Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School

My hand flinched as soon as I finished writing, causing the complex orchestra of servos, motors, and actuators to stop dead in their tracks.

I took a moment to pause, to bring up my ‘hand’ and the pen held dexterously between its fingers halfway up to my face, as one thought resonated loudly within my head.

‘This moment, and everything leading up to it, could’ve been his.’

From the deepest depths of defeat.

To the highest peaks of victory.

From the formation of bitter rivalries.

To camaraderies forged in fire.

From the flightiest flights of fantasy, all the way down to the most grounded of grounded mundanities.

All of it was supposed to be his to live out.

But that opportunity was taken from him.

What’s more, he didn’t even get to experience the thrill of finally making it through that portal.

His death happened so quickly, that he didn’t even get to process a glimpse of this new world.

…

“It’s always difficult being the second. Especially if you overshadow the first.” Captain Li’s words reverberated deep within the confines of my mind. “It’s even more difficult when you know they didn’t even get the chance to reap the rewards of their sacrifice. Not even a single second of it.” He stated in that unmistakably inspiring cadence, during a conversation tackling this very topic.

“Being the second means you stand upon the shoulders of the first. And from what I can tell, these giants definitely wouldn’t want you to be wallowing in self-conscious indecision because of them. If anything, they’d want you to live on, to carry the torch they fought tooth and nail to keep alive. Because in their death, they’d want nothing more than for their legacy to be lived through the next torch-bearer. So that no matter the case, Prometheus’ flame spreads further through their actions.”

“And so consumed by his flame, we honor their sacrifices, by tending to the torch of progress — until we too become fuel to the fires of Prometheus.” I recalled finishing that quote for him. “You quoted Jackie Setanta for a reason.”

“Am I that obvious?” He replied with that signature sly grin.

“Yes… the historical allegories are just too painfully similar to ignore.”

“You’re the Jackie Setanta to Pilot 1’s Jebediah Herman.” He spelled it out.

“The latter barely even realized he’d broken the light speed barrier, while the former went on to finish the first warp expeditions, and then some…” I quickly rebutted; the whole comparison never sat right with me. “I’d rather we not make any comparisons before I even have a single accomplishment under my belt.”

“A fair decision, but my point still stands — you shouldn’t feel guilty for assuming the role Pilot 1 was meant to play, Emma. If anything, you should focus on getting the job done, and giving it your all. That’s how you honor those who came before, and whose shoulders you now stand atop of. You’re already halfway there by understanding the gravitas of being at the very top of the unbroken chain. And I know that you’re more than capable of bridging the other half, if not outright exceeding it.”

“I aim for nothing less, Captain.”

…

“That script… I’m assuming that’s your native language, Emma?” Thacea inquired with a soft coo, pulling me right out of my reverie as I turned to face her with a swoosh of my cape.

“Yeah, it is.” I nodded in acknowledgement.

“What does it say?” Thalmin quickly added.

“It’s a tribute.” I began. “Just a short little tribute to my predecessor who wasn’t able to survive the journey. A man whose role I now fill, and through whose sacrifice, I owe my very existence here in the Nexus to.”

“The first earthrealmer student.” Both Thacea and Thalmin surmised simultaneously, their voices dipping down into a more somber tone.

“I respect the thoughtfulness, Emma.” Thacea acknowledged, craning her head to the wall.

“He would’ve been proud to have handed the banner over to you.” Thalmin spoke with a dip of his head, prompting me to respond in kind.

“I can only hope so, Thalmin.” I responded with a sigh, before turning towards Ilunor who had now seemingly ransacked the store, piling up pens at practically every available countertop.

This inexplicable development was bracketed by the elf attendant standing powerlessly on the sidelines, looking on with a polite service-worker smile that clearly hid the abject horror brewing just beneath the surface.

It was clear he had something to say, but couldn’t for what was worryingly becoming obvious to me — Nexian social conventions.

However, this didn’t mean his plight was left unnoticed, as a rustling from behind the U-shaped service counter marked the arrival of someone who did have some degree of authority to confront the Vunerian.

“Forgive my impudence for intruding on your self-directed quest, my lord.” The older elven merchant finally approached, having exited his little closed off service counter, carrying with him one of those jeweler’s trays but modified with notepads and inkwells built into its casing. “But is there any way I could help narrow down our wide selection of guild-approved pens to match your discerning preferences?” He inquired, dipping his head low, and successfully defusing Ilunor’s frantic search for whatever it was he was looking for.

“Perhaps you can.” Ilunor responded snappily, crossing his arms in the process. “Tell me, oh stationery-proprietor, do you perchance have within your varied stock — a pen capable of writing on a vertical surface without smudging? With the ability to effectively control the flow of ink? And without the need to study the form-of-use?”

This question seemed to take the man by surprise as he began gesturing to a good chunk of the pens Ilunor had dredged up. “We… do, my lord. In fact, what you describe is standard for—”

“—I know it’s standard for enchanted and magically-attuned writing implements!” The Vunerian interjected with a loud huff, before quickly moving on. “But what I meant was a pen of the unenchanted variety. A basic pen, with the same aforementioned capabilities.”

A series of rapid-fire blinks from the elf punctuated the clearly unexpected set of requirements outlined by the Vunerian, prompting the man to simply go silent in confusion, then disbelief, before actively shifting to a look of genuine contemplation.

“Of the unenchanted variety, my lord?” The man reiterated, garnering a sharp and wordless nod from the Vunerian.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds, my lord, but… would you not wish for—”

“Do you or do you not have such a pen, shopkeep?” Ilunor halted the man’s deflection in his tracks.

“I do not, my lord.” The man bowed deeply, his tone shrinking back down to one of deference.

Ilunor went silent at this, his eyes shifting towards the entire store full of expertly crafted artisanal pieces, all of which were clearly destined for the offices of royals, nobles, merchants, and anyone affiliated with the upper crust.

And only the upper crust.

“And why exactly is that?” I inquired suddenly, finally putting my hat into the ring much to Ilunor’s chagrin. “No offense, of course, but I was just curious as to what the limiting factor here is.”

“It’s not so much a limitation as it is a… purposeful choice, my lady.” The man bowed deeply in my direction, though decidedly not as deep as he did towards Ilunor. “To put it simply, the guilds simply do not see it as an avenue worthwhile of being pursued. The craftsmanship you would need for such an unenchanted implement is simply far too great when you consider the existing contemporary solutions. From enchanted ink, to enchanted diffusers, all the way through to individually and distinctly enchanted mouths, seals, rods, shrouds, knobs, and even the nib itself — there is a near infinite number of conventional solutions to the ‘problems’ presented by writing implements of the unenchanted variety. If anything, creating an unenchanted item of comparable quality would be horrendously more costly, and would possess very little in the way of customizability and magical function when compared to enchanted pens of comparable cost. It would be… a novelty item at best, and a lackluster dust-collector at worst.”

That answer shouldn’t have surprised me.

If anything, it more or less fit in line with the Nexus’ narrative.

Because when magic was so readily abundant, and when the social structures existed to both propagate and draw from its use, these developments were not just expected… but inevitable.

Advancement oftentimes trends towards the path of least resistance, before solidifying into tradition and convention.

The small and rather niche field of pen-making seemed to embody this trend of ‘magical shortcutting’ to a tee.

Yet despite falling in line with what I expected, seeing it in action in a real world setting outside of the Academy, was another thing entirely.

However, whether it was just culture shock or an uneasiness that formed from the reaffirmation of the stratified stagnancy of the Nexus, one thing remained certain — the mini entrepreneur within me was begging me to dive deeper.

“So, I’m assuming that because it’d be quite expensive to craft something so precise and novel, you’d be alienating the very people who’d be in the market for an unenchanted pen?” I reasoned, garnering a solid nod from the merchant.

“Precisely, my lady. It would make little sense, as given the addition of a modest sum, one could simply elect to purchase from one of our many enchanted pens.”

“I see.” I nodded, as the gears of commerce began to turn within my head, leaving some vacant dead air that Thacea deftly swooped in to fill.

“In any case, given the school does require us to purchase Nexian-made stationeries for our coursework, we should at least attempt to—”

“Done.” I replied, turning towards Thacea as I grabbed one of the scant few choices available for typical unenchanted pens. “You know I can’t interface with enchanted items anyways, so I might as well grab one of these.” I shrugged.

With a nod from Thacea and Thalmin, and a silent look of worrisome contemplation from the Vunerian, we soon went to work gathering the stationeries required of us as per the course syllabus.

It was during this time of contemplative silence on Ilunor’s part, that I began taking stock of my surroundings some more.

The store definitely gave me a lot of that artisanal store vibes from back home, what with seemingly everything being handmade or assembled in some way.

From shelves stacked with leather, hard-paper, and even what appeared to be flexible stone-bound notebooks, to various office supplies that seemed almost like a more fantastical version of what you’d find back on Earth, the quality and attention to detail of every item was indeed impressive. You could visibly see and feel it in the binding of the books, all the way to the stenciling of the covers, and the lining of the actual paper within.

Whether a result of the charm, or the tourist factor, I eventually found myself lost in the rows of unnecessary and superfluous accessories; ensnared by their empty but compelling promises of improved organizational efficiency granted by their unnecessarily one-note use cases.

Though all of this expert ‘guild-approved’ craftsmanship definitely came at a cost… and a fiscal one at that.

With Thacea racking up a good fifty gold in bills, Ilunor a good seventy-five, and Thalmin a more modest ten.

My own bill stood somewhere in between, a solid twenty-three gold, and as with the case in the bakery and tailor’s before — Ilunor quickly unlatched my purse, allowing the gold to fly right into the man’s expectant purse.

“Delivery to the Academy will be at my expense, your highnesses.” The man bowed deeply, leaving us with the cleanest shopping experience thus far, but more importantly… with an idea that was difficult to dislodge from my head now that it’d taken root.

With the wealth cube effectively worthless for purposes of trade, and with my winnings rapidly dwindling with every item purchased, a gnawing feeling of financial worry started to creep up on me; despite alternative options available for me to tap into if I was so inclined.

I could easily leverage Ilunor’s debts and our current arrangements to have him act as my personal piggy bank. However, I wasn’t about to get into some complicated personal favor-debt dynamic if I could avoid it.

Moreover, whilst Thacea did seem to be an amenable ally, mixing requests for monetary aid into the equation too quickly into our relations was a questionable path towards the establishment of any long-term goals of a viable alliance.

This left the matter of financial self sufficiency up in the air.

At least, it did, until this seemingly innocuous exchange promised to fundamentally skew that equation forever.

There was an opportunity here to fill a gap in the market that would not only serve to fill my coffers, but had the potential to revolutionize the lives of commoners across the board. At least, as it pertained to literacy, and the accessibility of writing.

Because the first real hurdle was the procurement of the tools for writing.

For without a readily available supply of tools, there was little hope in the consistent practice necessary for literacy.

The ramifications of this idea ramped up with each passing step, reaching its precipice just as we crested the store’s exit.

This was where the EVI picked up a stray conversation from the store’s apprentice, as he pointed out my errant tribute on the framed paper-lined wall.

“Grandfather, I believe this warrants further observation.” He began, garnering the older merchant’s attention as he moved in to scrutinize not the foreign language or the questionable handwriting behind it, but the nature of the tool behind it.

“Consistent lines, no signs of blotching or bleeding, and furthermore… no signs of latent mana.” He noted with increasing suspicion, grabbing what seemed to be a steampunk-esque mana-filled device from his waistcoat, placing it over the area of interest. “Manaless ink… from a manaless writing implement.” His eyebrows quivered, locking onto me, just as I left the store to the open-mouthed look of disbelief from the stationery store proprietor.

Till next time, Mister Stationery Store Proprietor, when I put together a business plan… I thought to myself with barely contained glee.

Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Goltan’s Glowing Glasswares. Local Time: 1120 Hours.

Emma

It’d been a good few hours since the stationery shop.

And despite the wonderful world of glass that would’ve put both OSHA and insurance providers into a state of catatonic shock, I found myself incapable of really caring about much in the store.

The whole place was very pretty, with insane works of glass of all shapes and sizes available for purchase, but it was otherwise somewhat lackluster when compared to everything else I’d experienced thus far.

Maybe it was because of the pen idea still swirling around in my head.

Or perhaps it was my anticipation for our upcoming appointment at the adventurer’s guild later in the day.

Whatever it was, we quickly wrapped up our trip to the glassware store with little in the way of drama, though with plenty of close calls expertly prevented by the EVI, given how I’d yet to have adapted to life with a cape.

Suffice it to say, my adrenaline was consistently spiking in that insurance deathtrap of a store, and I was glad to be rid of it the moment we stepped back onto the now-busy town streets.

It was around this time that things seemed to be really picking up, as the streets were now packed with not only the locals, but with Academy students from all year levels and peer groups.

Many of them seemed to be following the gauntlet we’d started out our day with, as we passed by crowds of eager customers lining up around the likes of the tailors’, and filling up the narrow interiors of the stationery plaza townhouses.

Whilst many seemed to be entirely busy amongst themselves, the few that weren’t engaged in some form of conversation quickly shifted their attention the moment their eyes landed on me.

It took a moment for me to get it, but following the direction of their gazes, it was clear exactly what had reignited their fixations on me.

‘That… wasn’t there before, now was it?’

‘No. No it wasn’t.’

‘It would seem as if our newrealmer has grown something akin to a fashion sense.’

‘Or at least, what passes as fashion given her insistence on wearing that atrocious suit of armor.’

‘Beggars can't be choosers, Lady Ciata.’

‘I dispute that. This seems less of an attempt to mask, as much as it is an attempt to complement existing aesthetics. This is—’

‘Don’t you dare compliment those rags.’

‘Perhaps consider your own realm’s fashion sense, before insulting my tasteful critiques, Lady Ladona.’

‘How dare you, I will—’

“We’re here.” Thacea announced, cutting off the EVI’s juicy long range acoustic scans, as we neared the final Dean-mandated stop.

The wand store.

Looking around, it seemed as if the storefront was almost entirely devoid of students. If anything, the street seemed more akin to the early morning traffic than the current afternoon rush.

Though that made sense. Given the context of what wands were, and the baggage they carried.

The front of the store seemed to reflect this notion, as it lacked much of the expensive and ostentatiously expensive flare of the rest of the stores we’d visited so far.

If anything, it looked more like the sorts of stores you’d find in British heritage high streets. Tasteful, ornate, but not in your face as a lot of Nexian architecture was.

“Subdued.” Ilunor commented, more or less pulling the words right from my headspace.

“Quite.” Thacea acknowledged, as we all entered without much in the way of fanfare.

The interior of the store was more cluttered than the outside would’ve led one to believe. As display cases and boxes stood side by side, along with what appeared to be your standard fair fantasy chests, and floor-to-ceiling shelves that were stuffed to the brim with tiny, individually labeled boxes, all in varying degrees of yellowing.

A sudden whirring of metal wheels on a well-oiled track responded to our presence promptly after we entered, as in no time at all did the proprietor of this establishment appear, dusty tweed waistcoat with dress shirt and all.

“Ah! Customers!” He announced with desperate glee, his wrinkled and shaky hands gripping the ladder-on-wheels with excitement. “Please! Make yourselves at home, my lords and ladies! Please!” He huffed out, taking one careful step after another, descending down a ladder firmly affixed to a track built in front of the shelves.

“Welcome to Olli’s, the first and most renowned guild-licensed proprietor of wands in Elaseer.” He proclaimed, before bowing down to each and every one of the gang, and then singling me out entirely. “I’ve been anticipating your arrival for a long while now.” The elf spoke cryptically, walking out from behind his counter to ‘inspect’ me closely. “Hmm… it’s just as I’d expected, if not so much worse.” He paused, taking a moment to eye me closely with a dusty monocle. “You are in need of a very special wand.” The man smiled brightly. “And I think I just might have the wand for you, my lady.” He quickly walked off behind the counter once more, reaching up high towards one of the many haphazardly stacked boxes. “A wand chooses their mage. So it is very important that we pick out one that fits your precise needs.”

“Here!” He spoke excitedly, his hands carefully extracting the wand wrapped within, before pushing it close to my face. “Try this.”

“Erm, I’d actually like to just buy the cheapest wand you have? Trust me, I’m the last person who needs specialized tailoring for when it comes to—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The shady grey-haired elf disputed ominously, his hands incessantly intent on handing off the ornate and expensive looking stick to me. "You see, the prices of my wands aren't simply conjured on a whim! No, not at all. For you see, wands attune themselves to the mage they deem as kindred — congruous with their nature."

"And that means...?"

The wandsmith wiggled a brow, all too eager to reply. "Like streams of water flowing unto aqueduct paths, the mage is to a wand. Though piteous as it is, not all streams flow downhill, hence wands of higher caliber tend to resonate to the challenge. From you, I sense a deep, hidden well that I know for certain my wands can plunge into and extricate!"

While the words ironically flowed from the man like a master explaining their craft, I can't help but think if the craft in question was for wand lore or for tourist trap rumormongering.

I refused to budge however, simply staring down on him with two unfeeling red lenses.

This staredown between incessant and ominous magical salesman and a completely indifferent suit of manaless armor continued for a good full minute before finally, one of us relented.

“Please?” He asked politely, prompting me to finally take a hold of the wand…

Only for nothing to happen.

“Well, go on then! Try giving it a wave!” The elf urged.

“Sir, if I may reiterate, you have to trust me when I say that literally nothing will—”

“Just a little jostle!” He continued, garnering a grunt of annoyance from my end, as I wiggled and swung around the wand to little to no effect…

Save for the swooshing of the air of course.

The gang watched on with varying levels of interest, with Thalmin barely being able to contain a grin, Thacea maintaining her signature regal resting face, and Ilunor in that perpetual look of frustrated disinterest.

“Well… it would seem as if the whispering hazel core might not be properly attuned to you, my lady. But if you would allow me to—”

“I’d rather not, Mr. Olli.” I interjected with a frustrated sigh. “I’d just like to leave with the cheapest wand you—”

“At least allow me to try the phoenix feather core?” He urged. “It’s certain to elicit something of a response! I am certain of it!”

“Fine.” I relented. “If it means you’ll finally get that all of this is an exercise in futility, then let’s just get on with it.”

“Fantastic!” The man beamed, running to the back to the tune of some serious rummaging, before returning with a literal armful of wands. “I have twenty-one variants of the feather core, short of just one of the twenty-two distinct breeds of phoenixes I’ve managed to poach!”

“Do I want to know what happened to the last one you sold?” I reluctantly asked.

“I don’t remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Cadet Booker. But I know in my heart that all of them have gone on to be used for great things. Just as I know you will go on to do great things.” The man offered with a bright smile, bordering somewhere between a whimsical wandsmith and a hard-sell salesman.

“Alright. Let’s just get this over with.” I exhaled, grabbing one of the many wands the man had littered across the countertop. “Alright.” I announced flatly. “Here goes literally nothing.”

With an unenthusiastic swish of my arm and a flick of my wrist… a sudden swelling of wind began to swirl around as daylight seemed to slowly focus its rays directly onto me.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 120% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. Mortis’ Mage’s Essentials. Local Time: 1430 Hours.

Emma

“From the looks of it, and forgive my bluntness here — it would seem as if the man was attempting to scam you.” The water elemental spoke over a cup of piping hot tea, her undulating form leaning against an upholstered seat with a company of fishbowls, each housing a single perpetually-smiling axolotl.

“Yeah. It was… not the best first impression, I can certainly say that much.” I offered, holding my own mug of piping hot boiled leaves that probably smelled incredible if Thalmin’s reactions were of any indication. Not that I could tell given the helmet and all.

“I am afraid that guild certification does not directly correlate to chivalry or virtuousness, my lady.” The water elemental ‘dipped’ her ‘head’ slightly. “And for that, I sincerely apologize for the poor first impression left by my contemporary.”

“Eh, it’s not your fault, Lady Mortis. Please don’t feel obligated to apologize; especially not on his behalf.” I replied earnestly, leaning against one of the many reinforced armchairs within this quaint and honestly homely reception area.

Homely, being an apt descriptor for what this place actually was. As we found this place smack dab in the middle of a row of unassuming residential townhouses, and would’ve completely walked past it were it not for Thacea’s keen eye, spotting the only real giveaway as to what this place actually was — a mixed-use storefront.

A wand store, to be precise.

Mortis had confirmed that this arrangement was indeed unconventional. And for the most part, you’d be hard-pressed to find a mixed-use storefront-townhome combo without any obvious signage or indication as to the items being sold within.

It was difficult to stand out when in a residential street, after all. So most store owners still tried their best to make it obvious that their property was indeed a store for potential customers passing by.

But not Mortis’ store.

And that was the point.

The lack of any real boundary between where the store ended and her home began was very much intentional, and part of a philosophy I hadn’t at all considered.

Because according to Mortis, being a wandsmith wasn’t at all the profession of a salesman or merchant, but instead, a role which sat somewhere closer between that of a healthcare provider, teacher, and spiritual guru.

“The selection of a wand… is a difficult and time-consuming process.” The elemental reiterated, pulling me out of my reverie as my eyes were overwhelmed by the sheer ‘grandma-esque’ aesthetics of the place, what with all the baubles and knick knacks strewn about; not to mention the multicolored soft things and plushies. “It is oftentimes an emotionally daunting process, one that inherently brings up difficult memories of a life led with less of a manafield compared to one’s peers. For you see, Cadet Booker, the world is a cruel and unforgiving place for those who do not conform. And as much as many may believe that things get better the higher up you go in the social strata, the fact of the matter is that this social pressure only increases with each stripe of the social pyramid.”

The elemental paused, getting up as she began refilling the cups of tea Ilunor had been slowly, but consistently sipping on.

“This is because nothing short of excellence is demanded from Nexian and Adjacent nobility, a fact that extends not only to the intellectual and cultural pursuits, but the magical pursuits as well.” She continued, only to disengage for a moment to grab another tray of biscuits sitting just out eyeshot, straight out of what seemed to be a cast iron oven. “To be born with an… immature or incomplete manafield, as they say, is a sentence for a difficult and oftentimes painful childhood. This means that the sorts of questions and interactions we must have as a wandsmith, will most certainly infringe upon painful and troubling insecurities. It is thus the duty of a wandsmith not only to act as the purveyor of wands, but also as a shoulder to lean on, and a bulwark of acceptance in the midst of uncertainty. This is the practice of holistic wandsmithing, a philosophy that I wholly subscribe to.”

I nodded along during the explanation, as the elemental gave me something the previous shady salesman didn’t — time to absorb and ponder these developments at my own pace.

“With all that being said, are there any questions you wish to ask before we begin, Cadet Emma Booker?”

“Indeed there is.” I nodded. “Whilst I do appreciate the hospitality and your time, I’m afraid I won’t be needing much in the way of a fancy or expensive wand. I just need the basics, just to comply with the Dean’s requirements.” I shrugged.

“I respect that.” The water elemental responded tactfully, much to my surprise. “I am assuming that none of the wands the previous wandsmith handed to you managed to resonate with you, yes?”

“It’s… simply that none of them would resonate with me, ma’am. The armor I wear more or less makes that an impossibility.”

“So it would seem.” The wandsmith nodded, her axolotls all staring at her with anticipation. “Perhaps there is something we can do. Something that fits your definition of ‘basic’.” She continued, lifting up a hand, as one of her axolotls floated across the room, grabbing a hold of a wand sticking out of what looked to be a well-organized stationery cabinet. “Let me ask you this, Cadet Emma Booker — do you have difficulties in perceiving manastreams and manafields?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.” I nodded.

“Then I may just have something to help with that.” The elemental spoke warmly, prompting her army of axolotls to smile brightly in unison.