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Chapter Text

When Adaine moves to punch her sister, she doesn't expect the hit to actually land. It's failed every time she's tried so far, after all, and Adaine's half-convinced that she imagines throwing the fist, her mind so addled by fog. But the pain that shoots through her hand moments later is not imagined.

Aelwyn, who was laughing in her face mere moments before, doesn't seem to expect it either - and for a moment, they stare at each other in shock, not certain who's more surprised by the turn of events. Oh, good, thinks Adaine faintly. I've finally given father a reason to disown me.

But when the blood stops rushing in her head and the realisation of what she's just done sets in, Adaine's hand unclenches, trembling as she approaches her sister like a rabid dog. "I'm sorry, Aelwyn - I didn't mean to-"

"What in the hells were you thinking?" her sister yells, throwing up her arms. "See, this is what I was talking about, why you failed getting into Hudol and I didn't." She glares at Adaine, though given she's still clutching her nose in pain, it doesn't feel as threatening. Still, Adaine pulls herself together enough to rummage through her pack and pass Aelwyn a healing potion. Aelwyn accepts it, but continues to glare. "I had hoped you would be slightly less violent in your tantrum, at the least."

Adaine's head is still thrumming with anger, but she forces herself to breathe in and look away from her sister. "I didn't fail the Hudol exam on purpose." She's heard this specific snipe enough by now - her parents seem to take a joy in replaying that day, and after the first few hundred times, the story feels inescapable.

And yet, Adaine can hardly remember what the question was that had tipped her over the edge. Just that one second she had been on the verge of a panic attack, her chest tightening, failing to remember the difference between basic transmutations (something she should have learnt a long time ago and gods, was she even trying?) and the next…

Her sister smiles. "Oh, I don't doubt that the destruction of that classroom was unintentional. It was bound to happen at some point or other. Not that it matters now," she says with a sigh, "Father has repaid the damage, and you can explore a school more… suitable for you," she says, tone mockingly sweet. 

Perhaps it's her parents' idea of a joke, signing her up for Wizard classes when these days, she feels the words blur together in resentment every time she pores over the books. Looking at her older sister now, Adaine still feels that rage simmering, the rush from that successful hit - but it's useless in her hands. “Please don't tell father,” she begins instead, her voice rising in desperation. “He’ll have my head, especially after everything—”

“I’ll consider it,” mutters Aelwyn, finally moving her hand away from her nose. The blood's stopped, Adaine registers faintly. “You know, they have a tradition of sorts in Aguefort.”

“Which is?” Adaine gazes at her sister warily.

“Do you want to be a wizard worthy of our parents, Adaine?” Glowering, Adaine forces herself to nod. “Well, then.” Aelwyn’s eyes light up with a look that concerns Adaine about as much as the anger had— something close to vindication. “Then you’ll listen closely. And, who knows?” she shrugged. “Maybe you’ll finally prove yourself.”

“I’ll do it,” Adaine says — partly out of impulse, and partly because for a moment, she thinks she might be able to prove herself.

Kristen Applebees is not Helio's chosen, but she likes to believe that she's still one of his most devout.

Still, it's a bit of a shock to the system when she doesn't receive the blessing she was waiting for. Her parents are disappointed, she can tell, and for months, Kristen wonders if she's doing something wrong - not putting enough effort into prayer, or straying too far from his guidance? 

"These things are sent to try us, Kristen," Coach Daybreak says when they run into each other - she should get used to addressing him as Coach but it feels weird, considering how often he seems to be spending time with her parents these days. "Cleric or any other class, you'll do great things in the name of Helio - though you don't get any ideas from other classes, okay? Otherwise we'd have to kick you out, and then who'd watch your siblings on Sundays?" The joke, of course, is delivered in good humour, she knows that - still, something about it leaves her shifting in her seat in discomfort.

When the deadline to register her class is upon her and there's still not a smidgen of divine intervention, Kristen throws in the towel and ticks the Fighter box. Sure, she hasn't wielded a sword a day in her life, but she can pick it up on the go, right? And it's a good, honest choice, respectable enough for a Helioic member, even if it earns her a few comments of wouldn't a healer be a more… typical option? from her mother. But Kristen is going to be the best fighter Elmville's seen in a long time - and maybe it will be enough to earn Helio's honour.

Unfortunately, that honour seems further and further way when Kristen trips over her sword for the fifth time in an hour. Her mom and dad have a strong no-weapons-in-the-house policy, so she sets up in the backyard and, for the first time, tries training with the broadsword she's got from the very depths of the shed. "In case we need to protect ourselves," her dad says. He never says against who.

Well, she's already managed to get it stuck in the ground three times, and the balance is enough to send her tipping every time she holds it. Her hands are cut and scraped worse than Cork and Bricker when they faceplant onto the asphalt for the fifth time in a week, and yes, the irony of this being the perfect time for a healing spell is not lost on her. 

I'm so not cut out for this, Kristen thinks as she sits down on the side. But maybe, if she's lucky, she might make it through the day.

The night before the first day of school, Sklonda Gukgak tells her son to go and get some sleep. Riz has been running on caffeine for weeks, after all, and she's starting to suspect the kid has an emergency stash squirreled away somewhere, given she's taken efforts to limit it.

The problem is that lately, Riz's nerves have only been frayed further by the night — and if working on a case instead is the only way of avoiding spiralling into complete paranoia over something looming over his shoulder, then so be it.

Still, by the time the sun comes up, Riz is about ready to admit defeat. Nothing. Not one connection makes sense (although granted, this clueboard only has two real pieces of evidence on it so far), and he's got no thoughts as to where his next lead might be.

Fact number one: All around Elmville, kids around Riz’s are disappearing. Fact number two: One of these girls is Penny Luckstone, Riz’s old babysitter. Fact number three: Penny Luckstone is Riz’s closest — and only — friend.

Fact number four: Something deeply weird is going on with Riz. There's nothing out of the ordinary about the occasional sensation of dread creeping through him. There is something odd, though, about the flowers that sprout up on the side of the graves every time Riz visits the cemetery. There is something odd about the way that when the sun sets, parts of his room he's pushed to make room for his boards begin to instinctively glow, as though responding to him.

And there's certainly something odd about the fact that when he tells his mom about this, she doesn't take it as a new one of his theories that he’ll lose focus on after a few months - but instead, sits him down at the table and looks at him with genuine worry.

“Mom, I told you, there's nothing to worry about-"

"Riz." Oh no. It's the type of tone she only takes when he sneaks down to the police precinct to try and snag some case information, or when she finds him working on a clueboard well into the night. "When was the last time you slept?"

It's one of those worst questions for Riz to answer, because he knows she won't be mad but she'll purse her lips and look at him in concern, which is unnecessary because Riz is fine on the amount of sleep he's getting! "…Sometimes I doze off when I blink?"

His mom sighs. Not the right answer. "Look, sweetheart. You obviously know what's been going on better than I do, but from what I can gather…" At that, she trails off and looks out of the window of their apartment to the streets below. It's something both of them have in common, the tendency to trail off when theorising - it's terribly inconvenient sometimes, but right now, Riz just sits there. "What I’m saying is, I know you’ve been up at night. And I know for a fact that you’ve cast Light when you think no one’s looking."

He freezes up. "I don’t know what’s going on, mom,” he admits quietly after a moment, desire to know outweighing his anxieties. “What are you thinking?”

"That we might need to look into this further."

As far as Riz knows, there have been no recorded Sorcerers in his family, with neither his mom or dad having any traces of magic. And, after a quick blood test comes back negative, that's ruled off of the list. Wizardry seems like it has some potential, considering he's scoured so many books it's not unsurprising to assume he picked something up - but then he tries a simple incantation and the pen he's supposed to levitate stays motionless. Not that, either. He would certainly remember making a Warlock pact, and there's not a chance in the hells he shows any musical talent - which leaves one other option.

So, looking at the clueboard of the missing girls, no connection in sight, Riz flips it over to the other side and tears the last Post-It note in the stack in half, sticking both in the middle and pulling out a pen. He writes his own name on one half; on the other, two words which seem hellbent on destroying his plans for this school year. Class: Cleric.

And somewhere up on the roof of Strongtower Luxury Apartments, a shadow flickers with the beginnings of a smile.

Chapter Text

"And don't call me Gilear, I raised y-" 

Abruptly, the man that is not Fig's dad comes to a stop and turns to look at her, suspicion in his eyes. "Figueroth. Do I smell alcohol on your breath?"

Fig rolls her eyes. "No," she lies smoothly, the words coming out without hesitation; she would be more confrontational, but she tried that with her mom and, well, now she's at the stupid school. "I don't drink." And it's only a half-lie; she doesn't drink, partly because of the taste, and mostly because of the fact that there's nothing especially punk rock about spending half a Tuesday night throwing up.

Last night had been rough, though. The blare of music, filtering through the mosh pits; being offered a drink and taking it, just to prove herself to some bastard she thought might have known something; coming up empty-handed and more exhausted than any other night she had done this charade.

Now, Fig's gotten very good at lying; it's similar to song-writing, using honeyed words to deliver the right emotions at the right times.

But looking over her face as though to examine the heavy bags under Fig's eyes, or the outbreak of acne that worsened as she stopped caring so much about skincare, she can tell Gilear doesn't believe her.

"What?" she mutters sullenly, fully aware of how much she sounds like the moody teen her mom keeps discouraging her from being.

"I know your mother and I have… lost contact," he begins, "but I've heard enough to understand that you've been sneaking away at night." Gilear's eyes fill with an emotion, not malice this time, but… pity? "Figueroth, this is a real problem-"

Fig's ears flatten. And though her face warms with the lingering emotions of a child afraid of disappointing her parents, she can't stop the cold, quiet tone of her words. "I'm sorry that I'm such a problem, Gilear," she says, fists tightening around her skirt. And though she can't imagine for a second that Gilear would have any reason to feel guilt, when he looks out of the car window, Fig almost regrets the following words. "…Maybe it's the sort of problem you'll just have to ask my dad to deal with!"

"Alright, get out of my car, you fucking-"

But when Gilear turns back, Fig is already outside of the car, her arms crossed. "What? I know what you were gonna say next," she mutters.

"How did you climb out so fast?"

"Rogue tactics 101: never let anyone know your secrets!" she yells, though the open car window and Fig's now-dirt-stained knees are clear indicators. It's fine, she tells herself, walking up the staircase to the school. Just… slink around, collect enough evidence to see if anyone knows your dad and then start your music career, right?

The first step lasts approximately five seconds before everything goes south. 

At first, the crowd is expected - the sort of run of the mill mayhem that Fig's learned to love these last few months, nudging and bustling and… rising in an uproar as they yell about some fight. Now that just made school a lot more interesting.

No, damn it! You've gotta focus on finding your dad, Fig! she thinks briefly - then throws caution to the wind and joins in the chanting, shoving her way through.

The first thing she sees is the girl who's quite literally glowing. She's clearly one of those summer-camp type corn kids that would probably have been warned about people like Fig - all tie-dye shirts, freckles and flipflops contrast sharply with the broadsword the girl has slung over her back, gleaming with remnants of some divine light - and the fact that there's a new bruise forming across her face.

On the other side of the fight, Fig just about manages to catch a willoughy-looking young elven girl, her face paling and fist still raised. All Fig catches of her words is "'-my stupid sister suggested punching someo-"

And the scene, once again, devolves into chaos. Fig winces, watching the two fight despite the fact that neither seems to want to be there (or, moreover, that neither has many fighting skills at all). A couple of people in the crowd are cheering, a couple are just confused - she sees a freshman wearing what's probably a sports team's jacket looking slightly irritated in the crowd as he tries to pick his way through, and one or two teachers who probably should be intefering but are equally lost on the circumstances.

Well, Fig has bigger fish to fry than the crises of two people she doesn't, and will never, know-

That is, until she catches the elven girl's eyes - Fig's been sneaking around, so it's a wonder she even sees her. Gods damnit, she thinks, noting the way she's shrunk further into her now torn prep school uniform as her body trembles.

The vice-principal begins to lecture them all on respect, and Fig…

"-Hey," she whispers, darting out of the crowd. The other girl jumps - catching the attention of Sandals girl, who opens her mouth, fully ready to blaspheme before Fig clamps a hand over her mouth and yanks them both into the crowd.

"What in Helio's name?-"

"Do you want to land in more trouble?" she hisses, and, as expected, she gets two hesitant head shakes. "Cool. I don't know if you two have ever been in detention, but it can be pretty damn dreadful, and to be honest, neither of you seem the type."

"I'm not," murmurs the elven girl, her ears flattening as she whispers a, "not normally," so quiet only Fig can hear it.

"Me neither. I'm sorry, by the way-"

"I'm the one that punched you!" The girl in the uniform looks ashamed, more focused on staring at the floor than anything. "I'm Adaine, by the way."

"Kristen." Definitely a Helio kid. The Sandals girl - Kristen - pauses, then - "Oh man, mom and dad are gonna be so pissed at me for picking fights and hanging out with non-Helio strangers… where are you going?"

"The teacher's lounge," Fig says casually, already beginning to wander up the staircase the minute she deems them in a safe area. "Hope I don't see you guys in detention, but if you do, my name's Fig!" she calls out.

She doesn't know why she does it. No one's even supposed to know she's a student here - she's going to collect as much information on her dad as possible and never come back.

But when she dips into the teacher's lounge, she can't help but glance out the window.

Fabian is fuming. 

He had a perfectly good plan for the morning. He was going to stride into Aguefort with all the confidence and belief in his greatness that his papa had instilled, punch the first kid he saw, and it was going to be excellent. It was a foilproof plan to be respected-

Until some random girl who looked like a Hudol student who'd taken a wrong turn on the way to school beat him to the (quite literal) punch. 

Well, if anything it's evidence that his papa, as usual, is right: she certainly had made an impression on the Aguefort student body, though the vice-principal had then come barging into the courtyard, demanding to know what was going on. 

And Fabian, unable to stop himself, proclaims: "She wasn't the only student who was taught to punch someone to justify greatness!"

In retrospect, perhaps not the best idea. The vice-principal sighs, already a worn man despite the fact that school has not yet begun. "And who are you?"

Now, this is Fabian's moment, he thinks, placing one hand at his side and loudly proclaiming, "I'm Fabian Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster! And I'm here to be great!"

A couple of people in the crowd look confused, though most, at the least, have the decency to react to the sound of his last name. Then:

"Look," the red dragonborn says, "I don't care who you are, but you understand that announcing your plan to punch a student is a detention, right?"

Fabian bristles. "Excuse me?"

"Well," he says, "it's not even eight yet and there are already three students in trouble, once I give out detention slips to-"

He turns, and Fabian does too - but the students are gone. Fabian's eyes widen, and in that moment, he can't help but wonder if his papa's advice can always be trusted.

So now, wandering the corridors in a daze to find the Fighter classroom, it's no surprise that he gets distracted. It's no surprise that he's more focused on the stupid piece of paper in his bag, and the fact that this will clearly make a bad impression for bloodrush tryouts later, and-

He's at the end of the corridor. There's a solid 50 percent chance that he got lost, but it's not like he was given directions (he was, but damn it, it was hard to focus on that principal's speech); no, this is absolutely the right place.

He pushed the door open and steps in. "Am I late?"

It takes a moment for him to fully process the room. First of all, as with most of the school, it's much larger on the inside - the floor is carved out into an archaic style ampitheatre (which is fairly impressive for a Fighter class, but it doesn't throw him off immediately).

What does throw Fabian off, however, is the obvious lack of any weapons. There's a bugbear who looks to be about two or so years older than him wielding a weapon that at first glance seems to be a club, but the notches in it mark it out as a flute. There's a drumset in the corner, and the red curtains hanging around the windows are reminscent of -

"Is anyone really late, when it comes down to it?"

Oh no. Fabian freezes as the realisation hits him. This is not Fighter class. It's Bard class, which is one of the last classes he wants to be in, given two facts.

One: it's hardly going to make him a brilliant fighter, and two? Band kids are lame, dude.

The bard teacher, however, only watches him with mild interest. They're young, wearing a loose white tunic tucked into trousers which are far more convenient for aesthetics than practicality, and though at first glance, Fabian assumes them to be human, the white slits of their eyes give them away as a changeling - though one clearly not bothered to put much effort into hiding that. 

This isn't the Fighter classroom, Fabian is about to remark. Then he abruptly stops himself, caught between a deep desire to escape this classroom and an even deeper one to not make a fool of himself in front of some damn band kids.

So instead, he just stands there awkwardly, until-

"Sit down, sit down," the bard teacher (substitute? They look like a substitute, considering how dishevelled and barely put together their entire energy is) says with a wave of their hand. "For those of you who've arrived late, the name's Ace Montgomery, and I'll be covering for Ms. Lucilla Lullaby while she goes on sabbatical. …Again," they mutter under their breath. "As for our new arrival - go ahead, sit down, introduce yourself," they say, gesturimg to Fabian.

Fabian crosses his arms and stays firmly rooted by the door. "Fabian Seacaster," he says. "Son of the legendary William Seacaster, though I presume you've heard of him."

They cock an eyebrow. "Unsurprisingly, I have. Spent a few months in Leviathan touring with some friends, for the week or so it was anchored near Bastion City - it's a good place for any of you who are considering forming adventuring parties and need a good quest," they say to the freshmen.

"But, it's not enough that your father's great," they say, turning and staring directly at Fabian. It's unnerving, but he's not going to allow any anxieties to crop up, not today. "How do you, as a bard, perceive your own greatness?"

"I -" Fabian's tongue can't quite form the lie he's searching for so quickly; he setlles for the truth, leaning back as confidently as possible. "To be honest," he grins smugly, directing the words to a student sitting a row down from him, "I'm only here because I got turned around on my way from Fighter classes. So I don't need to be a bard to be great," he concludes. 

The student he's adressing doesn't look up from her phone, blowing a bubblegum-pink bubble before popping it. "You mean you don't have the talent?" she says, jokingly but drily enough that Fabian's face flushes.

"I - I know how to play instruments excellently, of course I do, it's just - it just doesn't fascinate me." The words stumble out of him faster than he can manage, and he sees the students just smile morbidly, with a few whispering something he can't catch, until he does.

"-know it's a rite of passage-"

"-man, the substitute killing a student from embarrassment wasn't on my bingo card for this year-"

"Well then, Fabian," Ace Montgomery says, unbothered by his insults. "Bard student or not, you're in the classroom right now. And since you were so confident in your abilities, why don't we bring back a common Aguefort bard class tradition?"

As the students all look around in hushed murmurs, the set begins to shift - through a combination of some kind of illusion magic and actual, solid tech work that makes Fabian's head spin, the stage shifts, revealing rows of older, used instruments. "Pick your poison."

Fabian hesitates. He should really leave - his brain's a chorus of thisisstupidthisisstupidthissstupid, but under all of that, his heart keeps a steady rhythm in his chest.

He strides forwards. The plinth is set out with a wide range of instruments, some Fabian had never even heard of; the electric lyre seems sick as hell, but he's lost on what bard at Aguefort has ever played the electric kazoo.

At last, his hands settle on a familar instrument: a small, red violin, engraved with some writing he can't make out. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he's grateful for the lessons his mama made him take, insistent that "a child such as yourself should have a well-rounded education, and that includes music, my darling."

That was, until the lessons stopped when Fabian had found his mama half-trancing with a glass of wine after a lesson, mumbling something about time and loss until he had fetched Cathilda or someone who knew how to help her.

He hesitates. Perhaps it's worth making a run for it now - consider it a tactical retreat.

Then, Fabian gingerly picks up the instrument. It… doesn't feel wrong in his hands. It doesn't snap in two or set off some curse the minute he touches it. His pride wins out.

Fabian settles the violin on his shoulder and begins to play.

It's almost comical, how quickly the rest of the world slips away. Mainly because he's focused on not making any errors - he's just playing a sea shanty that is one of the few he still remembers, but even then he's acutely aware of every fumbled note. The violin is long out of tune. The music echoes around the room hauntingly, more so than intended, and in the moment, Fabian can't bring himself to care. He's brought through the piece through sheer muscle memory and determination-

And just like that, the piece ends as abruptly as it began.

"Well," he sighs, placing the violin down and making for the door. "I'll be leaving now, if that's all-"

"Fabian, right?" the professor asks, and Fabian resists the urge to scream in annoyance.

"Yes?" He settles for instead.

"You might want to look around you."

Hesitantly, Fabian does.

The other students all have expressions of shock. At first, Fabian presumes it's due to his performance and can't help but smile as he follows their eyes- 

And flinches abruptly as he notices the mist spilling from the violin - and curling around him, too.

I feel like I'm going to throw up, is the last coherent thought Fabian has before a combination of the mist, the questions and the applause gets to his head, and he blacks out.

Gorgug learns at a very young age that he needs to keep his emotions under control.

It's why he's spent so much of his childhood being far quieter than most children his age; it's why he's spent so much time feeling different, and while Gorgug certainly not an outcast, he just… doesn't fit anywhere. 

His parents have a way of looking at the world like it's a machine, and understanding where everyone fits in to making it function. His fellow classmates, on the other hand, think that it's far more fun to break things than to put them back together.

And as for Gorgug?

Well, he's just trying to understand how these things work in the first place.

It starts with a couple of notes - the counsellor he was seeing about his rage suggested it, reminding Gorgug that it was always better to write things down, even if he couldn't grasp or process them just yet. So, he spends more time in his parents' workshop. There's plenty to be taken down, between the structure of the arcanotech to the actual magic powering it.

He doesn't get it right the first time - the drawing is too heavy-handed, and there are places where the pencil smudges and intricacies are lost along the way. The second attempt, though, goes slightly better. And the third. And the fourth, and the fifth-

And Gorgug stands in front of Aguefort Adventuring Academy, no weapon slung over his back. He didn't expect a path where he was a barbarian, and to be honest, it's extremely intimidating. More so when the principal starts talking about forms of magic Gorgug hasn't even heard of, but as he's trying to note it down his only thought is if your dad is a wizard, and you're a wizard, does that mean it's genetic?

The first few lessons are a blur. Gorgug knows he stands out in a room so he tries to be smaller, more… wizard-like? Whatever that means. He doesn't make any friends, though no-one punches him, not like the fight that supposedly went down earlier, so that's nice.

But by the first break, his notebook is already getting full.

Gorgug takes a brief glance at the courtyard - it could be a way to meet people, giving the sheer amount of students sitting out on the deck, and he's supposed to have found an adventuring party by the afternoon.

But no one passes him a glance, and, well… he's not feeling great about socialising, not after witnessing a kid getting thrown in the trash by some jocks. He'll just have to find a party somewhere else.

And that's how Gorgug finds himself outside the library.

It's marked by grand, stone pillars, but very few students filter through that Gorgug can spot. There's a trio of more weathered students, along with two or so similarly frazzled freshmen carrying books as high as they can see-

And then one of those students bumps straight into Gorgug, sending them both crashing to the ground.

"I'm so sorry, oh my god, I should've been looking where I was going, I'm soso-"

"It's fine," Gorgug says, rubbing the back of his neck. From the floor, he can actually see her - she's an elven teen about his age, and though her eyes are wide with shock and panic, as she begins to spiral, he senses something else, too. It's a familiar sensation, like he's becoming in tune with some force that's making his skin prickle with agitation-

And then he realises she's clearly freaking out, and the moment fizzles.

"Hey," he says, bending down next to her to help her pick up some of the scattered texts, as well as a contestant for largest and most obnoxious orb he's ever seen in his life, which is currently broken into several pieces on the ground.

Gorgug's hands drift over it, hesitantly. He couldn't fix something like this without it breaking, his mind taunts, but his hands are already forming the patterns. It's careful, and it's slow-going, but at last, the cracks begin to seal shut. "Are you okay?"

Though her breathing is short and hasty, she nods furiously. "I'm - I'll be fine, really, it's no worry." Then, after a pause: "Can you just- never mind, it's stupid."

"That's okay," Gorgug says, crouching down low. "I'm used to feeling stupid."

She cracks a bleary smile through the panic, and eventually, manages to whisper, "Can you just, l-like. Talk?"

And so, Gorgug does as she says. He starts off simple, describing the library around them quietly enough that they won't get shushed by a librarian. Then, he moves on to explaining the first piece of homework he got set by his wizarding teacher; it helps, as though the girl doesn't seem to be in his classes, she begins to add short comments once in a while.

After her breathing slows, Gorgug manages to hold out a hand, stand up and say, "I don't believe we've met in wizard classes - I'm Gorgug."

"Adaine." She shakes it - it's all polite refinement, except for the surprising strength of her grip underneath. "And I'm not a wizard," she says with a wince. "I'm on the barbarian track, but… I don't think I'm good enough to be."

"Well," Gorgug replies, "I'm on the wizard track and I'm just as lost, to be honest, so maybe we have that in common."

"You fixed my orb."

"My parents are tinkerers," he shrugs. 

"I- you're unexpectedly nice," Adaine says, and he can feel a certain sadness seep through her voice. "Actually, more people have been nice than I expected - with the exception of the vice-principal, but that was… valid."

"What happened?"

Adaine raises an eyebrow, like she's trying to gauge how genuine Gorgug is being. "You don't know?" When Gorgug shakes his head in full honesty, she sighs and sits down behind a bookshelf, gesturing for Gorgug to do the same. "I got detention," she manages, choking out the words like they're a death sentence. "For punching a student."

"Oh?" For a moment, Gorgug thinks that maybe Adaine is a better barbarian than she says she is. "…Did they at least deserve it?"

"No," Adaine groans in response, "it was my stupid idiot sister's suggestion - look at this!" she says, pulling out a scrap of paper, atop which rests a list written in an incredibly formal, looped script, despite its contents. The aforementioned contents mostly just contain instructions like 'punch another kid' and 'steal all the chairs from the teacher's lounge'. "She said she had a friend at Aguefort - and as such," Adaine mutters, "considered herself to be an expert on how to excel at all aspects of it." 

Gorgug winces. He's an only child, and he loves his parents with all his heart. But on some nights, he's wondered if his birth parents ever had any other children. (And, if so, whether or not they would like the same music as him. Or if they, too, used to spend hours taking things apart only to try, in vain, to put them back together). "I think your sister just wants to get you into trouble."

"Maybe. I just…" Adaine trails off.

"Hm?"

"She said if I succeeded at proving myself, my parents would consider letting me change track."

An idea comes to Gorgug. And he can't stop himself from blurting out, "I'll help."

"You'll… what?"

"Hey," he shrugs, "I know a thing or two about switching tracks. If you think proving your worth to your sister will get your family to ease up? Then I say we give it a try. There's gotta be a powerful book or two in here." 

Adaine leans her head against the bookshelf. "We'll get in trouble."

Gorgug hesitates, before shaking the thoughts from his head. All wizards do this, right? "Hey, worst case, we've both got detention."

"Don't remind me," she says mirthlessly, before standing up and brushing off her fancy prep school uniform. "But really. Thank you, Gorgug."

They stealth their way through the library… with very little success. Still, no one pays much mind to them. It's something Gorgug's not used to - he rarely spent time around other kids after an atrocious middle school experience, but here… He comes to the realisation that no one exactly knows him.

And it helps when they reach the back section of the library and his eyes fall on a case, within which is a hefty, ancient tome bound in blue and gold.

"That seems like a fairly wizard-worthy book," Adaine whispers, and Gorgug nods.

"Here, I'll go get it."

"No, wait-"

But while Gorgug should probably listen, the desire to help Adaine (and, hopefully, learn something useful along the way) far outweighs that. He lifts up the case.

"No immediate traps," he says with a smile. He doesn't pinpoint any specific magic around the book, but there's certainly something there - though they're both standing a good foot away, he can sense this energy responding to Adaine (or maybe just people in general).

Then Gorgug picks it up, and…

Nothing happens. "Well, that was less dangerous than I expected," manages Adaine. "No magic, no spells set off... gods damnit!" she realises. "Of course Aelwyn would lie about that!"

"Hey, we should probably check the inside first," Gorgug suggests, and flips it open. He's expecting advanced rituals, forbidden knowledge, really anything helpful, and as he thumbs over the pages, he doesn't feel himself change significantly, which is probably a good thing.

And maybe it is in there, but they're distracted by a voice behind them. "Really? Again -" They turn around in shock, but the vice principal just sighs. "Alright, immediate detention, both of you. And let's hope this is the last incident of the day from you, Ms. Abernant-" Adaine's face pales, and Gorgug opens his mouth to speak before getting cut off. "-If anything else of this nature happens, you might be looking at a letter home."

Chapter Text

Adaine has always been afraid of getting into trouble.

It begins, as with all things, with a disappointed look from her parents. Maybe they're more lenient on her when she's young, too young to hold memories; or maybe that burden of expectations has always been there. Either way, disappointed looks morph into barbed words, and barbed words morph into a resentment that has festered under her skin as her mouth is precisely and delicately sewn shut.

She's a good student, though not good enough for Hudol. She's a good daughter, though not good enough for her parents to reassure her when she's curled up on the floor after another night of panic. She's a good, well-behaved young woman, though not good enough to stay calm in an entrance exam, instead of tearing up the whole place in a fit of mania.

Maybe she isn't that good after all.

And right now, she's in so much trouble.

She sits in detention, trying to keep her hands from trembling and failing miserably as they wait for the guidance counsellor to be fetched. Fig, the tiefling girl who rescued Adaine from her first detention, squints at them all in scrutiny. "So. I know what you two are in for-" she jabs two fingers out in Kristen and Adaine's direction, both of whom shrinks into their seats, faces flushed - "but what about the rest of ya?"

"I… stole a book from the restricted section." Always cautious, Gorgug chooses to omit Adaine's presence. He hasn't left her side since they both landed in detention, and she's been eternally grateful for it; his presence calms her in a way she hasn't expected, his careful steps in his track balacing her own out. Kristen, too, is sitting at their table, but that's a whole other conversation; she compliments Gorgug's nail polish, goes on a ramble about how her parents only ever give her the bitter, clear kind to stop her from biting her nails, and Adaine apologises profusely for punching her. 

In response, Kristen just offers her a smile. "We all fall short of the light of Helio," she says, as she doesn't fully meet Adaine's eyes. "Anyway, while I don't condone theft, what did the book contain?" Her eyes shine bright.

"Yeah, did it teach you any curses?" Gorgug shakes his head. "Did it curse you?" To that one, Gorgug just shrugs and offers an awkward, 'maybe'.

"I was caught skipping class," a young, handsome half-elven kid with silvery hair says, leaning back in his chair. "Completely not my fault, by the way, considering I was practically kidnapped by the bard students." Despite his drawl and easy smile, Adaine notices the way his hand tightens around a leather strap that goes around his back.

And she's not the only one who notices. The goblin kid in the back catches the motion too, looking up from his notes (Schoolwork? Conspiracy theories? Adaine has no idea), as a crease appears between his brow. She tries to glance over, see what he's working on.

But of course, then the door opens and the guidance counsellor steps in.

Detention turns out to be very unsuccessful at calming her nerves. Between Mr. Gibbons's constant comments of strong feelings and calming down for a bit, along with the fact that she tries to claim diplomatic immunity and is shut down like that… there's nothing to stop the itching under her skin, and her hands scratch at the skin of her arms, knees, anything in agitation.

Gorgug notices, and taps a hand lightly to get her to notice the tears she's ripped in her Hudol uniform. Shit. 

"You okay?" he mouths, then whispers, "Y'know, my parents used to have this song they'd sing-"

Outside the classroom, screaming begins.

Adaine exhanges glances with the others as they all leap out of their chairs, scrambling for weapons. It seems they've all had a similar instinct - her hands do much the same, though the only thing they find grip in is that goddamn orb. She reluctantly hoists it up.

Having learnt no spells from the book she and Gorgug took, and having sat awkwardly in Barbarian classes taking up as little space as possible, Adaine winds herself woefully unprepared. She just needs to focus, she thinks, watching Kristen grip her sword with white knuckles and Riz fumble through the briefcase as she hears something click. She can't get into a tailspin, not now, she thinks as they all move for the cafeteria, perhaps coming to the conclusion that imminent danger is better than detention.

Fig manages to finally kick the door open before dropping into a stealthier crouch, and Adaine's breath hitches as she watches the lunch lady raise her ladle up and point it at them all. It's dripping with creamed corn and something Adaine is convinced is blood, which is only confirmed when she sees the massive, hulking corn monstrosity behind her. 

"You kids here for seconds?"

It takes a moment for Adaine's brain to process the scene in front of her, and when it does, there's a ladleful of corn flying in her general direction. 

She does the only reasonable thing, and dives for cover.

An acidic, sour-smelling sludge of creamed corn flies over her head, and she locks eyes with Kristen as she scrambles behind the table. "This isn't - this can't be Helio related," Kristen announces loudly, though her hands are trembling. "Oh, corn god, it's not a sin to fight any of these creations, right?"

Adaine doesn't know the last thing about what's considered a sin, but she does know that these things mean to kill. "I mean, maybe it'll be a good thing to kill them?" she suggests. "Banishing corrupted souls or something like that?"

"That could work." Kristen nods firmly after a moment of though, though her voice trembles as she speaks. Then, driven by a force Adaine can only assume is a sudden burst of recklessness, Kristen stands up, turns around and yells, "For Helio!", before smacking a husk with the blunt of her broadsword.

"Whether it's Helio-related or not, you two have to get up here!" Fabian calls out, striding up onto a table confidently and immediately getting thwacked off it as corn ooze draws a large, gooey fist and launch it at his stomach.

The following movement is so fast, Adaine almost doesn't detect it. But as adrenaline heightens all her senses, Fig peels out from an Invisibility spell and leap, sending a firebolt at the corn monstrosity, which lets an ungodgly screech out as it drops Fabian amidst the sounds of popcorn. "See," she says, pointing at Fabian, "this is why you choose a sturdier table- ah, shit-"

Evidently, the table tactic isn't working, as Fig tips over an untied bootlace and crashes to the ground. Her hair has come loose from her braid, and she looks up, allowing Adaine to take note of the deep, worn bags under her eyes as she still offers a smug grin and shoots off a fire spell from her fingertips.

Backing the bold and innovative choice not to jump, Adaine is allowed a few seconds to collect herself. Three of the corn cuties (that are not so cute up close, she thinks, spotting the sharpened teeth(?) and rotting, moulding blotches) back him against the wall, his ears flattening as he scans through his spellbook. 

"What are you looking for?" she yells, then winces at how hoarse her voice sounds. 

Gorgug keeps his eyes on the pages. "I've got some spells here, I just- I've never used them," he says, sheepish.

"It's still worth a try!" she says, her voice pitching up as they get closer. She should help, she thinks, her hands reaching for her orb, and drawing on the magic that she's been taught to use, studied for hours, should be good at-

Like slipping through water, her hands close around nothing. Fine. She'll have to improvise. Adaine breathes, slowly, trying to ward off the coming panic attack for just a little bit longer. "You've got to concentrate on drawing it up from the world around you, not just yourself - try grounding yourself first. If you feel a tug of the spell, follow it, don't push back!" It's certainly not the advice her textbooks gave her, those instead filled with pages upon pages of how the arcana of the outer planes manifested themselves; no, instead, Adaine finds her thoughts drifting back to a moment where Aelwyn, for one of the few times in her life, showed Adaine a brief moment of kindness. 

"I can't do it," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at pieces of a mug she'd dropped on the floor. "Just - please don't tell mother and father."

Aelwyn rolled her eyes, clearly too drunk to be as much of a genuine asshole as usual. "Of course - of course I'm not telling them. But only if you promise to not tell them I was... conveniently absent from the manor." She sighed. "Alright - we'll try Mending one more time, and if you can't get it this time, we'll shove all the pieces under the counter and hope that we can find an identical copy to replace." 

The next day, of course, she had forgotten the entire matter, and spent the entire breakfast berating Adaine for waking her up too early. But Adaine had remembered.

Gorgug raises a hand, and two of the corn cuties are incinerated as flames leap from his hands. He grins, and she offers a thumbs up-

That is, until a force hits her in the back and she hears something break with a sickening crunch.

Pain shoots through Adaine as she's knocked to the ground. Acting on instinct, she rolls out of the way, Lunch Lady Doreen bringing her ladle down again a few inches from her chest. Her head and heart are pounding asynchronously, as Adaine brings a hand to her back where the pain is most shaking -

Only for her hands to come away dripping with her own blood. For a minute, she understands what Professor Aguefort meant by chronomancy being the most powerful form of magic, as time slows down around her, drawing out the tightness in her chest. It's an all-too-familiar sensation, but under the panic, her blood thrums with anticipation. She's only now aware of just how loud the world around her is, as the words of everyone, muffled as they are, overlap. Her blood is scorching hot, and her skin itches, itches so badly to move, fight, run, maim, Adaine doesn't know.

She wants to squeeze her eyes shut as Doreen raises the ladle, but she finds she doesn't have the willpower to overcome the hunger shooting through her.

Adaine is about to be murdered on her first day of school, and her only thought is just how disappointed her parents will be when they find out she couldn't handle this fight.

Doreen swings at her face with the ladle. Adaine does the only thing she can, and grabs it.

The momentum is enough to swing her back - and wrench the ladle out of Lunch Lady Doreen's hands. Chest heaving, Adaine feels her fingers tighten around it. She's practiced magic for years, and yet no orb gifted by her father has saved her from this fight, yet. Panic and, yes, rage are senses that she has been in tune with for all her life. 

She spots Fig, her first unexpected saviour of the day, cursing like a sailor as she pulls a gun (where on earth did she get a gun from?) out of her jacket pocket. "Damnit, I'm all out of spells. Kristen, are you certain-"

"I already told you, I'm not Helio's chosen!"

"Then find another cleric," Fabian says like it's obvious, throwing up his hands. "Hey, Ball kid - you're a cleric, right?"

Adaine shakes her head, tuning out the muffled bickering as her body pulls her into action, and manages to raise the ladle just as Lunch Lady Doreen launches herself at Adaine.

She swings.

"Holy fucking shit-"

"Did you just kill her?"

Blood soaks the ladle, and enough congealed blood (and a clump she's certain is a tooth) splatters on Adaine's face that she immediately drops it on the floor and stumbles downwards. The blood isn't even the worst part. The worst part is the way the blood sets off a spark of energy in her chest, the way she feels her hands, unmarred until now, reflexively reaching for the weapon again. 

"-not dead yet, Adaine, still fighting to be done," a voice cuts through, and she watches, mostly in shock, as Fabian parries a hit from a corn cutie.

"I - I can't use the ladle."

"Of course you can, in fact, I'd even say you were getting the hang of it-"

"I won't," Adaine emphasises, though she can't help but feel petulant as she sinks to the ground, any strength lost to fight back the bloodlust, failingly.  

There's a pause, then: "You still need a weapon."

"I don't care, just - I'll figure something out," she manages to choke out.

And then her fingers are closing around the hilt of a sword, and Fabian sighs, his expression incrutable. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this- You there!" he yells, his voice amplified through the hall as he points at the corn blob. 

"What are you doing?" Adaine whispers.

"Trying to ensure we can actually win this fight, of course," he just says, pulling the item she thought was a weapon from his back and revealing, instead, a small but beautifully-crafted cherry wood violin. 

She blinks twice. The blood loss is getting to her, especially as Fabian leans in and mutters, "If you manage to break it, though, I will curse you for centuries."

Adaine nods, tears still pricking at the corners of her eyes. There's something in the cadence of his words that lifts her spirits both emotionally and tangibly, and Fabian clearly notices it too, though he doesn't comment on it, just shaking his head. The sword is much more delicate than the ladle, that's for certain - it's much more suited for someone of her status. Her hands still itch and rub themselves raw, regardless.

She braces herself to throw up all her lunch after this is over, and then leaps in to join the fight.

"How much will you pay me to jump in the corn blob's butthole?"

Riz groans, regretting every choice that's led him here. "Look, I know I suggested it, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea. For starters, you would have to climb inside, which would take a lot of effort unless you had a spell to blow a larger entrance-"

"So long, nerd!" Fig just crows, doing a rather impressive acrobatic kick and a (much less impressive) dive into the corn monstrosity. "I'm getting answers!"

Look, to be honest - this is the last place Riz imagined being on his first day of school. A few months ago, he would have assumed he would be sat in Rogue classes, collecting clues in an effort to track down Penny. Unfortunately, no one's been any help when it comes to the missing girls. The only clue he had landed him in detention, which was totally going to get him in trouble with his mom. Until now. 

So, on impulse, Riz shouts, "If you find anything, let all of us know, alright? It might be useful!"

He doesn't get a response, but he isn't searching for one, either. His focus turns to not getting pummeled by an onslaught of attacks, and he resists the urge to hiss as one leaps, digging sharp talons in through one of his sleeves. With a yell and a well-timed shot, it goes down, but Riz watches the blood pool in curiosity and winces. It's not his gun arm, thank the gods, but it knocks him off-balance enough that he can't defend himself as the others come forward.

Now would be a great time for some divine magic, he thinks loudly, hoping that whatever being's out there detects the tinge of irony.

Look, Riz Gukgak has never been religious. His mom always said that there's no greater being more powerful than what you can accomplish with grit and determination - and Riz has never held his hopes on the first thing he sees. He's thorough: his mom's thorough, and his dad was thorough. He won't jump to get help from something he doesn't understand.

He's gone through half the Solesian pantheon, now, and nothing has rung true. Somehow, a goblin teen with messy hair and a messier sleep schedule doesn't seem like the type to ever be a chosen one of Helio or Sol, and if Kristen, who seems pretty damn devout with her corn bracelet and tie-dye church camp shirts, isn't worthy enough, then Riz certainly isn't. The moon has hung over the sky on many sleepless nights, but there's always been too much light pollution over Strongtower to see it clearly. 

Genealogy records have turned up nothing, no ancestor-chosen ones or even lost religious figures; and there's always the chance that he could've been simply blessed by a minor celestial or being from the afterlife, but… Riz knows not to hope too hard.

His body twitches at the sounds of shouting on his left on his left, and turns to find Adaine lying on the ground as a horror-struck Kristen unfreezes, swinging hard at the corn cutie that, clearly, sunk her claws into Adaine.

Riz curses himself for not being more aware of the battlefield, and rushes to her side instantly. "Make sure nothing interferes," he demands, not angrily, but leaving no room for debate. "I'm gonna try something, but in case it doesn't work, can someone fetch me a first aid kit?"

He distantly hears someone mumble a shaky assent. In his peripheral, a much larger figure places a small, camo-green pack on the linoleum behind him, but Riz's mind is elsewhere.

Perhaps it's for the better that Riz has never understood the full brunt of what his dad's job used to entail. As a kid, his parents had protected him fiercely - not from the harsh truths and realities that were unavoidable for a shy, awkward kid from one of the only goblin families in Elmville, but from his own curiosity bringing him pain.

There was a night, though, when Sklonda Gukgak hadn't managed to wrestle her son into bed, though, and Riz had secretly stayed up, crouched on the stairs as he'd heard the rumble of the discreet, sleek black government car pulling up from a block or two away, and the click of the door that preceded the familiar, soft purr of his dad's voice. But on this night, there was also a gasp of breath from his mother, and then a calm, almost inaudible, "We need to get that sewn up, then."

Riz hadn't known what she was talking about at first, but, peering over the banister, he had skimmed both their faces down to where his dad's hands rested on a deep, circular wound in his side - and Riz had recoiled, because none of the detective novels he'd read as a child had ever mentioned how much pus came out of a gun wound.

He learns, that night, that his mother is a very efficient person, and that clearly, this wasn't the first time, judging by how practiced her motions were with a needle (although even Riz had looked away then, because yeah, he was a brave kid at seven, but yikes).

There was an expression on her face that's stuck with him, though, a little furrow between her brows and slight clench of the jaw; almost unkowingly, Riz finds himself mirroring it now. He's gotta stop the bleeding, he thinks, scouring the bag for cotton wool or bandages and turning up empty-handed. Someone hasn't stocked this bag in a long time, and Riz's breath hitches as he tries, in vain, to use some tissues to stop the bleeding.

The blood only succeeds in coating his hands, which only worries him further as Adaine stays unmoving and very shallowly breathing. His fingers go to where her pulse is - it's fluttering erratically, as though her heart is making up for the oxygen debt.

And it's then, that Riz realises that he is no healer. He should have joined rogue classes like he was supposed to, instead of falling down this rabbithole - maybe there is no mystery god, and this is just some freak wild magic surge. Or maybe he's being puppeted; there's nothing to say that this god is good.

That tingle of doubt settles familiarly in his mind, but Riz just lets it sit there, like he's about to sit it down for an interrogation. "Look, I don't know who the hell you are," he whispers at last, "but I need you to help me heal this student. Just - you don't have to send me a sign, though that'd be great, but… give me something to work with."

He takes a gamble, and peels away the tissues, instead resting his hands on Adaine's forehead.

Nothing happens for a solid ten seconds, and Riz feels his shoulders tensing the more time goes by.

Then, almost imperceptibly, a dim, flicker of a glow sparks from Riz's fingers, and he almost crows out loud because holy shit, he's casting magic and he feels like a kid right now.

Instead, though, he maintains focus.

And the wound closes, and Adaine snaps out of unconsciousness with a gasp. "You're - you should be okay," Riz just says as she starts to breathe hastily, feeling suddenly awkward and uncertain what to do now. Offer words of comfort, maybe? Check for any other injuries? Or-

"-Look out," Adaine gasps, and Riz whirls around, firing on the corn cutie leaping straight at him.

He offers her a wordless nod of thanks, and thankfully, Adaine seems to recover herself enough to bring the sword she was given down, before stamping it under her foot for good measure. "How - how are we doing?" she asks, and Riz finally has a moment to observe the battlefield. 

Fig, thank whatever divinity is out there, has escaped the corn blob unharmed, and is currently darting around it with a speed he wasn't expectimg. Her tights are ripped beyond recognition and her hands are bloodied, but there's a solid chance that's an... aesthetic choice? The Seacaster kid, despite all his posturing at first (and Riz has rapidly given up on trying to clarify that his name is Riz and not the Ball), has backed himself into a precarious position on a kitchen counter, but, at the very least, is holding his own with only a violin. 

"Y'know, if I wasn't set on becoming a world-class trickster, I would've totally made my own in the music industry," Fig remarks.

"I'm not a bard," Fabian protests, and Fig just raises an eyebrow. 

"Really? Because you've been pretty dramatic this whole time-"

Riz zones them out as his eyes dart over to one very clumsy Helioic worshipper. Out of all of them, she's by far doing the worst - her face has paled, and there's a thin sheen of sweat on her face as she raises her sword to cut down corn cutie after corn cutie. There are deep splashes of acidic corn on her arms, but she hasn't even complained. "Kristen, right?" Riz asks, leaping over a table to reach her.

Kristen nods. "That's me," she says, offering a weak grin. Then, her gaze falls and she continues: "You did a pretty great job bringing Adaine back there. 

"You always need a healer," he just shrugs. 

She hums in assent, sparing a moment to glance over her shoulder. "Hey, have you ever considered becoming a priest of Helio? I have a prayer chain set up, if you're-"

Riz, looking away, already opens his mouth to retort that he has no interest, when he hears a small, sharp intake of breath-

And then silence.

It's always seemed cliche, to say that time slows when a traumatic event occurs. Time certainly didn't slow when Riz received the news of his father's death, if anything, passing through the months and funeral procession as quickly as possible.

But as Kristen brings a hand to her chest in surprise, her mouth forming a small 'oh' as her fingers clutch the gaping hole in it, Riz swears that he can feel time elongate and liquefy, to the point where he doesn't even notice the yells going up around them.

It's the first day of freshman year, and Kristen falls to the floor of the Aguefort cafeteria, dead.