Fragmented Flames [Portal Fantasy, Adventure, Comedy]

"Well," Kaelin said finally as they gathered, singed and soaked and thoroughly humiliated, back in the main chamber, "that was certainly educational."

"We can explain," Ember began, but Kaelin raised a hand to stop her.

"No need. I've seen this before, though never quite so..." She searched for an appropriate word. "...spectacular. You five share a mental connection, don't you?"

The question caught them off-guard. They exchanged glances, having a silent conversation about how much to reveal.

"How did you know?" Ash finally asked.

"Combat reveals truths that words conceal," Kaelin replied. "You move like you can sense each other's intentions, but instead of leveraging that awareness, you're overcorrecting. It's like watching dancers who keep changing the choreography mid-performance because they can hear the music changing in each other's heads."

Ember blinked in surprise. "That's... remarkably accurate."

"I've been doing this a long time." Kaelin crossed her arms, the mechanical brace on her left arm whirring softly. "Your raw abilities are exceptional. Your coordination is abysmal. Fix the latter, and I might reconsider your application."

"How long do we have?" Cinder asked.

"Three days," Kaelin replied. "That's when your visitor permits expire, isn't it?"

"You've done your homework," Cinder noted.

"Guild business requires political awareness." Kaelin's gaze swept over them again, assessing. "I'm not unsympathetic to your situation. There aren't many places in Amaranth for unclassified practitioners to operate legally. The Guild offers protection—but only to those who can function effectively."

"We'll be back," Ember promised. "And we'll do better."

Kaelin's weathered face softened fractionally. "I hope so. The Guild could use your talents—assuming you don't burn down the hall in the process."

The walk back to The Jade Lamp felt like traversing the aftermath of a particularly embarrassing battle—one where the enemy was their own shared mind. Amaranth's evening streets shimmered with magical illumination that seemed to mock their defeat, lanterns shifting from amber to silver as if giggling at their expense.

Kindle kicked a loose cobblestone, sending it skittering ahead. "I keep replaying it in my head. We were so out of sync it was almost impressive."

"More like we were too in sync," Cinder muttered, flames curling around her fingertips in restless amber coils. "Five minds trying to steer one mental carriage."

The city pulsed around them with evening activity—merchants closing shops, residents hurrying home, the occasional patrol of silver-badged guards maintaining order.

Magic hummed in the streets themselves, a subtle vibration that tingled through the soles of their boots and buzzed against their skin like static electricity.

"The ambient magic here isn't helping," Ember observed, gesturing at a street lamp that changed color as a child skipped beneath it. "It's like trying to hear a whisper in a thunderstorm."

Pyra walked backward ahead of them, her ever-present grin replaced by a thoughtful frown. "So what you're saying is this is all my fault? Because I pulled a phoenix and came back from the dead?"

"Not your fault," Ember corrected, reaching out to turn Pyra forward before she could collide with a distracted scholar. "Just... a side effect we didn't anticipate."

"Ash's theory makes sense," Kindle said, golden flames flickering thoughtfully in her eyes. "Your essence was part of us, then reconstituted. The pathways between us got... rewired."

"Like musical instruments retuned to a different key," Ash mused, her smoky tendrils forming complex patterns that mirrored the city's magical architecture. "We're playing the same song but the harmonics have fundamentally shifted."

Cinder snorted. "Poetic, but what it means practically is we're tripping over each other's thoughts."

"We've fought together without this problem before," Ember reminded them, guiding the group around a corner where the street narrowed. "Against the Tinderlings, the bandits, even the Mistfangs."

"Yeah, but that was before I went all explodey and fragmenty," Pyra noted, wiggling her fingers to indicate the fragmenting part. "Besides, in those fights we were reacting, not demonstrating. There's a difference."

Four heads turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in various states of surprise.

"That's... surprisingly insightful," Ember admitted.

"What?" Pyra huffed. "I'm not always just a pretty face."

"Okay, rare wisdom moment from Pyra aside," Cinder conceded, her expression one of grudging respect, "she's not wrong."

"It's the difference between dancing naturally and trying to count steps," Kindle said, warming to the idea. "Once we start overthinking, we create the problem we're trying to avoid."

"A quantum observer effect," Ash nodded. "Our attention collapses the wave function of possibility into fixed outcomes."

"The stupidly simple approach might actually work," Ember conceded as they turned onto the narrow street leading to their lodgings. "Stop planning every move and just... trust our instincts."

"Yet we failed to enact on the 'do not think too hard' approach, despite its implementation," Ash intoned, earning a snort from Cinder.

Fresh memories of their other trials bubbled up in their minds like noxious gas. How their instinctual planning in the fire control trial turned a controlled burn into a flaming conflagration; how their brilliant strategy in the speed course trial caused them to become an unruly train wreck; the numerous other fiascos born of their instinctive thoughtfulness.

"It's not so simple to not think about things!" Pyra proclaimed, then paused. "Did that make sense?"

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"Surprisingly, yes," Ash remarked.

"Thank you," Pyra smiled. "Wait, was that sarcasm? Let me feel it in our hive mind. Hmmmm. Wait, how does sarcasm work in a hive mind? I guess it could be-"

Pyra was cut off by an indignant squawk from Cinder, who stomped her foot. "Okay! Okay! We suck when we think about not thinking too hard. How can we not overthink about this!?!"

"Let's stop overthinking overthinking our own overthinking and just practice some more," Kindle suggested.

Pyra nodded enthusiastically. "That's the Abigail spirit! Great planning session, team. Tomorrow, we wow that grumpy Guild lady with our newfound understanding of ourselves!"

"Assuming the Magisterium doesn't find us first," Cinder reminded them. "We're still technically unregistered practitioners in a city that's fanatical about magical paperwork."

The Jade Lamp came into view, its shabby exterior somehow less depressing by night, when shadows concealed its worst flaws and warm light spilled from windows in a promise of shelter, if not luxury. The distant scent of stewed meat wafted from inside—tonight's dinner would be edible, if not exactly appetizing.

"Three days to figure this out," Ember said as they approached the door. "We beat the feedback loop, pass the Guild trials, gain membership—"

"—and finally have legitimate status in this city," Cinder finished. "No more looking over our shoulders for magical bureaucrats."

"Plus," Kindle added brightly, "actual paying jobs! I'd kill for a bath that doesn't smell like someone died in it last week."

"Bold of you to assume they didn't," Ash murmured.

Pyra pushed open the door, igniting her brilliant smile once more. "Three days, ladies! To training and destiny!"

The inn's small common room contained exactly what they'd been hoping to avoid—two figures radiating authority and disapproval.

A woman in midnight-blue robes adorned with official insignias stood by the hearth like an executioner contemplating her next assignment.

Beside her, a man with prematurely white hair sat rigidly at a table, his every inch proclaiming him an officer of the city's ruling order. His gaze swept over the group as they entered, noting their still-singed appearances.

Madam Segawa hovered nearby, her expression a masterclass in innkeeper neutrality that still somehow communicated both resentment at having officials disturb her establishment and mild satisfaction at the trouble her unusual guests appeared to be in.

"Ah, there you are," said the woman, her voice slicing through the room like a frozen blade. "I am Magistrate Beatrix Cawel of the Magisterium's Regulatory Division. You five have been practicing unregistered magic within city limits." Her thin smile contained all the warmth of a midwinter grave. "We need to discuss your immediate classification and registration... or your immediate departure from Amaranth."

The white-haired man beside her studied them intently. If the magistrate's demeanor was that of a cold executioner, his was that of an analytical judge, considering each of them like puzzle pieces to sort.

"So much for 'three days,'" Cinder muttered under her breath, earning a sharp jab from Ember.

"Fascinating," the man murmured, seemingly to himself. "Simply fascinating. Galen Vosk, Archmage of the Fourth Circle, at your service." He bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off them. "I believe we have much to discuss about your unique... condition."

Five hearts sank simultaneously as they realized their Guild membership was now the least of their problems—and that the feedback loop connecting their minds had never felt more like a warning bell.

Madam Segawa had the good sense to make herself scarce, retreating behind the counter with the practiced invisibility of an innkeeper who knew when to be elsewhere. The other patrons had mysteriously evaporated, leaving the common room occupied only by five flame-haired women, two Magisterium officials, and the crackling tension between them.

Magistrate Beatrix Cawel stood like a particularly rigid knife—all sharp edges and cold purpose. Her midnight-blue robes remained perfectly still despite the drafts that plagued The Jade Lamp, as if the air itself dared not disturb her. Silver embroidery at her collar and cuffs formed seven stars arranged in a precise constellation—the mark of her office and authority.

Beside her, Archmage Galen Vosk presented a stark contrast. His posture was relaxed, curious, almost welcoming. Brown hair faded to white at the temples matched his precisely trimmed beard. Galen's robes were deep burgundy, embroidered with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and pulse, mirroring his subtle gestures.

"Unregistered magic?" Ember's voice remained steady despite the alarm bells clanging in her mind. "There must be some misunderstanding. We only arrived in Amaranth yesterday."

Beatrix's smile was as warm as a winter night. "Misunderstanding? Five identical practitioners wielding unclassified flame magic at the Guild trials hardly constitutes a misunderstanding. We have scrying wards throughout the city, particularly around testing facilities. Did you think such displays would go unnoticed?"

Five stomachs plummeted in unison. Of course the Guild trials would be monitored. Of course they'd triggered every magical alarm in Amaranth with their chaotic demonstration.

"Technically," Kindle offered, "we have until tomorrow to register. The gate official specifically said—"

"Two days from entry, yes," Beatrix cut her off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand. "Which is why you're not currently in detention cells." Her gaze swept over them again, lingering on their flame-colored hair. "Instead, you have the opportunity to explain yourselves. Here. Now."

Cinder crossed her arms, mirroring Beatrix's posture. "Our visitor permits are valid. We're exploring employment options. What law have we broken, exactly?"

Galen stepped forward before Beatrix could respond. Unlike the Magistrate's frosty demeanor, he radiated a grandfatherly charm at odds with his keen, scholarly gaze.

"No laws broken. Merely... exceptional circumstances requiring exceptional attention."

"Exceptional?" Pyra cocked her head.

"Five young women, alike as mirrors, all manifesting unregistered magic simultaneously in Amaranth? An extraordinary confluence—forgive us if such an unprecedented phenomenon attracts official interest."

Ember could feel Cinder simmering beside her, anger bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Registration was supposed to happen on their terms, after they'd secured Guild membership and the protections it offered.

"Now," Galen continued, "we should discuss this somewhere more private. The Magistrate's office would provide appropriate discretion for such... sensitive matters."

Beatrix's mouth thinned further, if that was physically possible. "The detainment chambers would be more suitable for unregistered—"

"Come now, Beatrix," Galen interrupted with a cheerful familiarity that made the Magistrate's eye twitch. "These young women clearly aren't common hedge-witches or unlicensed charmcasters. Their case demands proper scholarly consideration."

Something unspoken passed between the two officials—a complex political calculus conducted in microseconds of eye contact. Beatrix clearly outranked Galen, yet his intervention carried weight.

"Fine," she conceded with glacial reluctance. "My office. One hour." She fixed the five with a look that could have frozen lava. "Failure to appear will result in immediate expulsion from Amaranth. Permanently."

With that, she swept from the inn, midnight-blue robes billowing behind her like storm clouds.

Galen lingered, studying them each in turn with inscrutable eyes. "Do make every effort to attend," he murmured. "A word of advice—Beatrix respects honesty, abhors evasion, and has dedicated her life to magical regulation. Tread carefully."

After he departed, silence fell over the common room, broken only by Madam Segawa's pointed throat-clearing.

"Well," she said with exaggerated casualness, "this establishment doesn't offer refunds for guests removed by Magisterial decree. Just so you know."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Cinder replied acidly.

Segawa shrugged, resuming her glass-polishing. "Twenty years running this place, I've seen all types come and go. Most who get summoned by the Magisterium don't come back for their luggage."

"We're not most types," Kindle declared with more confidence than she felt.

Upstairs, safely behind the closed door of their cramped room, the façade of composure fractured.

"We're doomed," Pyra announced, flinging herself backward onto a cot that creaked ominously. "Completely, utterly, fantastically doomed."