Luckborn

Otter stared at the blank page for a long time before writing anything.

The ink in his pen had begun to dry, and his thoughts weren't far behind. It was hard to put feelings into words when most of what he felt was a sticky swirl of stress, nerves, and the strange guilt that came with good news.

Eventually, he wrote:

Ma—

I know I said I'd be home for the summer, and I still plan to be. Just not for all of it.

He paused, chewing the end of the pen. That sounded too abrupt. Too official. He scratched it out and started again, more casual this time.

Hey Ma,

Some news. Good news, actually. My team got picked up for a summer work opportunity with the Adventurer's Guild. We'll be stationed here in Aurelia and assigned light support duties—no danger, just errands and field observation.

I'll still get a full week to visit before we start. Promise.

He hesitated again. His instinct was to reassure her, but his mother wasn't the type who worried without reason. She'd taught him better than that.

I know this probably wasn't what either of us expected. But it's a step forward, and it's with people I trust. I'll explain everything when I get home.

Love,

Otter

He sealed the letter and dropped it off at the mail room. As the clerk placed it in a stack of other outgoing post, he felt both lighter and more aware of how much he already missed her.

Finals week began the next morning.

The Academy transformed overnight. Sleep schedules dissolved. Study halls overflowed. Someone barricaded themselves in the privy on the second floor of the dorms and recited the taxonomies of Kaosborn at full volume until security dragged them out.

Otter did not feel ready.

He was prepared, sure—he'd reviewed the material, practiced potion recipes, and tested his stamina against both Jasper and Liora. But readiness was more than knowledge. It was calm. Confidence. The sense that you could take what was coming and not just survive it, but own it.

Otter didn't feel that way at all.

***

The Alchemy final came first.

They were given two hours to brew a Level 2 healing potion from raw materials. Without notes. Just instinct, memory, and preparation.

The testing hall was silent except for the clinking of glass and the hiss of burners. The sharp scent of ground herbs mingled with the acidic tang of stabilizer salts, filling the room with a strange, metallic calm.

Otter measured carefully. He crushed the amberroot just enough to release its oil without turning it bitter. His cauldron frothed to life, shifting from gold to cloudy green, then finally settling into a soft rose color with faint violet swirls.

Not perfect. But close.

Milo's tincture, by contrast, looked like something poured straight out of a potion textbook—shimmering silver with a faint golden pulse.

Professor Salien inspected both. She gave Otter a short nod. "Satisfactory. You've improved." She looked at Milo's flask for a long moment, then murmured, "Elegant."

Milo beamed. Otter didn't mind. Much.

***

The training yard outside Ironside was cordoned off with magical barriers. Instructors and observers perched along the perimeter, murmuring quietly, some taking notes. The air shimmered faintly with the stabilizing runes woven into the perimeter, meant to prevent accidents, not failure.

Each student was paired against an Instructor's Assistant—a third-year student trained to push them hard. These duels weren't meant to be won. They were tests of stamina, technique, control. The goal wasn't to triumph. It was to endure.

Otter stood across from a tall woman with close-cropped hair and a blunt-edged practice sword. Her posture was relaxed, almost indifferent. But her eyes tracked every movement he made.

He held his rapier in third position, blade angled toward her shoulder, right foot forward, presenting his profile. His grip was steady—he'd practiced enough to at least look confident.

His heart thudded anyway.

The whistle blew.

Otter lunged, aiming a clean diagonal slash toward Talya's sword arm. His footwork held—heel planted, shoulder turned, just like they'd drilled.

But she was faster.

With a smooth twist of her wrist, she caught his blade on the flat of her own and turned it aside with almost casual ease. The force of the deflection overbalanced him slightly, forcing him to reset his stance.

In that split second, she riposted, smacking him in the arm with the flat of her blade. It stung, sending a tingling sensation up and down his limb.

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"Too predictable," she said, almost absently. "Try again."

Too predictable? Of course. He was using the moves he'd been taught by the same instructors who had taught her. She would know how to defend against them. He needed to change it up.

So he stopped trying to fight like a student and fought like a Luckborn.

He took a step forward, then faked a stumble—one foot skidding slightly as if he'd lost his balance. It was just enough to widen his stance and drop his shoulder, exposing his side. A rookie mistake.

Talya went for it.

She lunged, her sword aimed low—but the moment she committed, Otter twisted his body in the opposite direction, pivoting on the ball of his foot and dragging his blade up in a tight, instinctive arc.

The move wasn't taught in class. It wasn't even particularly elegant.

But it was fast. And it landed. His blade struck her thigh, just above the knee. A clean hit. Enough to count.

Talya stepped back immediately, raising her blade in acknowledgment.

Her expression didn't change much, but her stance did. Suddenly, she went on he full offense and she charged him, lowering her shoulder and barreling into him. She caught him in the solar plexus, forcing the air from his lungs and knocking him to the ground.

He sucked wind as he scrambled to his feet, ribs burning and breath shallow. She hit hard. Otter wasn't sure how many more hits like that he could take.

He recovered his guard and circled, looking for an opening, saw her sword tip drop, and lunged, scoring a solid hit to her chest. She grimaced, taking a step back. Finding openings and tagging her didn't seem to be a problem. He had enough control of his weapon to slip past her guard. It was his own defense that needed work. Then he had an idea.

He watched her closely, paying attention to her hips. With a sword like hers, one that relied on strength, the hips were the best predictor of when a strike was coming. He saw the shift and triggered his ability Bend Luck.

The world slowed to a crawl, and Otter watched the world split in two. In one reality, Tyla's blade slammed into him, knocking him off balance and likely ending the fight. In the other, he took half a step to the left, and her sword whistled harmlessly past him. The world snapped back into motion as he took that half step, then countered. Unfortunately, she recovered in time to parry his own strike.

They continued to dance back and forth, trading lunges and parries, each scoring several hits, until finally Tyla kicked out, knocking Otter's feet out from under him, and he hit the ground hard. His vision swam, and when he regained his senses, she stood over him, sword tip held at his throat.

***

The exam packet was thicker than Otter expected.

That should have been his first warning.

The History and Theory of Kaos Final Examination – Instructor: Professor Harrow

Quisling's name wasn't on the cover. That gave him a very bad feeling.

Otter opened to the first page and immediately felt his brain seize up.

Describe the standard sequence of instability signs for a Class II Kaos incursion at sea. Include phase durations, expected environmental symptoms, and three countermeasures used prior to the Treaty of Aetherlane.

He blinked.

Quisling had never once mentioned the Treaty of Aetherlane. Or phase durations. Or…whatever "environmental symptoms" meant in this context.

Under Quisling, the class had discussed philosophy. Implications. Why Kaos manifested, how it interacted with belief and fear, what it meant for the structure of the System. They had read excerpts from The Fractured Doctrine and debated whether Kaos was a force of destruction or reformation.

Now, Harrow wanted exact procedural recall. Technical terms. Specifics. It was like showing up for a poetry recital and being handed a differential equation.

He flipped to the second question.

Outline the three stages of systemic corruption as defined in the Aurelia Concordant Guidelines, including standard containment procedures for each phase. Provide the original source dates for the Guidelines and cite at least one recorded breach where procedure failed.

Otter's pencil hovered. The three stages... he remembered "containment" and "severance," maybe a third called "observation," or was it "quarantine"? He knew he'd seen the words in his notes, but they were swimming now, half-formed and unreachable. The source dates? No clue. And the failed breach—something about the Southern Reach, maybe?

He jotted down what he could remember and moved on.

The third question was more familiar territory.

In your own words, explain the philosophical divergence between Old World Chaos Worship and modern Kaosborn cult structures, with reference to at least two key historical uprisings.

Finally—something Quisling had touched on.

He dove into that one, scribbling furiously about the Cindershade Rebellion and the fragmentation of the Screaming Sigil sect. At least he thought he remembered those correctly. Was the Screaming Sigil the one that believed the System itself was a cage? Or were they the ones who burned the archives?

By the fourth page, Otter's confidence had eroded entirely. He was guessing more than answering. Every once in a while, he wrote something just to fill the space and hoped Harrow would interpret it as "insightful ambiguity."

It felt like being quizzed on the biology of a nightmare.

He turned in the exam with a numb hand.

Professor Harrow sat behind the desk, perfectly still, his hands folded like she was attending a funeral. He did not look up as Otter approached.

"Professor," he said, almost out of reflex. "Was this… the same material Quisling planned for?"

He looked up then. His eyes were cool, unreadable.

"No. It was the material he should have planned for."

Otter swallowed. "Right."

***

Students clustered around the noticeboards in the Hall of Assignments, craning to see their rankings and exam scores as the enchanted parchment added row by row of magical writing. Wrisplays blinked with updates and projected messages. Somewhere nearby, someone groaned. Another person let out a jubilant whoop. There was a loud thud as someone fainted—whether from joy or despair, Otter couldn't tell.

He stood near the back of the crowd with his team, arms crossed, heart thudding.

"Why don't they just send it to us privately?" Erin muttered. "This is barbaric."

"It builds character," Jasper said.

"It builds ulcers," Milo corrected.

Liora stood on tiptoe, trying to peek over a cluster of second-years. "I think it's updating again."

Otter scanned the columns until he found his name.

Combat Basics – Satisfactory

Alchemy Fundamentals – Commended *

History and Theory of Kaos – Marginal

Monster Identification – Commended

He let out a shaky breath.

Not perfect. But solid. And that star next to Alchemy…He grinned.

Milo leaned in. "You got a 'with honors'?"

"Alchemy," Otter said. "Probably for saving my brew mid-boil. Professor Salien said it wasn't elegant, but effective."

"She gave me Distinguished," Milo said matter-of-factly. "She also said my ratio tables were 'criminally precise.'"

Otter held up his hands. "I yield to the spellchemist."

Jasper elbowed past them. "Let's see… Combat: Commended. Monster ID: Satisfactory. Kaos Theory—Marginal. No surprises here."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "You got Commended in Combat?"

He smirked. "Style points."

Just then, Levi came running down the hall, Liora in tow, both flushed and smiling.

"Level two," Levi said, waving his wrisplay.

"Same," said Liora. "Even though I got two Marginals."

"Everybody got Marginal in Kaos Theory," Levi informed them. "I'm guessing no one passed the final, and it was only because of our grades when Quisling was still here that anybody passed the course at all."

Quisling. Otter still had no idea what had happened to the Professor. He had meant to ask Blackwood about it, but had never gotten the chance. Now that the semester was over, it seemed he would have to wait even longer to unravel that mystery.