"Delmei, Thomast," the young girl spoke. Pausing between each word.

 

Did she know them? Who are they?

 

He took another look at their clothing. It was the same as the guard uniform but instead of the blank one he remembered, theirs have this emblazoned insignia, depicting stylized "H" that carved in their chest part.

 

And the girl... he saw her folding her arms. Drawing sigh. As if she didn’t want to do anything with the men. The latter though seemed ….excited?

 

So not terrorists. If they were, she’d be afraid instead of annoyed. Still, he couldn’t discount the possibility of them being local bullies. Gang members?

 

He took a look at their appearance once more. It smelled of money. So perhaps not rabbles. But what then?

 

Still, the answer was the same.

 

He must prepare for the worst.

 

"Status," he whispered under his breath. With the back of his hand, he began scrolling his spells list.

 

"Hello, miss Restia. You're this week's last-ers!"

 

One of the men remarked, the auburn-haired man one, he flashed a grin, to his companion, the black-haired man that held a sheaf-filled clipboard.

 

So she's called Restia. His eyes locked on the listed word. Invisibility. Then using the fear of his safety to push the fear of the unknown, he pressed the word. It flashed.

 

At once he felt the world split. Dimmed. Time stopped. Space stretched to infinite as the reality around him warp. Then in just a blink. He had moved. Not in the Ar’endal street anymore. But facing ...himself? His—his shadow, his simulacra were flying? Floating. Floating in nothing but complete darkness that somehow in his beating heart, in his immortal soul, he knew that this was a part of his mind which all of magical knowledge found vessel.

 

What the?

 

Not letting him a second to process the craziness, in the center of the darkness, a fountain appeared out of thin air. Then with a slight gargle, it spurted water. And water. And water.

 

Again and again and again until the whole of its basin chock of the blue crystalline liquid. Then as he thought the fountain was done, it came. A final spurt. Spilling the liquid all over the ground floor.

 

He stumbled.

 

The ground floor blazed with color. Blue. White. Purple. Pink. It shone, shone, shone. Bright as the brightest day. Piercing as if he stared straight to the moment when eclipsed sun freed from the shadow of the moon. The ground trembled. Shaking. Up and down. He saw his self shadow fell. Then silence.

 

Dark again.

 

Then it happened.

 

A knowledge, bore into his thought.

 

The knowing of weave, the meaning of pattern. The spark of intent, of will, of thought. The price of mana. The bend of reality, of light,

 

It seeped through his mind, bypassing nothing and everything. Then as he wanted to scream. A jolt of tingling buzz, electricity stung, held his tongue hostage.

 

"Now wait a minute,"

 

"I'm helping this young man getting up, Thomast,"

 

 

He blinked. Once. Twice. In front of him was the same young girl. The same two men. The same Ar’endal streets. None of the darkness. None.

 

...dream?

 

That’s all he managed to utter. But the experience was so vivid. Lifelike. He pretty sure that was real.

 

“Sir?”

 

“T—”

 

AH! His tongue! He felt the buzzing, sparking spell still active. Waiting to be unleashed for just but one simple word of command.

 

How? How could he cancel it?

 

Then inside his mind an answer came. A technique of loosening, dispersing the circling buzz of mana. Letting the pattern slack. The intent reversed.

 

“Sir? Are you okay?”

 

Right. The question. He nodded to the young girl.

 

“Could you confirm that I was helping you getting up?”

 

He nodded again.

 

“Also....” the girl began. He saw the dark hair man frowned. "Mr. Pol here witnessed me do it,"

 

She dipped her head in a slight bow toward a pudgy man who’s still rearranging his... fruit? Vegetable? The spiky red-orange rind is unlike anything he familiar with.

 

The man turned hearing his name called. Ah! It’s the peddler who got his stall knocked down!

 

Looking at the girl, the peddler took a brief pause, putting down his wares to the stall, before rummaging his left pocket and taking a brown cloth. Wiping his sweating face thrice.

 

Then he squinted at the young woman. Giving her and the group a long look.

 

He laughed.

 

Not with a bellow you'd expect from a man of his built. But with a chuckle that seemed to barely restrain higher part of his pitch. Nodding, he waved his hand to the group, smiling.

 

“Yes, yes! That’s true sirs! I did see the miss help the young man.”

 

Bowing her head, the young girl’s face bloomed. Smiled a vulpine, toothy smile. Euca saw the black-haired man grimaced.

 

"That means I'm not a laster, " she said. "But a hearth."

 

Laster? Hearth? He arced his eyebrow. The term was ...unfamiliar. Well, same with the rest of the world he supposed. Still, those words must be something good since the auburn-haired man's face fell.

 

"Oh come on miss Res, we just short two! You guys..."

 

"Yeah, technically you're still last miss, so let me just write it dow—"

 

"Would you like me to bring it up to your adjudicator?" the young girl shrug, opening both of her hands.

 

"No!"

 

"Don't! Sir Yon will make us do latrine again!"

 

The auburn-haired man screeched. His arms flailing, his eyes wide open.

 

Oh, so it's only a misunderstanding! Relieved, Euca slowly let the mana disperse, rolling his stiff tongue around.

 

"Wait! The boy still a laster though!" the black-haired man exclaimed. Staring at his poor self like he wanted to pounce him to shred.

 

He spoke too soon!

 

"Yes! That's right!" He could feel sweats pouring through his back. "Good job, Del!"

 

"Hold on..."

 

The young girl walked between her and the men. Her finger pointing upward. Del, the black-haired man paid her no mind though, with his quill, he began furiously scribbling.

 

Closing his eyes, exhaling his breath, he tried to calm down the piping, buzzing panic. Let look at this situation rationally.

 

With how the young woman replied, these supposed guards banter, and the fruit seller laugh. All of those clues pointing to one thing: he wasn't arrested or threatening to be arrested. At least not with criminal charges.

 

They won't be this ...jovial if that was the case. He was sure. Eighty-eighty five percent at least. At most, it's a freaking fine right? Some nebulous town's ordinance. He has coins if nothing else. Opening his mouth, Euca feels the voice stuck in his throat. Come on Euca, grow some spine! You're almost dead before. What this interlude count for?

 

"Eermm, s-sorry." he squeaked. Great opening there, he cursed. It worked nonetheless, the supposed guards and the young woman turn their heads toward him. "But what's a laster?"

 

"What? You don't know laster? Is that even possible, Del?"

 

"No. He's lying." Del judged. His quavering voice betrayed him though.

 

Great. Another local-must-know thing. He bemoaned with exasperation. Just when he thought he starts to get a hang of this place.

 

"I just came here a day ago, so..."

 

"Wait. Are you new to the town?" the girl turned, facing him.

 

"Yes, miss," he said, nodding his head at the young girl, no, at the young woman. She deserved to be called that if nothing else.

 

"Thank you for saving me. I just came here yesterday, and I don't really know anything about this ...laster thing?"

 

"Impossible!"

 

"I don't believe it! We just need two more!"

 

"Your paper! Show me your paper!" the young woman said, beckoning her hand twice in rapid succession.

 

"M-my paper?"

 

"The one that they give you at the gate, hurry!"

 

Rummaging his cloak's inner pocket, Euca took a bundle. His day pass; the name of the inn where Mr. Terence stayed; lists of all items he bought and their price; and a square sheaf, stamped with a red tint, given to him when he entered the town.

 

Handing the paper to the young woman, she immediately pointed her finger at the top left writing.

 

"Five-four. Look at this! He did come yesterday." flipping it for the black-haired man to see.

 

"...a new-er," the black-haired man said. His head hung.

 

"Oh... well, good luck teaching him, Del!" beside him his partner already took three step backs.

 

Del whirled. Pointing his hand to his partner’s chest. "Wait, wait, wait.”

 

“Why is it me? Why it's not you!"

 

"Because you did it much better?"

 

"That's not a reason! You just need to give him a pam—"

 

"Boys, boys."

 

"How about I take this new-er out of your hand?"

 

"You'll do that Ms. Res?" the auburn-haired man's face shone, a smile blossoming on his face.

 

"What do you mean you'll do that!" Del whispered, stepping hard on his partner's foot.

 

"Yes. yes. Please! Thank you Miss Restia!"