"Wow, I still can't believe that we actually killed all fifteen of the creatures we captured, and even then, we had to get a couple more just so all of us could get buffed by the Lesser Heart-Fire ritual," Deacon admitted again as they walked down Westbrook Street of Berkhamsted.
His eyes flicked up toward the looming silhouette of the Iron Scale Guild's Berkhamsted Branch Guild House, its banner snapping faintly in the breeze as they neared the broad entrance.
"Yeah, and I still can't get over how smoothly everything went for you," Bonehead said while scratching at his non-existent scalp, his bony fingers making a dry scraping sound against the fabric of his hood that protected the polished dome of his skull.
"Could it be because of that?" Jass offered, jerking her chin toward Deacon as they passed a slower group of cadets crowded around a food stand. The cadets carried steaming hot dogs and greasy trays of nachos, their chatter loud and careless. Deacon figured they were stocking up on snacks before the Iron Scale Guild's seminar, which was scheduled to start in about ten minutes.
"Maybe," Deacon said with a shrug as he understood exactly what Jass was hinting at – the requirement to open the Grimoire of the Ritualist of Huitzilopochtli was having a connection to Huitzilopochtli himself.
Out of all five of them, only he had it, and compared to the rest of his team, he was the only one to complete the trial in a single attempt. Sam, who had the most experience with rituals due to him having already undergone one, had taken three attempts to get it right. Bonehead had taken five attempts, but the longest out of the Party was both Jass and Esmerelda, who had taken 6 and 7 attempts respectively to get the buff.
"But," he added, with a smirk growing across his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets, "it's more likely just one other thing instead."
"What?" Esmerelda asked, muffled by a mouthful of light blue cotton candy.
"I'm just that much better than you all," Deacon said, sighing loudly in mock reluctance, shoulders lifting in a dramatic shrug. "It truly is sad just how blessed I am with natural talent."
Predictably, the reactions came instantly.
"Eat a dick," Jass muttered with an eye roll.
"You will be my next potion testing dummy," Bonehead added dryly.
"Cocky bastard," Sam grumbled, quickly eating his cotton candy cloud before reaching for the back of Deacon's head.
Esmerelda just groaned as though the sugar had suddenly soured in her mouth.
"Calm down! Calm down, guys!" Deacon laughed, ducking easily under Sam's swipe at his head as he slid toward the Guild House entrance. "I don't blame you all for not having my talent; some people are just that much better than others."
"Shut up, and stop being so full of yourself, you bastard," Sam snapped, swinging again. This time, Jass, Bonehead, and even Esmerelda joined in, and used all manner of hand-to-hand combat skills to strike him.
Deacon ducked and twisted effortlessly, the movements almost lazy, his grin widening as they missed again and again. He slipped through the broad doors into the entrance hall of the Iron Scales Guild House like a shadow, as he remained untouched by their attempts to attack him.
"Guys, guys, no need for violence," Deacon said as he spun around, walking backward into the hall and throwing his arms wide with mock innocence. "I'm just stating the truth. We all cannot get mad at the facts when they are presented to us so clearly."
"Not to mention that all of you only succeeded because I walked you step by step through the process by the end."
"The only fact here," Jass growled, lunging forward with a sharp kick, "is that my boot's about to be lodged up your ass."
Deacon sidestepped the attack with a grin, but his momentum nearly sent him careening into a cluster of cadets in matching robes. Their annoyed shouts filled the air as he twisted, trying not to bowl any of them over. His heel caught the trailing hem of a mage's robe, and suddenly the world tilted beneath him.
"Shit–"
Before he could plant his face into the polished marble floor, a black, scaled, armored arm shot out and caught him square in the chest, stopping him from having his face planted onto the entrance hall's ground flooring.
"You should watch where you're dodging," said a gravely, familiar voice.
The sound of the gravelly voice froze Deacon's apology and thank-you before it could leave his mouth, his eyes snapping upward as recognition hit him like the hammer of a revolver.
The man standing before him was unmistakable, even after more than six years. Broad-shouldered and towering over most, he looked more bear than human in sheer size and muscle. And then there was the scar – three jagged claw marks running from the top right of his face down to the left side of his jaw.
"Uncle Bjorn!" Deacon blurted, his words half a shout, half a laugh as he surged forward. His arms wrapped tight around the man's midsection, the impact a muffled thump against the plated armor. Even though Deacon stood at five feet nine, he still found himself pressing his cheek into the middle of his uncle's chestplate, dwarfed by the towering height of the man who loomed a solid two feet over him.
Bjorn let out a low, amused rumble of a chuckle as one massive hand came down to ruffle Deacon's hair with all the subtlety of a smith hammering steel. "Good to see you too, boyo."
Deacon winced at the rough treatment of his scalp; however, his grin refused to falter as he pulled back. He tilted his head up to meet the weather-worn face of his uncle, the one whom he remembered being a constant figure in his childhood and the very same one who had helped him on his feet after being forcibly enrolled at the Academy of Beginnings after his father had gone missing.
"I—damn, I didn't expect to see you here," Deacon said, still grinning wide before spinning slightly to gesture at the rest of his party. His teammates, who had stopped dead in their tracks after Deacon had accidentally collided with, obviously, a Tier 2 fighter, previously a bit wary, now stared at the man in surprised realization.
"You remember my friends, right? Back when you used to teach General Combat Fitness at the Academy of Beginnings?"
"Of course," Bjorn said, his deep voice steady as his gaze moved across each of them in turn. His lips curled in the faintest hint of satisfaction. "Sam. Jass. Esmerelda. And… Bonehead. I could never forget you five – or the chaos you brought me with all those pranks and the trouble that followed.
Each name landed with the weight of memory, and each of them nodded reflexively.
"You lot have grown like weeds in the past six years," Bjorn added with a chuckle as he reached over and ruffled each of their heads. "I hope you all have kept to the training I've assigned you all before I left."
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Instructor Bjorn," Sam said, dipping into a slight bow. Jass, Esmerelda, and Bonehead mirrored the gesture, all respectful, all measured.
Deacon rolled his eyes at the display, muttering under his breath, "Gods, you're all hopeless."
A chuckle rumbled out of him as he waved his massive hand for them to follow. "I'm no longer your instructor. Been six years since I quit the Academy of Beginnings."
The Ravenlight Party fell into step behind him, their boots striking against the polished marble floor as they moved down the same branching path that every other cadet from Generation 327 had been funneled into.
Looking around, Deacon saw that the hall was wide and covered with banners of the Iron Scale Guild that hung from tall iron brackets on the wall, and that in a few meters they would be met with a fork.
Bjorn, instead of following the cadets that took the left fork, veered left without hesitation and gestured for the Ravenlight Party to follow him.
"Wait– so does that mean you're still an instructor somewhere?" Esmerelda asked, quickening her pace, quickly eating her cotton candy cloud before tossing the stick into a bin on her path as she hurried to keep up with the giant.
"Nice catch," Bjorn said approvingly, not breaking stride. Then, with a sudden movement that went unseen by anyone in the group, his knuckle cracked lightly against Deacon's scalp.
Deacon let out a grunt of pain, grabbing his scalp and acting as though a brick had just been dropped on his skull. "Ow! What did I do?"
"You should do well to pick up on things like that when conversing, Deke," Bjorn said evenly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
Deacon grumbled under his breath, rubbing the sore spot on the middle of his scalp, but quickened his pace to match his uncle's towering stride.
Bjorn finally answered Esmerelda's question as his eyes flicked briefly over his shoulder. "Yes, I am still an instructor. But due to clauses in my contract, unless you find me at my place of work, or you fulfill a certain… hidden requirement, I cannot say what organization I serve under, nor where that place resides."
"Can you tell me?" Deacon asked immediately, craning his neck to look up at him. His words carried both eagerness and demand, like he was still the boy chasing after his uncle's approval all those years ago.
Bjorn came to an abrupt halt.
Deacon, not expecting it, kept moving. His shoulder collided hard with something invisible. The air around him rippled with mana as if he had walked straight into a glass wall. His forehead nearly smacked against it, and he stumbled back a step, eyes wide.
The faint shimmer of a barrier stood where his uncle had stopped.
"As much as I would love to satisfy your curiosity, unless you fulfill the requirements, the ones I mentioned a bit ago, my NDA contract I signed forbids me from saying it."
Bjorn's tone was final, but the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed a trace of amusement.
Deacon groaned, rubbing his shoulder where he'd slammed into the barrier, his eyes flicking up at the shimmering red wall now pulsing faintly with the words:
Please Sign in to Access VIP Seating Room
"Looks like you're still going to need work on awareness," Bjorn chuckled, watching his nephew scowl at the text display.
"And how exactly am I supposed to 'work' on that?" Deacon shot back, trying to ignore the muffled giggles of Sam, Jass, and Esmerelda behind him. Bonehead's jaw didn't move, but Deacon could tell he was grinning too.
Bjorn didn't miss a beat. He pressed his Manaphone against the scanner on the wall, pulling up a translucent interface that shimmered like a sheet of ice. His armored finger tapped across the glowing runes before he gestured with a lazy wave. "Same as when I taught you when you were smaller. Start with a room and a few kinetic rubber balls. You remember that?"
Deacon groaned audibly. "Don't remind me."
"Then do it again," Bjorn continued, ignoring him. "But since you're grown now? Use twenty rubber kinetic balls and keep increasing their numbers as well as expanding the room with earth magic. And when it's too easy, add obstacles—trees, walls, or if you want a more urban setting, do the same thing that I suggested, but do it in that city you had for your Floor One."
Deacon rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he raised his Manaphone and let the scanner sweep across its surface. A dull chime rang out, and the barrier flickered green before dissipating like smoke. Confirmation symbols spun briefly in the air, then vanished.
The others filed through without hesitation, still wearing smug little smiles at his expense. Bjorn followed two strides behind him, his long legs eating the distance as he easily returned to the front of the group.
"You know about our Floor One? The one called the Ruined City of Seattle?" Sam asked suddenly, his tone caught halfway between surprise and suspicion as the group passed through the new archway.
"Of course I do. I'm a climber, same as you," Bjorn replied calmly as he pushed open a heavy door marked 13A with a single hand, the wood and iron fittings groaning under his touch. "Not paying attention to new Floors is foolish, as they are ripe with resources aplenty."
They entered a shadowed chamber until Bjorn tapped the wall with a knuckle, and after a subtle delay, the sconces along the ceiling flickered to life with a warm, golden light.
A collective exhale left the group as the room's true form revealed itself: plush crimson seats, polished wood tables, gilded trims, and most strikingly, a massive glass window overlooking the cavernous Announcement Hall below.
They were in a theater's private box, high above the masses of cadets.
Bjorn motioned casually toward the seats as he took one himself. "Not to mention, I have to pay attention. Your generation is one of the cornerstone ones."
With that, Jass, Esmerelda, and Bonehead drifted toward the seats facing the massive glass view, while Sam was still talking with Bjorn as they settled into their seats calmly.
However, unlike his teammates, Deacon hadn't moved from where he stood at the entrance of the room with his eyes still locked onto the mirror across from him, even as his friends brushed past him to enter the room.
When they first opened the door, the light from the hallway spilled in just enough for Deacon to catch Bjorn pressing a hidden switch, and for the mirror across from them to throw back a reflection.
And in that reflection, for the briefest flicker, as Sam mentioned the name of the city of their Floor One, his uncle's expression darkened, twisting into one of regret before vanishing as though it had never existed.