave a soft, almost sheepish laugh behind her. 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” 

Kipperlilly should have been mad. 

Maybe another version of her would’ve been. One that hadn’t already fallen a little for Kristen in all the worst ways. But she knew Kristen: knew how she flirted without thinking, how she was always touchy, always affectionate, always the one reaching out. It was in her nature. It would’ve been more surprising if she hadn’t tried to get handsy.

She rolled over slightly, just enough to face Kristen in the dark. Her hand found Kristen’s again, and this time she laced their fingers together. She tugged Kristen’s hand close, pressing it gently to her chest, right over her heart to hold it there. Kristen started rubbing her thumb in soft circles over the back of Kipperlilly’s hand. 

It made her breath catch, but not in a bad way. Not at all. 

Kipperlilly’s fingers stayed curled around Kristen’s, the warmth between their palms spreading up her arm and into her chest. The huff of Kristen’s breath against her collarbone made her all too aware of how close they were, how soft the moment had become without either of them trying to make it that way. 

Her body, usually coiled like a spring, always ready to argue, to run, to fight, started to unspool in the dark. Kristen’s arms wrapped around her like a blanket that had already found the shape of her shoulders. And god, she was so warm. Practically radiating heat, like her body couldn’t decide whether she was a cleric or a campfire. If Kipperlilly didn’t know better, she’d have checked for a fever.

She resisted the urge to nuzzle closer. Barely. She could already feel the line of Kristen’s thigh pressing into her own, the press of her shoulder, the brush of her breath just behind her ear. Any closer, and she’d disappear entirely. 

And yet… maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

She tilted her head back just slightly, glancing at the shadowed outlines of Kristen’s room. The glow from the high stained-glass windows bled moonlight into the space in rippled streaks of green, blue, and soft red. Each panel threw colored light across the dust-flecked air, painting the room like a storybook. 

The chaos of Kristen’s life: the clothes, the books, the absolute chaos with zero organization should’ve annoyed her. It did annoy her, a little. But even the mess felt… comforting. Like this room didn’t ask anyone to be anything other than themselves. Kristen’s mess was honest. Just like her.

Kipperlilly shifted slightly in her arms. 

“Kristen?” she whispered. 

There was a beat of silence. Long enough that she thought Kristen had fallen asleep. 

Then, a sleepy hum: “Hmm?” 

Her voice was slurred with drowsiness, definitely on the edge of unconsciousness. 

“You’ve gotta clean your room before I stay over again.” 

Kristen’s lips twitched against her hair. 

“Deal.” 

The word was lazy but real. Kipperlilly felt it settle in her ribcage like a little stone. She couldn’t help the grin that followed, quiet and private and just for herself. 

She let her head fall more fully onto the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut. Her breath fell into rhythm with Kristen’s, and her heartbeat, too, gradually stopped racing in her chest. She hadn’t expected to sleep tonight. She really hadn’t. She’d come prepared for restlessness, for lying stiff as a board beside someone who took up too much space. She was ready to go over plans for snare traps until the sun came up. 

But she was warm. Kristen’s arms were around her. Her chest was rising and falling in time with hers. The faint scent of Kristen’s stupid shampoo was clouding every corner of her thoughts. There was no room left for worry... and Kristen was starting to snore. Just a little. 

Kipperlilly let out a quiet exhale that might have been a laugh. She melted into the mattress and into the girl holding her, and for once, her mind didn’t try to pull her out of it. For once, she let it happen. 

She was asleep before she could even try to stop it. 

Chapter Text

Winter Break: Moonar Yulenea

Sunlight bled softly through Kipperlilly's closed eyelids as she stirred into consciousness. Somewhere in the world, birds were chirping. Somewhere closer, a tie-dye shirt was sticking to Kipperlilly back with a copious amount of sweat. She was roasting. 

Not just warm... she was sweltering. Her face pressed into the pillow like a dumpling in a steamer, limbs tangled and unmoving beneath the blanket that had, sometime in the night, become less of a cozy layer and more of a suffocating trap. She squirmed and felt the unmistakable press of something caging her in. She tried to roll over and failed.

Panic prickled at the edge of her thoughts. Kipperlilly didn’t do trapped. Not physically, not emotionally. She liked knowing her exits. She liked air. She liked not being held so tightly she couldn’t wriggle an inch. Her breath hitched as her muscles tensed, debating whether to initiate a roguish roll-and-dash or to assess the situation first.

She inhaled slowly and then remembered... Kristen. 

Right. She’d stayed the night. On purpose. In this warm, messy bed and Kristen was the heat source currently smothering her. A soft snore puffed against the back of her neck, followed by a little shift, and somehow (impossibly) Kristen pulled her in closer. It wasn’t even malicious. Kristen was just that strong. Even dead asleep, her grip was unshakable.

It was then when Kipperlilly noticed that one of Kristen’s legs was thrown over her hips, anchoring her in place. Her entire back was pressed against Kristen’s chest, and the heat of her was ridiculous. She was like a magical furnace. A living, breathing sun. Her arms were locked tight around Kipperlilly’s middle like she was a teddy bear that might bolt if given the chance. Which, to be fair, she might.

Kipperlilly sighed, tried to wiggle free again but... nothing. She stilled, breathing deeply through her nose. This was her life now. Held hostage by a half-draped paladin with no concept of personal boundaries and the sleep cycle of a hibernating bear. She supposed there were worse ways to go. Boiled to death in the arms of someone she (sort of) liked. Who was she kidding? She liked her a lot. 

The stained glass glowed a little brighter now, the sun pushing higher into the morning. Soon Kristen would have to leave and teleport to Fallinel with the rest of the Bad Kids for whatever nonsense awaited them over break. Kipperlilly would go home, spend the holiday pretending to rest while her brain ran obstacle courses. And Kristen would be unreachable. No crystals. No scrolls. No quick check-ins or annoying memes. 

Which meant Kristen needed to get up.

Kipperlilly turned her head as far as she could, shifting enough to speak clearly. 

“Kristen?” 

No response. 

She glanced back. Kristen’s lips were slightly parted, one cheek squished into the pillow, red hair a complete mess across her brow. She was snoring softly. Her expression was completely peaceful and relaxed in a way that felt both unfair and oddly endearing. A person shouldn’t be able to look so content after stealing someone’s body heat and freedom for an entire night. 

Kipperlilly couldn’t help the small smile that crept up her lips. She looked so dopey... and so cute. She tried again, this time with a gentle nudge. 

“Kristen,” she said, a little firmer. 

Nothing. 

She shifted again, trying to twist around to face her captor, but that just earned her a half-conscious cuddle response. Kristen groaned softly and tightened her grip. Kipperlilly let out a low, defeated noise, resting her forehead against Kristen’s chest for a moment. She reached up, brushing the wild hair from Kristen’s face. Her fingers moved without thinking, tucking soft strands behind her ear, and before she could register what she was doing, she leaned in and kissed her cheek. 

Still no response. It was all pointless. 

With a final, dramatic sigh, Kipperlilly gave up. She tucked herself into Kristen’s chest again, letting her ear rest right above the steady thump of her heartbeat. That part wasn’t terrible, at least. That part, she could get used to. The silence settled again. 

Until the heavy stomp of boots started to head straight towards the chapel. 

Kipperlilly snapped to alertness instantly, instincts kicking in before thought. Her entire body moved: rolling, twisting and freeing herself from Kristen’s limbs. She scrambled off the bed and darted toward the rafters, grabbing one of the old wooden beams and hauling herself up just as the door slammed open.

“Rise and shine! Get up!” Fig Faeth’s voice rang through the room, bright and loud and entirely too much for the hour.

Kristen flinched violently, her eyes flying open, hand shooting out to the spot beside her on the bed—the spot where Kipperlilly had been.  Kipperlilly held her breath above, crouched on the beam, watching from the shadows between the eaves. Her heart pounded, but not from panic. It was the thrill of the escape. She had succeeded in a clean getaway and allowed herself a smug little smirk. 

Kristen groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. 

“Go away,” she mumbled. “I was sleeping.” 

Fig marched up to the bed with no mercy and kicked the mattress hard. 

“Nope! Up! We’re leaving soon, and you’re not making us late!” 

Kristen groaned louder, burying her face into the pillow. 

“Okay, okay, okay! I’m up!” 

From her perch, Kipperlilly bit back a laugh. There was something hilarious about watching Kristen groggy and rumpled, completely unaware of how narrowly she’d avoided being caught red-handed. Fig wouldn’t ever let her live that down. Honestly, Fig might have gone into a full-on meltdown over the entire situation. 

Not that Kipperlilly was worried.  It’d take a lot more than the chaos tornado that was Fig to catch her by surprise.

Kristen groaned as she rolled out of bed, her bare feet thudding softly against the floor. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, hair sticking up in a wild crown around her head. She blinked blearily around the room, still half-asleep. Fig stood with her hands on her hips, grinning from ear to ear. From up in the rafters, Kipperlilly watched curiously. Fig never struck her as a morning person. She wasn’t exactly known for her subtlety, and this wake-up strategy felt like it was more for her own amusement than any real sense of urgency. 

Kristen squinted toward her, rubbing at her face. 

“Why are you so—” She made a vague circle with her hand, motioning toward Fig’s posture. “Chipper?” 

“I’m miserable,” Fig replied cheerfully, grinning wider. “And I’m going to fucking drag everyone down with me.” 

Kristen let out a laugh and Kipperlilly watched as she stood there, trying to shake the sleep from her limbs, clearly rattled but managing a grin. Kristen was easy like that—battered awake but still kind, still finding the humor in being yelled at before sunrise. It was impressive. Or stupid. Or both. 

Kipperlilly tilted her head, her gaze drifting between them. Fig reminded her of a hellish mix between Ruben and Ivy. All noise and sharp grins and chaotic energy barely disguised under something warmer. It made her wonder how Kristen had survived in that little adventuring party of hers all these years. How she hadn’t gone completely insane being surrounded by that level of intensity twenty-four-seven. But then again, didn't Kipperlilly love her own party unconditionally (most of the time)?... and wasn't Kristen perhaps the most unpredictable of the Bad Kids? Seeing these softer sides of Kristen almost made her forget about the stupid cowboy hats and general inability to shut her mouth. 

Kristen scratched at her scalp and yawned. 

“Fine, jeez. Just give me a second to get dressed.” 

Fig raised an eyebrow, then pointed at her watchless wrist. 

“Two seconds. I’m dragging your suitcase out.” 

Without waiting, she strode toward the corner of the room, grabbed Kristen’s overstuffed, barely-closed suitcase with both hands, and started hauling it out like it weighed nothing. She didn’t even glance back as she reached the threshold, stepping through it to slam the door so hard that it rattled on it's hinges. 

Kipperlilly flinched slightly at the sound, her heart jumping in her throat. Not at the sound, but with the heavy feeling that started seeping through into her chest. She’d seen that suitcase last night, slouched against the wall. Her mind must’ve ignored it. Must’ve chosen, in a quiet moment of self-preservation, to pretend it didn’t exist. 

Kristen really was leaving today.

“She's way too strong for her own good,” Kristen muttered to herself, sighing as she made her way across the room toward her dresser. 

Kipperlilly perched in the shadows above, her body crouched along one of the thicker beams, she remained silent and still. Fig was loud but unpredictable. She could return just as easily as she had barged in. And if Kipperlilly knew anything about surviving surprise encounters, it was that patience beat panic every time. 

Below her, Kristen reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one clean motion. Kipperlilly’s breath caught and she immediately felt ridiculous about it. Because it wasn’t like Kristen was naked. She was wearing a sports bra. It wasn’t at all scandalous. It was practical.

But still, Kipperlilly stared. Not in a creepy way. Or… not intentionally. It was just that she’d never seen her like this before. Not in person. Not from this angle, in the soft morning light of her stupidly messy bedroom. The way Kristen moved, rummaging through a drawer while muscles rippled under her freckled skin, was captivating. Kipperlilly had seen it on her Instagram a hundred times. Posed flexing shots with dumb captions and thousands of likes. But this wasn’t that. 

It was kind of unfair, actually. How someone could look like that while sniff-testing a shirt. 

Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose as Kristen did exactly that, her face scrunching in consideration before she finally settled on pulling it over her head. Even that didn’t lessen her attraction. Which, frankly, she hated. It would’ve been so much easier if she could just be disgusted. Or mildly annoyed. Or something other than still completely smitten.

Kristen smoothed out the wrinkles of her shirt and reached for her dresser again. Kipperlilly held her breath as the cleric's fingers found the pendant. She lifted it gently, the silver chain jingling quietly as slipped it over her head. The shard of the Nightmare King’s crown settled against her chest. She looked down at it and brushed her thumb along the sharp edge of the trinket. Her face softened and Kipperlilly’s heart did a stupid, flippy thing. 

Her ears burned because Kristen liked it. She really liked it. It wasn’t just a thank-you-polite-laugh sort of gift reaction. She was still thinking about it now, long after the giving part was over. Kristen’s fingers lingered on the pendant as she glanced around the room. Her gaze swept over the old altar covered in clutter, the crooked dresser, the pile of rumpled blankets on the bed. Her brows pulled together faintly, and she turned in a small circle, scanning again. 

From her spot in the rafters, Kipperlilly smirked. She could see the wheels turning. That momentary flicker of confusion similar to what you get when you wake from a dream that felt too real to not have bled into morning. Maybe Kristen was asking herself the same thing Kipperlilly had asked the second her eyes opened: Did that really happen?

“Kip?” 

Kipperlilly shifted, letting her feet swing forward to hook around the beam. She tilted backward and let herself dangle, arms crossed behind her head, a wide, lazy grin tugging at her lips. The world was upside down now and her hair fell around her face, still mussed from sleep. 

Kristen didn’t look up but she looked everywhere else. Around the bed, toward the windows, over by the half-open wardrobe. Kipperlilly’s smirk widened.

“You sleep like the dead, you know?” she called down. “And you’re way too warm. Your arms are like a vice.” 

Kristen jumped, a little yelp escaping her as she whirled around and finally looked up. The second she saw her, her face lit up. 

“But you stayed all night.” 

“I did,” Kipperlilly replied, still upside down, still smug. Her heart was beating a little faster than she liked, but it wasn’t from the blood rushing to her head. 

Kristen stepped forward, padding softly across the floor. She stopped just beneath the rafter, craning her neck. She rocked forward onto her toes, reaching up, her hands settling on Kipperlilly’s waist to keep her steady and kissed her. 

It was awkward—upside down and a little off-center—but Kristen’s lips were soft and her touch featherlight. Kipperlilly’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, the rush of affection hitting her all at once. She hadn’t thought this morning could surprise her, not after the night they’d had. But the was wrong, as she frustratingly was so often recently. 

When Kristen pulled away, her grin was wide and stupid and perfect. 

“Happy Moonar Yulenea,” she whispered. 

Kipperlilly’s heart clenched just a little. This was goodbye. They both knew it. Kristen would be gone until next semester with no way to message, no way to check in. She took a breath and let herself look at Kristen, memorizing the angle of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she was genuinely happy. 

“Happy Moonar Yulenea.” 

Kristen looked like she was about to say something else. Her mouth opened, and Kipperlilly could already sense some dumb flirtation or sentimental comment that would absolutely derail her ability to stay composed. Absolutely not. Kipperlilly slapped her arm lightly, throwing on a smirk. 

“Now go. Before Fig curses you. I’ll let myself out.” 

Kristen snorted. “Fine, I’m going. But next time, I’m the one sneaking out.” 

She gave her a winning smile and started backing toward the door. 

Kipperlilly arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, sure. Just don’t trip over yourself on the way out.” 

Kristen rolled her eyes, turning just in time to catch her foot on a tangle of dirty clothes by the door. She stumbled, arms flailing but still trying to play it cool, but the recovery was clumsy at best. She straightened her shirt, cleared her throat like nothing had happened, and glanced back one last time. 

Kipperlilly stood, flipping off the beam and landing soft as a whisper on the floor. Kristen watched her sheepishly before she stepped out the door. 

And she was gone. 

Without Kristen’s rumpled hair or ridiculous energy or constant movement, the converted chapel was just a room again. The spell had broken, and all that was left was mess. Kristen was the magic in the room—and without her, it was just a cold morning in a drafty building with bad insulation. 

Kipperlilly let out a low sigh and tugged the too-bright tie-dye shirt down over her hips as she paced a slow circle. No reason to rush. No reason to stay. She was stuck in the in-between now, with her brain still trying to process the fact that she’d actually spent the night here, that she’d kissed Kristen Applebees multiple times, that she’d let herself fall asleep in her arms and woken up in them, too. 

It was a lot. And now there was just silence left in Kristen’s wake, and too many hours of daylight ahead to think about it. 

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. The sheets were still warm where Kristen had been, the blankets tangled and full of body heat. Her heart thudded uncomfortably. She thought, briefly, about how nice it would’ve been to have something lined up today. Something to do. Something fast and hard and physical to yank her out of her own head. 

She should’ve scheduled a training session. Why hadn’t she?

Oh, right... because she didn’t want Lucy, Ruben or Ivy what was wrong with her when she knew her mind would only be half in her training. And she didn't make any plans with her parents to spare them asking too many questions about why she wasn't tired after spending the night out. Because she hadn’t been on a Rat Grinders mission last night. She’d been wrapped around Kristen Applebees like a heat spell. And that didn’t exactly fit the narrative. 

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. Ripping through the woods and launching herself from a tree branch at Ruben would’ve done wonders right now. Or setting up a trap line just to watch Lucy lose her mind trying to dismantle it. Anything. Anything but sitting here in a room that still smelled like Kristen.

A low rumble reached her ears and she stilled, listening carefully. 

The sound of Jawbone’s old, beat-up car rolling over gravel grew fainter as it made its slow turn toward the main road. Kipperlilly imagined it now, packed with overstuffed bags and magical nonsense, Kristen curled in the back seat making some dramatic comment about how “Moonar Yulenea means forgiveness, even if someone forgets snacks.”

The second she was sure the car was gone, Kipperlilly stood. She grabbed her boots. Pulled them on. Reached for her satchel where it was still slouched near the corner of the bed where she’d tossed it last night. She crouched down to pick it up, brushing aside a nearby sock (gray, suspiciously crunchy) with the tip of her foot. 

As her hand closed around the strap, she heard the ping of a text. Her eyes flicked to the front pocket of the bag where her crystal was glowing. She pulled it free and swiped her thumb across the screen. 

One message. 

Kristen: Miss you already, beautiful. ♥

Kipperlilly blinked. The blood rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, hoping it would help her feel less like she was melting into the floor. It didn’t. 

God, she was down bad.

Without hesitation, she turned off the screen and shoved the crystal back into the depths of her bag. She threw the strap over her shoulder, squared her jaw, and made her way to the door. Time to go. She had to walk. Think. Fight a tree or something. Because this? This was a lot. And she needed her brain back if she was going to survive until the new year. 

The morning sun filtered gently through Kipperlilly’s bedroom blinds as she folded a deep green sweater and placed it carefully in her dresser drawer, smoothing it out before reaching for the next item in the pile. It was a book on famous historical rogues that her dad claimed he just happened to come across, but she knew it had been specially ordered. They had outdone themselves this year. Again. 

She didn’t always like how predictable her parents were, but around the holidays, she certainly wouldn't complain about it. They enjoyed being just as festive as other mundane, regular family and over indulge in all the right things. That, she was sure, wouldn't change no matter how old she got.  

Kipperlilly pulled the drawer closed and turned back toward the bed where a stack of neatly piled card were waiting for her. All of them were still unopened. Her mom liked to stress over saving them for the actual day, keeping them in a big box decorated decorated with holly leaves in the living room. Kipperlilly scooped them up and settled down on the edge of the bed. 

There were the usual ones. From her Aunt Willow, with her five kids and wild handwriting. From Uncle Benno and Aunt Raye, who always signed off with a horrific amount of x's and o's. A card from the cousins who lived two towns over and still spelled her name wrong on purpose. There were stickers on everything, smudged ink, and one folded scrap of parchment that looked like a toddler had tried to eat it before sending it. Her chest warmed with each one. 

She’d always kind of loved the holidays. Even when she was a kid and full of so much noise, confusion and untethered anger that she’d stomp around the house like she was preparing to go to war with the sofa cushions. Even when she’d snuck too many ginger snaps and then gotten sick or when she’d screamed at a cousin and accidentally turned a simple board game into a minor family-wide dispute. There was always something solid about the season. It was the one time of year she felt unconditionally loved by everyone. Not just her parents, but the whole big, complicated halfling sprawl of relatives.

It had been easier when she was small. Before everything got complicated because, of course, she hadn’t always made it easy on them. There had been tantrums, before. Big ones. Explosive. When she was five and refused to wear the itchy wool tights for the festival. When she was seven and pushed a cousin down the stairs because she thought they were making fun of her. When she was ten and punched the tree because no one let her lead the gift-giving game and her hands had bled. 

And later… it wasn’t about tights or games anymore. It was when there were too many people in one room. When someone hugged her too hard. When too many voices layered over each other and she couldn’t pick one to listen to. When her control snapped, and the world narrowed to her fists, her breath, her rage. 

They always forgave her. She knew that, but she wasn’t stupid. She noticed things. The way her cousins would step around her a little too carefully after she’d snapped or how her aunts would whisper to her mom in the kitchen when they thought she wasn’t listening. The “it’s okay, she’s just overwhelmed” smiles. 

She’d gotten better, of course. Once she had been given the time and the help she needed. Especially since she had finally started at Aguefort and had been seeing Jawbone regularly, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked over the handwritten cards in her hands of the people who weren't around every day to see just how much she had learned and grown. As much as she did love the holidays, the stress and mess that came with it always seemed to bring out her worst sides. And it sucked that the people she spent it with only saw that side of her. 

Initially, she had been excited to tell them all about her junior year and especially how far her adventuring party had come since last year. Now, all Kipperlilly could focus on was how lucky she was that she had managed to pick herself up after whatever Porter had been trying to push her into and what could have been if she hadn't made the right choice.

Would she have hurt someone by now? Would she have turned on Ruben the next time he mocked her in a fight? Or lost it on Ivy when she said something cruel at the wrong time? Would she be sitting here this morning surrounded by broken things instead of gifts? Or worse: would her extended family be visiting her through the bars of a jail cell instead of in a warm, welcoming house? 

Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred slightly as she stared down at the curling script in her cousin’s Moonar Yulenea card. 

Kipperlilly, I hope you come visit soon. We’re doing snowball siege this year and I’m saving you a spot on my team. You ALWAYS win!

She closed her eyes. Where she was mentally at now was significantly better than that, but Kipperlilly knew that her parents would still have to lie to the family through tight lipped smiles when they ask how she was handling herself. She knew they all cared about her deeply, but it was glaringly obvious that she was the problem relative that they all felt the need to ask about during reunions. She had come to terms with a long time ago and yet, it still stung. 

Along the way, Kipperlilly had become just as effortless with her white lies. It was easier to say she was doing fine when people asked, or to pretend she was as perfect as her grades... or most recently, lie about her feelings for Kristen to everyone in her life. Some truths served better as lies. Most likely, they always would.

Her crystal chimed from where it sat on her bedside table and Kipperlilly blinked back into the room, wiping at her misting eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She reached for it, already recognizing the notification sound of the Rat grinders group chat. 

Lucy: Happy Moonar Yulenea everyone! I love you!

Ruben: Ditto.

Ivy: Wow, Ruben! Sentimental, much ;)

Ruben: Shut up. It’s the holidays.

Oisin: Wishing you all a great day. The whole family says hello.

Ivy: Tell all the weird wizards, respectfully, stay away from me.

Mary Ann: Yes.

Lucy: Yes?

Mary Ann: That you love me.

Kipperlilly laughed quietly, the tension in her chest beginning to dissolve. She tapped out a quick reply as a knock on her bedroom door was followed by her mom's voice. 

“Kip, honey, they should be here soon.” 

She straightened her spine and drew a breath through her nose.  

"I'll be right there!" 

She looked down at the card still open in her lap and the words blurred again, but this time for a different reason. She was loved. Even when she was messy and even when she was still learning how to be better. Because of everything, that was the whole point of Moonar Yulenea after all. Coming together and loving everyone unconditionally, no matter how crappy the year had been. 

Kipperlilly stood up, smoothed out her baggy holiday sweater and made her way downstairs. Festive music drifted from the living room, melding with the soft thrum of the oven fan and the quiet sizzle of something caramelizing in the kitchen. The last step of the stairs creaked, giving her away and her father’s voice floated out of the kitchen. 

“She lives!” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes as she rounded the last corner and to her horror, her parents were dancing. They were just… swaying in front of the stove, the way they did sometimes when a favorite song snuck up on them. Winnie’s right hand was looped behind Barden’s neck, her left still holding a wooden spoon. Barden’s palm rested low at her back. 

Kipperlilly leaned against the doorframe and did her best unimpressed face. “Can you not do that when Nana and Grandpa are here?” 

Barden glanced over his fogged lenses with a wry smile. “Do what?” He tipped Winnie into a gentle turn, mustache twitching. 

“Be like… that.” She flicked a hand. “It’s weird.” 

Winnie laughed without letting go. “Maybe we will. Just for you.” She disentangled herself and crossed the room in three light steps. Before Kipperlilly could escape, her mother wrapped her in a hug that smelled like citrus soap and a little wine. For a second, Kipperlilly let herself fold into it, forehead tucked against her mother’s shoulder. 

“Mom... please!"

Winnie kissed the top of her head. “You look perfect. Are you hungry?” 

“Sure,” Kipperlilly said, pulling back. “What are we having?” 

“Pot roast,” Barden said, puffing out his chest. He always did pride himself on outdoing himself when it came to the holidays. 

Kipperlilly stepped closer and peered into the pot. The broth was glossy and brown, with little fat constellations on the surface. She could feel the heat on her face and the smell already had her stomach yearning to taste it. 

She would have done just that and dealt with the consequences of a burnt tongue if the doorbell didn't chime.

“I’ll get it,” Barden smiled as he wiped his hands on a towel. 

Kipperlilly and Winnie were at his heels as he head for the door and when Barden swung the it open, the cold rushed in, crisp and clean. 

“There’s my boy!” boomed Grandpa Copperkettle, slipping over the threshold before the invitation had finished forming. He was tiny and wiry but somehow took up the entire doorway anyway. Behind him, Nana stepped in with a gust of winter perfume and peppermint breath, cheeks pink from the air. 

“Get over here,” Nana said, dropping a canvas tote onto the bench by the shoe rack. “Kipperlilly, my darling girl! Oh, look at you.” She held out both arms like a net. 

Kipperlilly didn’t have time to brace. Nana wrapped her up and squeezed hard. It was a full-body hug that compressed all the air out of her lungs and then put it back warmer. Kipperlilly’s feet left the ground for a second (Nana was stronger than she looked) and she let out a soft, involuntary laugh. 

“You’re too thin,” Nana declared into her hair. “You need a sandwich.” 

“She eats plenty!” Winnie said, smiling, as she leaned in to kiss her mother-in-law’s cheek. “We never let her skip breakfast, no matter how busy she is.” 

“If you say so,” Nana said, releasing Kipperlilly only to cup her face in both hands and turn it gently side to side, inspecting. “You’re pale, too. When was the last time you sat in the sun?” 

“It’s winter,” Kipperlilly said, cheeks heating. “The sun’s on vacation.” 

“We can make our own sun,” Grandpa announced, waggling his eyebrows as he stomped snow off his boots. “I brought the good cider. Put hair on your chest.” 

“Dad,” Barden smiled as he pulled his father in for a hug. 

Nana’s hands slid down to Kipperlilly’s shoulders, squeezing once, reassuring, as if testing for loose screws. “And your hair,” she said, softer. “It’s so shiny. You're so pretty.” 

“Nana... Kipperlilly muttered, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Being fussed over like this would usually put her on edge, but this year, she was definitely set up for more success. 

Grandpa leaned around Barden, peering at Kipperlilly. “All A’s still?” he asked. 

“Dad,” Barden warned. 

“What? I’m proud.” He winked at her. “You showing those other kids who's boss?” 

“I’m… doing fine,” Kipperlilly said, and left it at that. He didn’t need the details. He didn’t need to know how “fine” sometimes meant white-knuckling her way through a day, how “fine” had been held together this semester with a hodgepodge of check-ins with Jawbone and living a somewhat double life. 

“Come in, come in,” Winnie sighed, ushering them out of the draft and back toward the warmth. “Hang your coat, then you can harass her in the kitchen like civilized people.” 

“Civilized? In this family?” Grandpa scoffed, but he complied. 

After finally shuffling everyone down the hall and into the kitchen, Nana made a beeline for the stove. “Let me see,” she said, lifting the lid an inch to inhale. “Mm! That’s proper.” She turned, eyes glinting. “Barden, you finally learned not to salt at the end.” 

Barden put a hand to his heart. “I’ve always salted during.” 

“Liar,” Nana said without heat, and patted his cheek. 

Grandpa sidled up to the counter and immediately started tasting things. He speared a parsnip from the roasting pan and chewed meditatively. “Could use more butter.” 

“It has a whole stick,” Winnie said. 

“Two, then.” He grinned at Kipperlilly and offered the fork. She leaned in and nibbled the edge of the parsnip from the blade. It was sweet and silty, with a browned edge that crackled between her teeth. 

“It.... could actually.” she said, around the swallow and shot her mother a smirk. With so much of the focus in the household always being about her and how she was doing, it was nice to flip the script and have her parents be the butt of tormenting every now and again. 

“See?” he told Winnie, satisfied. 

Nana turned from the stove and drew Kipperlilly into another hug from behind and rested her chin on the top of Kipperlilly’s head. 

“How are you really, my little rogue, hmm?” 

The question brushed against a tender place. Kipperlilly’s first instinct was to throw up her walls but she swallowed them. If the rest of the extended family made the trip this year, it would be a different story. But her grandparents always meant well, and never made her feel less-than just because she was a little different. 

“I’m… okay,” she said. “Working on it.” 

Nana’s arms tightened before she let her go to spin Kipperlilly around to face her. “Good girl. Eat. Then we’ll sit, and you can tell me all about school and those... Rat grindings,” she added as she squinted down to the metal pin on the front of Kipperlilly's sweater. 

“Rat Grinders,” Kipperlilly corrected, though a smile tugged at her mouth. 

“Hooligans,” Grandpa said, selecting a second parsnip. “All of you.” His eyes softened. “Proud of you anyway.” 

They sat. Winnie slid a platter of sliced pears and walnuts onto the table as a 'while-you-wait,' even though lunch was minutes away. Kipperlilly eagerly accepted a glass of cider as she propped her elbows carefully on the edge of her placemat. 

"So how is school?” Grandpa asked, slipping the question in again with better finesse. 

Winnie shot him a look over the rim of her glass. He lifted both hands in surrender. "Sue me. I wasn't an academic man, so I'm living through our girl." 

“It’s… busy, but I like the work ” Kipperlilly answered quickly, stopping the bickering in its tracks before it could start. She never did mind talking about school. “I’m in the running for student body president.” 

Winnie smiled over the rim of her glass. “Oh yes, we haven't told them yet!" 

“She’s been working hard.” Barden added as he started to pile up everyone's plates with food. 

Nana gave a little gasp of pleased surprise, then leaned in as if Kipperlilly had just confided a scandal. “Well, of course she is. She was born to tell people what to do.” 

“I do not tell people what to do,” Kipperlilly said, automatically defensive, before letting out a small sigh. “I mean. I try not to. I organize.” 

“Organizing is telling people what to do,” Grandpa said, amused. “Just with better manners.” 

Kipperlilly sipped her cider to hide her smile as her father settled back in his chair, the wood giving a small creak under his weight. His gaze slid to Kipperlilly with warm, quiet pride. 

“It’s just between our little Bug and one other candidate, and we’ve made some big moves, of course. Mostly Kipperlilly’s ideas, mind you. But I think she has this in the bag.” 

Kipperlilly’s fingers paused around her glass. She kept her expression even, but something tightened under her ribs. She had already decided to take a step back from the campaign and let the momentum slide toward Kristen because it felt… right. Or at least necessary. The guilt that came with it was thin and papery but it still rustled in her chest. 

Nana dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin and tilted her head. “Against one of your school friends?” 

Kipperlilly’s throat went tight as the word snagged. She reached for her fork, then set it back down, aware of how obvious that tiny stall felt in her own body. She’d been practicing not-thinking for days and keeping her mind busy with anything other than thinking about Kristen. She already missed her so much, it was bordering on ridiculous considering she wasn't even sure what they were. The last thing she wanted to do was get even more stuck in her own head and dwell on the infuriating and confusing details.

“She’s not really a friend,” Kipperlilly said, keeping her voice level. “She’s from a rival adventuring party, actually.” 

Grandpa grinned. “The sweeter the victory, that’s what I say!” 

Winnie let out a low laugh and pushed the bowl of roasted parsnips closer to Kipperlilly. The table hummed again with cutlery clinking and chair legs against tile as conversation rose and fell. By the time the roast was just bones and herbs in the pan and the cider had warmed everyone from the inside out, the family drifted into the living room. 

Kipperlilly found herself wedged between her mother and Nana on the couch, both of them peering over her shoulders to look at her crystal screen as she showed off her most recent social media posts.  

“Goodness, look at that Dragonborn boy!” Nana said, leaning in until the curls at her temple tickled Kipperlilly’s cheek. 

“Oisin has really been working hard this year. He helped me find the rogue teacher, so I’ve actually already finished my core junior year classes and can focus on everything else to get ahead.” 

“All the things they’ve been getting up to, it’s quite amazing. They spend so much time training, we feel as though we hardly see her these days,” Winnie said, fond, a hand landing on Kipperlilly’s knee as she shot her a warm smile. 

Kipperlilly smiled back, feeling thankful that her parents had come to the decision to have family Moonar Yulenear smaller this year. Those she knew deep down that it was because they were a little worried for her after the spiral she found herself in after last holiday season, even if they were unaware of what led to it, she was still thankful. That, and the upcoming trip.

Nana clucked her tongue gently. “All that time focusing on this, you’ll never find time for a boyfriend.” 

Kipperlilly’s breath caught where her ribs met and her thumb stilled over the screen. Guilt wasn’t the right word, but it was closest she could think of. Not about about doing something wrong exactly, but about having something she wasn’t ready to share. 

Winnie laughed lightly. “Kipperlilly is still wanting to avoid boys until after college. That hasn’t changed.” 

Nana clicked her tongue again, almost scolding the universe for its timelines. “I’ll be too old to play with any great grandbabies.” 

Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You have seven other grandchildren to do that.” 

Nana sighed dramatically. “But you’re so beautiful, Kipperlilly. A nice boy would be lucky to have you.” 

“And he will be, when Kipperlilly wants to,” Winnie agreed while gently nudging her side. 

Kipperlilly just awkwardly coughed and tucked her loose hair behind her ear. She was feeling prickly, like the first layer of her skin was all static. She wished that she could say it, let the sentence out and watch it float safely in this room and not break anything. That she didn’t want to end up with a boy. That, actually, she had realized a boy was never going to be in the equation for her. 

Her mouth didn’t open. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was… time. Not yet. The truth was a seed with a hard shell. It needed a little more warmth and water before she tried to push it through the soil in front of everyone she loved. 

She had actually started kind of dating a girl and had already gone against the whole plan she set out for herself. But she wasn’t close to being ready for that, much less admit her sexuality. Lucy guessed, Jawbone knew and Oisin knew, and that was enough for now. 

Kipperlilly let the crystal do the work for her and flicked to a video of herself and Ruben engaging in some hand to hand combat practice with Lucy’s laughter audible behind the camera. 

“Show me more of this boy,” Nana said, tapping the screen causing the video to accidentally pause on Ruben's face. 

“That's Ruben,” Kipperlilly nodded. “He’s… theatrical, but he's very talented.” 

"He wears too much makeup, but seems like a lovely gnomish boy. Is he single? He would be good for you."

Both Kipperlilly and Winnie started to laugh at the sheer persistence just as Barden reappeared from the hallway with a folded blanket and dropped it into Grandpa’s lap without ceremony, causing him to start awake from where he had been snoozing in the armchair for the last hour.

“Don't sleep too hard, dad. You'll miss out on all the fun,” he said. 

“I never sleep,” Grandpa replied, already tucking the blanket around his knees. “I power-think with my eyes closed.” 

The house had settled into its evening rhythm and steam curled off Kipperlilly’s cocoa in lazy ribbons, clouding the air with the sweet smell of sugar. She sat cross‑legged on the couch in plaid pajama pants and an oversized sweater, the mug nestled in both hands to warm her fingers. 

Her grandparents had made their ceremonial fuss of overenthusiastic goodnight kisses and their footsteps had since faded upstairs to the spare room, leaving the Copperkettle living room to settle. 

On the crystal TV, an old holiday movie flickered, full of warm lantern light and exaggerated snowfall and her parents watched comfortably: Barden in his favorite chair, feet propped on the ottoman, and Winnie curled lengthwise along the other end of the couch, ankles crossed. 

Kipperlilly tried to let herself be absorbed by the movie but she took a sip of cocoa and wondered how her friends were faring today. Oisin was easy to picture being tucked into an armchair in a house too crowded, someone passing him a plate while three different relatives had three different conversations directly at him. He’d smile and try to track them all, answer each one fairly. He hated missing anything. She pressed her lips together in a fond line, imagining his careful politeness buckling under the tenth person asking about advanced conjuration. 

Ivy next: boots laced tight, breath in white puffs, moving through the woods with her dad like she belonged to wind and the hush between branches. Kipperlilly could see the press of cold on Ivy’s cheeks and the way she’d toss back her hair to smirk when Thorn was impressed with her aim. Ivy liked to complain, but she knew how much she loved to just get away for the holidays and away from the fuss of commercialism. 

Ruben came in uninvited, like always. She could practically hear him groaning as she imagine all of the small children that had probably been climbing all over his music equipment with sticky hands. Her mouth tilted, traitorous, toward a smile. Then it fell again, because all thoughts turned, eventually, to the person she was trying not to think about. 

Letting Kristen form in her head felt like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt. It did. It didn’t hurt in a bad way; it hurt in that itchy, alive way that made her restless and a little reckless. Where was she right now? At a long, elaborately decorated table surrounded by elven formality? Stumbling through some fancy dance with an earnest look of concentration and a crooked smile when she messed up a step? Maybe the Bad Kids were ignoring tradition entirely and tromping off into the night after some new disaster. Maybe she was laughing somewhere, too much firelight in her eyes. 

Maybe she was with Tracker. 

That thought clanged in her chest. Jealousy came in slippery, stupid shapes; she recognized its outline and still it made her want to bristle. She breathed in through her nose and tried to reason with herself. They were complicated. Fine. So was everything. Kristen being in the same country as an ex didn’t erase the way she looked at Kipperlilly before she left. 

Still. Out of sight, out of mind. The phrase tasted bitter, and she hated that she cared about it. She did not do longing. She did goals. She did plans with columns and checkboxes. But longing, apparently, did not care about correct filing. 

On the screen, a clumsy romantic protagonist slipped on ice and tumbled into a snowbank. 

Winnie snorted. Barden murmured, “Telegraphed that pratfall a mile away,” and reached for his cider. The mundane commentary tugged Kipperlilly back into the room. 

“You alright, Bug?” Barden asked without looking away from the TV. He always somehow knew when her thoughts went sour. “You’ve been quiet.” 

“I’m thinking,” she said. It wasn’t a lie but knew her parents wouldn’t press on it. 

“Don’t stay up too late on our account,” Winnie added, eyes still on the screen. “You did a lot of smiling today. That uses more muscles than frowning.” 

Kipperlilly huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure that’s scientifically false.” 

“It is,” Winnie agreed serenely. “But it sounds right.” 

The movie’s music swelled. Someone on-screen realized someone else had been the answer all along. Kipperlilly’s crystal, face‑down on the couch cushion beside her, pulled at her attention. She tried to ignore it but failed. Her thumb found the edge of it, tapping against the device and finally gave up. She slid it into her hand, unlocked it with a quick swipe and navigated to a test thread. 

Kristen: Miss you already, beautiful. ♥

Kipperlilly hadn’t replied then, because the idea of sending something honest and then staring at a screen with no answer for weeks felt like throwing her heart down an old well just to hear how long the echo took. Looking at it now made the text feel freshly sent and she thought back to the specific kindness of Kristen’s face when she said things like that: not slick, not performative; just the truth, blurted. 

If she gaslit herself, she could pretend Kristen had a way to contact her after all and was waiting for a reply with that ridiculous anxious bounce she did. If Kipperlilly were the one without service, and she came home to an empty thread, she would hate it. The thought sat heavy. 

She lifted the crystal, turned the front‑facing camera on, and stared at her own face. Tie‑dyed warmth of the living room pooled behind her. Her cheeks were still pink from cocoa heat, hair loose over her shoulders. She quickly snapped a picture and typed without thinking too much about it. 

Kipperlilly: Miss you

She hit send and the message leapt away, then stalled beneath the words Sending… She watched the dots shift uselessly for a breath or two. The lack of the delivered sparkle did its work on her pulse. She sighed, set the crystal facedown again, and tucked both hands around her mug. 

“Hmm.” Barden’s chair creaked as he shifted. “Is this the one where the snowman turns out to be a prince?” 

“That’s a different one,” Winnie said. “This is the one where the banker turns out to be a prince.” 

“No shortage of princes for the holidays...” he said mildly. 

Kipperlilly's crystal buzzed against the couch cushion and reached for it without thinking, thumb already swiping the screen awake... but then she froze. A photo filled the display. It was Kristen, close to the lens, smiling widely at the camera, throwing a peace sign. Behind her, young elves danced with props snow-dusted boots. It looked like some kind of snowy music festival for hippy teenagers, all swirling scarves and clumsy grace, but all Kipperlilly could see was that stupid grin and the way the cold had kissed color into Kristen’s cheeks. 

Kristen: Miss you more ♥

That fucking heart emoji again. 

Heat rose unhelpfully up Kipperlilly’s neck, and she had to curl her toes ground herself. The audacity of “more.” The gall. But that wide smile, like the words weren’t a risk at all, punched a small hole straight through her defenses. Somehow, it made the missing worse. There was no world in which she believed Kristen could out-miss her. Absolutely not. 

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, the response forming mean and dry on instinct. 

Kipperlilly: Rather confident, Applebees. But inaccurate.

She stared at the text, mouth set, then exhaled and watched her own reflection ghost across the crystal. Too sharp. She erased it quickly and her chest started to soften, just a fraction. 

Kipperlilly: There goes my plan of sending you things I thought you’d only get when you got home.

She hit send and watched it slide into the thread but it still wasn't anywhere close to being enough. She wasn’t trying to be cold. She just couldn’t bring herself to tip over fully into disgustingly flirty. It just wasn't who she was as a person. At least, she didn't think it was. This was all new to her, so it was all a little bit of an experiment. 

Fine. One concession. One tiny, revolting concession. 

Kipperlilly: ♥

She rolled her eyes at herself the second it sent, mortified but equally as amused. Kristen was rubbing off on her, and that was objectively distasteful. She tucked the crystal into the cup of her palm anyway and waited 

The reply came fast. 

Kristen: I think they have cell towers at Wolf Song Revival. Remind me, if I ever get the church of Cassandra back, not to just invite a bunch of hippy high elves.

Kipperlilly’s eyes flicked to the photo again and to the blur of elven teens in the background. That was Tracker’s church. The thought drifted through like a stray leaf but this time, there wasn't a string to accompany it. Kristen sounding excited to be hearing from her… that was the thing she let herself hold onto. If Kristen was attempting to rekindle whatever the two of them had, she certainly wouldn't be sending her heart emojis.

Kipperlilly: It can’t be that bad!

She pictured Kristen typing in a coat with the sleeves shoved up, thumbs flying, grinning at her crystal like an idiot as wind needled her ears. 

Kristen: It would be better if you were here.

Kipperlilly’s cheeks flushed so fast she nearly hissed, and she fished blindly for a blanket, hauling it into her lap as if wool could hide the ridiculous heat in her face. How was it that easy for Kristen? To be so earnest without falling on her face? To say something like that out loud without immediately needing to claw it back? 

It was unrealistic and probably impossible. Hard to picture herself tucked into Kristen’s side in an open field full of the Bad Kids’ in-jokes and history, with everyone knowing about them. Sitting on a log somewhere, swatting away sparks, Fabian rolling his eyes, Fig yelling from across the snow. She wasn’t there yet. Maybe she never would be. Maybe that was a story for a different life, a different version of her with a looser grip and a bigger heart. 

Kipperlilly: Maybe next time.

Was that hope? Maybe. Was it ever a possibility? Maybe not. But a year ago she could not have mapped a path from there to here, and yet here she was, sitting in pajamas under an blanket, texting a girl she used to dislike about future plans. 

“You seem happy, Kip. Did you have a good day.” 

Kipperlilly locked her phone and lifted her eyes to meet her mom's, letting a smile bloom. “It was good.” 

“Love you,” Winnie said, returning her soft smile. 

The crystal warmed in Kipperlilly’s palm where she still held it. The day had been a lot, but it had been nice. The quiet holiday was just what she needed to end out the year... at least until mania would hit in a few days when they set out on their trip. For now, though, she would take the peace. 

“Love you too.”