Tired

Adam lay sprawled on his bed, hands pressed over his face, not asking so much as stating the question that had been gnawing at him. "Why does this keep happening…?" His voice was heavy, not with anger but with exhaustion.

"What did I do? Why me? Why is everyone trying to control me?" The words slipped out, half a whisper, half a plea, as his fingers dragged down his face. Staring at the ceiling, he felt the weight of yesterday pressing down on him, making every breath feel like a chore. "Everyone and their dog seems to want a piece of me for some reason, and it's getting… exhausting."

The room was silent, empty except for him. His words hung in the air, unanswered. His voice grew sharper as he sat up, glaring at the walls as if they held the conspirators. "Can anyone—anyone—just tell me why?"

No response came. There never was one.

The reason for Adam's brooding was painfully clear in his mind. Yesterday, he hadn't been himself. Literally. For the entire day, his body hadn't been his own. Someone—something—had taken over. It had walked, talked, laughed, and interacted with Leah, Ligh, Bouyd, and Nilguard as if it belonged. Worse, none of them noticed. Not a single one of them seemed to realize that Adam wasn't the one behind the polite smiles and casual conversation.

It wasn't until this morning that he regained control—finally able to speak and move as himself. The memory of it made his stomach churn.

"Alright!" Adam barked into the emptiness, sitting up and glaring at the air like it owed him answers. "Let me make myself perfectly clear. If—if—any of you decide to pull something like that again…" His voice dropped, trembling with a mixture of fury and desperation. "I'll end it. I'll end me. If I can't have me, then none of you bastards can either. Are we clear?"

Silence. The room remained still, his words absorbed by the void. Adam laughed bitterly, collapsing back onto the bed. "God, I'm going insane."

His mind drifted unwillingly back to the day before, replaying moments he hadn't experienced firsthand but still somehow remembered. The thing inside him had shown Nilguard the cyan fire, effortlessly conjuring it and revealing its mesmerizing glow. Adam clenched his fists. That felt deliberate—like it was meant for Nilguard to see, as if the thing was leaving a message only the court magician could decipher.

The worst part? It hadn't been malevolent. It hadn't hurt anyone. If anything, it had helped him, smoothing over his awkwardness and guiding his friends with ease. That made it even harder to hate, harder to push out of his mind.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? It was too good at being him. Too convincing. Too natural. Adam stared at the ceiling, his chest tightening as he muttered into the quiet. "If I'm not me, then who the hell am I supposed to be?"

______________________

Adam left his room, his mood still simmering but cooling enough that his face shifted from outright furious to merely annoyed. He decided to take a walk around the palace, hoping the sprawling halls and fresh air might help him piece his thoughts together—or at least distract him from them.

The palace of the Queen was, like everything else in this world, absurdly grandiose. Marble floors gleamed like someone's life depended on it, and tapestries the size of small houses fluttered gently in the breeze that somehow found its way inside. As Adam wandered aimlessly, he found his scowl fading, replaced by a look of bemused exasperation.

(Seriously, though, how long has it been? A month? Not even?) he thought, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolled. (I've been dragged through more nonsense in a few weeks here than in my entire life back home. Just one thing after another, with barely a second to breathe. Who writes a world like this?) His annoyance took on a sharper edge as his inner monologue continued its tirade. (Oi! Imaginary author, if you're listening, get your act together. Pacing, man! You're supposed to let the big stuff stew, not throw everything into the pot all at once. Otherwise, it's just chaos! Amateur move.)

He cursed the unseen hand of this world's storytelling logic, muttering under his breath, "God, I hate this place."

Eventually, he found himself in the palace gardens—a sprawling expanse of greenery that could easily double as a national park. The place was ridiculous. Adam glanced around, his jaw tightening as he took in the scale of it. Manicured hedges stretched out in seemingly endless patterns, fountains big enough to house a family of dolphins burbled away cheerfully, and flower beds of every imaginable color threatened to blind him with their excessive vibrancy.

Adam sighed heavily, finding a nearby stone bench and flopping down onto it. The bench, of course, wasn't just a bench. It had intricate carvings of mythical creatures and some kind of precious gemstone embedded into the armrests. (Who sits on this stuff?) he thought, leaning back and glaring up at the sky.

"This garden is the size of a shopping mall," he muttered, glancing around. "You could fit a supermarket, a parking lot, and probably an amusement park in here. Who even takes care of all this? Are there secret garden gnomes on payroll or something?"

The idea made him snicker, but the absurdity of it all quickly brought him back to annoyance. "Why is everything so supersized in this world?" he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. "What are you compensating for, huh?"

A particularly extravagant fountain nearby seemed to gurgle louder, as if offended. Adam waved a dismissive hand at it. "Yeah, yeah, keep spraying water. Like that makes any sense in a garden this big. Who needs ten fountains anyway?"

He slumped back on the bench, crossing his arms as he surveyed the ridiculous palace grounds. Despite himself, he felt a small smile tugging at his lips. Sure, this world was over-the-top, nonsensical, and frustrating beyond belief—but at least it made for some decent entertainment.

Adam let out a long, exaggerated sigh as he sprawled on the garden bench, staring up at the endless blue sky. "I'm bored. I don't know how, but I feel bored," he declared dramatically, as if announcing the end of the world.

"Ah, Adam, I'm surprised to see you here. You barely ever leave your room unless it's for eating or showering," came Leah's teasing voice. She stood nearby with Bouyd, the ever-dignified beastfolk butler whose polished demeanor was only slightly undercut by the imposing horns curling from his head.

Adam tilted his head lazily to glance at them. "Oh, hey, Leah. Bouyd. Nice seeing you," he said, his tone so devoid of energy it could've put a sloth to shame.

Leah crossed her arms, smirking. "What's wrong with you? Can't even greet us properly?"

Adam heaved another sigh, his hand flopping limply in the air. "I'm just… bored, I think."

At this, Bouyd hummed thoughtfully, his expression one of calm contemplation. "Master Adam, you're not bored," he said, his voice measured and soothing. "You're tired."

Adam squinted at him. "Tired? I don't feel tired. I feel… bored. Definitely bored."

"Ah, but that's the trick, you see," Bouyd continued with a knowing nod. "You've been on high alert for so long—always running, fighting, or solving some crisis—that now that things have calmed down, your mind doesn't know what to do with the quiet. It's a common phenomenon among soldiers, adventurers, and others accustomed to life-threatening situations. What you're experiencing is the odd sensation of normalcy. Nothing to worry about."

Adam blinked at him, processing the explanation. "So… I'm bored because I'm not about to die?"

"In a manner of speaking," Bouyd said with a polite smile. "I'd recommend a change of scenery. Perhaps leaving the palace for a bit would help. Shall I call for Madam Ligh to arrange your return to Erak? You haven't really explored the capital much, have you? Let alone the Empire itself. Though I must warn you, if Erak feels overwhelming, the Empire as a whole may be… well, let's say it could leave you questioning your sanity."

Adam sat up slowly, considering the idea. "Huh. Yeah, Erak sounds nice. If the capital's already too much, I'm not sure I want to risk the whole Empire melting my brain. A little city wandering might be just what I need."

Leah chuckled, leaning against a nearby tree. "You're seriously going to take Bouyd's advice just like that? No protests? No sarcastic remarks?"

Adam shrugged. "Hey, if the man with horns says it's a good idea, who am I to argue? Besides, I'm desperate here. I was this close—" he held up two fingers pinched together, "—to trying to talk to a fountain about life just to pass the time."

Bouyd nodded approvingly. "An excellent decision, Master Adam. I shall summon Madam Ligh immediately. And might I suggest preparing yourself for the vibrancy of Erak's streets? They can be… invigorating."

Adam leaned back on the bench, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. "Oh, wonderful. Can't wait to see what fresh chaos this world throws at me in the name of 'relaxation.'"

_________________________

Adam stood in the bustling heart of the shopping district, his eyes darting around to take in the chaos of commerce. Stalls and shops lined the cobbled streets, their vibrant awnings fluttering in the gentle breeze. Vendors shouted over each other, advertising everything from gleaming weapons and intricately designed armor to fine silks, mysterious potions, and steaming food that filled the air with an intoxicating mix of spices and grilled meat.

It was lively, almost overwhelming, but there was something strangely captivating about it all. Adam's nose led him to a small food cart manned by an older woman who worked the grill with the precision of a seasoned warrior. A skewered piece of roasted meat caught his eye, and he decided to try it.

The skewer smelled heavenly—a savory blend of herbs and spices clinging to juicy, charred meat. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. It tasted like a cross between chicken and duck, but with a slightly gamey undertone. "What bird is this?" Adam asked the vendor, who just chuckled and waved him off, mumbling something about "forest flappers."

Adam shrugged and kept walking, munching on his snack as he weaved through the crowd. The district was alive with a rhythm all its own: the clinking of coins exchanging hands, the hum of laughter, and the occasional heated haggling session. He noticed one stall selling strange, feathered cloaks, while another offered ornate swords that looked more decorative than practical.

As he strolled, Adam's thoughts wandered. It's weird how this world has so many animals similar to Earth's, yet chickens are nowhere to be seen. Why? Did some chicken god get offended and banish them all? He smirked to himself at the ridiculous notion.

Finally, after passing a shop that sold oversized potions labeled "Guaranteed Results!" and a group of adventurers loudly debating the merits of different shield designs, he arrived at his destination—the Adventurer's Guild.

It loomed ahead, a massive structure of polished stone and dark wood, with banners bearing the guild's crest flapping in the wind. The building exuded both practicality and grandeur, standing as a beacon for those seeking quests, glory, or a stiff drink.

Adam wiped his hands on his tunic, finishing the last of the skewer. Alright, let's see what today has in store. With that, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.

_________________

Adam leaned casually against the receptionist desk at the guild, eyeing the pale and perpetually exhausted-looking Vikar, who stood behind it. Despite his appearance—skin so sickly pale it seemed to reflect light, cheeks so hollow he could moonlight as a professional skeleton impersonator, and those ever-present dark bags under his eyes—Vikar greeted Adam with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't yet noticed he might actually be dead.

"Adam!" Vikar exclaimed, his smile as wide as it was unnerving, like he'd just found his long-lost best friend at a crime scene.

Adam hesitated. He had questions—big ones—and wasn't entirely sure Vikar's chipper-yet-haunting demeanor was ready to handle them. But, well, he was here. "Vikar," Adam began, "I've heard… things about the guild. Like how it's not just an organization but, uh… a nation of its own? How is that even possible? And why? Just how many adventurers are there for it to be this big?"

Vikar tilted his head, his grin remaining eerily intact. "Oh, that? Easy! The exact number of adventurers? No idea. Too many to count. But the guild has officially registered hundreds of millions of us. So, yeah, we're basically a really, really dysfunctional family. Hurray for us!" He raised his hands in mock celebration, the enthusiasm undercut by the fact his tone carried all the cheer of a haunted doll.

"H-Hundreds of millions?" Adam repeated, his brain scrambling to visualize that many adventurers and immediately giving up.

"Yep! Massive, right? Like, mind-bogglingly massive. And that's just the official members. There's probably a few million wannabes running around without a license. As for how we got this big? Oh, credit where it's due—the Has Empire. Or, well, the fall of the Has Empire, which is now the Has Republic. Funny how that worked out."

Adam squinted, sensing a story behind this. "What does the fall of the Has Empire have to do with the guild?"

"Well," Vikar said, leaning closer like he was about to share a particularly juicy secret, "back in the day, when the Empire was crumbling faster than a stale biscuit, the guild heads—our bigwigs, all adventurers themselves—got together and cooked up a brilliant plan to make adventurers indispensable. It was like, 'Hey, what if we made sure the world literally couldn't function without us?' And bam! Here we are."

"That's… surprisingly clever," Adam admitted.

"Right? Those guys weren't just strong; they were sneaky smart, too," Vikar said, his grin widening even more. "They built an entire city for adventurers. Not just any city—the largest guild in the world. A place where adventurers live alongside blacksmiths, merchants, alchemists, and every kind of service you could imagine. It's a paradise for anyone who loves quests and questionable life choices."

"An entire city that's… a guild?" Adam's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Vikar replied, gesturing to himself with a flourish. "Look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who jokes about grand institutions? This place is the dream for every adventurer. You can wake up, grab a coffee, buy a sword, and pick a fight with a dragon—all before lunch!"

Adam stared at him, his mind racing. "So, wait. Everyone wants to live in this city?"

"Of course! It's the ultimate badge of honor. It's like telling the world, 'I've made it. I'm living the adventurer's dream.' Plus, the city's got everything: top-tier equipment, legendary quests, and food so good it makes you forget that most of us eat trail rations 90% of the time."

Adam paused, taking it all in. "That sounds… absurdly cool. And also way too much."

Vikar shrugged. "That's the guild for you: too much, all the time. But hey, if you're not overwhelmed, are you even an adventurer?"

Adam chuckled, despite himself. "Alright, Vikar. I'll bite. What's this city called?"

Vikar's grin somehow stretched even wider. "Guildhaven. Where legends are born, fortunes are made, and egos go to die. Welcome to the dream, Adam."

Adam couldn't decide if he was inspired or just terrified. Probably both.

Adam leaned casually against the reception desk, his expression somewhere between curiosity and existential boredom. "So... what do adventurers actually do besides, you know, adventuring? Like, how have we been made indispensable to society?"

Vikar, ever the picture of paradoxical cheerfulness with his pale, gaunt face and perpetual dark circles, perked up at the question. "Ah, everything, really! Diplomacy, mail delivery, crafting, defending towns—you name it, we do it. Need a lost sheep found? We've got a sheep tracker. Bandits causing trouble? We've got fighters. Someone wants their sword enchanted and their taxes done on the same day? Guess what—there's probably an adventurer who can do both!"

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Taxes?"

Vikar shrugged. "Hey, the world's a strange place. Anyway, the guild is so diverse it's practically a microcosm of society. If there's a problem, odds are there's an adventurer who can fix it. Though most of us stick to the usual stuff—monster hunting, dungeon delving, that sort of thing."

Vikar leaned in slightly, his tone becoming suspiciously casual. "Now, why are you asking me all this? By the looks of it, you're not here for a quest. You don't seem particularly... uh, jovial, either."

Adam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm just bored. Like, there's this nagging feeling that I should be doing something, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. It's like being stuck in a perpetual mental traffic jam."

Vikar nodded sagely, his pale face lighting up with an unsettling enthusiasm. "Ah, yes. Boredom that feels like a slow descent into existential despair. Welcome to the club, my friend. We've all been there. You're looking at a guy who once alphabetized an entire crate of monster teeth just to feel alive."

Adam stared. "Monster teeth? Alphabetized?"

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," Vikar said with a wink. "But here's a pro tip: work. Nothing clears the brain fog like doing something mind-numbing but productive. See that door over there?" He pointed to a heavy oak door adorned with crossed swords. "That's the training grounds. Go mingle, swing a sword, or maybe get punched in the face by someone tougher than you. You'll feel like a brand-new person in no time!"

Adam squinted at the door. "Getting punched in the face doesn't sound like my kind of therapy."

Vikar smirked, his face somehow more cheerful and unsettling at the same time. "That's the beauty of it! Pain reminds you you're alive. Or so I've heard. Anyway, give it a try! Worst case scenario, you learn to dodge better."

Adam groaned, but a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Fine. I'll give it a shot. But if I come back more bored, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough!" Vikar chirped, giving a half-hearted salute. "Just remember: boredom is temporary, but embarrassing combat injuries are forever!"

______________

As I push open the heavy oak door, I'm immediately assaulted by a cacophony of shouting, grunts, and the metallic clang of steel meeting steel. It's so loud I briefly wonder if I've accidentally walked into a warzone. My eyes adjust to the sunlight streaming into yet another impossibly large courtyard—seriously, why is everything here supersized? Is there a secret competition to see who can build the most obnoxiously large structures?

The courtyard is a chaotic symphony of activity, divided into what can only be described as "zones of escalating intensity." To my left, a group of wide-eyed rookies is being barked at by a towering instructor with a voice like rolling thunder. "No! You swing the sword with your arms, not your hopes and dreams! AGAIN!" One poor soul tries so hard to lift a comically oversized greatsword that he topples backward, landing with a thud that earns him a round of groans from his peers.

To my right, a team of adventurers is working on coordinated combat drills. Or at least they're trying to. One guy, a mage by the looks of his floppy hat and staff, keeps tripping over his own robes, sending his fireballs off course. His teammates scatter like startled chickens, one of them diving headfirst into a barrel of water to extinguish the small blaze that caught on his armor.

Dead ahead, a row of archers is lined up, taking turns firing arrows at targets so far away they're practically dots. There's a scoreboard mounted nearby, which seems to be the cause of some intense rivalries. Two archers are practically nose-to-nose, arguing about whose shot was closer to the bullseye. One of them dramatically reenacts his "perfect form," while the other counters by holding up an arrow with a warped shaft, claiming sabotage.

Further back, the air is alive with magical energy as spellcasters test their abilities. A young woman conjures a beautiful, shimmering sphere of water that hovers gracefully in the air... only to lose control and accidentally douse a nearby group of swordsmen. The drenched warriors glare at her while she stammers out an apology, her cheeks flaming brighter than a fireball.

I sigh and step further into the chaos, dodging a wayward arrow that skitters across the ground dangerously close to my boots. It feels like I've walked into an unchoreographed circus performance with sharp objects.

A particularly reckless-looking adventurer nearby is testing a spell, laughing maniacally as sparks and smoke erupt from his hands. "BEHOLD MY POWER!" he shouts before the spell fizzles and sends him tumbling backward into a pile of training dummies.

I glance around, trying to decide where to go, but every option feels like a hazard waiting to happen. A gruff voice from my left catches my attention. "Hey, you! New guy!"

I turn to see a burly instructor with arms like tree trunks and an impressive mustache pointing directly at me. "You here to train, or are you just sightseeing? 'Cause we don't need more bench warmers!"

"Uh... sightseeing?" I offer weakly, but he's already waving me over with a hand the size of a dinner plate.

"Good! Grab a sword. Let's see if you can swing it without breaking your nose!"

Fantastic. This is going to go great. I shuffle toward him, dodging another stray fireball as I mutter under my breath, "Yeah, sure. What's a little public humiliation in an impossibly large courtyard among strangers?"

____________

"YOU CALL THAT A SWING? I'VE SEEN AMPUTEES WITH BETTER FORM! WHAT ARE YOU, A MOUSE? SPREAD YOUR LEGS WIDER! AND YOU! STOP TRYING TO WIELD THAT OVERSIZED BUTTER KNIFE! YOUR TOOTHPICK ARMS WON'T CUT IT!"

The instructor's bellowing echoed across the courtyard, drawing the attention of several bystanders who wisely kept their distance. A cluster of scrawny kids, armed with wooden swords and looks of pure terror, stumbled over themselves in a futile attempt to follow his orders. One particularly unfortunate soul swung so wildly that he spun in a full circle and collapsed into a heap.

"Oi, Ricard! Got another one for ya!" yelled the instructor who had dragged me into this mess.

Ricard, the screaming embodiment of someone who clearly had too much caffeine, turned to us mid-rant. He took one look at me, sighed so heavily it could've extinguished a campfire, and facepalmed hard enough to leave visible red marks on his forehead.

"Oh, great!" Ricard roared, throwing his arms up theatrically. "ANOTHER ROOKIE! JUST WHAT I NEEDED TO BRIGHTEN MY DAY! COME ON THEN, SHOW ME HOW BLOODY AWFUL YOU ARE SO I CAN TEACH YOU HOW NOT TO DIE IN UNDER FIVE MINUTES!"

Before I could stammer out a reply, he hurled a wooden sword in my direction. It spun through the air like a propeller of doom, and I barely managed to catch it before it smacked me in the face.

"Uh… okay," I said, gripping the sword awkwardly. "So… what do I do? I've never actually used a sword before."

At my words, Ricard froze. The courtyard seemed to quiet for a moment as he inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing like he was preparing to summon the wrath of every god in existence. Then, with deliberate slowness, he picked up his own wooden sword, stepped into a textbook-perfect combat stance, and fixed me with a glare that could curdle milk.

"Listen up, rookie," he said, his voice low and dripping with menace. "Here's how this is gonna work. If I hit you, I'm breaking your arm. If you somehow manage to hit me, I might—might—only break a finger. Your choice, boy."

"Wait, wha—"

Before I could finish, Ricard lunged at me with the speed of a striking cobra. Panicking, I flailed my wooden sword in front of me like it was an oversized fly swatter. The resounding crack of our weapons meeting sent vibrations up my arms, and I yelped, stumbling back a few steps.

"PATHETIC!" Ricard barked, resetting his stance. "THAT WASN'T A BLOCK; THAT WAS A DESPERATE PLEA FOR MERCY! AGAIN!"

I barely had time to think before he lunged again. This time, I tried to sidestep, which only resulted in me tripping over my own feet and landing flat on my back. The sky above me seemed to mock me with its perfect blueness.

"GET UP, ROOKIE!" Ricard yelled, looming over me like an avenging angel with a wooden sword. "GRAVITY IS NOT YOUR ALLY IN COMBAT!"

Groaning, I scrambled to my feet, clutching my sword tighter. Somewhere in the crowd, I thought I heard someone stifle a laugh. Probably one of those smug archers.

"Alright, one more time," Ricard said, his tone dripping with exaggerated patience. "This time, try to look like you have a spine."

"Sure," I muttered, taking a stance that I hoped looked somewhat respectable.

Ricard's eyes narrowed, and he lunged again, this time slower, giving me a chance to react. I swung my sword wildly, and by some miracle—or sheer dumb luck—I managed to tap his arm.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Well," Ricard said, lowering his sword and inspecting his arm like I'd just insulted his ancestors. "Looks like you've got some fight in you after all."

"Really?" I asked, hope creeping into my voice.

Ricard smirked. "No." And with that, he flicked his wrist, disarming me effortlessly and thwacking my knuckles with the flat of his sword.

"OW!" I yelped, clutching my hand.

"Congratulations," Ricard said, walking away with a grin. "You've officially graduated from 'hopeless' to 'slightly less hopeless.' Try not to die too quickly."

As I nursed my sore hand, I could hear laughter ripple through the courtyard. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, a small voice whispered, Maybe adventuring isn't for you.

"...It'd be better if I could just use my magic," I muttered, nursing my throbbing hand. My words were barely a whisper, more intended for my own consolation than anyone else's.

Unfortunately for me, Ricard had ears like a bat.

"WHAT?!" he bellowed, spinning around so fast you'd think I'd just insulted his mother. His pale, angular face twisted into a mask of disbelief, the dark circles under his eyes making him look even more like a disgruntled ghost. "YOU'RE A MAGE?!"

"Uh… yeah?" I said, wincing as I massaged my knuckles.

"For gods' sake!" Ricard threw his wooden sword to the ground with enough force to bounce it, then grabbed his head like he was seconds away from tearing his hair out. "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?!"

"I thought it was obvious…" I mumbled.

"OBVIOUS?! OBVIOUS?! I'VE BEEN TRAINING YOU LIKE A SWORDSMAN, YOU BLOODY WAND-WAVING IMBECILE!" He gestured wildly, the veins on his forehead bulging as though they, too, were outraged. "DO YOU KNOW HOW CLOSE I WAS TO BREAKING YOUR DAMN ARM?!"

Before I could answer, Ricard turned toward the other side of the impossibly large courtyard and bellowed, "SABRINA! THIS ONE'S YOURS!"

At the far end of the courtyard, Sabrina, the magic instructor, looked up from where she was overseeing a group of young mages who were all attempting—and failing—to summon fireballs without lighting themselves on fire. She had the kind of elegance you'd expect from someone who dealt with fire and explosions for a living: tall and lean, with auburn hair tied into a loose bun that was barely holding on, a robe that was more singed than intact, and a perpetually frazzled expression that screamed, I am two seconds away from losing it.

She squinted at us across the courtyard, shielding her eyes from the sun. "What's going on now, Ricard?"

"This one's a bloody mage!" Ricard yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "He should've been with you! I COULD'VE BROKEN HIS ARMS!"

"Wait, what?!" Sabrina called back, her voice carrying the kind of exasperation that only came from dealing with people like Ricard daily.

"YOU HEARD ME!" Ricard shot back, his pale face turning slightly red as his temper reached a boiling point. "DO YOUR JOB AND KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR DAMN STUDENTS, OR I SWEAR I'LL—"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," Sabrina interrupted, waving a dismissive hand as she started toward us.

Ricard muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Bloody mages," before turning to me one last time. "Good luck, rookie. You're gonna need it."

As Sabrina approached, I couldn't help but notice the faint scorch marks on her sleeves and the slight smell of burnt hair clinging to her. She stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms and looking me up and down like she was appraising a broken wand at a pawn shop.

"So," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You're the newbie mage Ricard almost maimed?"

"Uh… yeah," I said, clutching my wooden sword like it was a security blanket.

"Well, congratulations," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've survived Ricard's boot camp, which means you're either incredibly lucky or too stubborn to die. Either way, you're mine now."

She snapped her fingers, and the wooden sword in my hand vanished in a puff of smoke, replaced by a slightly singed spellbook. "Lesson one: Don't carry a sword if you're a mage. It sends mixed signals."

"Got it," I said, staring at the book and wondering what fresh hell I'd just signed up for.

"Great. Follow me." Sabrina turned and started walking back toward the group of mages, muttering under her breath, "Why do I always get the ones who look like they've been hit by a cart?"

I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Ricard, who was already berating another poor soul.

"Better her than me," he said without looking up, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his perpetually tired face.

With a resigned sigh, I trudged after Sabrina, clutching my new spellbook and wondering just how much worse things could get.

"Alright, rookie," Sabrina said, her voice dripping with an air of practiced indifference as she flipped through a thick ledger. Her auburn hair, still a bit singed from whatever spell she had been testing, swayed slightly as she scanned the page with all the grace of someone who'd seen a thousand rookies come and go. "It seems you're not in my class… Let me just register you."

She held out her hand, fingers splayed, expectantly. I hesitated for a moment before handing over my badge.

Sabrina took it from me without a second glance, still absorbed in the book before her. But then her brow furrowed. She paused, staring down at the badge with clear surprise. "Wait a damn minute," she muttered, looking between the badge and me. "Is this a copper badge? A raw copper badge?"

I blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Uh, yeah? It's mine. It has my name on it."

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, then down to the badge again. There was an unmistakable glint of disbelief in her eyes. "Kid… I'm high copper," she said, her voice leveling with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. "And I'm damn good at my job. But you don't look like you should be carrying a copper badge, raw or otherwise."

I shifted awkwardly on my feet, wondering if I had missed some important rule. Sabrina snatched up another book, this one considerably thicker, and started flipping through its pages with the precision of someone who had memorized the entire thing.

She muttered to herself, "Let's see… Adam… Adam… Adam…" Finally, her finger stopped. Her eyes widened, and she let out a soft, incredulous sound. "Well, I'll be damned…"

She leaned back in her chair, staring at me like I had just pulled off some kind of impossible stunt. "There you are, Adam. Raw copper... What the hell are you doing here?" Sabrina looked up from the book, fixing me with a raised eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be out questing? What, did someone send you here to bother me?"

I scratched the back of my neck, a bit sheepish. "Uh, yeah. Vikar did."

Her face relaxed slightly, and she let out a long, weary sigh. "Oh," she said, the tone in her voice softening a bit. "Well, that explains it." She shook her head as if the weight of the situation had suddenly settled into her shoulders. "Haah… just get in line with the other rookies. Don't expect any special treatment from me. I'm still higher rank than you, polished copper beats raw copper, so don't get any ideas."

There was a small pause as she watched me, then she leaned back in her chair with a small, amused smirk. "And for the record, if you've got that raw copper badge, you'd better get used to the idea of being underestimated. It's practically a tradition around here."

I nodded quickly, trying to process everything. The badge, the confusion, the sense that I was suddenly the target of everyone's quiet judgment. But as Sabrina went back to her books with a disinterested flick of her wrist, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of relief.

For a moment, there was something almost comforting about being in a place where no one really expected much from me. At least here, it was clear that I wasn't going to be treated like some kind of special case.

"Yeah, sure thing," I muttered, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"Good," Sabrina grunted, not looking up from her book. "Now get in line, and don't make me regret letting you in."

As I turned away, I glanced at the other trainees in the room. Some were struggling with spells, others were practicing with swords, and a few looked like they were trying to figure out how to hold a bow without impaling themselves. I could almost hear their collective thoughts: What's the new kid doing here?

I could feel my stomach twist slightly, but then I remembered something Sabrina had said: Don't expect any special treatment. Fine. No special treatment it is. Let's see how long it takes for someone to regret not paying attention to me.

(Wait a minute... I'm an adult. In a kid's body. I don't have to deal with this!) I think to myself , a slow grin spreading across my face as I instantly relaxed, feeling an odd sense of freedom. Suddenly, the overwhelming pressure of the situation seemed less... well, impressive.

I straightened up, puffing my chest as if I were in some sort of dramatic showdown. "So, where do I start?"

Sabrina barely looked up from her book, her voice flat. "Well, let's see... Cast a spell. I'll see what to teach you then."

I nodded and prepared to show her what I could do. I raised my hand and focused, conjuring the fire spell I had been practicing in private. It was the same one I always used, a neat little ball of fire, about the size of my palm. It flickered steadily in my hand, controlled and, surprisingly, quite consistent—almost like I knew what I was doing. Almost.

"Huh, that's pretty good," Sabrina remarked, giving me a once-over. There was a slight flicker of approval, but it was quickly hidden behind her usual deadpan expression. "Now throw it."

Her words carried a mockery I was all too familiar with. Throw it? I could barely manage to keep it contained in my hand, let alone send it flying across the room. But, fine, if this is what she wanted...

I hesitated for a moment, standing like an idiot with the fire just kind of... floating there. "Uh... I have no idea how," I muttered under my breath.

Sabrina didn't even flinch. "I guessed as much. Look, see that target?" She pointed to a large, cylindrical practice target on the far side of the courtyard, where a few other trainees were practicing their aim with arrows. "Try sending a small stream of magic to it, and then send the fire through that stream. Should be easy enough. I mean, if you can't figure that out, then maybe you should join the archery class instead."

Her words were practically dripping with sarcasm, but I figured that's just how things were done around here. I took a breath and turned back to the target. The idea was simple enough, right? Direct the magic, guide the fire through it—throwing it was just a matter of adjusting to the spell's trajectory. Easy. Totally easy.

Except, it wasn't.

The moment I tried to send my magic forward, it felt like I hit a brick wall. My usual fireball just kind of... sat there in my hand, looking as unimpressed with me as I was with myself.

"Come on," I thought, trying to push the magic forward. The fire flickered in protest, as if saying, "I'm not moving. You want me to what now?"

I attempted again, focusing a stream of magic directly toward the target, but the fire just hung there like a stubborn toddler refusing to do their chores. It was as if it had a mind of its own, and that mind was determined to not play along.

"Oh, for the love of..." I muttered, barely containing my frustration. I shot a glance at Sabrina, who seemed to be enjoying the show a bit too much.

I turned back to the target, took a deep breath, and then—flicked—as if that would make the fire go flying. And, to my surprise, the fire did move... straight toward the target. But it was more of a sputtering flop than a graceful arc. The fire danced awkwardly toward the target, landing just a few feet away with a pitiful sizzle.

Sabrina's sigh was loud enough to echo across the courtyard. "Not quite what I had in mind," she said flatly. "But it's a start."

I couldn't help but laugh despite myself, looking at my 'throw.' It was like watching a toddler try to kick a soccer ball... and miss. At least I didn't set the target on fire, I guess?

"Okay, okay," I said, rolling my shoulders and trying to compose myself. "Let's try this again. This time with a little more oomph, yeah?"

Sabrina gave a quick, dismissive wave. "Sure, kid. Have at it. Just don't blow up the entire training ground, alright?"

Yeah, no promises, I thought, setting my stance. This time, I focused even harder, guiding the magic with precision as I sent it toward the target. The fire swirled, finally following my instructions—sort of. The fireball shot forward like a clumsy dancer, spinning and jerking as it hurtled through the air, only to crash and fizzle out just short of the target.

"Well, that's... a little better?" Sabrina said, her voice now a mix of incredulity and mild amusement. "Maybe you've got a future in very small-scale destruction."

I sighed, leaning forward with a long exhale. "Great. I'm a specialist in making fires not do what I want. Could've been a fire juggler instead. This feels like a mess."

"You're doing fine," Sabrina said with a rare hint of sincerity, but then she quickly added, "Well, mostly."

"Gee, thanks for the encouragement," I muttered. But even I couldn't hide the fact that it felt like progress, however small. Magic... it wasn't exactly what I expected, but maybe, just maybe, I could get the hang of this.

".....That's not bad," Sabrina said, her voice surprisingly neutral as she watched the fireball slowly make its way toward the target. "Slow, but not bad." She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly as if contemplating my next step. "You've got the basics down. Now let's see if we can make that mess a little more... effective."

I wiped my brow, feeling the heat of the fire still lingering in my hand. It hadn't been spectacular, but I felt the faintest twinge of accomplishment—if this was the 'slow' version, then maybe I could actually do this.

Sabrina, however, was not interested in letting me bask in any sense of victory. She gave me a sharp nod, her eyes narrowing with the intensity of someone who took their job very seriously.

"Alright," she said, a rare hint of instruction creeping into her voice. "Here's what you're gonna do. Shorten the stream of magic just a few inches in front of your hand. You want the fire to stay compact, focused. Once you've got that, before you make the fire, put a little more energy into the back of the spell. You need to add a bit more oomph—like you're throwing a punch, except with fire."

She demonstrated slowly, moving her hands with deliberate care, miming the action. Even though her movements were slow and calculated, the moment the fire left her hand, it shot forward with startling speed, as if she'd kicked a soccer ball from point-blank range. The fireball flew across the courtyard with precision, striking the target dead center. The impact left a visible scorch mark, the wood blackened and smoking, and a small area around the target began to smolder, as if the fire were calling its friends to join the chaos.

I blinked, thoroughly impressed despite myself. Okay, so not just a flicker of flame. That's real power.

"Got it?" Sabrina asked, her face unreadable as she looked at me. "Now, it's your turn."

I felt a rush of nervous energy, but I was determined to get it right this time. I focused, pulling the magic closer to my hand as Sabrina had instructed. I imagined the fire condensing, narrowing in front of me. I visualized the energy, the heat, all of it—concentrated just inches before my hand. The first mistake most people made was focusing too far ahead. You needed to feel the magic, guide it, not just push it blindly forward.

I added the energy at the back, like Sabrina suggested—a punch, a real punch of power—and threw my hand forward in the direction of the target. The fire left my hand with far more speed than before, but as I watched it fly, I could see the flaws. It wobbled, a little unstable, the flame flickering. It wasn't the smooth, controlled arc I'd seen from Sabrina. It was more like a poorly aimed cannonball, plowing through the air with a heavy thud, but at least it was moving faster.

Just before it reached the target, I felt a pang of panic. I wasn't ready for it to hit! What if I messed this up again?!

The fire collided with the target, and for a brief moment, there was a flash of light, followed by the sharp sound of wood cracking under pressure. The impact left an obvious scorch mark that spread across the surface, sizzling with heat. Smoke rose from the target, and I could feel the heat even from where I stood. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was a marked improvement.

Sabrina's expression remained unchanged, but I could see a flicker of approval in her eyes. She raised a brow, her lips twitching into something like a smirk.

"Not bad," she muttered. "It's still a little wobbly, but at least you didn't burn the whole courtyard down. Yet." She stepped forward, tapping the scorched target lightly with her fingers. "Just try to focus more on the energy in the back of the spell, and make sure you aim it before you throw. Think of it like... directing the flame, not just letting it fly."

"Thanks," I said, rubbing my forehead, feeling the weight of the lesson sinking in. "I'll work on it."

She gave me a sharp nod, then turned her attention back to the rest of the group of trainees. "Alright, next! No more distractions." Her voice rang out, and I could see the others flinch under her gaze, moving with purpose to their next exercises.

I let out a small sigh of relief, feeling a little better. Maybe this whole 'magic' thing wasn't as impossible as I'd initially thought. A few more rounds of practice, and I might even get good at it. At least I wasn't completely useless. Yet.

______

"So?" Vikar asked as I finally stepped out of the courtyard.

"You were right," I said.

"Of course I'm right," he replied with a grin. "If you ever feel 'bored' again, come here. We take care of our own... even if we're a little rough around the edges."