Luckborn

The team sat beneath the willow tree in the courtyard. Now that the weather was pleasant, they had started meeting here for lunch. A breeze rustled the branches overhead, sending a dusting of pollen drifting down on them. Milo sneezed.

Lunch was a simple affair—two pieces of fried pheasant, dried fruit, cubed and roasted potatoes, and a rustic, hand-shaped mound of dough, browned to perfection and still warm.

No one spoke for a while.

A tension hung in the air, unspoken but present, like the final note of a song no one wanted to sing. Or the final words of a story. Everyone knew how it would end, but no one wanted to be the one to end it. Except that wasn't quite right either. No, it was more like the final gift on Binding Eve. It just sat there, waiting to be opened, even though everybody knew it was just a pair of socks.

Jasper leaned back but didn't speak. Erin traced the edge of her cup with her fingertip. Milo adjusted his notes twice without reading them. Even Sage, normally the first to cut through tension with calm clarity, kept her eyes lowered, her hands folded in perfect stillness. Levi tapped his fork on his plate, eyes dancing back and forth between each of them. His and Liora's presence added another layer of tension. Erin had explained the situation to Liora earlier. Otter broke the news to Levi, who was clearly disappointed. Even though they hadn't been sponsored, Otter still considered them a part of the team and wanted their input before making a decision.

It wasn't that they disagreed. If anything, that was the problem. They all knew what the answer was. But saying it aloud would make it official. And once it was official, there'd be no turning back.

Finally, reluctantly, Otter broke the silence. "I guess it's time to make a decision about the guild thingy."

Jasper leaned against the tree trunk behind him, one leg stretched across the grass. "What's there to decide? It's a paying gig. We're getting XP. Sounds like a no-brainer. Even if it's glorified gopher work."

Sage sat cross-legged, fingers laced in her lap. Her eyes were calm, but her voice carried weight. "I prayed, but I got no answers. No visions. No divine guidance. I'm tired of being cooped up in the Enclave. This is an opportunity for advancement. I have to think it's what Elarion would want for me."

Erin nodded slowly. "I'd like to see my parents, but the thought of going back to the daily grind of gathering herbs all summer long doesn't fill me with joy. I think the opportunity to see how the Adventurer's Guild works will be important for the future. Plus, fieldwork. And I can't imagine they'd send us into a dungeon so soon. I think it's like Jasper said. We'll be messengers, mostly. Step-and-fetch-its."

Milo grimaced. "Personally, I'd rather spend the summer in the library or lab working on new spells, but Professor Windemere stressed how important it is to learn practical applications of magic. So, if everyone else is in, I'm not going to say no."

All eyes turned to Otter. He cleared his throat. "I want to go home. I miss my mom. And part of me feels like I should be there. But this…" He gestured loosely to the group. "This feels like the right thing. Plus, I'll have a week to visit, to make sure Ma's okay. I'm in too."

Erin rolled her eyes.

Otter caught it. "What?"

"Your mother is the most capable and affable woman I know. Why are you so worried about her?"

Otter stammered. "I don't know. It was just the two of us for so long. And all she does is work. I imagine she's lonely."

Jasper laughed. "Seriously? She's probably dreading the day you come home. No more wild date nights for her."

Otter's jaw dropped. "She—what—no. Ew."

The idea of his mother having a gentleman caller—or dancing, or doing anything more exciting than hauling crates and fixing ropes—completely derailed his brain. He worked his jaw, at a loss for words.

Everyone laughed. Even Sage cracked a smile.

Levi shifted, wiping his mouth with a napkin he didn't need. "So that's it then. You're all going."

The laughter died down.

Liora spoke up, her voice flat. "We already knew this was coming."

Sage opened her mouth, but Liora cut her off. "We're not angry. Just... disappointed."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"That's worse," Milo muttered.

Otter looked at them both. "You're still part of the team. You always will be. This doesn't change that."

"It widens the gap between us. There's a good chance you'll hit level 3 before fall." Levi pointed to Liora and himself. "We just made it to level 2."

"Which puts you ahead of every other first-year," Erin reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah. I wouldn't be able to go, anyway. I got a letter from my father. It seems he's acquired a new asset and wants me to help him get everything in order this summer."

Jasper narrowed his eyes. "An asset? What does that even mean?"

Levi waved the question away. "Not important. What is important is that since we're not included in this, we should at least get to pick our team name. You know, for when we can officially join."

"What?" Erin looked confused.

"A team name. It's kind of like a call sign when you join the guild. I heard some third-years talking about it."

Milo looked thoughtful.

Levi picked up the buttery round of bread from his plate and held it aloft dramatically. "I humbly submit... Team Scone."

Milo choked on his drink. "That's not even a scone. It's a biscuit."

"No. A biscuit is sweet and crunchy. Best served with tea. This is compact, dependable, occasionally dry and disappointing, but it gets the job done."

"Hard to swallow," Erin muttered.

"Like this conversation," Jasper added, grinning.

Milo bristled. "You are clearly wrong, Levi. This," He held up his own lump of bread, "is a biscuit. Light and fluffy. Goes well with jam or gravy, depending on the occasion."

Levi scoffed. "Well, Team Biscuit is just ridiculous. There's no way we're putting that on our Guild paperwork."

That threw everyone into fits of laughter.

***

There was no way to measure time in the Shadow Realm. It passed in spirals, loops, and fractured mirror-versions of reality.

Marcus knelt beside a jagged ridge of glass-like stone, his lips moving in the shape of prayers he no longer trusted.

Words still came. The cadence of devotion. The posture of faith. But the heart behind it faltered.

He had stopped counting days. The sun never rose. There were no bright dawns to chase the shadows from their revels. He had eaten the same conjured bread more than twenty times, but his wrisplay still claimed it was his first casting of the day. All hope of discovering a way out of this accursed place had fled him. Only grim determination and faith in his god kept him from lying down and giving up.

The boy's face kept appearing in the walls. Sometimes carved into the stone. Sometimes blinking in the mist. Its expression was different every time. Sneering, laughing, pitying. Once, he had screamed into the fog, demanding that the boy face him.

Only silence had answered.

The false temples had stopped appearing. Now it was mostly silence, broken by the occasional fluttering of ink-winged birds or a door that stood in the middle of nowhere, always locked. He'd kicked one until his foot bled. When he turned around, the door was gone.

That was three days ago. Or ten. Or none.

He hadn't moved in hours. His legs ached, but his spirit ached more. The whispers had grown louder—twisting scripture into mockery, turning his own voice against him.

You stand in a tomb of sins past. A graveyard of ambition.

"Lies," he whispered, but the words felt weightless now. Dry leaves on poisoned wind.

When the portal appeared, Marcus thought it was another trick. Another illusion created just to torment him. Another cruel echo of hope.

A thin, golden slit opened in the air before him like a sword carving open the world. He froze, closing his eyes tight to ward against another lie.

"Marcus," said a voice, sounding like someone he hadn't heard in years. It sounded real.

No—not real. Couldn't be. The Shadow Realm didn't speak like that. It mimicked. It lied.

He clenched his eyes shut. "Not this time. You won't trick me. I know what I saw. I know who he is. I know what he did."

"Marcus!" Louder now. Strong. Familiar.

A hand seized his arm.

He fought it. Scrabbled backward. "No! I won't go with you! I won't forget! The boy—he broke the seal—he burned us, burned them, sided with the dark! You don't know what he is!"

The hand gripped tighter.

Marcus's eyes snapped open.

Standing before him, bathed in the impossible golden light of the open portal, was Drevan Caul, senior Divine Conduit of Caelum, his white robes gleaming in the dim light. He braced his feet against the sucking edge of the realm, holding the rift open with both arms extended like a cross. "Marcus," he said, voice steady but strained. "You're safe. Come home."

"I can't," Marcus whispered. "It's not real. You're not real."

Drevan stepped forward and slapped him. Hard. The pain was bright. Clean. Like cold water.

Marcus blinked.

"Now do you believe me?" Drevan asked, voice cracking.

Marcus stared at him, the fog in his mind beginning to clear. His legs shook as he stood. The golden light rippled at the portal's edge. Behind it, the real world waited—bright and hot and terrifying.

He crossed the threshold without breathing, falling forward into Drevan's arms as the Shadow Realm hissed behind him and collapsed with a sound like a thousand pages ripping in unison.

Marcus gasped as genuine air filled his lungs. The sudden weight of gravity, the clarity of light, the overwhelming normalcy of it all made his knees buckle. Drevan caught him.

For a long moment, Marcus just clung to him, shaking. Everything in him wanted to collapse. To weep. To scream. But instead, he breathed—deep, ragged, painful breaths—and felt something stirring beneath the madness.

He had been rescued. Not abandoned. Not discarded. Not forgotten.

That could only mean one thing: Caelum had not lost faith in him.

Despite his failure, despite his doubts and the shadows clawing at the edges of his mind, the divine had reached into the dark and pulled him out. That could not be meaningless. That could not be mercy alone.

He was still needed. He had a purpose. A duty. A reckoning yet to carry out.

And somewhere out there, the boy who had broken everything—who had stepped into power not meant for him—was still walking free.

Marcus closed his eyes. Not to forget, but to hold it all tighter. To conjure that boy's face in his mind's eye. Not as it had been in truth, but as it had become in his fevered mind—smirking, arrogant, shadow-touched.

Yes, Marcus decided in that moment, there would be a reckoning.