Chapters 16-18

Chapter 16

Otter’s eyes fluttered open. A kind face hovered over him. “You’ll be good as new in a few minutes. Give the magic time to work.”

Otter lay there, unsure of what happened. As his senses returned, he realized combat practice was still going on around him.

The dull ache in Otter's chest gradually faded as the healing magic did its work. His head buzzed, and his mind tried to piece together what had happened.

Jasper.

The strike had been reckless, too forceful for a sparring match. Otter had tried to block, but the sheer power behind Jasper’s attack must have cracked his sternum. His breath had been knocked clean out of him, and darkness had followed.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as the last of the pain faded into a faint tingle.

"Easy there," the healer—a middle-aged man with graying hair—said, gently pushing Otter back down. "Just because you’re healed doesn’t mean you’re ready to run a marathon."

Otter nodded, though his attention had already drifted to the voices carrying from the other side of the training yard.

“Did you see that?” Jasper’s voice, fuming with indignation, reached Otter’s ears. “Bennett has no business being here. He can barely hold a sword, let alone fight.”

Otter’s fingers dug into the dirt beneath him.

Another voice, one of Jasper’s adoring fans, chimed in. “You think it’s because he has no Class?”

Jasper snorted. “Probably. I don’t understand why they let him in. If he can’t advance, he’s going to get someone killed.”

Otter’s chest tightened. His heartbeat, still steady from the healing, quickened with anger.

“Don’t waste your breath,” a third voice added. “Horvan will send him packing after this. They’ve got to have standards.”

Otter forced himself to sit up fully, ignoring the healer’s concerned muttering. His gaze locked on the training yard, where Jasper stood with a few other students. There was no mirth in their words or expressions. At least none in Jasper’s. He seemed truly upset.

A shadow loomed over him.

“Bennett.”

Otter looked up to see Master Horvan towering above him, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a flicker of disappointment.

“Can you stand?” Horvan asked.

Otter nodded and got to his feet, a little unsteady but managing. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Horvan’s gaze swept the yard, lingering briefly on Jasper before returning to Otter. “You’re sitting out for the rest of the session.”

Otter’s stomach dropped. “But—”

“No buts.” Horvan’s tone was firm. “You were reckless. You failed to protect yourself, and now you’re a liability to your partner.”

Otter bristled. Liability? It was Jasper who’d gone too far.

“But—”

“Enough.” Horvan cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I’m writing you up. Report to the infirmary for a follow-up. Dismissed.”

Otter’s cheeks burned with shame and anger as he gathered his things. The other students watched him with a mix of curiosity and pity.

As he trudged toward the edge of the training yard, he caught one last snippet of Jasper’s conversation.

“Maybe he’ll finally get it through his skull.”

Otter’s jaw tightened, and he quickened his pace, the words echoing in his mind.

Everything checked out at the infirmary. He’d have a bruise and be sore for a few days, but nothing terrible.

Otter fumed as he made for Evershade Hall and Understanding the System. He was being written up. For what? For being ruthlessly attacked by a bully? For not having a Fighter Class? He didn’t even know what being written up meant! Would he lose Commissary privileges? Latrine duty? It just wasn’t fair.

He stormed into the room and slumped into his usual spot near the middle, dropping his notebook on the desk with more force than necessary. His fingers tapped restlessly against the cover, the tension in his chest refusing to subside.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered under his breath. “None of it is fair.”

The door opened with a soft creak, and Overseer Blackwood entered, his dark coat trailing behind him like a shadow. His gaze swept across the room, landing briefly on Otter before continuing.

“Good afternoon, class,” Blackwood said, his voice smooth and measured. He moved to the chalkboard and tapped it with a piece of enchanted chalk. The words System Mechanics: Order vs. Chaos appeared in elegant, flowing script.

“Today,” Blackwood began, “we will discuss the purpose of the System. Not just its mechanics, but its philosophy. Why does the System exist? Why do we have Classes, Stats, and Skills? Why are some paths open to you and others closed?”

The room fell silent. The students leaned in, eager to hear Blackwood’s insights.

“The System,” Blackwood continued, “exists for one reason: to provide order. Without order, there is only Kaos.”

He tapped the chalkboard again, and the word Kaos appeared, jagged and menacing.

“Long ago, before the System was established, there was no balance. No structure. People were at the mercy of wild magic, uncontrollable forces, and chaotic beings. Entire civilizations were wiped out because they couldn’t harness the power available to them.”

Otter leaned forward, scowling. Order. The word grated on him.

“But why does the System have to control everything?” Otter asked, his voice cutting through the silence. “Why can’t people choose their own paths? Why can’t everyone choose any Class they want?”

Several students turned to stare at him, some with curiosity, others with disdain.

Blackwood’s gaze locked onto Otter, calm but unwavering. “An interesting question, Mr. Bennett. But let me ask you this—do you believe that everyone would make wise choices if left to their own devices?”

Otter’s hands clenched into fists. “I believe people should have the opportunity.”

Blackwood nodded slowly. “And what happens when someone who wants to be a Fighter lacks the strength or constitution to wield a blade? What happens when someone who wants to be a Spell Lord has no affinity for magic? The System isn’t perfect, but it prevents people from making inappropriate choices that would destroy them.”

Otter bristled. “So, the System decides who’s worth something and who’s not?”

The tension in the room thickened. Several students whispered among themselves. One of the Fighters in the front row—Jasper’s friend Owen—snorted. “Of course you’d have a problem with the System.”

Otter shot Owen a glare but ignored the jab, focusing on Blackwood. “The System gives some people every advantage and leaves others with nothing. How’s that fair?”

Blackwood’s expression hardened. “Fairness is irrelevant when survival is at stake.”

Otter’s jaw clenched. “Irrelevant? So you’re saying it doesn’t matter if people get left behind? If someone’s stuck as a Level 0 their whole life? If the System decides they don’t deserve a chance?”

Blackwood’s tone remained calm, but his gaze sharpened. “I’m saying that the System doesn’t care about fairness. It cares about balance. Structure. Stability. Without it, we’d fall to the forces of Kaos.”

He tapped the chalkboard again, emphasizing the jagged word Kaos scrawled across it.

Otter stood, unable to contain himself any longer. His voice rose above the murmurs in the room. “But what if the System is wrong? What if it misses something—someone? What if there’s more to people than what it recognizes?”

The room went dead silent.

Blackwood’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Bennett?”

Otter took a deep breath, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him. “I’m suggesting that people shouldn’t be defined by the System. That it’s too rigid. Too... controlling. People aren’t just stats and skills. We’re more than that.”

A ripple of whispers spread through the class. Some students nodded in quiet agreement, while others looked at Otter like he’d lost his mind.

“The System’s supposed to help people grow,” he continued. “But it feels like it just puts everyone into boxes. If you don’t fit, you’re stuck.”

Blackwood approached the front row, clasping his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Mr. Bennett. What do you think would happen if the System wasn’t so ’restrictive’ as you suggest? What if it didn't guide them through its process?”

Otter crossed his arms. “Maybe people would be happier. Maybe they’d have more control over their lives.”

“Or maybe there would be anarchy,” Blackwood countered. “Choice paralysis, perhaps. Maybe people would run headlong into danger they weren’t prepared for—and die because of it.”

“That’s a risk people should be allowed to take.”

“Is it?” Blackwood’s voice was cool, but there was an edge to it now. “And when their failure puts others at risk? When their lack of preparation costs lives? Who’s responsible then?”

Otter faltered, his mind racing. “People... learn. They adapt.”

“Not always.” Blackwood’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “The System exists because history has proven that without it, people succumb to Kaos. The world becomes unpredictable. Dangerous. The System provides order. It ensures that people are prepared for the challenges they’ll face.”

Otter shook his head. “It feels more like it’s holding people back.”

The Overseer shook his head. “We’re talking in circles, Mr. Bennett. I can see you feel very strongly about this topic, but we have digressed from today’s lesson.”

“But…”

“Enough.” It was harsh, but it silenced Otter completely. “Come see me in my office when we have concluded here.”

Otter couldn’t focus for the remainder of the session. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, chasing each other around his brain like a puppy chasing its own tail.

When Silas dismissed them, Otter began to pack his things to leave, but Blackwood caught his eye and crooked a finger toward him.

Otter’s stomach dropped, but he took a deep breath, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and followed the Overseer out of the room.

The corridor was cold and quiet, the stone walls pressing in on Otter as he walked behind Blackwood.

Was he wrong? Was the System truly the only thing standing between order and chaos? Or was there something more—something people like Blackwood weren’t telling him?

When they reached his office door, Blackwood unlocked it and Otter thought he saw a faint shimmer around the frame as it swung open.

“Sit,” Blackwood commanded, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk.

Otter sat, his heart in his mouth.

Blackwood leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “You’re frustrated. That much is clear. And I suppose that is understandable, considering your circumstance. But I expect decorum during our sessions. Is that understood?”

Otter lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, let me see if I can clear up a few misunderstandings for you. First and foremost is your claim that the System doesn't allow for choice. You are wrong in that regard. The System considers an individual’s strengths, weaknesses, and desires before presenting them with a Class. And often, it offers people options. It isn’t unusual for a young person to be offered three Classes to choose from.”

Otter’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Silas nodded. “Indeed. Even those that aren't offered an Adventuring Class are usually given a list of professions to choose from.”

“Professions?”

Now it was Silas’s turn to show surprise. “You mean you don’t know about level 0 professions?”

Otter shook his head. “No. I mean I know people have professions like blacksmith, baker, and that sort of thing. But I didn't know it was assigned by the System.”

“They aren’t assigned, Mr. Bennett. They’re offered. Where are you from again? Brighthaven was it?” He moved around to the other side of his desk and retrieved a quill and parchment, making a note. “I’ll need to speak with the Overseer of the primary schools there. This lack of basic knowledge is unacceptable.”

Otter struggled to fit this new information into his current understanding.

“Sir, if that’s true, it kind of makes things worse.”

Silas paused and studied Otter carefully. “How so?”

“Well, if the System usually offers everyone more than one Class…why hasn't it offered me even one?”

Silas didn't reply for a long moment. When he did, his tone was softer. “I wish I knew, Otter. May I call you that?”

Otter nodded.

“It is very strange, indeed. I’ve seen students come through this Academy with unusual circumstances,” Silas continued. “Late bloomers. Class mismatches. Even some who rejected their initial Class outright and waited years for the System to offer another. But you…” He shook his head. “You’re an anomaly.”

Otter felt tears well up in his eyes. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No, my dear boy. Of course not. The System’s logic is difficult to comprehend, even for those of us who’ve spent decades studying it. It works in ways that appear both calculated and unpredictable. But one thing is certain—it rarely acts without purpose.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.” Silas stood and began pacing slowly. “But consider this. The System isn’t just about granting power or status. It’s about responsibility. Every Class comes with expectations—roles that must be fulfilled for society to function and for Kaos to be kept at bay. The fact that it hasn’t offered you a Class could mean many things. Perhaps it’s still evaluating you.”

Otter frowned. “Evaluating me? For three years?”

“Patience is not the System’s strong suit. So that leaves another possibility.” Silas turned to face him. “It may be that what the System sees in you doesn’t fit neatly into one of its pre-established categories.”

Otter blinked. “You mean… it doesn’t know what to do with me?”

Silas smiled faintly. “Precisely.”

Otter’s mind reeled. He thought back to all the times he’d tried to trigger a Class. The odd jobs. The hours spent mapping the alleys of Brighthaven. The desperate attempts to prove himself. And still, nothing. Was it because I don’t fit?

“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Otter asked, his voice quiet. “I can’t keep pretending like I belong here. Jasper’s right—I’m a liability. I’m going to get someone hurt.”

Silas’s expression hardened. “Don’t you dare believe that nonsense. Your presence here is not a mistake.”

“But I can’t keep up. Without a Class, I can’t bump my stats.”

Silas arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what the difference is between a level 0 Villager and a 1st level Fighter?”

Otter shrugged.

“About 4 points of Life Force,” Silas said.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Otter slumped back in the chair.

He’d always imagined getting a Class would be a big jump in power and abilities. It appeared he’d been wrong.

Otter sat in silence, processing this new information. His gaze drifted to the shelves lining Blackwood's office, filled with weathered leather covers that whispered secrets of forgotten realms, and mysterious artifacts. His eyes lingered on the brass compass he noticed last time he was here. It reminded him of Emrys Gale.

“You said I’m an anomaly. Does that mean I’m unique? Or have there been other anomalies?”

Silas steepled his fingers. “There are always oddities—variations in every new group of students. But I’ve never met someone your age who hasn't been offered a Class. Though I have heard stories. Rumors. Most of them faded into obscurity. But there are a few names that stand out.

Otter leaned forward. “Emrys Gale.”

Silas’s brow furrowed. “Where did you hear that name?”

Otter hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to share. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

Silas studied him before nodding. “I see.” He folded his hands together. “There are conflicting accounts regarding Emrys Gale. Some stories suggest that he never received a Class. Others imply that, if he did, it was something… different. Something outside the standard Adventuring Classes.”

Otter felt a jolt of excitement. “So, it’s possible? There could be a way to advance without a Class?”

Silas sighed. “Possible, yes. Proven? No. If Emrys did find another way, he left behind very little concrete evidence.” His expression grew serious. “Be careful, Otter. Pursuing these kinds of questions can be… challenging.”

“Why?” Otter pressed.

“Because the Academy was built on the idea that the System provides order. That it is the best—perhaps the only—way to fight against Kaos. If you start questioning that order, people will resist you.” Silas tapped a finger on the desk. “Some will find your questions dangerous.”

Otter swallowed hard. “I’m not trying to fight the System. I just want to understand my place in it.”

“That, Mr. Bennett, is what the Academy is all about.” Silas straightened and smoothed out his coat. “That will be all for today. I suggest you keep your head down, focus on your training, and continue to learn what you can within the confines of the Academy. The answers you seek may come with time.”

Dismissed, Otter rose to leave. He hesitated at the door, glancing back at Silas, who was already returning to his notes.

“Thank you,” Otter said quietly.

Silas didn’t look up, but he nodded once. “Good luck, Mr. Bennett.”

Otter stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, his mind racing. If there was truly so little difference between him and a Level 1 Fighter, then there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to keep up in Combat Basics. No reason he should be struggling the way he was.

Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.

The System didn’t assign Classes randomly. It followed rules. Parameters. What if he needed to do the same? What if, instead of trying to brute force his way through training like the Fighters, he approached things the way the System would?

Maybe it wasn’t about forcing a Class.

Maybe it was about defining one.

His mind buzzed with the implications as he headed back to the dorms, ideas and theories already forming.

Chapter 17

Later that evening, Otter knocked on Cal’s door.

“One second,” he called from the other side. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing the disheveled RA. “Yeah, mate?”

“Uh…evening Cal.”

Cal just stared at him.

“I was wondering. Is there a student directory or anything like that?”

Cal blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Like a book or something that tells you where other students are staying?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. There’s supposed to be one in the lounge. I might have one in here, too. Want me to look?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll check the lounge first. Thanks.”

Cal nodded and closed the door.

It didn’t take long for Otter to find what he was looking for: Liora’s room number.

Liora was one of the more enigmatic members of their friend group. Cool, confident, and more than a little intimidating, she had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. But she was also a damn good fighter. If anyone could help him figure out how to make up for his lack of raw strength, it was her.

He just had to convince her to help.

The commons were mostly empty as Otter crossed the open lawn, the crisp night air hinting at colder weather in the near future. The lanterns along the stone pathways flickered in the breeze, casting long shadows over the manicured grass. If he wanted to survive at this Academy, he needed to get better—fast. His ribs still ached, but the pain had dulled to something manageable. A reminder that he was still fighting to be here.

Liora’s dorm wasn’t far. If he—

A figure stepped into his path.

Otter stopped short.

Lyle.

Torrin emerged a second later, cutting off his escape from behind.

Otter’s pulse spiked, but he kept his expression neutral. He hadn’t had any run-ins with Lyle or Torrin since his first week at the Academy, but he hadn’t forgotten them.

And clearly, they hadn’t forgotten him either.

Lyle took a slow step forward, his ever-present smirk in place. “Out for a late-night stroll, Bennett?”

Otter forced himself to stay calm. “Something like that.”

Torrin cracked his knuckles. “See, that’s funny,” he said, voice low and casual. “Because we were just talking about you.”

Otter sighed. “I’m flattered, really.”

Lyle chuckled, shaking his head. “You should be. Not every classless nobody gets our attention.” His smirk widened. “But here’s the thing—we’re tired of watching you pretend like you belong here.”

Otter clenched his fists. “I do belong here.”

Torrin snorted. “That so? Because from where we’re standing, you’re nothing but dead weight.”

Lyle folded his arms. “Look, Bennett. We’re doing you a favor. You leave now, save yourself the embarrassment, and no one gets hurt.”

Otter lifted his chin. “And if I don’t?”

Lyle’s grin sharpened. “Then we make sure you regret it.”

Otter swallowed hard. His mind worked quickly, calculating his options. He could try to run, but Torrin was faster. He could try to fight, but his ribs were still healing, and Lyle was a dirty fighter.

A faint buzz rang in his ears. His wrisplay flickered.

Luck’s Whisper: Active.

A loud crack split the night. All three of them flinched.

One of the lanterns lining the commons sparked, then flared. There was another loud pop and the lantern exploded, sending down a torrent of blue sparks—right between Otter and Lyle.

Lyle leapt back with a curse.

Torrin stumbled, nearly losing his balance. “What the hell—?”

Otter didn’t wait.

He turned and bolted, dodging past the fallen lantern and sprinting toward Liora’s dorm.

“Bennett, you little—!” Lyle’s shout rang out behind him, but Otter was already gone.

He didn’t slow until he reached the steps of the dormitory, heart pounding. Otter let out a shaky breath, half a laugh. He didn’t know how or why, but somehow—somehow—he had just gotten lucky. Again.

Reaching Liora’s room, Otter hesitated for a split second before knocking twice.

There was a pause. Then a muffled, “Who is it?”

“It’s Otter.”

Another pause. Then, “What do you want, pipsqueak?”

Otter swallowed. “To talk?”

A sigh. The sound of shuffling. Then, the door cracked open, and Liora peered at him through the gap, her golden eyes glinting under the dim hallway lanterns.

“It’s late. Talk fast.”

“If it’s not a good time, I can come back later.”

Liora studied him for a long moment, then fully opened the door, arms crossed. She was wearing a loose nightgown, her uniform jacket draped over the back of a chair.

“I’m listening.”

Otter took a breath. “I need help with Combat Basics. Specifically, I need help with not getting my ribs caved in every time I pick up a sword.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Liora’s lips. “Well, yeah. You’re fighting like a Fighter when you’re not a Fighter.”

Otter groaned. “I know. That’s why I came to you. I need a different approach. Something faster, more precise. Less about brute force and more about—I don’t know—not dying.”

Liora tapped a finger against her chin, considering. “You’re talking about dueling techniques. That’s not what they’re teaching you in Combat Basics.”

“I don’t care. The way they teach isn’t working for me. I need to figure out what does.”

Liora exhaled through her nose. “Alright. Meet me in the training yard tomorrow before work detail. 6:00.”

Otter blinked. “Wait—just like that?”

“You want to train, I’ll train you. But I’m not going easy on you.”

Otter grinned. “I’d be insulted if you did.”

Liora rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now get out. I was in the middle of something.”

“Right, sorry,” Otter said, backing out of the doorway. “See you tomorrow.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, he let out a slow breath. That had gone way better than expected.

The next morning did not go so well.

Otter’s alarm went off at five. He snoozed it twice before clawing his way out of bed, threw his old clothes on, and ran out the door.

By the time he reached the training yard, his breath was coming in short, misty puffs in the early morning chill. He scanned the open space for Liora, but the yard was empty. The Academy’s enchanted lanterns were dimmed this early, and the shadows stretched long across the ground.

Was she already here? Or had he just beaten her to it?

Otter took a few steps into the yard, rubbing his arms to warm himself up. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into. Training outside of class? With Liora? She was a monster. The thought was almost laughable. But after getting his ribs broken by Jasper, he needed a new approach. A smarter one.

Moving toward the weapons rack, Otter let his fingers trail over the hilts and grips of the various practice swords. He’d spent weeks swinging a standard longsword in Horvan’s class, but it always felt wrong in his hands—too heavy, too slow, like trying to fight with a metal club rather than a blade. He wasn’t strong enough to use it effectively, and trying to keep up with the others had only proven that.

If he couldn't match their strength, he had to rely on something else.

Speed.

His gaze landed on a rapier. Slender, elegant, with a protective swept hilt. It was noticeably lighter than the longsword, and when he picked it up, it felt… right.

He adjusted his grip, testing the balance. The weight was concentrated near the hilt, allowing for quick, precise movements. Not meant for hacking and slashing like the heavier weapons—this was a weapon of finesse. Of control.

He took a few experimental steps, shifting his stance into something that felt more natural—less brute force, more precision. Already, this was better.

"You don’t strike me as the dueling type."

Otter nearly dropped the rapier as Liora emerged from the shadows near the edge of the yard, arms crossed. She was already dressed for training.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, trying to slow his racing heart.

Liora smirked. "Long enough." Her golden eyes flicked to the practice weapon in his hand. "So, why that one?"

Otter looked down at the rapier, rolling his wrist experimentally. "Because swinging around a giant board isn’t working for me. I need something faster. More precise. I can’t win with brute strength, so I have to win another way."

Liora nodded approvingly. "Good answer." She walked past him, picking up a two handed-sword from the rack. "Alright, Bennett. Let's see what you can do."

Otter swallowed hard. This is gonna hurt.

And then she lunged.

Otter jumped backward and brought the rapier tip up into the parry position. While most of the practice swords were wooden, the rapier was metal with a blunted tip, giving it enough strength to fend off the attacking blade.

“Good!” Liora bellowed. “The lessons you learned sank in.”

Otter's heart raced as he settled into a defensive stance, adrenaline surging through him. “I just wish I could say the same about my instincts!” he replied, narrowly dodging another swing from Liora's massive sword.

“Instincts are just fancy reactions. You have to train them!” she shot back, her voice sharp but laced with amusement. She stepped forward, her weapon a blur of motion, forcing Otter to shift his footing and concentrate on her rhythm. The clashing sounds echoed in the yard as he blocked another strike, the impact jarring his arms.

“Easier said than done!” he grunted, pivoting to create distance. Just then, Liora feigned a downward strike before pivoting low and sweeping at his legs.

Otter barely sidestepped in time. He stumbled but managed to stay upright. "Whoa! That was sneaky!"

Eventually, she ceased the onslaught and stepped back.

Otter didn’t drop his guard.

Liora nodded at him, not even breathing heavily. “How does your arm feel?”

He considered for a second. It wasn’t burning and didn’t feel weak like it had with the long sword. “Fine. I think I could keep this up for a while.”

“Good. Practicing with the heavier weapon is working,” she said.

“Wait. What?”

She smiled. “In class, we use those weapons to build strength. Not everyone will use a long sword when adventuring. If you had started with the rapier, you’d probably be having the same problem. But since you’re practicing with a heavier weapon, a lighter one is easier. At least at this point.

“Here’s my advice. Come down here every morning and run drills with the heavier sword. Everything they’ve taught so far. During lessons, when you feel yourself start to tire, ask if you can switch weapons. Then keep going. The instructors will appreciate you knowing your limits. Even more so using your brain to keep going safely instead of quitting.”

Otter thought that was a great idea. “I should have thought of that.”

Liora smiled again. “Eh, I’m more than just a pretty face.”

***

When Otter returned to his dorm he found a note pinned to his door. It read: Go home rat. You don’t belong here.

He already knew who it was from.

Lyle and Torrin had made their feelings perfectly clear earlier that evening. They’d promised to make his life miserable unless he quit. Unless he walked away from the path he’d chosen.

His fingers curled around the parchment. He could almost hear Lyle’s smug laughter, see the sneer on Torrin’s face as they’d cornered him in the commons. The threat wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t even creative. But it was a reminder—one he didn’t need—that there were people at this Academy who would never see him as anything but a classless nobody.

For a brief moment, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind.

What if they were right?

What if he really didn’t belong?

He was struggling just to keep up. He had no guaranteed future. No Class to advance. The System itself had turned its back on him. And every time he started to believe he might actually carve out a place here, something like this yanked him back down.

Otter exhaled slowly, then, with deliberate intent, crushed the note in his fist.

No.

He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t giving up.

Lyle and Torrin thought they could scare him off? Thought a few threats and a piece of parchment would be enough to break him?

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Otter stepped into his room, tossed the crumpled note into the waste bin, and locked the door behind him.

He had training in the morning. He had a father to find. He had secrets to discover.

And if Lyle and Torrin wanted to waste their time trying to break him, they were in for a disappointment.

Chapter 18

Otter awoke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the narrow window of his dormitory. He blinked up at the ceiling, his mind sluggish as the remnants of sleep clung to him. It wasn’t until he shifted under the blanket, stretching his sore limbs, that the realization hit him.

Sixteen.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the beams overhead. Sixteen was supposed to be a milestone, a turning point. His mother always made a big deal out of birthdays, even when they barely had enough coin for a proper meal. There would have been sweet rolls from the bakery, warm and flaky with cinnamon. A small, hand-carved trinket—something practical but meaningful. A quiet evening together, watching the lanterns flicker on the docks as the waves lapped against the piers.

But today, there would be no sweet rolls. No quiet evening. No Brighthaven.

Otter clenched his jaw, forcing himself to push the homesickness aside. He wasn’t a child anymore. He had come to the Academy with a purpose, and that hadn’t changed just because the date on his wrisplay had.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. No one was going to make this day special for him—unless he made it so himself. And he’d been planning for this.

He’d spent almost none of his hard earned credits at the Commissary. He was going to splurge today.

Or so he thought.

The moment he stepped out of his dorm, he was ambushed by Erin, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Happy birthday, Otter!" she said, shoving a wrapped package into his hands before he could react.

Otter blinked at her, then at the package. "You—what?"

"And that's not all," Erin said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We’re going out. You, me, and a few others. You didn’t think we’d let your sixteenth pass without a celebration, did you?"

Otter turned the package over in his hands, bewildered. He hadn’t expected anything—hadn’t wanted anything. And yet… Then the rest of her words hit him. "Who’s ‘we’?"

Erin simpered. "Liora, Milo, Piper, and Levi. We're heading into Aurelia for the evening."

Otter hesitated, but Erin didn’t give him time to protest. She grabbed his wrist and started dragging him toward the mess hall. "Come on, breakfast first. You’ve got a big day."

Erin had put a lot of thought into planning and made the appropriate arrangements. She’d taken care of his liberty request days earlier, and had even notified Archivist Dane of his impending absence.

Being Friday, he only had one class, which there was no way out of, but that was no bother. He was really enjoying Understanding the System after his talk with Overseer Blackwood.

After breakfast, he had the morning to himself, which he dutifully spent working on his paper for Adventuring Fundamentals followed by a little light reading about Emrys Gale. He was halfway through the book Piper had assigned him.

Then he snuck down to the Commissary. Lyle and Torrin had taken to stalking him whenever they caught sight of him. Thankfully, they hadn’t caught him unawares again, and he always had a quick route to safety. All of his early exploring and mapping was coming in handy. But avoiding them was exhausting. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d corner him again and things would likely come to blows. He just hoped it wasn’t today. Today, he was going to spend some credits.

He got himself a pork pasty, a sweet roll for dessert, and a fizzy fruit drink to wash it all down.

Then he bought a whisper stone. He learned from the clerk that it would hold a message of up to twenty-five words. It could be played by anyone a maximum of five times before the magic was spent.

He also asked about trading credits for coin. Erin had told him that his friends had agreed to split the cost of his evening so he shouldn’t need to pay for anything that night, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

Cal was right. The exchange rate was pitiful: 8 credits to one copper dreg. Still, it was his only option. He cashed out 4 dregs and stuck them in his pocket.

While enjoying his meal, he scrolled through his profile, admiring several new skills.

Name: Dwayne Shi’longh Bennett (Otter)

Level: 0 XP: 0

Class: None Life Force: 4

Stats

STR 9

DEX 9

CON 9

INT 10

WIS 9

CHA 9

Luck 18

Skills

Cartography Novice- Lvl 1 

Handyman Novice- Lvl 1

Jumping Novice- Lvl 1

Knowledge (Entomology) Novice- Lvl 3

Knowledge (Mathematics) Novice- Lvl 2

Knowledge (System Mechanics) Novice- Lvl 1

Navigation Apprentice- Lvl 5

Observation Novice- Lvl 4

Persuasion Novice- Lvl 3

Reading Apprentice- Lvl 5

Survival Craft Novice- Lvl 2

Swimming Apprentice- Lvl 5

Writing Novice- Lvl 4

He’d earned Survival Craft after the second week of Navigation and Survival, having learned how to start several types of friction fires, set snares for small game, and build an emergency shelter from forest debris and leaf litter. System Mechanics was a surprise, but he was devouring all the course reading material, which made the bump to his Reading skill make sense.

Finishing up, he went back to his room and recorded a message for his mother on the whisper stone, then went to the mail room to have it sent. Back in Brighthaven, it cost two dregs to send a letter to Aurelia, but the Academy offered the service for free. 

That afternoon, he could barely focus on the lecture. He couldn't wait for the night out.

By the time the group gathered, the sun was setting and the air had a crispness to it that prickled the skin. Not everyone had met Piper, so they did a quick round of introductions.

As they stepped through the Academy’s main gates and onto the winding road that led into Aurelia, Otter felt his breath catch in his throat.

Brighthaven had always been a place of winding alleys, crowded canals, and the ever-present scent of brine and fish from the docks. The city had a tangled, lived-in feel, its buildings packed together like old friends whispering secrets. People moved with a familiar kind of chaos—haggling in the markets, laughing in the streets, cursing over toppled carts. It was messy, unpredictable, and full of hidden corners where a clever boy could disappear if he needed to.

Aurelia was nothing like that.

The city stretched out before him, sprawling yet orderly, built in concentric rings that radiated from the towering structure at its heart—the Grand Spire. It loomed above everything else, its white-stone walls streaked with veins of shimmering silver, catching the light of the twin moons above. Dozens of smaller towers curled around it like frozen tendrils, their pointed tips crowned with multi-colored panels.

Unlike Brighthaven’s earthy, practical architecture, Aurelia felt magical.

Buildings soared high, their facades carved with intricate patterns that shimmered faintly with residual enchantments. Instead of simple wooden signs, many shops displayed glowing sigils above their doors, shifting colors to indicate whether they were open or closed. Bridges of enchanted stone arched gracefully over wide streets, defying gravity with a quiet hum of magic that Otter could almost feel in his bones.

The streets were clean, too. Almost unnaturally so. Back home, you’d have to step over discarded scraps of parchment, bits of old rope, or the occasional puddle of something you didn’t want to think too hard about. Here, the streets gleamed, free of grime or clutter, and the air smelled of spiced wine, baked fruit, and a hint of a floral fragrance, reminiscent of a distant memory just out of grasp.

Instead of oil lamps or flickering torches, glowing lumistones lined the streets, hovering in delicate orbits above ornate metal posts. Their light was steady and golden, illuminating the walkways without ever seeming too bright or harsh. Some were set into the roads themselves, guiding carriages and enchanted wagons along predetermined routes.

Otter barely had time to take it all in before something whooshed past his ear. He flinched, spinning on his heel just in time to see a floating carriage glide by—four glowing orbs hovering beneath its frame, keeping it aloft just above the cobblestone. It moved without wheels, without horses, without any visible means of propulsion, yet it floated forward effortlessly, weaving through the city streets with precise, smooth turns.

"That," Milo said, whistling low, "is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen."

Otter had to agree.

People bustled through the streets, but unlike Brighthaven’s rough-and-tumble crowd, these folks carried themselves differently. Many wore fine suits embroidered with silver thread, their belts fastened with polished metal clasps in the shape of their guild or family crests. Even the street performers were something out of a dream—one man conjured living illusions, little golden dragons that flitted around his head and chased after laughing children.

Otter’s head spun.

Aurelia was thriving.

Alive with magic in a way Brighthaven wasn’t.

It wasn’t just a city—it was the city, the very heart of civilization.

Not for the first time since arriving at the Academy, Otter felt very, very small.

“Keep an eye on your coin-purses,” said Levi. “Magic keeps the streets clean, and thieves will pick your pockets clean.”

“Really,” said Otter. “Everything looks so...I don’t know, nice. I thought the people would be, too.”

“People are people no matter where you go. The Council likes to keep the surface pretty for tourists, but there’s an ugly side to Aurelia, too.”

Otter nodded, not completely convinced, but Levi grew up here, so he should know.

Erin led them through the streets to a small, quaint looking tavern. The Hearth and Hammer.

The moment Otter stepped inside, he was swallowed by warmth, sound, and the thick, comforting scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. The heavy oak doors shut behind them with a muffled thud, sealing them off from the bustling streets of Aurelia.

Unlike the refined elegance of the city outside, the Hearth & Hammer felt lived-in, worn, and welcoming. The tavern was a patchwork of textures and colors—wooden beams darkened with age, iron lanterns dangling from chains, their enchanted flames flickering in hues of soft orange and gold. A massive stone hearth dominated one wall, a roaring fire crackling within, its embers casting dancing shadows across the room. Above the mantel hung a colossal greatsword, its edges dulled by time, its hilt wrapped in weathered leather. Etched into the blade were the words:

"For Those Who Fight, For Those Who Fall."

The tavern was packed, yet it didn’t feel crowded. Adventurers, guild members, and other Academy students on liberty filled the space, their conversations blending into a low, steady hum. The clinking of tankards, the occasional burst of laughter, the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor—it all layered together into something rich and full, like the notes of a song.

Near the bar, a minstrel strummed a lute with silver strings, his voice weaving a soft melody through the air. It was an old tune, something about lost love and distant shores, the kind of song that made even the rowdiest patrons pause for a moment, eyes unfocused as they remembered something long gone.

The group claimed a round wooden table near the back, the worn surface covered in faint carvings—initials, tally marks, small sigils left behind by past patrons. Someone had even etched a crude drawing of what looked like a very angry chicken wielding a dagger.

A barmaid with a sharp grin and quicker hands arrived almost instantly, setting down wooden mugs of cider before they could even order.

“Courtesy of the house for Academy folk,” she said with a wink. “If you’re looking to add a little extra bite to that cider, just say the word.”

Levi leaned forward, intrigued. “What kind of bite we talking?”

The barmaid smirked. “That depends. You the type that likes to feel your face in the morning?”

Liora snorted. “He isn’t.”

Erin shot Levi a warning look, and he slumped back in his chair, defeated. “Fine, fine. No extra bite.”

Milo raised his mug. “To Otter,” he said quietly.

“To Otter!” the others echoed, lifting their drinks in a toast.

Otter felt the warmth spread in his chest before he even took a sip. He looked around at his friends, at their easy smiles and genuine laughter, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like an outsider.

For once, he wasn’t a Level 0 struggling to keep up.

He was just Otter.

And he belonged.

The food arrived—steaming plates of roasted pheasant, thick slices of buttered bread, and bowls of root vegetables soaked in rich broth. Conversation flowed freely between bites, shifting from stories about disastrous training sessions to Milo’s latest ridiculous invention (which, according to him, only mostly exploded).

Otter was just about to steal a piece of bread from Levi’s plate when the atmosphere shifted.

A sudden hush rolled through the tavern—not absolute silence, but a noticeable dip in sound. A moment where laughter faltered, conversations paused, and even the minstrel’s fingers stilled against the strings of his lute.

Someone new had entered the Hearth & Hammer.

Otter glanced toward the door, and that was when he saw newcomer.

A tall man stood just inside the entrance, a heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. His boots were caked with mud, his armor dented and worn, but it was his eyes that sent a chill down Otter’s spine—sharp, assessing, the kind that missed nothing.

The man’s gaze swept the room like a cougar on a ledge scanning the forest below for prey.

And then, he saw Otter.

The man’s expression darkened with recognition.

He stepped forward, pushing through the crowd with purpose.

The warmth in Otter’s chest evaporated.

Something was very, very wrong.