Luckborn

As Otter and Milo walked down the corridor away from Blackwood's office, Otter said, "Did you know there was a department of magical zoology?"

"I did not," replied Milo. "Where do you think the office is located?"

"No idea. But I'm sure that clerk can tell us."

Back in the bustling main hall, Milo flagged down the overworked clerk. The man barely looked up from his mountain of scrolls.

"Sorry to bother you again, but where might we find Master Ongaro's office?"

The clerk barely looked up from his pile of papers. "Ongaro? Office in the Vivarium. West Quad." He waved them away before they could ask more.

Otter had never heard of the Vivarium. In fact, he'd never spent any time in the West Quad. As far as he knew, that was where most of the third-year dorms were located. But they had the whole day, so he figured they could find it.

Outside, the summer air felt almost fresher after the crush of bodies inside, but the maze of bright tents and makeshift pavilions was disorienting in a different way.

"Feels more like a fairground than a school," Otter muttered, stepping aside to avoid a flock of strangely dressed apprentices carrying stacks of glass tubing.

"Look at this!" Milo veered toward a nearby stall where a delegation from the Aurelian Arcane Society displayed a dozen glimmering crystals. Each one emitted a different tone when tapped, harmonizing into a faint chord. Milo's eyes lit up. "Resonance stones! I've read about these—"

Otter grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back onto the path. "Later."

They wove their way across the campus, passing the familiar dormitories, lecture halls, and training yards—now almost unrecognizable, crowded with strangers.

Finally, the crowds thinned as they neared the edge of the grounds. Here, the manicured stone paths gave way to a quieter stretch lined with hedges and the curved glass roofs of the Academy's botanical greenhouses. Beyond them rose a squat, broad building of dark stone, its walls draped in ivy and latticed with narrow, barred windows.

"Do you think that's it?" Otter asked as they approached.

Milo pointed to the words etched above the door. "Well, it says Vivarium. So, I'd say yes."

Otter rolled his eyes as they went inside.

Through the doors, a central hall stretched wide and high, lit by long skylights that caught what sunlight pierced Aurelia's cloudy skies. Marble floors gleamed faintly, muffling their steps, while alcoves along the walls held glass-fronted displays.

Inside those displays were painted illustrations, anatomical sketches, and preserved remains—the delicately posed skeleton of a veil cat, the gleaming carapace of a giant centipede, and the massive shell of a cloudback turtle. Each case bore a brass plaque etched with meticulous script describing the creature's habitat, temperament, and magical properties. Otter had heard of none of them.

Milo stared wide-eyed at the displays. Otter had to admit, he was pretty intrigued, too. He had been fascinated by insects since he was little, and these displays—while not a perfect fit—were close enough to pique his interest.

The two boys perused the displays for a while before Otter noticed a staff directory placed conveniently near the entrance. "Hey, I found Ongaro's office number."

Reluctantly, they moved on from the main hall and took a corridor to the right, where they found a door with Ongaro's name next to it tucked beneath an archway carved with stylized griffins. Otter knocked, but there was no answer.

They drifted back into the main hall, lingering awkwardly. At last, they spotted a young woman in a green skirt and blouse hurrying past with an armful of books.

"Excuse me—do you know where we can find Master Ongaro?"

She blinked at them, then adjusted the bundle in her arms. "She's not here. She's below, in the restricted conservatory. Some of the specimens need daily care, and with the Conclave on, she hasn't got much help."

"Can we go down?" Otter asked.

"Not alone." She tilted her head toward them, expression firm but not unkind. "But I'll take you. Follow me."

She led them through a side corridor to a locked iron door. Producing a heavy ring of keys, she unlocked it with a sharp clack and pulled it open. A stairwell descended into dimness, carrying with it a shift in the air—cooler still, and tinged with something sharper, a mingling of animal musk and faint ozone.

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Otter glanced at Milo, who looked like a boy about to unwrap a long-coveted present.

The stairwell opened onto a low-ceilinged chamber lit by rows of enchanted lanterns. The air here was pleasant—cool and damp—with the earthy scent of hay and moss, undercut by the sharper tang of fresh herbs. A chorus of small sounds greeted them—chirps, chitters, the rustle of wings.

The space spread wide, divided into roomy enclosures that looked more like lovingly crafted habitats than cages. One held a burbling fountain with a cluster of jewel-bright fish that occasionally lifted out of the water on translucent fins and glided a few feet before splashing back. Another contained a hollow log where a pair of furred lizards peered out, tongues flicking curiously at the visitors.

The assistant smiled faintly at their gawking. "Most of these are rescues. Master Ongaro has a soft spot for anything wounded or orphaned. You'll see."

They followed her down a narrow aisle. Wooden toys, gnawed ropes, and half-finished sketches lay scattered on tables, giving the place the cozy disarray of someone who lived among their animals as much as they studied them.

And there, crouched in one corner with her back to them, was a plump, dark-skinned woman with tightly curled hair bound up in a bright scarf. She wore a plain work apron marred by dark stains. Her round face broke into a smile as she coaxed a tiny feathered serpent to take a strip of meat from her fingers.

The creature coiled happily around her wrist, flicking a forked tongue, while the woman chuckled and murmured something soothing in a singsong cadence. There was nothing formal or academic about her in that moment—she looked more like a grandmother fussing over a beloved pet than a professor.

The assistant cleared her throat. "Master Ongaro, you have visitors."

Ongaro glanced up, and her whole face lit even brighter, as if delighted at the prospect of meeting new friends. She gently disentangled the little serpent from her wrist and set it back into its glass enclosure, humming to it until it slithered into a nest of dried moss. Then she dusted her hands on her apron and rose, turning toward them.

"Well, well. Visitors in my den. How rare and lovely!" she said, her voice warm and lilting, as though she meant every word. "I'm Callida Ongaro. And who might you two be?"

"I'm Otter," Otter said. He gestured to his companion. "This is Milo. We're… students. Well, technically, we're working for the Adventurer's Guild this summer. But we were first-year students."

"Ah, yes, yes," Ongaro said, eyes crinkling. "You smell of the Academy still—ink and nerves and not nearly enough sleep."

"That's the truth," Otter said with half a laugh.

"So, what brings you bright-eyed fledglings to my little cave today?"

Otter took off his pack and brought out Newt's box.

Ongaro looked on with intense curiosity. When Otter revealed the salmander inside, she narrowed her eyes and crinkled her nose. "What have we here?"

"It's a Salamander."

"Yes, I can see that. But what kind?"

"No. A Salamander with a capital S."

Ongaro looked at him quizzically.

"At least, that's what this old man Randy—well, they call him the Hermit of Crookpine Hollow—said he was."

"You know Randy?"

"Kind of."

"Well, he would know. He knows all kinds of obscure critters. But not much about the common ones. So, if you've already identified this little guy, what do you need me for?"

"I was hoping I could make some kind of habitat for him. We've made a connection, and I'd like to keep him in my room once I start back here. This little box is way too small, and I think he's growing."

"I see. Though I'm not sure that would be best. Most magical creatures don't do well in captivity. It would be better if you returned him to his natural habitat."

"That's the problem. His home was destroyed."

"Oh my." She gave Newt a sympathetic look. "In that case, I'd be happy to help."

Relief washed over Otter as a bubble of tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding onto finally burst. That relief quickly turned to repidation as Ongaro continued, however.

"I will need to keep him with me for some time while I work out the best habitat." She must have seen something in his eyes, because her tone immediately softened. "Don't worry, I'll take very good care of him, and you can drop by and see him whenever you'd like. It shouldn't take me too long to come up with something."

"Well, okay, I guess. But there are a few things you should know. He needs pure mana to survive."

"As do most magical creatures, although as they grow, they learn how to gather the ambient mana around them more efficiently, similar to how Spell Lords do it. In the meantime, I can supply what he needs."

"He also likes fire. I think it helps him grow. I know for sure he's immune to it."

Ongaro's eyes twinkled. "That's fascinating. And I will keep it in mind when I begin my design."

Milo leaned over the box, unable to hide his excitement. "You mean you can actually build something for him here? Like a… proper enclosure?"

"Oh, more than that," Ongaro said, wagging a finger. "If he's what you say he is, then the habitat has to be more than stone and moss. It has to sing to him. Fire, mana, warmth—creatures like this aren't pets, they're legacies. If you care for him properly, he may outlive you both."

Otter swallowed at that, glancing down at Newt, who chirped once as if in agreement. "Then I'm trusting you with him," he said quietly. "Just… don't let him get lost in all this." He waved at the cluttered menagerie around them—half toys, half notes, every surface alive with Ongaro's enthusiasm.

"Lost?" Ongaro placed a hand to her chest in mock offense. "Never. He'll be my special project. And I promise—you'll always be part of it. Now then," she clapped her hands briskly, sending a startled flutter through a cage of mothlike creatures nearby, "Come back before the week's end, and we'll see how far I've gotten."

Reluctantly, Otter set the box on her worktable. Newt blinked up at him, tail curling, then turned and padded happily onto a warm stone plate Ongaro had coaxed closer to the hearth. The little salamander looked… content.

Otter let out a slow breath. "Alright. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Good," Ongaro said firmly. "That's what he'll need most—familiar faces, consistent care. Creatures like this bond deeply, and breaking that bond would be cruel. So you'll visit often, yes?"

Otter nodded. "As often as I can."

Ongaro's warm smile returned. "Then I think we'll get along just fine."