Thought and energy became air, that air became liquid, and that liquid gathered as an emerald green drop on the end of Keynin's finger before splashing into the glass. He watched as the liquid dispersed through the water, waiting to see if any wisps of wild aether would rise to the top. None did, and so he drank deeply before moving to fill several large waterskins from the small creek. It was two days after the Amalgam had blown through; at this point, the rainwater left in its wake would still be charged, but any fragments large enough and cohesive enough to have a Will to exert should have decayed back into raw aether. But it never hurt to make sure.
Charged food and drink were the preferred route for a mage to replenish their magical reserves, more comfortable and far more natural for the body than using condensed mana sources. With the island council's autumnal summit, and accompanying proficiency exams, his self sufficiency would likely be appreciated both by his examiners, and by the provision department at the Sudford Lyceum where he studied. A department that was currently, like every other year, bucking under the weight of it's students finally reaping the rewards of their procrastination. His assignments however were complete, as was his studying. As the only human in his class he found himself quickly elected by isolation as to serve as their representative. His classmate's failures could be their own, yet his would not, and so he would simply never fail, at least not where others could see.
Tying the waterskins to his pack he stood, and sought the path that would begin to bring him home. The forests of the southern isles, well nourished by water wrung from the sea air by the isle's mountainous spine, were dense but navigable, and he quickly found the game trail which had led him to the stream. Lichen and sodden moss padded his footsteps as he wound his way down it, seeking the larger path that would bring him home. Soon he found it, although this far out from town larger was definitely a relative term. Mostly by fisherman that wanted access to the tidal pools dotting this section of the coast it didn't look all too different from the game trail he had just walked, but the occasional drainage channel cut lengthwise, or stones places as makeshift steps revealed more active maintenance by the islands' residents.
Like most trails on the islands, it sheltered itself some distance from the coast, but never so far as to blind itself completely. Here on the east side of the isles, there was plenty of room. At least two or three miles of flat land separated the coastal cliffs from the true start of the mountains at the center. The western coast looked quite different, where crumbling rocky slopes plunged directly into the frothing sea below. Old folklore talked about the isles being ripped from the mainland in a single night, and while no one had yet suggested a mechanism by which an entire island chain could be slid like chips in a gambling den, a suspiciously similar set of cliffs on the southeastern coast of the mainland gave the myth more providence than it might otherwise be afforded. It was as he stared out to sea, watching the waves crest and thinking about long hours spend arguing with his fellow students about the so called "day of storms" that he first spied the dragon lazily winging its way along the coastline. No, not just a dragon. He corrected himself a moment later, realizing it was in fact, a rider pair. He was still too far to properly distinguish the rider amongst the dragon's other gear, stored in a collection of fabric and leather on its back, but the bands of bright silver around it's arms were clear enough against its gold and green scales. The rider would have a similar set: paired focuses allowing each to access the other's magic. They also marked the pair as students, likely late in their studies if they were alone on longer trips, but not bonded fully.
The dragon angled its wings slightly and banked in towards the coastline before lifting a forepaw and sending a wave of energy rippling through the air. Aah, they're out on survey, Keynin through to himself. The wave pressed through the foliage as not more than a slight breeze before spreading out along the ground through the rocks and roots common to the southern peninsulas. Something, either the remnants of his spell from earlier or, any of the small Inscribed tools he carried, echoed back to the dragon and it slowed further as the pair began to scan the coastline.
A mage out in the woods was not an uncommon occurrence, Keynin thought, but they would want some amount of identification. Checking for anomalies near the local towns and villages was the reason this pair would be on survey, after all. Keynin made haste towards a small clearing then reached again for his magic, preparing to make a small pointlight. He needed not focus too hard, for the ring on his finger, passed down to many apprentice mages before him, remembered its owners casting the spell well and soon he had a ball of bright light held over his head. Once the pair had clearly seen him, he cycled the pointlight white-green-gold, the colors of the city crest of Sudford, several times. The rider fiddled with a saddlebag before clearly unfurling a map and staring at it for several seconds. The pair glanced at each other briefly before the rider summoned a red pointlight and waved it. The signal for "message not understood" … in Continental Standard.
Keynin took a moment. Using the continents signal set wasn't unusual on its own. True, pretty much everyone used the "fisherman's shorthand," a simplified signal set designed for those without magic who used mechanical lamps instead. Still, Sudford was one of only a handful of actual cities on the isles, and the only one outside the capital to teach apprentice mages. The signal, even delivered with the island's shorthand, should have been clear: apprentice, without guild chit or other identifier, from the mentioned city. They're not locals Keynin realized. Other small details, only visible as the pair drew almost within shouting distance, began to reveal themselves as well. Thin lines of silvery metal, channels, ran from the dragon's mouth down the length of its body, terminating at each of it's four paws. As Keynin watched the dragon summoned some small portion of its fire and directed it into the channels. A shimmering heat, not unlike that which would blossom off dark stone in the summer built under the dragon's claws, allowing it to hang in the air at a speed far below that usually needed for lift. The dragon also sported a number of weapons on it's back and tail, far too well equipped to be any of the island's student pairs.
He quickly flashed the pointlight green several times, a general signal for students and apprentices, before gesturing broadly back towards town. That seemed to get the message across, and the pair moved to depart, though not without noting his position on the map and leaving yet more questions in their wake. The interaction had felt to Keynin more like a security sweep than a survey, an event without reason, unless the autumn summit's guest list had expanded without warning. He silently thanked his cloak, brought originally to fend off the island's persistent dampness, but now working also to hide his face. Deciding to cut his trip short rather than risk a run in with a patrol willing to ask more questions than the dragon and rider he made for home.
With his trip cut unexpectedly short, and plenty of daylight left he found himself skipping Sudford entirely and following the Whitepeak river towards his hometown of Amesport. He was never quite at full run, but the distance still melted quickly under strides fortified by magic. As the trees blurred by they were overlaid in his mind's eye by the cobblestone walls of the lyceum. Hours he had spend as a first year student, marching around those courtyards, practicing the same spell he used now. Mitch's March was the name he had always heard for it. The specific spell was nothing unique and by this point in his studies he knew more than a dozen others which leveraged the process of sending mana along the body's natural structures to energize muscles or strengthen joints. No, the point was cast beyond conscious thought. To repeat the spell until the steps of its casting no longer occurred individually in the student's mind, and it could be completed on instinct alone. The professors likely didn't mind that underachievers would be naturally filtered to the back of their practice groups finishing laps under the gaze of those already able to rest.
The sun had barely even begun to slide past its zenith by the time he had cleared the treeline that marked the outskirts of Amesport. He made his way through the fields of springwheat that surrounded the village, and arrived to a home empty at this hour, save for his mother who stood at her workshop table, hand filing a series of brass parts. She stood and smiled as he she heard him enter, turning with the stiffness of one who had not moved meaningfully for several hours.
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"You're home early. I thought you were going to drop your supplies at Sudford before heading back."
"Mmm." He replied still lost in thought, his mind not quite as eager to arrive home as his feet. "Dad arrived yet?"
"No." His mother responded with a hit of concern. "He might not have any formal meetings to attend until after the Summit, but that just means all of the folks around here who can't bring their complaints directly to the council want his time when they know his schedule's free. Did you run into something out in the forests?"
"Not really, dragon and rider flagged me out near the peninsula where the amalgam hit."
"On survey?"
"No, that was the weird part. At least I don't think they were. The dragon had a full channel suit, and I didn't see the rider, but I don't think they were locals. Still students though, the dragon's focuses were the silver type the continental academies use. I was going to ask dad if the autumn summit had some extra guests bringing their own security."
"Did they see you?" His mother asked placing down her tools and turning to look at him fully.
"My hood was up, and we only used point lights" Keynin replied "Part of how I figured out something was up. They were using continent standard, not the fisherman's shorthand."
"Hmm." She said, then gestured to a couple straw-packed crates on the floor. "Well, speaking of, several signal lamps arrived last week needing some new glass. They're sitting in those boxes, finished. If you want to bring them down to Fitsen's with me we can ask; one of his daughters was handling deliveries to the capital town and the Rust Keep. We can ask if the summit's gotten some late additions."
"Sure." He said, moving across the room to grab one of the mid-sized wooden crates his mother had just pointed to. "Though, don't let me interrupt your work. Some out of towners on patrol, well equipped as they may be, shouldn't be an issue."
"Keynin. If we have a number foreign guests descending on the Rust Keep for the summit, and with a large enough entourage that they've got student rider pairs in addition to their own guards, what worries me is your summit exam being turned into a pony show for a bunch of foreign dignitaries. Hessia's to, for that matter." Hessia was one of the other handful of human students currently at the lyceum. She was a year younger, and so while they didn't talk much in school, he always made sure to pass along what tidbits he could, which professors could be generally supportive, which were hostile, and which simply regarded the human students as the duke's pet project: fine so long as they kept in line and didn't generate paperwork.
"What? they can't exactly add new material to the exam to try and trip me up on stage. And I've memorized all the standard material. I can take what they throw at me." Keynin replied as he waited for his mother to follow with the second crate of signal lamps. "I'm in the top of the class, at least as much as I can be. They don't actually rank underclassman at Sudford."
"Too good isn't good either" His mother replied sharply, stepping out into the street. Keynin let the door close behind him as they starting walking towards the docks.
"Too good isn't good?' He asked, somewhat incredulous.
"Not to some." His mother replied with a sympathetic glance. "For every person that thinks humans have forgotten magic completely since Brujiea's fall is another that thinks any human just a little too adept at the craft is getting ready to bring it back. Your job." She stopped and turned fully to face him "Is to look prepared, not like a prodigy. As far as they will see you, are someone who studied the test, and came ready to face it. Don't be afraid to look like you're thinking over your answers."
"I think that's the first time I've been asked to tone things down." He said. His mom gave him a sad smile.
"I had hoped you would have a couple more years of history class under your belt before you'd need to start navigating all the idiocy, paranoia, and scheming of the world. If you're lucky maybe you still will." Though his mother's tone was hopeful, her eyes didn't share its confidence.
They walked in silence for a while longer, making their way towards the docks. As the towns original industry, the docks had ended up close to the towns center, connected by a series of streets that became progressively less organized the farther out one got. Tenhal Road, named for someone now lost to the residents' memory served as the main thoroughfare. A wide, well paved avenue, it saw merchants and porters ferrying goods from the ships and returning with the food, tools, and other consumables.
Amesport was also one of the few predominantly human towns on the southern isles, something Keynin noted was not unrelated to shipping's status as a predominantly non-magical trade. A fair number of the isle's ojiran residents called it home as well. He spotted a few of the reptilian's feathered crowns in amongst the crowd of townsfolk on Market Street, though they were few and far between. Their goal, Fitsen's Nautical Supplies, an Amesport institution unto itself, stood proudly on the corner of Market Street and Tenhal Road dealing both in the goods that left the incoming ships, as well as being a hub for those voyagers seeking repairs and resupply. Even from the street, the scent of fresh cut lumber from the yard out back carried strongly on the wind.
"Greg!" His mother yelled. "Delivery!"
Greg Fitsen, a longtime family friend and the third Fitsen to own the store, looked up from the counter and dusted his hands on a an apron Keynin though had to be on at least its fortieth year of service.
"Mara!" He said, spreading his arms. "I was just about to send a couple of my boys over to grab those. You didn't need to run all the way down here."
"Eh, I had been stooped over my workbench for the better part of the day." His mother replied easily, setting her crate down on the counter. Keynin followed her lead. " I could use the walk, and I figured Keynin could help me for a while before he dissappeared off to the capital for the better part of four days. Plus, I think you mentioned Addiea would be back from the capital town? Keynin was wondering if any of the plans for the summit had changed. I would ask Berkan, but he's still caught up taking complaints from seemingly everyone in Amesport to bring to the next council meeting."
"She is." Greg replied, before turning to Keynin. "What prompted the inquiry?" Keynin briefly explained his encounter with the foreign rider pair. The shop keep looked out of the window towards the docks, lost in thought. "Might not be the summit." He gestured towards the two crates now on the counter. "Those lamps? Not the only parts needing fixing recently. Seas have been really tossing the boats around recently, though they're not being driven by storm, far as we can tell. Sailors were even asking if an amalgam had bled out over the water somewhere. I wouldn't hate a few more eyes on the problem but…" He trailed off. "Addiea!" he called up a set of stairs near the rear of the shop. Footsteps soon answered him and a young woman emerged.
"Yah?" She answered. Fatigue was evident in both and her face and voice.
"Ya notice anything unusual with the palace crowd?" Her father asked.
"Yes and no." She said. "There were a lot of goods, even for an autumn summit but… well I've seen foreign delegations arrive in the past and there's usually some sort of indication. You'll see food and drink from the guest's homelands for the pickier eaters, but we were bringing in provisioning supplies: lots of armor and treated cloth, inscribed scrap for the condensers. We saw some food arriving but it was all local stuff arriving by land."
"Well." Keynin said with a small smile. "I think that just raises more questions than it answered, but that's just how this day has been going so far. Seems like we're back to asking dad if he's picked up on anything. We'll let you know what we hear, though… " He stopped somewhat annoyed at himself. "I hate to be another part the rumor mill. I get enough comments 'bout how 'you tell a human what you ate for lunch and every one of them on the islands knows by the end of the day.'" The elder Fitsen looked at him sharpy before sighing.
"Keynin. We talk because we have to. You mustn't be shamed into putting yourself at a disadvantage."
"I seem to recall the Duke saying much the same after my acceptance" Keynin said.
"That's because that old dragon is wise beyond even his years. He's one of the few that remembers what went into breaking the isles away from the mainland, at least in the political sense" Greg added with a smile. "Don't think even he's old enough to remember the day of storms."
Keynin laughed. "I half think he'd pretend he did, simply to throw the most outlandish theory yet into the mix and see what would happened."
The four laughed together briefly before Keynin and his mother made their way towards the door.
"Keynin!" Greg called as they left. "Don't let em trip you up!"
"Don't plan on it!" He called back, before tuning and letting the door close behind him.
