Luckborn

Otter found himself in awe yet again as he and Milo approached the main gates to the Adventurers' Academy. The great stone towers rising above the well-manicured trees provided a breathtaking backdrop against which the massive carvings of the typical adventuring classes loomed, etched into the archways like guardians of the place.

He'd passed under those stone visages many times, but this time was different. Absent was the usual hustle of academia, the students scattered back to their homes or off on internships, only to be replaced by an altogether different kind of activity. Strangers in every shade of robe and cloak filled the lawns, the paths, even the stairs leading up to the dormitories. Tents and pavilions stood like bright mushrooms across the grass, bearing the sigils of foreign academies, guilds, and scholarly orders. The air was filled with the scents of strange spices, alchemical smoke, and musky perfumes.

"This doesn't feel like the Academy," Otter murmured.

"That's because it isn't," Milo said, his voice hushed but excited. "This is the Great Conclave. Gods, look over there—that crest is from the Collegium of Harthmere. And those two by the fountain? I swear that's a delegation from the Saltspire Enclave."

Otter frowned. "Which means?"

"Which means," Milo said, practically buzzing, "half the smartest people on the continent are in this courtyard right now. We're tripping over living legends, Otter. Do you realize how lucky we are?"

Otter wasn't sure lucky was the word. The press of strangers, the sheer noise, the sheer differentness of it all—it felt wrong. He was hoping for something more familiar.

"Right. Well, do you think we'll find Blackwood in his office?"

Milo shrugged. "It's as good a place to start as any."

While they garnered a few odd looks, no one stopped them as they made their way to the Hall of Assignments.

The primary administration building loomed ahead, its marble steps crowded with a trio of robed scholars deep in debate. Otter and Milo slipped past them and pushed through the double doors.

Inside was no better. The hall, usually lined with neat rows of notice boards and staffed by a handful of attendants, had been transformed into a staging ground. Tables overflowed with scrolls and bound codices. Couriers darted to and fro with armfuls of papers. The murmur of voices was a constant backdrop—questions asked in half a dozen languages, arguments in low tones, the occasional sharp laugh of triumph.

Otter paused just inside the doorway, taking it all in. He wasn't sure he liked the change.

Milo, however, looked delighted. He threaded his way through the bustle like a child in a festival market. "Come on."

They approached a clerk's station. The poor man looked like he'd been dragged through an alley. His hair stuck up in random places. Black ink stained his fingers and spots on his face where he'd wiped it. He glanced up at their approach, a confused look on his face.

"Classes don't start for another month. Why are you here?"

"We need to see Overseer Blackwood," Otter told him.

The clerk practically threw a slip of paper at them. "You know what to do?"

Otter nodded, then filled out the necessary information on the form and trotted over to the ledger nearby. Hr opened the book to the appropriate spot and placed the paper inside, watching as the words magically transferred themselves to the ledger.

Otter closed the ledger and stepped back. The ink shimmered for a moment as the last line sank into the parchment, then stilled as though it had always been there.

"Efficient, isn't it?" Milo said, though his eyes were still darting across the chaos of the hall, lingering on a pair of robed figures locked in a heated argument in Old Edrassi.

Otter crossed his arms. "Efficient for them. We'll see how long we wait."

They found a bench along the wall and sat. The noise around them pressed close, a tangle of languages and rustling paper. Otter felt out of place, and more than a little restless. His fingers brushed the pouch where the artifacts rested. This didn't feel like the right place to bring them up—not here, not surrounded by strangers who might know more than they let on.

After only a few moments, the clerk jerked like he'd been slapped, then cast his gaze around the hall. As soon as he made eye contact with Otter, the man waved them over. "He'll see you now. He says you know the way."

Otter thanked the clerk, then scurried toward the door labeled "Overseers Only."

The hallway beyond was mercifully calmer, the noise dimming with each step. Doors lined the stone walls, most shut, a few left ajar with faint voices or candlelight within. At last, they reached the familiar door marked with Blackwood's brass nameplate.

Milo hesitated only a moment before knocking.

There was a pause. Then the scrape of a chair, and the door opened. Blackwood beamed at them. Otter blinked in surprise. He was used to seeing the Overseer dressed in a gray three-piece suit. Today, however, the man wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms, a pair of worn trousers, and suspenders.

"Come in, boys. Come in." His voice had the same booming authority as ever, though now it carried a strange ease—as if he'd shed a layer of formality with the suit. He ushered them inside with a sweep of one thick arm.

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"Sit, sit," Blackwood said, clearing a chair with one practiced sweep of his hand. He dropped back into his own seat, the wooden frame creaking under his weight.

Otter exchanged a glance with Milo before they both sat.

"Well then," Blackwood leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk. His eyes flicked between the two of them, sharp even when his smile was kind. "The Guild sends you out into the world, and within weeks you're back at my door. Tell me—what have you gotten yourself into now?"

Milo didn't waste a breath. The moment they sat, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. "Artifacts. That's what we're carrying." He jabbed Otter lightly in the ribs. "Come on, show him."

Otter frowned. "Milo—"

"Don't 'Milo' me. If anyone in Aurelia can identify these properly, it's Blackwood. Unless you want us fumbling around in the dark and possibly blowing ourselves up."

Otter hesitated only a moment longer, then sighed and unbuckled the pouch at his belt. He withdrew the wrapped bundle and laid it carefully on the Overseer's desk.

Blackwood's brows climbed. "Well, well. Let's have a look, shall we?"

He unwrapped the cloth with surprising delicacy for a man of his size. The three artifacts gleamed against the worn wood: the stone veined with molten orange, the faintly glowing amulet, and the strange wave-etched object. Blackwood reached first for the stone.

He turned it in his hand, nodding as light played along the shifting veins. "A hearthstone. Ancient, but functional. Warmth, light, a spark when pressed into tinder. Nothing too exotic. A useful trinket, though rarely this well preserved." He set it down and picked up the amulet.

"This one's even simpler. It's a Featherweight enchantment. Quite useful for any adventurer. Wear it, leap from a cliff, and land without breaking your legs. Practical, if inelegant."

Milo beamed. Otter smiled at him, understanding the sense of pride he must feel at having already drawn the same conclusions.

Then Blackwood lifted the third artifact, turning it between thick fingers. His eyes narrowed. "Now this one… this is rare."

The object was a smooth piece of bronze shaped like a curling wave, lines etched in fine arcs across its surface. Blackwood tilted it toward the light, then rose and crossed to one of his shelves. He plucked a book with a cracked blue spine, flipped it open, and muttered as his finger traced the faded script.

At last, he closed the book with a snap. "Yes. A tidecall focus. Enchanted to manipulate water. Or summon it. The effects depend on the strength of the wielder. A small trickle of mana is enough to produce a small amount of water. About half a waterskin's worth, I'd say. With more mana it could part a stream, steer currents, perhaps even calm a raging flood."

Milo's eyes went wide. "Water manipulation…"

Blackwood nodded gravely, setting it back on the desk. "It's not a weapon, mind you. More like a tool. But a powerful one, particularly in a world where control of water can mean the difference between life and death."

Otter sat back, processing this. "It sounds…valuable."

Blackwood nodded. "Very much so. You should be careful who you show that to."

Otter and Milo shared a look. "We're not selling it," they both said in unison. Then they laughed.

Blackwood smiled at them. "I'd say your summer is going quite well."

Otter's face fell at that. "It's been eventful, that's for sure."

He recounted their adventures in Stonetrail Glen and Halverik Marsh. Blackwood's expression grew grimmer.

"Which brings me to the second thing I would like some help with." Otter withdrew Newt's little box, placed it on the desk, and opened it. "We spoke to an old hermit who told us this was a Salamander, with a capital S."

"Really?" Blackwood leaned forward to inspect the creature who blinked up at him.

"He feeds on raw mana and is immune to fire. I'd like to rasie him, but I'm not sure the best way to do that."

"Fascinating. I'll admit, such creatures are not my forte, but I'd recommend you speak with Master Ongaro. He heads the Department of Magical Zoology, small as it is. If anyone can give you advice, it would be he."

Otter glanced down at Newt, who was curled contentedly on the moss inside the box, its faint glow lighting the underside of Blackwood's chin. "Do you think he'll try to take him from me?"

Blackwood chuckled, low and warm. "Ongaro? No, no. He's more likely to bury you in questions until you regret bringing the little fellow at all. But—" his gaze sharpened slightly, the administrator's weight sliding into his tone again, "—With so many scholars gathered for the Conclave, I can't say the same for everyone in residence. Most of the people hereare not only scholars, but also collectors of one thing or another. You'd do well to keep all your recent discoveries under wraps. At least until the Conclave disperses. But Ongaro is trustworthy. If you can catch him alone, at least."

Otter gave a small nod, though his jaw tightened. He understood the truth of it, but part of him balked at hiding so much.

"Is there anything else?"

"No, sir. Not unless you need anything from me. You know, regarding our project."

"Ah, yes. Your insights have been most helpful. I've been working with a committee to draft a list of introductory courses designed to be versatile and meet the needs of any who seek the adventuring life. I was planning to send you a copy once we've finished deliberations to get your feedback, but that might not be for another week, yet."

Otter felt the tips of his ears getting warm. This was high praise coming from the Overseer. He cleared his throat. "Well, you're welcome. I guess we should track down Master Ongaro now." Otter stood. "Thank you for your help."

"There is one more thing, Otter," said Blackwood. "I have heard rumors about a priest of Caelum looking for someone who fits your description. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Otter felt the blood drain from his face. The only priest of Caelum he knew was the one he'd encountered in the ruins beneath the keep. The one they'd blasted with fire from Elarion's trap. If that was the one looking for him, it meant trouble.

"I see," said Blackwood, reading much from Otter's expression. "Then you should operate in the city with extreme caution. You will, of course, be out of reach here once classes recommence, but I cannot guarantee your safety until then. While I do not know the particulars of what transpired beneath the Keep this spring, I can deduce that you made an enemy." He sighed. "It is unavoidable as an Adventurer. But even an enemy can become an ally if handled with care and compassion."

Otter swallowed hard, the box with Newt suddenly feeling very heavy in his hands. He didn't trust his voice, so he only nodded.

Blackwood leaned forward, his eyes steady. "Think on what I've said. Keep your head down while the Conclave runs its course, and when it comes to this priest—do not let fear make your choices for you. If you can, face him with words before steel. And if that fails…" He spread his broad hands, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging his mouth. "Well. I suspect you'll do what you must."

Otter managed a thin smile in return, though his stomach twisted.

"Good lads," Blackwood said at last, clapping his palms together with a finality that made both of them jump. "Now go. You've work of your own to attend to, and I have twenty meetings between now and sundown."

Milo snapped up the artifacts and wrapped them carefully before Otter could move. Otter scooped up Newt's box, fastening the lid securely. Together they rose.

"Thank you, Overseer," Otter said.

Blackwood inclined his head. "Always. Walk well, boys."

The door shut softly behind them, and the noise of the Conclave's chaos began to seep back in.

Otter exhaled, low and shaky. "Milo… I think this summer just got more complicated."