Saving the school would have been easier as a cafeteria worker

Someone experiencing worry might do something drastic, so it was a good thing that wasn't the emotion Cal was feeling. No, he'd peg his state as closer to apprehensive.

Which, he felt, was a perfectly reasonable state of mind upon hearing that one of the continent's undisputed strongest was about to pop on by.

Cal respected the level of threat the Right presented to him. A Hand wasn't to be trifled with, and if forced to fight her, he knew he'd become intimately familiar with the sensation of his body being ground into dust.

Repeatedly.

That would be unpleasant, and even if he did manage to best her after cycling through countless bodies, there would be only ruin left in their wake. Physically and metaphorically.

Fighting her was a non-starter.

He drilled that into his head, lest his poorer traits get the best of him.

"Are you well?" Alice queried from across him. From the corner of his eye, he could see her concerned gaze on him.

They'd grabbed a handful of granola bars for breakfast and were now in the old combat arena his class was meant to be held in. It hadn't been repaired, but they'd managed to force their way through the rubble and enter the old locker room.

It was partially collapsed, and the musty scent in the air told him there was a leak somewhere.

"Totally healthy," he replied, while yanking open the door of a locker. The metal was already warped, so he wasn't shy about damaging it further. "Told you as much last night. I don't have a scratch."

He frowned at the locker's contents, or the lack thereof, and moved to the next. It was lying diagonally on the ground, and he crouched near it before tearing a hole in its side.

"I'm aware of that."

Cal sensed hesitation in her voice, and he shifted his head toward her, prompting her to continue.

"I was referring to your mental state." She cringed the moment the words left her mouth, and her eyes traveled to a wall. "I mean no insult. However, considering your recent trip and the events prior, it would be remiss for me not to ask."

From another person, or at another time, he might have balked at that statement. As for now?

"I'm fine," Cal said, realizing a moment later how it sounded. He shook his head derisively at himself. "That's not me trying to blow you off. It's just—" he paused in his efforts, carefully choosing his words. "Do you ever say something that's not completely true, but you say it anyway? Like even when no one's around, you'll find yourself thinking it."

He watched her sight shift to the ground as she pondered his words, the edges of her lips tugging downward.

"At times," she admitted uneasily. "I wouldn't describe it as healthy behavior."

Cal understood where she was coming from, and it was something he'd debated with himself before.

"That depends on how you frame it. From one angle, you're essentially lying to yourself and denying a part of reality. From another, you're declaring what you aspire to be true. I like to think in terms of the latter."

A person's self was often their harshest critic, and so they required the most convincing. At least, that was his thought process around it.

"Some might call that delusional," she pointed out.

"Some might be right," he agreed easily. "The key is knowing when you're doing it to yourself, and acting in a way that gets you to where you want to be."

Cal had failed on both those fronts in the past. Yet, he was still here, and still moving.

"And when immutable truths stand in your way?" Alice asked with an appraising look.

She'd touched upon the fatal flaw of his argument. There were things no amount of effort could change.

His mind drifted back to the Right. She either knew of him or she didn't, and both scenarios were rife with consequences he was only beginning to sort through. Many ended with him being outed as a Federation agent.

It was frustrating that every time he thought he might have a handle on his situation, there was a new problem thrown at him.

"You go down swinging," he replied in earnest.

He'd hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

Cal found solace in knowing he was starting off on a good foot with her. Saving her dad must have given him a truckload of brownie points.

"Bold," Alice said after some time, nodding her head. "I approve. I'll only remind you of what we spoke of last night."

He hummed in response, acknowledging her remark while adding nothing of his own.

Resuming his search, Cal grinned as he spotted what he was looking for in the locker. He secured it in his hand before searching for, and locating, all of its siblings.

Taking a seat on an intact bench, Cal laid out the suppression cuffs in front of him. There were four pairs, but their links were already broken, so they functioned as eight individual units.

"Are those…" Alice trailed off while peering over his head. She paced to the side of the bench and reached out with a finger. "I fear to ask why those would be present in a training facility, let alone left unattended."

Because Ferguson wasn't good at cleaning up after himself.

"All you need to know is that it's finders keepers," he said, picking up the first of the devices. He closed his eyes, only to open one a moment later and provide a warning. "Take a step back for a minute; I'm not sure how this is going to go."

She did so, and he resealed the eye to further his concentration.

Clipping it onto his wrist, he cycled magic through his body. As expected, there were no deviations. Next, his shell was formed. Satisfied with the continued lack of interference, he took the final step and attempted a simple manifestation. It failed to take shape, and the magic dissipated harmlessly.

Conventional wisdom dictated that anyone with cuffs slapped on would find using external magic impossible.

There was little love lost between Cal and conventions.

That was to say, he could force a manifestation through, but that feat had taken excessive amounts of training to accomplish and he couldn't say it was the most productive use of his time.

However, he wouldn't have dug these up if he thought there was no merit to the idea.

Cal left the active one on his wrist as he reached for another. He let his magic seep into both, comparing both to better map out their design. The live one impeded his progress, but was unable to stop him.

What he found was surprisingly familiar, resembling the ones he'd used to train with in the Federation. He hadn't known what he was looking at then, but with a slightly deeper understanding of wards and magical circuits, he could now piece together how they worked.

Roughly.

In the end, magic was magic, and Cal was pretty good at feeling its flow.

He rubbed his finger across the inert cuff's surface, feeling the slight indent from where it had been sealed. Any major changes would necessitate opening it up.

Cal lacked both the tools and knowledge for that.

Which was fine, as he wasn't trying to reinvent the wheel. He was just trying to break them in a specific way.

Broadly speaking, he was confident in identifying three distinct sections of the cuffs. The trigger was the easiest to single out, consisting of the prong and the hole into which it was inserted. Once closed, they formed a loop that told the rest of the unit to turn on.

After that was the power source. Unlike the circuits he'd been recently studying, these didn't use a dedicated core. Instead, they pulled in ambient magic. It was clever in design because its normal power draw was minimal, slowing down the rate of corrosion that ambient magic would inflict on it. Only when it detected higher concentrations did it speed up its consumption, and under that scenario, it was likely no longer feeding on the ambient magic but on the magic of its wearer.

Which led to its most important feature, the part that cut off magic. If mages were commanders trying to radio orders, then the cuffs worked by broadcasting bursts of static that made any communication sound like garbled gibberish. This caused the soldier on the other end, or manifestation in this case, to lose direction.

The counter was having a commander able to time multiple transmissions so that each message conveyed a single, clear syllable that could then be combined to form a coherent order.

In contrast, Cal's method of destroying manifestations would be the equivalent of using mind magic on the soldier. His way was far more direct but also easier to identify and combat on the part of the commander.

That shaky analogy aside, Cal removed the cuff and got to work. His magic slithered into it, and he guided it carefully, trying his best not to damage anything. When it reached the section responsible for jamming, he let it strike, targeting a precise location with a minute amount of magic. He repeated the action, hammering away at it one sliver of magic at a time.

It took longer than he liked, but while adding an attribute to the magic would make it more potent, it would also make things messier.

Eventually, he felt something give, and he gave it a few seconds before clipping the cuff on and testing the fruits of his labor.

Almost predictably, nothing happened.

"I am struggling to understand what you're attempting to accomplish," Alice commented, reminding him of her existence. "Besides destroying school property."

He tossed his failed work to the side and picked up the next cuff. From what he could tell, he somehow fried the power system in the last one, so he'd route his magic differently through this one.

"Can't be worse than the wall you took down on our first night," he said while restarting his process.

Her response was lost to him as he focused. The next one managed to activate after his modifications, but then rapidly deteriorated as it couldn't decide which 'frequency' to broadcast on.

It joined its fallen brethren, forming the reject pile. More followed, each a sacrifice for his increased knowledge.

On the fifth, he finally had a breakthrough. Sadly, it didn't survive further testing, but it paved the way for the sixth, which he dubbed a success.

"What do you think?" Cal asked, a small flame dancing over his fingertip. It flickered, but despite the active cuff around his wrist, it never died.

Alice's eyes narrowed at the cuff with a palpable amount of suspicion.

"Did you damage them for a ruse of some kind?"

That wasn't his purpose. But instead of explaining, he unclipped it and handed it to her.

She didn't reach out, eyeing it like it might come to life and bite her. He flicked it to her, forcing her to catch it.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Alice held it awkwardly, displeasure clear on her face. It reminded him of the reluctance the others had with wearing them.

"Think of it as a bulky bracelet," he said impatiently, gesturing for her to hurry.

With a sigh, she wore it. She stared at him, waiting for his next instruction. He thought it was obvious, but lit another flame to demonstrate what he was after.

Alice mirrored him, the flame dancing for a brief moment before sputtering out. She frowned before schooling her face and reforming it. This time, the candle-sized flame persisted.

Or it did—until he clapped in her face, causing her gaze to snap toward him and extinguishing the fire

"You made it defective," Alice said in an almost accusing tone.

He shook his hand while gently swaying his head to the side.

"That's in the eye of the beholder. I compromised its level of interference and made it pulse at regular intervals. It doesn't stop you from using manifestations, only makes it harder."

Whereas his old method was all or nothing, this way allowed someone to make incremental progress. That was the theory, anyway.

"You'll need to wear it all the time to get the best results," he added, referencing his own experience.

Alice, despite his hard work, still didn't look happy, her glum expression fixed on the cuff.

"I can follow your logic," she admitted reluctantly. "However, nobles don't wear shackles. If you're suggesting we practice in private, I can concede that point—but never in public."

Cal stood up from the bench, pocketing the last two unmodified cuffs. He rolled his shoulder back, loosening it up a tad.

"If it bothers you that much, hide it in your boot. It will work just the same," he advised sincerely. "Now get your head in the game."

Reality determined that it would take more than a few wacky training ideas and grit to make a Finger. But when had that ever stopped him before?

Her face remained scrunched up, and she observed the discarded pile of cuffs before moving her attention back to him.

"How did you even learn to—"

His fist interrupted her, slamming into her gut and sending her into the rubble.

After all was said and done, she would probably hate him. Until then, he'd make their time count.

—

"Honey, I'm home!" Cal yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth as he sauntered forward.

It was noon now, and he'd just parted with Alice, whom he'd spent the morning beating training with.

Fully entering the registration building, he found it extremely odd. The interior resembled a bank, with tellers manning desks. Students traversed the floor, working with the employees to accomplish their goals.

Cal stood there, considering things, before approaching a desk. To the shock of those around him, he hefted it up, promptly using it to bash the nearest student's head in. He idly noted the realistic splatter before moving for the teller. By the time he was swinging, the desk in his hands collapsed into a mass of fog. The surroundings blurred, and then they too turned incorporeal, leaving him alone in the dark.

"Hello?" he asked the clearly present spirit. "What was the point of that?"

Torches lit, revealing the spirit's puppet form.

"We were hoping you'd get bored and leave," it said freely. With a wave of the hand, a table with two chairs appeared. Cal didn't hesitate to take a seat, noting the plate of cookies at the center. He took one, only to bite into air. "Now, do you have any particular madness you wish to share? Or should we talk about what you're carrying?"

Cal tried another cookie, and then a third for good measure. Fog was a taste he'd not yet acquired, and he stayed his hand from a fourth attempt.

Stretching out his arm, he had his new weapon extend, forming a staff.

"Like it? Picked it up from a dead guy."

It was very apparent that it was not what the spirit had been referring to, but this way was more fun.

The spirit's shriveled-up face sneered as its cloudy eyes examined his weapon.

"Do you have any idea what it is you're playing with?"

A special type of twine that was especially receptive to magic.

Duh.

"Look, I can turn it into shapes."

The twine shifted, forming a middle finger. There was no immediate reaction, and Cal lamented that not being a universally known gesture.

Could he change that?

"Your idiocy continues to astound us," it commented, sounding moderately impressed.

Cal smiled in reply before reaching into his pocket. The first thing he laid out was his trusty star, earning a scoff. The relic followed, garnering a raised brow.

After that, he got down to business.

"So?" he asked, holding up the golden nugget. "What did I win?"

The chair underneath him vanished, and he would have caught himself if not for the spirit's clear-fuchsia eyes boring into him.

Cal fell to the floor, frozen as he felt his very soul laid bare. He wasn't sure how long he lay there before he shot to his feet, his weapon twisting into a spear.

The spirit regarded him with a bored expression, grey-milky eyes staring into the distance.

"What in the hells was that?" Cal demanded, immediately recognizing the feeling. It was what had staggered him during their confrontation. His eyes snapped toward the relic, seeing it untouched on the table. "And why does it feel like that?"

The spirit materialized a cup of tea and mimed a sip. Cal's chair reappeared, and he didn't delay in reclaiming it. He was cool and in control. Just in case, he re-pocketed the star and relic.

"Take a guess," it drolled. "We have an eternity."

He steadied his breathing, forcing himself to appear relaxed. That had shaken him, and he chided himself for showing it so openly. Once done organizing his thoughts, he spoke.

"Are you a type of spirit automaton hybrid?"

Cal blinked, finding himself in the void. He rushed back before his body could slump forward.

"Your existence is an insult to us," the spirit said as Cal arrived, sounding genuinely upset. "As is your intelligence."

Okay, not that.

However, that didn't invalidate the connection between them. If the power wasn't exclusive to automaton… what was that foreign sensation he felt when it activated, and why did those eyes share it?

Relics were said to have the vestiges of the gods' power. If that held true, then could a spirit also possess their power? Yes, that made sense. After all, A had already admitted to corralling Amir's lingering influence to the lower levels of the Academy. To accomplish that, it must have had something similar.

"You're not a natural born, meaning you were crafted by Amir himself," Cal said for his own benefit before speculating further. "Who then imbued your eyes with a fraction of his power?"

It was the best guess he could make; he just didn't like the implications around it.

The spirit's wrinkled lips pulled back into a grin, and its jaw slowly opened.

"I was," the spirit confirmed. "And no, he didn't. You're getting closer, though; maybe in a few centuries you might figure it out."

Was the fraction part wrong? Cal was convinced he was on the right path, but there must be something he was missing.

"You shouldn't have that," the spirit said, pointing at the seed in his hand. "By the way."

Cal loosened his grip, not realizing how tightly he'd been holding it.

"B says hi and that it's sorry about all the missed holiday cards," he responded automatically.

He'd gotten off track. The spirit's background, while interesting, ultimately wasn't relevant. Cal was here to find out what he was holding onto and the status of the investigation.

"B?" the spirit mouthed with confusion.

Cal realized this might get awkward and prepared to breeze past the murder of its cousin in the swiftest way possible.

"There was another spirit. I can't call you both 'The Spirit,' so I gave it the nickname B, which makes you A." The twine shifted, spelling out the letter. "It's—uh, to be honest, I'm not sure what happened to B." They'd left before it died, providing them plausible deniability. "But I snagged this hungry little thing."

A's face was blank, and Cal grew slightly wary until it shrugged.

"We don't care if you killed it," A replied with a hint of... something. It was close to sadness, but not quite. "It's better for all that way."

Cal didn't know what to do with that and opted to avoid it altogether.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked, while holding the seed with two fingers, injecting some of his excess magic into it.

The spirit eyes held onto it before they lazily drifted elsewhere. Its bony fingers drummed across the table, drawing out the pause.

"Did the other say anything to you?"

He thought back, but determined that repeating what it said would be to his detriment.

"It ranted a bit, mostly nonsense. B sort of lost its marbles."

The drumming stopped, and Cal locked his muscles. His shell was already formed, and he was determined not to be caught by that gaze again.

"You can consider it a nascent spirit," A said, diffusing part of the tension.

Cal made a face, holding the seed a bit away from him.

"This is a mini you?"

It wasn't lame—just not what he wanted.

"No," the spirit said crisply, a hint of warning in its tone. "Nor is it like the other. It shouldn't be here or be alive, but neither should you, so we suppose the two of you can keep each other company."

Was this thing quasi-immortal as well? That seemed redundant.

"It's not going to hatch and call me Dad, is it?"

If so, he'd use it as kindling. No way was he ready to be a parent.

A deep cackle echoed from the building. The table trembled, almost vibrating in place, while the surrounding fog swirled in agitation.

"Hardly, but that was a poor joke, even by your standards."

Cal wasn't sure about that. A creepy laugh was still a laugh.

"Great," Cal said without feeling. "Now about—"

He was silenced as a tower of pages materialized on the table. His neck craned up as he tried to estimate its height.

"That is a second-by-second account of the three you wanted watched, for the times we could observe them unrestricted. We even added some of their city travels. Dreadfully boring by our standards, and one is likely to kill themselves, but self-inflicted death is not under our purview. Peruse at your pleasure."

With that, it faded from sight, leaving Cal with a mountain of paper.

Was he being document dumped?