Intelligence gathering plan for Oorian infiltration agent, codename R.

• Scout out the local schools.

• Investigate Oorian food.

• Find at least five magical things and study how they work.

• Figure out how to resonate and become a wizard.

• Inquire about magic cows and cheese potential.

• Draw some bird?

• Have fun I love you sis! You’re the best.

–A paper note from Faham. On it is an earnest doodle of a black-haired girl in big t-shirt, a tall girl with red leaves and sharp teeth, and a smiling bumblebee.

Muffled rumble of train wheels began accelerating. The departure pier and the people on it were replaced by metallic shutters. Sniffling, Raz detached her face from the window of the underail and slumped into the seat next to Joram. Her eyes were so swollen that the cart around her was a blur of dark brown and purple with vaguely people-shaped outlines.

Joram kindly offered her his sleeve, and Raz wiped her face on it.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice still wobbly.

Joram stared at the snot on his sleeve. Raz noticed he had been offering her a handkerchief. 

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” Raz accepted it, then continued cleaning her face. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Joram said sleepily, trying to keep his arm from touching the rest of his coat. The round-faced man’s hair and outfit were a little scuffed from sleeping on the floor and his eyes sleepy.

Raz looked at the handkerchief again, then offered it back. “Here, this side is clean.”

“Much appreciated.” Joram drew a deep breath. His pupils began to melt into the yellow irises.

Raz blinked. “You’re a wizard too?”

Joram gave the handkerchief a flourishing swipe over his sleeve, leaving it spotless. “Wizard?” A moment’s confusion turned to realization. “No, nothing so grand. A simple resonance cantrip.”

“So cool!” She leaned in for a closer look. Allie had supposedly seen a law wizard make some troublemakers kneel with words alone, but Raz hadn’t seen anyone but Maroque do magic. “How does it work?”

Joram’s eyes returned to normal and he folded the fabric away. “Why, magically of course.”

Raz shot him an unimpressed glare.

Joram made a dignified chuckle. Raz got the feeling he was one of those people who enjoyed teasing others if it was marginally punny. She would try to forgive him this.

“So you don’t know, or what?”

“Hmm. I will say that I do know how my magic works, but it would be presumptuous of me to lecture others on the nature of magic. Doubly so before master Maroque.”

Raz glanced at the opposite seats, where Maroque lay sideways. He was still Maroque-red and kinda transparent and both his pointy hat and finger had become a bit hazardous due to his petrification. 

She gave Joram a politely miffed look. “He’s not protesting.”

“Master Maroque possesses a uniquely kind heart. One I would never take advantage of. But, curiosity towards resonance is natural for a thirteen year old. A very timely curiosity to have.” He smiled. “In fact, I would suggest we schedule a visit to the communal wonderchamber for tomorrow. Who knows, perhaps you will discover resonance and awaken magic of your own?”

Her jaw dropped. She whispered, “For real?”

“I don’t see why not. We have business in Castleyard town center either way, and the first two annual visits are free of charge for everyone under the age of twenty three. Considering your…” His lips pursed in sympathy. “...harrowing life experiences, you may have a decent chance of resonating early.”

FGHJKDGSHD! That’s what went inside Raz’s head. “Wizardwizarwizardwizard?! I’m gonnabeawizard? Aaahahaha!”

“An awakened individual would be the–”

Raz shook Joram. “Wizard!”

“Yes, yes, compose your–”

“Wizard!” Raz shook statue-Maroque’s hand, grinning at him.

“Razandra, leave master Maroque’s dignity alone!” He rushed to his master-friend like he was a priceless urn Raz had almost dropped off the shelf.

Raz let go. “Sorry, Maroque, but I’m gonna be a wizard. Can you believe it?”

“Temper your excitement, it is embarrassing us.” Joram gave apologies to the nearby passengers, who seemed indifferent or amused. “Not every awakened is a wizard.”

“I’m gonna be a wizard,” said Raz to one of the smiling ones, an older lady in a checkered skirt and a pink coat.

She replied something in the thickest, most unintelligible Nounsica Raz had ever heard.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Joram, still wearing that sorry smile. “Adopted today by my master, master Maroque.”

She made foreign old lady bemoaning noises.

Joram’s smile turned awkward. “Thank you kindly, but I have full faith in master Maroque’s recovery. Have a good journey ma’am.”

Raz’s initial shock was only just wearing off enough for her brain to function again, and questions now rocketed through it. “What do you mean not a wizard? If you do magic you’re a wizard.”

“Now where did you conjure such a ridiculous notion?”

“Magic plus Raz equals wizard.”

Joram blinked rapidly in bafflement, his brows raised high. “No.”

“But I’m gonna be doing magic, I mean, I know it’s forty-sixty chance, but that’s really good odds. What kinda magic do you do? What’s the wonderchamber like? It sounds so wizardy!”

Joram had tried and failed to open his mouth multiple times before Raz paused.

“What kind of magic do you think I’ll be able to do? Can I become a healing mage? Someone who can fix everything?”

Joram’s speech attempts had been replaced by a very polite pout. 

Raz gave him with her most expectant stare and urging hand motions. 

“Firstly…” he drawled off as if to check if Raz would interrupt again.

“Hnggg!” Her urging gestured intensified.

He continued agonizingly slowly, “...you should be aware that directly inquiring about another person’s resonant aspects is considered faux pas, but.” He held up a finger and paused for way too long. “Not because it is offensive, but because a proper wizard can recognize foci with a glance, even without the eyes. We will expand on other expectations, should master Maroque deem Magogram etiquette necessary for you.” He stressed it like it was a punishment, but joke’s on him. Wizard etiquette sounded kinda awesome to Raz. 

“However, to answer your question, I am a servsman. My cantrips are those of a servsman.”

Raz shook her head. “So… butler magic?”

“‘Butler’... Mm.” He paused, frowned, winced, and frowned in a different way. “Not quite. Servsman’s duties go beyond the domestic and extend to all aspects of life. To put it simply, my magic revolves around the needs of master Maroque.”

“Sounds really neat.” Though Raz did notice he wasn’t able to heal Maroque, so there seemed to be some limits. 

Joram nodded with a smile. “Why thank you. I do find it very neat myself. Now, as to what manner of mage you will become…”

Rails and wheels rattle-clanked hard for one bump. Then, the metal blinds outside the single-cart train began rotating open.

Brightness flooded the cabin. A cheery morning sun made the sea gleam with thousands of blinding reflections. Swarms of birds took off of quarry-straight cliffs, cawing with strangely familiar cries. Half-sunken castles, ruined and overgrown, leaned against the little green islands below. Waves caressed a narrow beach littered here and there with kelp, branches, and other debris of nature.

Joram opened a small hatch in the window. Sounds of the train intensified and the crisp breath of a cool ocean and life made Raz stagger.

She started breathing deeper, slower. Each exhale took away anxieties she hadn’t known she’d carried, replacing it with a belonging calmness. This place, this world, it felt right. Not because she suddenly mistook it for Earth, oh no, there was something strangely off about the flowers, the movements of the distant bird-shaped clouds, and the wrinkly long-nosed old-man face one of the islands had. This was something else.

Raz patted herself, a little weirded out by the sensation despite how good it was, but couldn’t pry her eyes away from the view.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it? Castleyard, for all its issues, does boast some of the most splendid views in all of Magogram.”

“It’s beaut– is that island swimming? It’s swimming!”

“If this delights you so, you will be positively awed by our destination.”

Raz didn’t really hear him, her attention was on the lazily swimming island. It looked huge, with cartoonish-trolly proportions and thick walrus whiskers. But it didn’t seem scary. Some birds sat on top of it and the island-creature didn’t mind at all.

A bell jingled in the front of the cart. The driver hollered something in Nounsica. At first, Raz only caught the word ‘Castleyard’, then she realized he’d announced their arrival.

“We’re already there?” 

She turned to see a cozy workshop under a thick slab-like stone roof blitz spy. Other buildings suddenly replaced the coastal scenery, and they were rolling on a street of patterned gray stone, past adorably squat buildings hiding under stone roofs. Ornate carriages chugged past them, some on wheels, others on beautifully sculpted legs. Small kids ran around, while shouting and waving trinkets at each other. A roofed beer garden was full with workers dressed in overalls and collared shirts, drinking, laughing. A cute elderly couple played a board game under another awning.

Sure, it all looked a bit different. The signs were foreign, everything had carvings or decorations, the outfits were old timeyer, everyone accessorized a lot, the voices were all in that extra-thick wizard accent, and the folks seemed to treat magic as a casual afterthought rather than mind-bogglingly awesome. But still, Raz found the jovial babble, the carefree smiles, and lovingly decorated homes and storefronts nostalgic. Relieving even.

The underail slowed, turned towards an alley far too narrow for it, and somehow fit without so much a scrape. It emerged into a roofed station just big enough for that one cart to stop.

“Castleyard stop,” called the driver. The doors hissed open into a small indoor platform.

Joram stood, slipping a blocky wooden cellphone into his pocket. “Could you assist me with master Maroque?”

“Oh, yup!” Raz slipped on her trusty old backpack. 

After a few moments of waffling, they found good grips on Maroque’s frozen coat and hat. It took a minute to haul him out of the train and onto the platform. He wasn’t heavy, exactly, but moving him around felt like running underwater.

“This way.” Joram tugged Maroque towards an exit beside the timetable on a big split-flap display.

Huffing, Raz obliged and leaned her weight against Maroque to push him. “Did you call a taxi?” 

“Taxi?” Joram chuckled. “And deprive you of a chance to fully appreciate the sights? Perish the thought.”

Raz let out a small groan. “So thoughtful.”

“I do my best.”

Really? Because Raz could’ve sworn she was doing two-thirds of the Maroque pushing. She didn’t mention it though. Exercise was something she’d sorta neglected a little bit. Besides, if the sights out in Castleyard really were awenumbing, being able to stop and gawk anytime would be nice.

They inched out of the local underail station and into the street. A sturdy lip of stone-roof covered a good two meters on either side. Only a sliver of sky was left in between, and even that was covered by thick rope-webbing. The street had that roomy mall-like feel to it, except instead of shops there were small yards with various potted plants, decorations, and sometimes totally random stuff laying around. 

Raz did keep on the lookout for the promised sights as they carried Maroque, but every corner they turned away from the station grew more ordinary if anything. Heck, if not for the weird roofs, and the occasional wizards, and the small magics, and a few other details, the place could’ve pretended to be any old European old-town.

“It’s pretty,” Raz admitted as they clung on to Maroque and dragged him down a steep street with a trickle running parallel to the long staircase. “I like this spot, but it’s tough to outdo seeing nature for the first time in over a year.”

Joram gave her a conspiring smile. “Oh, I believe you will be quite delighted when you notice it.”

“Notice what?”

“I would not dare to spoil it.”

Raz sighed, but was too full of gleeful energy to stay frustrated. Also, even without any hat-explodingly insane sights, she was starting to like Castleyard. Homes, even the ‘poorer’ ones like these, all had effort put into them to make the streets feel cozy. People spoke Nounsica with a thick as molasses accent, but they did so with a slow-deliberate drawl, like they weren’t in a hurry or danger. Oh, and every other crossroads seemed to lead into mysterious little alleys, bridges, and spots to explore.