Machinist of Mana

Mr. Ignus was as good as his word, and when I got hold of a paper the next morning I found within it that there was in fact a headline about an attempted kidnapping. Rather than saying what I knew it was however there was simply a confirmation that the assailant was unknown, seemingly a physical magic user, and should be regarded with extreme caution. There were also some notes about searches for the individual in question and the increased security in Exion as a whole.

This of course stirred up the student body something fierce. Normally one wouldn't associate high-school aged kids with reading the paper, but with no social media or video games it was oddly a popular thing to do. Of course before lunch I was inundated with requests to tell my story once more. Everyone who'd heard it already was spinning wilder and wilder tales, and each was being traced back to me.

“I'm sorry, but I'd rather not talk about that,” I said for what had to be the twelfth time today. If Mr. Ignus was going to keep his word I could at least manage that much for now.

“Aw, come on, you were telling people about it the other day,” the boy complained, only go back off when I fixed him with a hard stare. “My apologies,” he said, retreating.

It seemed I'd gotten a bit of a reputation as well. Lucas was a known quantity to the student body, a combat obsessed maniac who trained almost constantly. There were those stronger than him, those faster, and a few who were no less dedicated, but he had a reputation as being very good. To hear that I, a new student with only a few fencing tourney titles under my belt had driven off a monster that he openly admitted had thoroughly trounced him was a bit of a surprise to them.

That all led to people paying a lot more attention to me than I already got. Between that and the incident on the first day I was building a very serious background among my fellows as someone to be watched. It all seemed a bit silly to me, I didn't do anything most of them couldn't. That fight was hard, but approached cautiously half the school should have been able to survive, and that was all I did. Had I not had the blade my father gave me I would have been in deep trouble.

That reminded me, and I quickly rewrote the letters to my family. I told them the basics that were publicly available, and that I would give them the full story in time. I wasn't planning to hide it from them, if the Duke wanted it kept quiet they'd probably not oppose, so long as he acted, which he was. My parents would also demand a full accounting from me when next we met and I had no delusions that they'd accept anything less. Mother could sniff out deception like a bloodhound when she wanted to, and hiding this would only damage her trust in me.

Sasha

Half of the warren was in a state after brother Sigmund's return. He'd arrived moments ago, sliced up like he'd been in a fight and without anything to show for his trip away other than the injury. It had been bound, poorly, but enough to at least staunch the flow while I saw to him.

“Where is Father?” he asked as I tried to patch together his wound.

“Deeper of course,” I answered, as if that wasn't obvious.

“Met someone, he got away,” Sigmund said, not having led with that.

One of my younger cousins, one of the smarter ones, was nearby and I turned to him. “Get Father and Greta now!” he scampered off at speed as I sent a wave of power down the tunnel, looking for any blood that might have spilled. Even a single drop was too much, and I used my magic to scour them, and everything about him that I could, his smell, hairs and the like, away.

Sister arrived first, looking confused that I'd called for her in such a hurry.

“What do you need Sasha?” she asked, looking at our injured brother.

“Seal it,” she blinked at my nod towards the entrance, but she was smarter than the rest of us and soon picked up what I wanted.

As the one in charge of the entrance to the nest I could make this decision, to close the door and seal it. Long ago father had told us that a time may come when the humans came for us, and we'd prepared for it. At first the plans had been simple, but with her constant tinkering Greta had come up with a mechanism that worked into the opening, moving stones to place so well that it became nearly seamless with the outside tunnel. Sadly it was very fragile and without her I had no confidence of making it work on my own.

Within moments she had it going. It was loud, louder than I would've liked, but with a few flicks of her fingers that subsided after a moment, going silent. When it was done there was a mess of gears and rods on our side, but the other would be a blank section of wall, nothing obvious to anyone who came looking.

We were still getting people and things into place while the whole nest went into emergency mode. It took time to spread, but cousins and siblings were moving now, aware that something had gone wrong. As often happened, I saw the magic before Father himself, appeared, approaching us in a hurry.

“What has happened daughter?” he asked, knowing that I was the one who'd triggered this.

“Sigmund was seen and injured by one who got away,” I said, before my brother could answer for me.

“Explain,” he said to the hulking form of Sigmund.

“Was taking human, like you said. Got attacked by two, fast and strong, took one down, other had blade. Retreated to let you know.” That last part was tacked on in a hurry, and I wasn't the only one who recognized it.

“Don't lie to me boy,” Father hissed, causing a flinch among all of us. “You ran because he sliced you up, and good thing, someone getting hold of you would be a problem.” He turned cursing. “Fuck, shit, fuck, we need to be careful.”

“Father,” Sigmund said, earning a glare that made him shrink back. “What is inngalish?”

Father froze, looking intensely at our brother. It was as if he'd seen something he never expected, as if he knew something big had just happened, but wasn't sure where to go with it.

“Where did you hear that word son,” he asked calmly, the most dangerous emotion for our parent, and one we all knew well.

“The one who cut me,” Sigmund explained carefully. “I spoke like you do when you're mad and he said 'Eww undastan inngalish?' to me. Then when I asked him what, he repeated it 'inngalish' again.”

“Sasha, are all of our outgoing parties accounted for?” he asked, turning to me.

“Yes Father, everyone is back,” I confirmed, having always kept track of who was where.

“Good, watch the door. Sigmund, come with me, you will tell me everything.” With his words he took my brother, seeming to care not at all about anything else.