Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School

We were running.

And I had no idea why.

“Hurry up, newrealmer! We haven’t much time!”

All I wanted from Ilunor was a straightforward explanation, a reason for this sudden and abrupt cessation in calm, all amidst the backdrop of a student body that stared at us with growing worry and suspicion.

“What’s with the rush, Ilunor-”

“Your manaless disposition and mana-resilient armor has cost me the lead! I am now at a terrible disadvantage and you must rectify these circumstances at once by offering me your services as a makeshift steed!”

He suddenly halted mid-stride, his chest heaving from all the running and backtracking we did in order to arrive back at where we started. All because his little shortcut proved incompatible with the mana-resistant nature of the suit.

In short, the shortcut spat me right out, prompting us to rethink our strategies as we decided to take the usual route upwards, which put us right at the base of the dynamically-shifting staircase.

Though none of the so-called ‘setbacks’ really explained Ilunor’s rush to get to the lounge.

“EARTHREALMER, YOU MUST COMPLY!” He reiterated, stomping his booted feet-paws as he held both of his little arms by his side in a show of stern frustration.

“Fine. Whatever.” I acknowledged with an exasperated breath, picking him up by the underarms, and then placing him atop of my shoulders. “Let’s go.” I shot back to both Thacea and Thalmin, who promptly began climbing up the stairs, reaching speeds otherwise impossible for the Vunerian. “So, care to explain why I’m-”

“Your insistence on accompanying me has ruined both my lead, and the context by which my speech is to be given! I must now draft an entirely new speech as we approach our destination! So hush! And remain silent and swift!” He all but yipped out, his little foot miming a jockey’s kick, prompting me to cling onto every ounce of my self control so as to not hurl the blue thing off and down the seemingly endless flights of stairs. “Onwards!”

To say that we were the center of attention by this point, would’ve been the understatement of the week as we passed by faculty and student alike, all stopping to stare at the ludicrous display of a kobold riding atop of a power armored behemoth, with both legs locked beneath its chin for stability, and both hands preoccupied with writing a speech of all things in the midst of a hurried jog.

To the general public’s credit, they moved on from the strange sight almost as quickly as we passed them, with only the barest of whispers being made in reference to the ungainly sight.

“Is that the newrealmer?”

“It is.”

“And was that… a Vunerian riding it?”

“Hmm… He must have tamed it. Perhaps we’ll see the Vunerians claiming stewardship over its realms.”

“A symbolic gesture of dominance, and one quite fitting of a fellow-of-the-realm, no?”

“This isn’t just any newrealmer though. I heard that it managed to procure a library card-”

“And I once heard Professor Belnor once held an illicit party boasting nothing but stocks of her ‘special brew’. A rumor does not make an outlandish claim an objective fact.”

“To each their own, and to themselves, the spoils of truth.”

I ignored the words of the pair of elven twins, as we eventually found ourselves higher and higher up the steps, and amongst fewer and fewer members of the public as a result.

Arriving at the top floor, it was clear none of us showed signs of fatigue.

Moreover, it shocked me as to just how nonchalant both Thacea and Thalmin were amidst the exertion that would’ve otherwise caused even a seasoned parkour master to become somewhat winded.

The armor, for the most part, had fulfilled its power prefix; leaving me barely tired and holding my own just as well as the tireless pair.

“Are you guys usually this used to walking or-”

“There’s no time for conversation, earthrealmer, now hurry!” The Vunerian interjected before I could even get a thought out, leaping off of my shoulders and scampering back onto the floor with a solid thud.

We eventually made our way down the hall, which unlike the night of the warehouse explosion, lacked the open entryway into the common area. Instead, what we were faced with was a solid wall of stone, hidden behind a painting of a cozy lounge nestled within a Victorian conservatory.

No sooner did confusion take hold however, did even more questions arise, as the painting covering the dead-end morphed into something else at the behest of a few hand motions made by the Vunerian.

These random actions caused the painting to, for lack of a better term, melt. As the seemingly dry colors suddenly became wet, thick, and almost soupy. This soupy mess of colors that now more resembled a work of impressionist art, continued to morph and contort, until it finally looked animated. It looked as if the room and the subjects within were now moving about, as if we were now staring at a portal into an animated dimension through a really smudged-up pair of lenses.

I’d made the mistake of being so entranced by the surreality of it all that I got lulled into a false sense of security, and eventually paid the price for it.

"Good afternoon." A voice erupted from a harlequin mask that’d materialized within the painting.

I immediately reeled back, whilst Ilunor remained unfazed, treating this as if it were a regular occurrence. The mask looked too lifelike to have been bound within the painting, staring at me from every angle, no matter which way I moved; giving off an eerily stereoscopic effect for its foreground subject.

“And how would the young master prefer their Earlshot Gretin today?”

“Stirred, not shaken.” Ilunor responded with a sharp tone, prompting the disquieting figure to eventually melt away, shattering into a million pieces in a dramatic display of undeserved victory.

This prompted even more changes in the painting, this time increasing in clarity to the point where it looked less like a painting, and more like a literal portal into some hyper-realistic animated world; the scene within now resembling the common area I’d entered on the night of the warehouse explosion.

Without warning, Ilunor stepped through that threshold, causing himself to become one with the animated reality.

Thacea soon followed, then Thalmin, and eventually, I did as well; braving the fears that I would become stuck in a painting for life.

Instead, it felt as if I’d just… stepped through an open door frame and into just another room.

It was about as anticlimactic as that portal trip from the IAS to the Academy.

Turning around, I watched as the painting behind me began to dry and set, soon becoming a painted depiction of the hallway beyond its threshold.

I was greeted soon after to a scene that was pulled directly from a period piece, as students walked and stood regally, amidst a buffet of canapes and appetizers, with three food-fountains providing free flow chocolate, wine, and what appeared to be champagne.

Yet much to my surprise, it wasn’t the food that Ilunor was worried about.

Nor was it the free-flow drinks or seemingly endless distractions that dotted the room.

Instead, he was headed deep into a crowd, seemingly gathered for no apparent reason at the far corner of the room.

At which point, more than a few eyes within the room, and most certainly amongst the crowd, turned to address the Vunerian with a series of cadences that ranged from well-meaning, to ambivalent, to outright hostile.

“Oh, Chairman! Welcome back!”

“Chairman… maybe you should reconsider today’s regaling.”

“Hmph. So much for Nexian punctuality, Chairman.”

The already-cramped space was made almost impassable with the sheer number of bodies present here. Indeed, many seemed to only part way the moment they observed the little thing approaching as fast as his legs could carry him.

So as the final layer of students began parting ways, it quickly became clear to me what the Vunerian’s final destination was.

A chair.

A big, bright red, overly ostentatious chair that was probably better described as a throne.

But one that, to the wide-eyed shock and horror of the Vunerian, was occupied.

Though occupied was probably being generous given who sat atop of it.

ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A14 Prince Rostario Rostarion - Critarealm [NEUTRAL]

“Ah! Lord Rularia! Welcome, welcome! You are just about in time for this late afternoon’s post-lecture mixer!” The hamster spoke warmly through a polite and cordial smile.

Ilunor’s reactions were… quite mixed. Though one emotion that rang true above all else — annoyance.

This was only increased the longer the chubby hamster smiled down at him, as he dangled his little legs to and fro from a chair three sizes too large for him.

“We were just about to start! Or rather, I was just about to start.” The little thing chuckled politely, placing a hand on his lips as he did so. “I take it you wished to participate? I will only need a few hours to regale the class with my tales of untempered chivalry! And my pursuits of Nexian altruism. Surely you, Lord Rularia, a fine specimen of Nexian excellence, will oblige? Oh we do need a Nexian perspective for the daily regalings!”

“I am afraid I will have to politely decline, Prince Rostarion.” Ilunor replied curtly, though it was clear even amidst the public, his untempered rage still simmered. Except instead of screams, yells, and yaps, he instead used passive aggressive clips, and sharp enunciated breaths.

“Oh?” The hamster reeled back, placing his two little hands close to his chest, miming a look of emotional hurt. “Well that is quite unfortunate. We all so very much enjoy your participation in the Regale of Tales… but if I may be so brazen, might I ask why you wish to decline?”

“You do not ask a Nexian why they wish to do anything, Prince Rostarion.” Ilunor shot back sharply.

“Is that so?” The hamster mimed the motions of deep thought. “Well, perhaps that is the case.” He shrugged in defeat, before just as quickly striking back with an attack of his own. “In which case, I will have to ask that you leave, Lord Rularia.” He spoke with a calm, collected, matter-of-fact tone of voice.

There was no hint of venom to it.

In fact, the squeakiness and flightiness of his voice made it seem like a simple request.

But the effects of it on Ilunor were obvious, if his shocked and incredulous eyes were of any indication.

“Are you speaking as the Sitter of the Chair?” Ilunor clarified, as if posing an ultimatum.

The entire drama of the situation, whilst cranked up to 11, still didn’t detract from how ridiculous it was.

“Indeed.” Rostarion acknowledged. “And as the current Sitter of the Chair, the Prime Sitter, the Chairman… I ask that you respect the sanctity of its authority, on behalf of all prior sitters, and all future sitters to come.”

A staredown soon ensued, one accompanied by whispers and murmurs, soon resulting in a sharp SWOOSH of the Vunerian’s cape.

“Then I express my desire to protest. Nay, I express my desire to challenge this day’s Prime Sitter of the chair” Ilunor announced with great fanfare, his voice carrying with it a resonance enhanced through a burst of mana radiation. “To these ends, I challenge you, Prince Rostario Rostarion, to a chairman’s duel.”

“Hmm.” The hamster pondered, once again lazily kicking his feet to and fro. “Then as the current Sitter of the chair, and Prime Sitter for today… I have no choice but to accept this challenge.”

Rostarion promptly hopped off of the chair, landing feet first, meeting Ilunor eye-to-eye, being almost exactly the same height.

“Let us begin.” Ilunor announced, his hand darting off to the right, as if poised to draw a sword… only to conjure a piece of paper with a burst of mana radiation.

“Let’s.” The hamster reciprocated by performing the same motions. At which point, it was very much clear what was going down, and exactly what was happening.

“So… this is what he was rushing here for?” I turned to Thacea and Thalmin. “For the privilege of having first-dibs on a chair that’ll grant him first-rights on telling stories to an awaiting crowd?”

“The Storyteller’s Chair is a powerful instrument in the currying of favors, and the ability for one to direct the flow of a social mixer, Emma.” Thacea responded.

“I’ve never been one for these sorts of things.” Thalmin quickly added, glaring at what I could only describe as a mix between a musical duet, slam poetry, and a rap battle.

“Because such things are perhaps beyond the capacity for a lupinor to grapple with, no doubt.” A voice emerged from the crowd, one belonging to a lion man.

“It might be wise to simply leave, Emma.” Thacea urged. “At least, away from the Storyteller’s nook.”

“I concur.” Thalmin quickly added, glancing sharply at the lion man, before turning back to us. “There’s nothing for us here, because unless we ascribe ourselves to the hierarchy of the Storyteller’s Nook, we will gain nothing by being here, nor lose anything by leaving.”

“Your loss, lupinor.” Another voice from the crowd announced loudly, just as we left to the tune of Ilunor’s rendition of some Shakespearean soliloquy on the virtues of the Nexus.

It was only after moving out of that crowd and back into the middle of the lounge did I finally have time to take stock of everything.

The room was more or less exactly the same as it was on that fateful night; a star shaped design that had five distinct nooks, with a main ‘observation area’ in the middle of it all.

The EVI detected no dimensional tomfoolery going on.

But what it did detect was a disproportionate abundance of other mana-fueled shenanigans happening all around us.

Though I really didn’t need it to tell me that.

Not when the magic-fueled nature of the activities around me were laid bare.

From fleets of animated paper cranes duking it out in the second nook, to the erection of tiny miniature castles, spires, and towns in the third, to a genuinely unnerving group gathered around a circle emanating a dark and eerie black-fire in the fourth, to an ensemble of instruments being assembled in the fifth, magic seemed to permeate everywhere in lieu of the inventions powered by science and technology.

And for a moment, if I blocked out the Nexian propaganda spewing from Ilunor and Rostario in the first nook, everything just felt… eerily normal; functionally similar to what college common areas were like back home.

For a moment, everyone just seemed like… college kids, doing their own thing in their own little niches after class.

That moment only continued, as both Thacea and Thalmin were naturally subsumed by the flow of the conversation around them, ushered into groups that seemed to find some distinct interest in them.

The perpetrators were obvious for the latter, as ‘Cynthis’ and her all-girl group who’d shown interest in Thalmin’s recent escapades from before, gathered around him.

“Why if it isn’t the Roguish mercenary prince.” Cynthis announced to her clique, prompting a series of off-handed comments both good and bad to erupt, and eliciting the attention of a few more peer groups to enter the fray; more or less sweeping Thalmin up in a wave of congratulations both sincere and facetious. “I’m sure your peers won’t mind if we borrow you for a moment!” Cynthis capped off the assault with a question packaged as an imperative, more or less ushering Thalmin off towards one corner of the banquet table.

The poor prince didn’t even have a chance to protest.

Thacea, on the other hand, seemed to have been swept up by an all too familiar face… or lack thereof. As the faceless apprentice she’d spent hours talking to prior back in the medical wing approached her, showering her in senseless conversation, and thus locking her in that perpetual cycle of Nexian dialogue trees.

This left me alone, and very much the subject of increasing interest amongst the student body who weren’t already preoccupied with an activity or conversation.

“To approach or to refrain, that is the question.” A few crocodillians whispered amongst themselves.

“Will it be wise to approach a pariah?” Came another hushed question.

“A ‘pariah’ with a library card?”

“It is an object of living antithesis, mired in drama, wrapped in an enigma.”

“...The newrealmer or the card?-”

“The newrealmer, you imbecile!”

More and more groups began debating their approach, as dialogue sprawled across my HUD, organized into groups; keeping me equally distracted from approaching any of them first.

“So what’s with its armor?”

“No, what’s with its tinted lenses?”

“Perhaps a more prudent question should be what meaning can be derived from its foreign seals and unconventional heraldry.”

“It unnerves me with its void-filled emptiness!”

“But can a void truly be described as ‘filled’, Lord Gracion?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I’ll go first.”

“No, you most certainly shall not.”

“Why?”

“Because I shall go first.”

Eventually, that deadlock between indecision and distraction was broken. But not with the efforts of any of the bickering students, as instead, a familiar face emerged from an entirely different crowd.

“Hmm, and why if it isn’t the talk of the town.”

ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A98 Navine Ladona - Anurarealm [NEUTRAL]

The butterfly-like biped, with features that seemed almost forcibly tailored towards a humanoid audience, parted the crowd with an unfurling of her two back-mounted wings, creating an open path and causing the smaller amongst the crowd to flop to the ground in an attempt to avoid collision.

Poor Etholin was once again part of the casualty-count.

The whispers subsided for a moment, her presence creating an almost commanding aura amidst the small crowd. “Tell me, what exactly are you, hmm?” She began, her antenna swaying with a head tilt.

“I think it would be more appropriate, and perhaps a bit more polite, if we started off with who I was?” I offered politely.

“Hmm…” Ladona feigned a moment of thought, sinking her chin into an open fist.. “I think not.” She answered bluntly, almost condescendingly so. “You carry yourself as if you were an open book, Cadet Emma Booker. And yet…” The woman paused, lifting a finger following the ensuing silence, before using it to bridge the gap; trailing a manicured nail across my chestplate.

“... you conceal yourself in plain sight.” The trailing finger paused, as it evolved into an outright open palm pressed assertively across my chestplate.

“The people are curious, Cadet Emma Booker. They are curious if this is a handicap for your people’s immature manafields. Are your kind so emotionally immature that they would rather see your manafield hidden beneath layers of enchanted metals? Perhaps your manafield so barely registers, that you require protection from the Nexian elements, sealed within a walking prison? Or perhaps… you are a child of taint, a pariah of disease akin to your Avinor-fellow?”

“Judging by all of these questions, it’s clear curiosity will be a commonality we all share.” I beamed out brightly. “I’m glad to see we at least have something in common, as there seems to be so many other differences which may otherwise act as walls rather than bridges.” I continued calmly, benignly, garnering a snide look of dismissiveness from the haughty noble. “However…” I continued, my voice darkening.

It was at that point that I struck back.

My hand moved quickly to clasp Ladona’s offending wrist, her magically-attuned reaction woefully under-equipped to deal with the suit’s superhuman speed.

“I do not take kindly to blatant insults and condescending remarks to those I call my peers, or to myself for that matter. Nor do I take kindly to myself, or my armor and belongings, being touched without permission.”

I stood still, unflinching, testing Ladona’s resolve as she too refused to pull back after a few fitful tugs. None of us were willing to back down. Which prompted me to release her wrist after a few moments of silence. “I merely reciprocate the actions I’m faced with, tit for tat.” I offered, before shifting just as seamlessly back into that bright and beaming persona. “But regardless, I thank you for bringing these questions and concerns forward. Though… perhaps it would be best if I answered the crowd directly.” I paused, turning towards the crowd in question, before placing down my gambit.

“Or am I to believe that the gathered lords, ladies, princes, and princesses amongst us have relinquished their voices to Lady Navine Ladona so that she may speak on all of their behalf?”

This almost immediately split the crowd. As whispers either turned into outright open conversations disputing this fact, whilst a good chunk of the crowd suddenly ignored the back and forth entirely, moving off and going about their own separate ways.

“We have questions we wish to pose, newrealmer.” The group of four crocodiles from earlier spoke in unison, pushing forward past Ladona, and all but demonstrating their rejection of her authority.

“As do we.” Came the tortle-like-turtle from earlier and his group of rag-tag peers.

The rest of the crowd, including a particularly silent Etholin, remained silently accepting of this change in dynamics; as the silent coup of Ladona’s authority was completed in mere moments.

This trend continued, until my little corner of the common room became just as loud as any corner, and I’d somehow found myself finally part of the year group’s active conversation.

Ladona, to my surprise, remained within the crowd.

Though it was clear she was moreso there for the impromptu Q and A, as the questions began piling in.

The first of which, I was not expecting. Not because it was particularly difficult to answer, but simply because it seemed extremely superficial to start off with.

“Allow me to start. What do those runes on your armor mean, newrealmer?” The crocodilian student inquired, pointing at the E-ARRS Mk.1 decal on the upper right side of the armor’s arm-piece.

“Oh, that’s just my armor’s designation and model number.” I answered simply.

“A superficial label, with no enchantments ascribed to it?” He shot back questioningly.

“Correct.” I nodded, prompting the crocodile’s fellows to circle me, eying and picking apart every angle of my armor.

“A shame.” Came one of the crocodiles, a shorter one, practically Ilunor’s height.

“Enough of the overanalysis of these pointless runes. I expected more from your peerage, Viscount Gumigo. Enchanted or not, I am more interested in that.” Ladona yanked the reins of the conversation away from its lazy start, pointing at the flag emblazoned prominently on my chestpiece.

“Your heraldry, I imagine?” The crocodile surmised.

“Not quite. It’s a flag, composed of a collection of symbols added gradually over time through compromises for representation and union; each symbol representing the constituent geo and astro-political regions of my nation.” I answered a-matter-of-factly.

“It’s rather… bland for something you self-report as grand.” The tortle-like-turtle spoke. “Two colors, and rather weak and benign colors at that.” He snickered.

“It’s almost as if your realm is readying itself to be overpowered by the Nexian canton.” Ladona spoke dismissively. “Weak colors, and even weaker symbolism, befitting of a realm with weak manafield constitution.”

“Perhaps it might be best if we allow the newrealmer to speak to the symbolism first?” Etholin offered, peeking through the crowds with a curious wiggle of his nose.

“No explanation given can excuse the lack of artistry.” Ladona sighed. “But fine, go right ahead newrealmer. Endow us with your grand tirades on these flat and uninspiring symbols.”

“Well to address your points—” I made the effort of turning directly towards Ladona and the turtle. “—my kind finds meaning in brevity, and significance through simplicity. I understand that the understatedness of our symbols may seem quite foreign, but from the experience forged in our formative development, we have come to believe that the strength in a flag is derived as much from its design as it is from the ideals it upholds through the actions of its bearers. Moreover, we arrived at this point through centuries of well-intentioned compromises; attempting to unite all through shared commonalities. The greatest commonality of course, being the sovereign territory we inhabit.” I pointed at the Earth. “My world, or realm as you might call it; complete with its landmasses and continents.”

“Then what is that below your realm?” One of the smaller crocodiles shot out, pointing at the smaller circular body tucked beneath the Earth.

“That’s Luna, our moon.” I answered.

“So a realm and its moon…” Ladona chuckled dismissively. “How original. I’m going to assume then that the seven stars on either side surrounding your realm is a rough and vague visual representation of the stars upon the tapestry?”

“They are in fact simplified illustrative representations of stars.” I nodded. “However—” I paused, and for a moment, considered the next expository line carefully.

Fundamental systemic incongruency was, after all, very much present. Whilst Thacea, Thalmin and even Ilunor had begun moving towards accepting this reality-shattering truth, there was something to be said about the rest of the student body that hadn’t yet gone through the ringer.

It was… tempting, even encouraged through some chapters of SIOP to be forthright with explanations pertaining to the flag and the UN as a whole.

However, given the circumstances and the ultimate discretion I had as mission commander… this just wasn’t the time for it.

We had to establish a foundation, just like I did with the gang, before moving forward with something this monumental; to overcome the barrier that was FSI.

I could potentially simply say it without addressing it outright. However, that would inevitably result in a flurry of questions that couldn’t be addressed, at least, not at this junction. One had to walk, before running, let alone blasting off into space. Just like I planned to do with the gang now that things planet-side had been revealed to them in the holo-projector…

“—there are other symbolic meanings ascribed to the stars. Of which I think would be better kept for another time.” I concluded succinctly, prompting more than one curious gaze to form amongst the gathered crowd.

“Layers upon layers.” Viscount Gumigo spoke in a huff.

“The newrealmer certainly does have a penchant for showmanship, I’ll give her that much!” One of the smaller crocodiles spoke up just as quickly, crossing his arms as he did so.

“In any case…” Ladona sighed with a pinch of her ‘nose’. “We are getting absolutely nowhere with these trivial discussions. Let us broach the drake in the room and be done with these pointless sojourns into the inane ramblings of a newrealmer.” She raised a finger, pointing it dangerously close to my armor, as if tempting the same reaction from before. “Why exactly do you wear that armor, hmm? I believe that should be a simple enough question to answer?”

This seemed to cause some disquieting murmurs in the group, primarily as a result of the impromptu leader of it having once more retaken her reins. However, I recognized it for what it was, or rather for the opportunity it presented — an off-ramp from one tense conversation, into what was definitely going to be another controversial one.

Though it was one that needed to be addressed as the most fundamental disruption in their worldviews, if I am to build anything atop of it at all. The mana-less issue, was after all, the first matter I broached with the gang. And perhaps the process in which I did so, could be used as a pilot model and applied elsewhere too.

So with a subsequent sigh, and a few large steps back away from Ladona’s attempt at poking my armor again, I finally spoke.

“I’m assuming you’ve all heard rumors of the first Earthrealmer who crossed the threshold?” I began, garnering quite a few head bobs from the crowd.

“Well then, I guess we’ll start there. What do you know about it?”

“That your first candidate was thoroughly harmonized.” The tortle-like-turtle responded bluntly.

“Either due to a sickness of the soul, or an inability of the soul to render the difference in the purity of Nexian manastreams.” One of the crocodiles chimed in.

“That’s all somewhat correct.” I nodded. “However, it’s more in the ballpark than on the point. So to keep things concise, let me put things simply — my people come from a manaless realm, and as a result, all life in my realm, humans included, lacks a manafield. The reason why the first candidate was harmonized as you say, and the reason why I need this armor, is because of the dangers posed by mana on a living being lacking in a manafield.”

The reactions to this revelation, one that I knew had to be addressed one way or another, was understandably one of disbelief.

“A bold faced lie.” Came the tortle-like-tortoise.

“Incredibly bold, and incredibly stupid.” Came Ladona.

“But not out of line.” Came one of the crocodiles, who placed a palm underneath his ‘chin’, as the entire group turned towards him.

“It’s quite simple really. Even you of all people touched upon it, Lady Ladona.” Viscount Gumigo snickered dismissively at the butterfly. “The newrealmer simply doesn’t know her realm has mana. Moreover, her kind must be so weak-fielded, that they mistake themselves to be manaless. It’s merely an extension of your existing conjecture. Perhaps you should’ve thought of that yourself.” He grinned cockily. “There is always truth in one’s beliefs. It’s just that the more primitive you are, the more that truth is often obscured by gross misunderstandings.” He quickly turned towards me, now with a face of pride, as if he’d unlocked a hidden truth. “Am I correct, Cadet Emma Booker?”

“No.” I responded bluntly. “So let’s start from the top.” I paused for a moment, palming the device that would more or less force the crowd to face the facts, as it’d done to Ilunor just a week prior — the tablet. “Tell me, you understand that there exists manaless methods for processes expedited by magic, yes?”

“Such as in fields like smithing and record-keeping?” The crocodile offered.

“Correct.” I nodded.

“What could you possibly be getting at here, newrealmer?” Ladona remarked with a frustrated sigh.

“Well, you would assume that without magic, and without the presence of mana, that advanced metallurgical processes wouldn’t have been possible, correct? The same goes for advanced means of recordkeeping such as sight-seers and memory-shards?”

The crowd, for once, nodded silently.

“Well then, you wouldn’t expect there to be a manaless means of storing information in a similar capacity to your-”

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 450% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

Another mana radiation warning hit me. This one plunged me into complete darkness.

ALERT: Critical reduction in light levels. Compensating…

“Not now, Cadet Emma Booker.” A voice boomed through the dark.

A dark that the rest of my sensors immediately pierced through, revealing that I was simply covered by an anomalous light-dampening field, hampering some of my visual sensors; but not the rest of my sensor suite. This revealed that I was standing at the exact same spot as before, though with the addition of a certain shadowy-faced apprentice.

“What-?”

“I apologize for breaching Expectant Decorum by disrupting your points of personal privilege. However, your current aim-to-disrupt has triggered this outcome. I suggest you avoid broaching this particular talking point, Cadet Emma Booker.”

“...And what if I don’t?” I shot back defiantly.

“I am not at liberty, nor am I of the authority to elaborate further. This is a matter that will be addressed in due time. Or rather, much sooner than you expect. But until then, I believe it’s best that you do not let loose this particular dragon. The party is almost over, after all.”