Chapter 9: Golden goose

Ivaar spent the entire journey to Westway talking about himself. I learned that his full name was Ivaar Sebastien, and that his parents lived in the northern region of Armorica, just next to where I'm from. He seemed eager to share the details of his life, though I wasn't sure how much of it was truly important. According to Ivaar, his strengths within his affinities were as follows:

1st Circle:

Inter-personal: 68

Musical: 81

2nd Circle:

Corporeal: 71

Logical: 94

He told me that he wanted to become a valorous warrior, but honestly, with those primary and secondary affinities, I couldn't see it happening. I had a feeling he, like me, was disappointed with what he'd been given. His strengths didn't seem to align with his ambitions, and I could relate to the frustration. Maybe he was in the same boat as me, searching for something greater, something more suited to his desires.

The journey to Westway took until 6 p.m., and when we finally arrived at the entrance of the city, Ivaar claimed that the best clubs were located in the city center. So, we boarded another trolley to take us deeper into the heart of the city.

The atmosphere in the suburbs was heavy and oppressive, almost as if the streets themselves were burdened by the weight of something unspoken. But as we drew closer to the city center, the mood shifted. The areas around the center were wealthier, quieter, and much more relaxing. Yet, no matter where you went in the city—suburb or district—one subject was on everyone's lips: War.

In these turbulent times, with wars raging across the continent, the peaceful years of the country felt numbered. People spoke in hushed tones about the King, who was rumored to be gravely ill, with whispers that he only had a few years left to live. And once the King passed, war would surely follow. The people of the suburbs feared they would be the first to be sent to the front lines, sacrificed as cannon fodder while the privileged few stayed in the comfort of their tents, far from the fighting.

The tension was palpable. Everyone seemed to know the peace wouldn't last, and no one was quite sure where they stood when the inevitable conflict arrived.

"Mickael, it's getting late," Ivaar said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Let's check out a club I have a connection to and find a place to stay for the night."

"Okay, you're the boss, my gold... my friend," I replied, only half-joking.

Ivaar grinned, leading me through the maze of streets toward the club.

"Here we are, Mickael," he said, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "Amazing building, isn't it?"

I took in the sight of the mansion before me, its grandeur evident in every marble column and finely crafted window. It was a sight to behold—like something out of a dream. "Clubs have this much money to pay for such a mansion in the city center?"

Ivaar shrugged nonchalantly. "Not every club is this wealthy, but the clients who frequent them are generally well off. This is where connections are made, where the most powerful people gather."

"Let's see why this club is so famous," I said, my curiosity piqued.

At the entrance of the mansion, Ivaar approached the doorkeeper. He seemed confident, as though he belonged here.

"Hello, I've come on behalf of my father," Ivaar said. "I'd like to meet Coach White."

The doorkeeper, a tall, stone-faced man, glanced at us briefly before disappearing inside. He shut the door without a word, leaving us standing in the chilly evening air.

"Not a very chatty one," I muttered, half-smiling. "I hope your father is important to this coach, or we might have to make our way in on our own."

Ivaar just waved me off. "Don't worry."

I hoped for his sake that his father had saved Coach White's life or done something significant for him in the past.

A few minutes later, the doorkeeper returned and, without a word, opened the door.

"You can enter," he said curtly.

"Thank you, sir. Well done, Ivaar," I said, giving him an approving nod. Ivaar, for all his talk, had proven himself to be useful after all.

Inside, the air was thick with a sense of exclusivity. The walls were adorned with opulent tapestries, and the floor was polished to a mirror-like shine. Coaches, athletes, and well-dressed individuals milled about, all exchanging hushed conversations and looks of quiet authority. It was a world that seemed far removed from anything I was familiar with.

"Ah, so you're Ivaar," a deep voice rang out from across the room. We turned to see a tall man, broad-shouldered and exuding an air of authority. He was dressed in a suit that matched the elegance of the room. "Your father told me you'd be coming for advice."

Ivaar stood a little straighter, clearly hoping for something more than just advice. "Advice? We came to join your club."

The man's face softened for a moment, then he shook his head slowly. "That won't be possible, my little Ivaar. The club is already full, and we only accept people from the upper class or those with combat-oriented affinities."

"What? That's not possible..." Ivaar stammered, his confidence slipping away.

I watched as the golden goose I'd hoped for began to crack, and for the first time, I realized Ivaar had overestimated his connections. He had placed too much hope in his father's name and the club's reputation.

"Well, we'll take the advice anyway," I said, stepping forward.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Who are you, youngster?"

"I'm Mickael," I replied, my voice firm. "I'm looking for a way to become a Great One."

He seemed to study me for a moment, then nodded. "If you want to become famous, you did well to pursue the aura. The most versatile path is still the warrior one."

"Where can I take this path?" I asked eagerly, my heart racing.

"Fighting clubs can help you," he replied. "But the entrance period has already ended. Clubs recruit in the summer, unless there's a special exemption. You're too late. Come back in two months. Now, tell me—what are your affinities?"

"Inter-personal and intra-personal," I said, feeling my stomach drop.

The man's eyes narrowed as he took in my response, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Another greenhorn. Well, you may leave. I think I've helped you enough already. You should look into the intellectual clubs. It might be a better fit for you."

I stood there for a moment, my mind whirling with frustration. I hadn't expected this, but then again, maybe I should have. Ivaar and I both seemed to be chasing after things we weren't suited for. But I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.