(Resumed) Solstice

[Lienne]

The table in the room we nine shared was round. Myrrdin's doing, no doubt. He was always a fan of these things and Clarent was too boring to interject. That or he was too busy staring down the exit door from his seat. He may have been in his twenties when the War happened, but the stress of running CVAC from scratch took its toll on him.

His left and right flanks were seated by Silver Linn and May Rose respectively, empty Provost of Arcana and darkwind Provost of Dreams, same rank as I.

Continuing down right and left, we had Dean of Water Rhea Ten and Dean of Air Myrrdin Feylance. Smart: keep the two (three if you count Clarent himself) Air Magi together to coordinate and transport students and faculty in case of attack while in sight of the healer.

Next, we have Dean of Fire Talia Fæl and Dean of Vo-, er, Dean of Universal Magick Brian Pryce. Two Dark Magick users flanking the front could cover the room quickly in shadowy bulwark. 'Twas just as wise to put the two Fire casters on opposing flanks to cover all directions. 

Would have been nice to have Wulfric with us: Aegis wouldn't be a problem then. But he made his bed and chose the wrong path. It's tragic, but a woman's heart was a fickle flame and so the pangs palled.

Finally, we had Dean of Earth Hilbert Vise and myself, Provost of Combat Lienne. It was this ace in the hole that finished the room's proof against ambush assault: to have the strongest shield and sharpest blade right at the door.

We, the Five Deans, Three Provosts, and Headmaster, comprise the central authority of the Can Vahs Arcane Colleges, formally known as the Sleepless Seminary, and every Enday we meet in his apex conference room at the height of the Student Centre. We hold our position here every day in case of another attack by Nightmares. Or of Magi, which: see above. We report early in the day and depart late in the night, delegating faculty to cover office hours and only departing one or two at a time to maintain coverage. We also use this room for top-level meetings and as a War Room for our military campaigns.

Though, with the Emissaries on our arse, the latter wasn't happening anytime soon.

Hilbert groaned, his flesh camouflaging into his robe. "Man, it feels like it was just two weeks ago we had the Nightmare scare."

I rolled my eyes. "That's because it was. Clarent and I fought it." The rapport was dulling so I didn't seriously denigrate him.

Clarent didn't even bother to lift his pen off a stack of paper when he replied. "I'm holding you strictly responsible for that, Lienne. You're the idiot who invited him."

I locked my gaze on the only person in the seminary who strictly outranked me. "I stand by that decision. I took the responsibility; I'll take it again. Besides, if we didn't bring him in, they would."

"Then he'd be a useless etsy and easy pickings." Clarent tipped a hat he wasn't actually wearing.

My teeth peeled my lips away. That was a lie. That was a lie and he knew damn well why. He was there when the Crusades stole Thoughtcage from the ruined College. That it rested on his - Aegis' - head was the entire reason why we hadn't snuffed him out yet!

Clarent knew exactly what happened five years ago. He might have swindled the others with his mind-read, but he didn't sneak it past me. If we cast Emmett away, Aegis would turn him in a heartbeat. I saw their resolves: both were the sort who would do anything and everything in service of what they felt was right.

But was it right to do this? Aegis might well be the only one on the whole of the lands who could properly apprentice Emmett. We might be clipping his wings before he could ever learn flight.

No. Stay the course. Every sun deserves a tomorrow to shine in, and with Etsies there is no Tomorrow. 

Clarent would never listen, so I held my tongue. "Any news? Will we be locking down the seminary soon?"

The green-robed May and the blue-robed Rhea nodded in unison.

The Provost of Dreams cleared her throat first. "Indeed. We've been receiving vast infrastructural support from the provinces abreast. The advent of the Service-coded Expedition Squad was a wise one indeed."

The Dean of Water followed suit. "Healing services the nation over are in high demand. I may be pulling in all our healers, be they pupil or Professor. Headmaster?"

Clarent inclined his head. "What is it, Rhea?"

"Do you think you can arrange Translocation across provincial distances? Ib Rovize's taken some hits and Nerdew Whale seems next."

"Just who do you think I am, a no-name?" Clarent shook his head. "I am Percival Clarent. I fought the Nightmare War and won. Of course I can perform a mere translocation across a province."

"How about spontaneous deployment of multiple Magi from the Seminary across multiple Provinces?"

I saw the big boss' eyebrow twitch, then his lips curl into a predator's smirk. This was the lust one gives after particularly alluring prey.

"Hey now," the Dean of Earth interjected, "That'd be seriously taxing, plus how are they going to get back even if the old man could do that?"

Silver flashed a grin. "You're older than he is!"

May drew a finger like a blade of objection. "Angel and I could-"

The quiet and smoldering Talia blazed forth in a din of protest. "You mean the Angel who refused the College of Wind to the point of challenging Feylance?! No. Not for every throne in the Heavens would she do that."

Silver interlaced his fingers. "You can handle return transports if you wish, but don't bring Angel into this. She's willing to pain herself for family, but never forget we're not her kin."

The man in charge coughed and all eyes snapped to him. "It is a challenge, but I'm up for it. Give me... two? Yes. Two weeks, no, three days, and I'll devise something.

Did he seriously just drop an estimate of two weeks to invent a new high-scale spell down to three days?

There were extemely few people I would not wish to face in a deadly fight of Magi. Percival Clarent was absolutely one of those few, and it was because he had a wit and cunning sharper than even my instinct. An instinct that was forged in the faraway deathlands of Vlad, against creatures most Taikith would call myth. 

I had honed my drive against monstrous wolves who'd ne'er harm a woman yet mistook me for man. I had felled dragons and burned the illusions of sphinxes. Let that speak to the calibre of mad experimentalist I worked under.

Brian, the bright Dean whose flesh swallowed light as well as mine, drummed his fingers on the table. "The amount of Æther you'd need to move is obscene, Headmaster."

Percival Clarent clapped and beamed. "That's why you're gonna help me! Want a stretch assignment?"

A flicker of ideation knocked my attention adrift from Brian's words. So you took my challenge after all.

I raised my hand.

Clarent blinked. "You can just speak."

"I need take leave for several minutes. I shall return."

It was Silver who spoke next. "That envelope, I take it?"

I nodded. "It was a small enchantment. It shouldn't rouse the Nightmares."

Clarent groaned. "You will see to that."

I thanked him and strode out the door with not more than four footfalls, including the one that kicked me off my arse. It was unofficially known why, but continuing Enchantments didn't much provoke the Nightmares on Respite. Starting one did, but I made that one a long while ago.

The real truth, which no one admits, is that Nightmares descend not upon Lifeforce.

[Em]

The sight of Lienne breaching the conference room door yoked my awareness back into me. "Ambitious, aren't we? You're still in post-op last I heard."

Samael clasped his hands together. "Ser. Please let us bring someone else and not Emmett."

My lips parted to correct him. "E-" they snapped back shut. Samael and Patrick wouldn't understand. There was no point.

Patrick didn't say anything to the Provost who had just barged into our meeting.

Grace loosed a sigh.

Ser Lienne folded her hands. "Negative. Deploy as you are."

Samael stood up. "We can't tolerate deadweight on a life or death mission!"

I listened for Patrick to follow up, but he never did. I heard nothing from Grace either, for that matter.

"What's wrong Patrick?" Lienne raised an eyebrow. "Not gonna rub Emmett's name into the dirt?"

Patrick held firm. "Emmy's a jackoff but I ain't dissing my Mistress. Jacqueline's pupils don't back down, and he's just as much her student as I."

Again with the weird half-complements. What was Patrick's angle?

Ser Lienne's lips curled to the thrum of a hum. "Then let it please you to hear that Emmett chose the best possible time to spring this trap of mine."

Samael recoiled. "What?!"

Patrick punched high into the air with his fist.

Grace chose this moment to speak up. "What do you mean?"

My contribution: "Huh?"

"Well, there's a proverb I heard once that stuck with me." Lienne took a seat at an empty chair. "It is said that to be trans is to walk with pain."

Oh Stars Above, was she going to-

"Now being trans doesn't matter in this case," said Lienne to my immediate relief, "But walking with pain does. Adversity and hardship are the food and drink by which Magick surges. By pitting the four of you in this peril, Emmett guaranteed all of you the maximum possible growth in your abilities."

Samael frowned. "If we survive!"

Grace nodded. "Squad Leader does have a point."

Ser Lienne's voice pierced the air. "If? You are Upstarts, named such for the high ambitions and feats you four hold and display! This includes you, Emmett! You intend to fight Aegis and his Emissaries, right?!"

Patrick was the first to respond. "You'd better believe we do!!"

"Then don't think in ifs. If this foe can drop any of you, then you never stood a chance." Ser Lienne rose and gave a bow. "I believe in Silver's assessment. I believe in Myrrdin's sponsorship. I believe in each and every one of you. I am Lienne, Provost of Combat. I challenge you, jointly and severally. Rise up. Meet me. I know you can do this."

"Yes, Ser!" we barked at once.

The Provost of Combat, former Dean of Fire, Arena Champion, Ser Lienne, about-faced and marched out.

I turned to face my Squad. "Good talk?"

I received glares from Samael and Grace. Oddly enough, Patrick regarded me neutrally.

I shook my head. "Guess not."

I left the meeting, for there was naught more to discuss. Besides, I still had several assignments that needed finishing before Monday's classes.

Theory of Magick I was simple enough. Today we practiced an introductory spell to speak words through Æther. Well, everyone else, anyway: I got to watch idly. From my observation it was quite obvious I had some catching up to do once I was cleared. 

Physical Fitness was another class I got to watch instead of take. I stayed in robes as classmates changed into outfits, and sat next to Ser Larsen as he directed the class.

I waved to Ansel, a faint glimmer of false hope cooling my chest for a fraction of a second.

He kept warming up as if I were invisible.

The glamour effervesced and the pain remained. I did that to him. 

If only I could just... be a normal man. Like any other man, who pulled Magick from without as opposed to within.

A hand that had to have been Ser Larsen's dug into my shoulder. "Tough apples, huh Sinclair?"

I looked down. Tough apples? This is so much more than fucking apples.

"Lemme guess, you a girl deep down and he's gay."

It was all I could do to utter a mutter and even then the mutter had buttered the gutter of stutters and silence. "Shut up." Why was Larsen pretending to care about me anyway, after that foul Necroturgy stunt he pulled?

"Chin up; it's not your fault."

Before I could think, I was standing and my right arm had pushed his hand off me. "What do you know about fault?" I kept my voice quiet so Ansel wouldn't hear my outrage. He'd have been angry at me, but I needed to stand my ground.

Ser Larsen kept his eyes on the class, utterly ignoring me in the process. "Alright, maggots! Start your laps! Etsies are here and now so you need all the cardio you can get!"

"I just-" My chest folded into a nailbed on itself. I looked up and saw my classmates, saw Ansel, bound out to begin their laps without a single one, without him, acknowledging my existence.

"Continue, Sinclair." Larsen's words held patience with no trace of contempt.

"I hurt someone dear to me so bad I took away his smile and optimism, and you want to teach me about fault?!"

My instructor said nothing.

"How am I not supposed to hold myself to blame? Especially if I'm a woman who's supposed to be out there comforting him and I'm not! How, Larsen?!"

He continued saying nothing.

I stomped on the ground. "And in a bid to make myself relevant, I accidentally put my Squad in danger! Why?! Why am I nothing more than a ball of mistakes and errors who just gets everyone hurt?! Why can't I just have that trauma kept in my heart where maybe it'll do some good-"

"Breathe." 

I swiveled to face him, fully ready to drive my fist into his skull.

He pushed an Æther-clad palm toward me.

My lungs pulled a strong breath in. I felt substantially calmer soon after.

Ser Larsen flicked the Magick out of his digits. "I'm a professional battlefield medic and physical fitness instructor."

"So what?!"

He looked at me, with a dead flat line on his mouth. "I teach these students, teach you, teach Ansel, to train your bodies and exercise them. Then I send them, my students who trust me with their lives, into harm's way, fighting the Emissaries of Total Salvation."

I clamped my mouth shut.

"Many of those students get hurt. Most of them, in fact. And far too many die. They die because they were slain in a war I deployed them to. Or I botch their healing. Or I couldn't get there in time because I was healing someone else. Or I couldn't block a salvo and it turned them into lasagna." 

My eyes warbled and a burning liquid filled my mouth from my throat. I didn't want to make a mess so I swallowed it back down, much to the dismay of my gullet.

"Emmett, I'm a healer." Ser Larsen stood up. "It is the height of hypocrisy to send charges under my care to die. Yet that is the position I'm in time and again. World ain't fair, kid."

A tear streamed down my cheek.

Alan Larsen walked to me and set his hand on my chest. "When it matters most, the only one who will ever advocate for you is yourself. People talk of allies, of communes, like they mean something. And they do. But those umbral demons never stop biting. And what if you disagree with your commune on something vital, or sometimes even minor?"

"I-"

"You are ostracised and exiled with full hope that you die." He drew a slow breath. "Don't push it: you're in pain; shite happens." His other hand found the top of my head. "I am called hypocrite, coward, etsy even, more than I care to count. People depend on you, you fail, and they taste betrayal. I am wanted dead by every kinsman of every fallen student and then some. Everyone wishes someone else would just eat the shite they were dealt in their stead and the cycle continues with no end in sight. This is why I hate war, Sinclair: it is the natural evolution of humanity's will to hurt each other in the name of spite and self-righteous indignation."

I steadied my breath and held focus on it. I could not afford to respond in this state lest my Magick rebel against yet another who had tried to help me.

"Let this be my lesson to you in lieu of PT. You wanna be worth something? Forgive yourself. Bauer's depressed right now but he's made of tougher than you credit. You're a fine son, er, daughter-"

My lips pulled upward against my volition.

"-whose parents would be proud of you. Arthur'd've been, and from the stories I heard, Sophie would be head over heels. But that only reaches so far as what you afford yourself." Ser Larsen pulled back his hands. "You know you can take a leave of absence, find a transmuter, and transition?"

My lashes lashed up, and my Magick seared, waiting to be released.

Magick alit Larsen's hand anew and once more my lungs drew deep breaths. "Guess that's a no," he said.

"They took my life away! I-" My knees buckled and my hand slammed into the floor. Seriously? I slipped? "... I have to set this right."

"Or else your Magick'll eat you alive." Ser Larsen took a seat on the chair I was recently atop. "Your old man said the same when he refused to slay a Crusader. He and I went to blows for it but he stayed firm. After that, he changed, morphed, from one of the most passionate activists I have ever seen to a miser of emotions. He was only ever his old self around his wife from then on; everyone else became an outsider."

I stumbled, labouring back to my feet. Between heaves, I spoke, "Pain branches fractally forever."

The reply took the form of a chortle. "So he made that his catchphrase after all! And the thing with fractals, son-, lady, is they extend in both directions. Arthur would have meant that to apply to the pain we give ourselves."

I covered my mouth with my palm. "Isn't that selfish? To just... dismiss your wrongs that easily?"

"You atone for your wrongs by sharing your rights, not whatever horseshite your last guardian spewed about arrogance or laziness. When have your parents specifically called you selfish as an insult?"

My knees gave out and this time I landed on my butt. I thought back through the din of memories screaming in my mind, every single mention of Patrick or Jacqueline or Mr. Peterson or anyone else shaming me, blaming me, cursing me... 

Lashes of misery and chains of loathing bit and strangled me. I kept delving, finding anything from my parents. From Celeste even.

My search was broken by Ser Larsen lifting me to my feet by my hand. "Not a one, huh?"

I opened my mouth to speak-

"You'd have said it already. Whoever took you in betrayed the trust your folks posthumously put in 'em. Don't get me wrong: you fucked up royally in your past. But what's done is done. You give up? What you'd really do is hurt every single person you'd ever help in your life by not being there anymore."

You never quite appreciate the stream of consciousness in your mind until someone abruptly dams it. 

"I'm calling the runners back in now." My instructor took two steps toward the door. "Oh, and lady?"

Huh? Oh, right, I told him. "Yes?"

"Don't buy Lienne's risk-it-for-the-biscuit shite!"

I held my breath.

"That was fucking braindead of you, by the way, gambiting your life when you're not at 100%! Her being a lunatic about no-pain-no-gain is a bad thing!"

The two of us broke into a sort of uneasy laughter.

"Y-Yes, Ser," 

When the laughter parted, Ser Larsen turned toward me one last time, tossing a paper into my hand. "Especially when you're still fighting your past. Pain turns into escapism turns into masochism. From there you get martyrdom and fatal mania. Your mind and body are as the hallowed earth and sea of Taikur, with Soul as shining sun. Tend yourself as you would these things, or fade in decay." 

I took those words to heart and opened up the paper to find me a written directive to skip MMA entirely for the week.

"With that extra time, I suggest finding a friendly woman who's willing to teach you a spell called Shroud.  I don't really like the philosophy myself, but I'm a man and so I'm privileged enough to not need it. Dismissed."

"Yes Ser." I set course for my next class. As for Shroud, well, he didn't need to know that I had an excellent teacher show me already.

LunaSoltaer

Hey!

When I wrote this chapter I actually thought rather often of a friend of mine who helped me learn a vital lesson about the importance of getting your emotional messages right even if it means sacrificing schedule. She has been a monumental inspiration to my continued work and I credit her with my ambitions gaining a holistic nature I never knew I needed. She powered through a challenge similar to this, and hers turned out absolutely beautifully. Now that I found myself in a similar position, I decided to give this chapter significantly more revision attention, especially the conversation between Larsen and Em.

I was very apprehensive at first about giving Em's parents spotlight in this fashion. Like it's cliché as hell, right? And the first revision had a generic "you're your parents' kid and they were awesome so you will be too" speech, which was... bleh. Okay it sounded better than I made it out to be here, but it really messed up the vibe.

But taking it out altogether left a hole that something in me refused to abide. I had to think a while about it, for something in me knew an answer had to be nigh and I just couldn't see it. I wanted to include this element to tie into Em's past, but I needed to do it in a way that's still obviously teaching her and not falling into the trap of "You Go Girl."

Eventually I happened on something I felt might work. Once I did, My muse sang and decided a lot of stuff in a mad race I hadn't felt since I started Solstice in the first place. But this time I was wiser and didn't have as much angry transgirl angst.

I'm not sure whether I made the best choices, but the more I thought on this the more comfortable I felt in the idea that at least I wasn't obviously shooting myself in the foot.

The other thing is I noticed and enjoyed the vast depth of room I had to explore myself, that I could paste fragments of myself into the different characters to have them talk to each other and then reabsorb the results almost like I were the one there. 'Course, I would change how characters act and think, because I think it is quite healthy to write characters whose views are opposed to your own. Doing this right forces you to understand and accept where others come from, which is essential if you want to coexist with anyone at all. 

And because you accept other paths for what they are, you stand better equipped to hold your own.

I had a passage about wanting to slap myself, but a voice in my head said not to sell myself short, and so I retracted that bit. It is strange, to regard an intangible substrate of the self one calls spirit, as a profound influence on my life. I find myself considerably more content and well-rounded for it, yet I cannot produce any experiment or measurement to account for it. I hold the notion of spirit as axiomatic conjecture, with absolutely no means to verify it. And yet, if I just take it as hypothesis, to incorporate it into my day-to-day just like I would anything else, my life is enriched for it.

Mysteries of the universe, I guess. I wonder how long it will be before these words reach my friend, if at all, and how she might react. (Timestamp of this message: 2023 May 6, 10:00 GMT)

Anyway, I wish to thank you all for reading this chapter and for dealing with this ramble I made in the dead of night.