I woke up gasping, my body jerking upright before my mind had fully rejoined the waking world. For a bewildering moment, I thought I was still in the Hall of Echoes, watching Valentina's blue-white flames rushing toward me. The phantom pain of crystalline shards embedding in my skin lingered, making me check my arms for wounds that had already been healed.
"Asher? You alright?" Gavril's voice drifted from across our dormitory room.
I blinked, letting reality reassert itself. The familiar walls of our room in Solaris Hall came into focus, my cluttered desk with half-finished formulas, Gavril's meticulously organized study area, and Finn's space that existed in a state of controlled chaos not unlike my own probability field.
"Yeah," I mumbled, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "Just dreaming about the tournament."
"Can't blame you," Finn said, surprising me by already being awake and... writing something? "That duel with Valentina was intense. Half the Academy's still talking about it."
I groaned, collapsing back onto my pillow. "Don't remind me."
Despite having only participated in the tournament for less than a day, it felt like I'd spent an eternity being pummeled, ridiculed, and transformed into various embarrassing personas. My battered body was a testament to that perception; Lady Althea's healing had addressed the worst injuries, but she'd left the minor aches as a "reminder of your spectacular foolishness," as she'd put it.
I glanced at my bed with newfound appreciation. "I've never been so happy to see this lumpy mattress in my life."
That's when I fully registered what Finn was doing. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully wrote on what appeared to be proper stationery, not the cheap note paper he usually used for classes.
"Are you... writing a letter?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
Finn looked up, equally surprised by my question. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I tell my family about making it through Level One?"
I blinked. "You can send letters home?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Finn and Gavril exchanged a look that I'd come to recognize; the "Asher-doesn't-know-something-obvious-again" look.
"Please tell me you're joking," Gavril said, setting down the spatial theory text he'd been reading. "You've been here for weeks."
"Nobody told me!" I protested, sitting up again. "You think I wouldn't write to my family if I knew I could?"
Finn chuckled. "How did you think everyone else stayed in touch with their families? Magical telepathy?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Everyone here can do things I thought were impossible. For all I knew, you all had some kind of... communication crystal or something."
"The Academy has a post office," Gavril explained, shaking his head in amusement. "You drop your letters into a teleportation circle, and they appear at the recipient's house almost instantly."
"And... they can write back?" I asked, a strange hope building in my chest.
"Of course," Finn said, returning to his letter. "Though honestly, I'm surprised you didn't know. Didn't you ever wonder why you never got any mail?"
The question hit like one of Valentina's air-blades. I'd assumed communication was impossible or restricted for first-years. It had never occurred to me that my family might have been trying to reach me all this time.
"Wait," I said, jumping out of bed so quickly I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Where's this post office? I need to check if they've sent anything."
****
Twenty minutes later, the three of us stood before an ornate archway inscribed with shifting runes that occasionally formed the words "POST OFFICE" before dissolving back into abstract patterns. Like everything else at the Academy, it managed to be both pretentious and intimidating at the same time.
"Just go in and ask for your mail," Finn urged, giving me a gentle push forward. "It's not complicated."
I stepped through the archway and found myself in a circular room where hundreds of letters floated through the air like a paper snowstorm. Behind a curved counter stood a bored-looking fourth-year student with what appeared to be a mail sorting spell hovering over his fingertips.
"Um, excuse me," I said, approaching cautiously. "I'm here to check if I've received any mail? Asher Ardent."
The student looked up, his expression of boredom instantly transformed into one of recognition.
"Ardent? THE Asher Ardent?" he asked, suddenly animated. "Mail check, huh. Let me see..."
He waved his hands through a complicated series of gestures, and a glowing ledger materialized before him. His finger traced down a list of names until it stopped at what I assumed was mine.
"Ah," he said, his enthusiasm dampening. "There seems to be a... situation with your mail."
I sighed. "Of course there is."
"According to our records, seventeen letters have been sent to you since your arrival at the Academy."
My heart leapt. Seventeen letters! My family had been writing all this time!
"However," my senior continued, "there appears to have been a... routing error."
"What kind of routing error?" I asked, though I was fairly certain I already knew the answer.
The student consulted the ledger again. "It seems your unique... probability signature caused the teleportation circle to miscalibrate. Instead of your student mailbox, your letters were redirected to..." he squinted at the text, "a theoretical non-space between dimensional boundaries."
"A black hole," I translated flatly. "My letters went into a black hole."
The student looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly a black hole. More like a pocket dimension that exists perpendicular to normal space-time. We've been trying to retrieve them, but..."
"But they're gone," I finished.
"Not necessarily gone," he corrected. "Just... temporally displaced. They might all arrive at once. In about seven hundred years."
Behind me, Finn unsuccessfully tried to suppress a snort of laughter. I shot him a withering glance before turning back to the counter.
"And nobody thought to mention this to me?" I asked.
The student shrugged helplessly. "We sent you five notices about the problem."
"Let me guess," I said. "Those notices also went into the non-space?"
"Actually, no," he replied. "Those were delivered correctly to your student mailbox."
"I have a student mailbox?"
Another awkward pause. "Everyone has a student mailbox. Didn't you read the orientation materials?"
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. "Can I send a letter now, at least? Will that work?"
The senior brightened. "Oh, absolutely! We've modified the teleportation circle specifically for your unique signature. Anything you send should arrive perfectly fine."
"Great," I muttered, accepting the parchment and quill he offered me. "At least something works."
I spent the next fifteen minutes composing a letter to my family, explaining my absence of communication (blaming the Academy, not myself, of course), summarizing my experiences (heavily edited to sound less disastrous), and assuring them I was fine (mostly true, if you ignored the regular near-death experiences).
When I finished, I handed the sealed letter to the fourth-year, who placed it on a glowing circle inscribed in the counter. The parchment hovered momentarily before vanishing in a flash of blue light.
"There," he said cheerfully. "Delivered successfully!"
"You're sure?" I asked skeptically.
"Absolutely. I can see the confirmation right here," he pointed to a line of text in his ledger that pulsed green briefly.
I nodded, allowing myself a small measure of relief. "Thanks."
As we left the post office, Finn clapped me on the shoulder. "Look at it this way! Now your family can hear about your tournament fame directly from you!"
"Fame?" I repeated incredulously. "More like infamy."
"Either way," Gavril said pragmatically, "we should get to breakfast before all the good food is gone."
****
"You're smiling," Finn noted suspiciously as we headed towards the dining hall. "Was the shock regarding your family's letters this big?"
"Nah. Just enjoying the momentary absence of imminent doom," I replied.
Gavril laughed. "Knowing your luck, there's probably a flock of carnivorous origami swans waiting to ambush you around the corner."
"Your confidence in me is touching."
We rounded the final corner to the hall, and I pushed open the massive oak doors. The usual morning chatter filled the cavernous space as students gathered their breakfast before classes…
The noise cut off like someone had cast a silence spell.
And then the hall erupted.
"IT'S HIM!"
"MEI-CHAN!"
"CHAOS-MOTHER!"
An avalanche of giggles, excited shouts, and what I could only describe as gleeful hysteria crashed over us. Several students were pointing. Others were elbowing their friends. A group of second-years actually stood on their benches for a better view.
"What in the void is happening?" I whispered to Finn, who was staring open-mouthed at the scene.
Before he could answer, a third-year girl rushed up to us, clutching something to her chest. "Ardent! Could you sign my Chaos-Mother? Please?"
She thrust the object forward, and I found myself face-to-face with... myself.
Or rather, a plushie version of "Mei", complete with flowing dark hair, Academy uniform modified into a jujutsu sorcerer outfit, and an expression of wide-eyed innocence that I was certain had never crossed my actual face. The doll was about ten inches tall, beautifully crafted with intricate stitching and—most disturbingly—it moved. As I watched in horror, the plushie batted its oversized eyes and said in a high-pitched version of my voice, "Takashi-kun, you're so brave!"
"They... actually made them?" I croaked.
"Oh yes!" the girl enthused. "Production finished overnight! The Artificing Department was working all night to meet demand. The Chaos-Mother plushies were finished in less than an hour, they were top priority!"
"Priority?" I echoed weakly.
"Well, obviously." She rolled her eyes as if I were being deliberately obtuse. "After that montage yesterday, you're the star of the tournament! Everyone wants a Chaos-Mother of their own!"
The plushie wiggled in her hands and said, "I... I'm on my way," a direct quote from my disaster in the Writers' Guild challenge.
I felt the blood drain from my face. "They're quoting me?"
"Only your greatest hits," the girl assured me. "The Artificing Department did an emergency extraction of key memory impressions from yesterday's montage. They say it's just a tiny snapshot of your personality, not the real you, of course."
"Of course," I repeated faintly. "How... reassuring."
Gavril leaned in. "I think they're actually rather cute."
I shot him a look. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am," he insisted. "But look at its little face! And the magical articulation is really impressive. I wonder if they used a variant of Professor Inkwell's animation matrix or…"
"Can you sign it?" the girl interrupted, thrusting a magical quill at me. "Right on the back, if you don't mind."
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn't involve screaming, more students converged on us. Each held their own Chaos-Mother plushie. Some had apparently been customized, one wore the regular academy outfit, another had tiny blood droplets coming from its eyes and nose, mimicking my state after the duel with Valentina.
"Is this what dying feels like?" I whispered to Finn. "Because I think I'm dying."
"Just sign the dolls," he hissed back. "Maybe they'll let us get to breakfast if you cooperate."
With a resigned sigh that came from the very depths of my soul, I took the quill and signed the first plushie. The moment the magical ink touched the fabric, it glowed briefly, and the plushie let out a delighted, "Takashi-kun noticed me!"
I was going to burn down the Artificing Department at the earliest opportunity.
For the next fifteen minutes, I signed plushies, magical photographs from the tournament, and even a few pieces of actual Academy coursework that students apparently valued less than my signature. The crowd grew rather than diminished. The Chaos-Mother plushies all seemed to have slightly different personalities; some were shyer, some were more dramatic, and one particularly disturbing version kept whispering, "The void between possibilities is a possibility itself," in an eerie, echoing voice.
Seeing that I was on the verge of either starvation or a complete mental breakdown, Finn and Gavril created a diversionary tactic.
"Look!" Finn shouted, pointing toward the far end of the hall. "Professor Zephyr is demonstrating interdimensional teacup manipulation!"
It was so absurd that it actually worked. Most of the crowd turned to look, and Gavril seized the opportunity to drag me toward the exit. We slipped out of the dining hall and ducked into an alcove behind a decorative suit of armor.
"I didn't even get to eat," I moaned. My stomach growled in miserable agreement.
"We did," Finn said, patting his stomach. "While you were busy signing plushies. It was delicious."
I glared at him. "You're a terrible friend."
"A terrible friend who saved half a bacon roll in his pocket for you," he countered, pulling out a slightly squashed but still edible breakfast roll wrapped in a napkin.
I snatched it gratefully. "You're the best friend in the history of friendship."
"The duality of Finn," Gavril observed with a grin.
As I devoured the roll, Gavril's expression turned somber. "I couldn't get one," he admitted quietly.
"Get what?" I asked through a mouthful of bread.
"A Chaos-Mother," he said. "They were sold out by the time I reached the table. They only had the 'Ardent's Agony' commemorative statues left, the ones that recreate you being encased in Valentina's crystal prison."
I nearly choked. "There are statues?"
"With realistic crystal-shattering action," Finn added helpfully. "I couldn't get a plushie either. They're apparently limited edition."
"Thank the personifications for small mercies," I muttered.
"Looking for these?" The smooth, cultured voice made us all jump. Elias Aurellian emerged from around the corner, looking as perfectly composed as always. In his arms was a stack of boxes, each bearing the Academy's special edition seal.
"Aurellian," I said warily. "Been shopping, have you?"
"Indeed." His silver eyes gleamed with amusement. "I acquired ten Chaos-Mothers this morning. They're quite charming."
"Ten?" I spluttered. "What could you possibly need with ten magical dolls of... of me?"
"Investment opportunities," he replied serenely. "Their value is already rising. As promised, I also bought the set including you and Takashi-kun." His mouth quirked into a smile.
I froze. "You didn't."
"Too late." His smile widened fractionally. "Lady Fortune seemed quite amused."
I was going to die. Right here in this alcove, my body would simply give up and collapse into a puddle of mortification.
"Of course," Elias continued, "I still have these extras." He pulled two boxes from his stack and handed them to Finn and Gavril. "Two each, I think, should suffice."
My so-called friends accepted the boxes with embarrassing enthusiasm.
"That's very... generous," I managed through gritted teeth.
"Merely keeping my end of our alliance," Elias replied smoothly. "Information for information, remember?"
Before I could respond, a deep voice announced, "The collection is indeed comprehensive."
Soren appeared beside Elias, holding several boxes of his own. "I acquired five," he informed us, as though reporting military statistics. "The special edition with the tears of blood was particularly well-crafted."
"You too?" I groaned.
He shrugged one muscular shoulder. "They have tactical applications."
"How could a plushie possibly have, you know what, I don't want to know." I turned back to Elias. "That still leaves you with six."
"Six opportunities," he corrected. "Or perhaps insurance policies. One never knows when having a token of Asher Ardent might prove useful."
That sounded vaguely threatening, but before I could pursue the matter, a commotion erupted in the hallway. A group of first-years rounded the corner, I recognized Vael, Valentina (who shot me a glare that could have curdled milk), and several others from our cohort.
"There he is!" someone shouted.
I pressed myself against the wall, hoping the architectural features of the Academy might spontaneously rearrange themselves to create an escape route. No such luck. My probability field was evidently taking the morning off.
My colleagues surrounded us, brandishing everything from tournament programs to textbooks.
"Ardent, sign my Fundamental Arcane Theory textbook!"
"Can I get a picture with you and the plushie together?"
"Will you do the voice? The Mei voice? Please?"
It was, I decided, a special kind of hell. One uniquely crafted for me by whatever cosmic entity enjoyed watching me suffer. Probably Liora herself, sipping tea and laughing while I squirmed under the attention.
With a resigned sigh, I began signing items, taking magical photographs where students stood beside me while their enchanted quills captured the image on special parchment, and steadfastly refusing to "do the voice" despite increasingly creative cajoling.
By the time the warning bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast period, my hand was cramped, my cheeks hurt from forced smiling, and I hadn't managed a single additional bite of food.
"Class starts in five minutes," Gavril reminded everyone.
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, many promising to find me later for more signatures or photos. Elias and Soren had vanished at some point, probably slipping away with their typical aristocratic stealth.
"Well," Finn said brightly, "that was... something."
"That," I corrected, "was the universe punishing me for daring to feel accepted last night."
"You're still accepted," Gavril pointed out. "Just... enthusiastically."
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. "I take back every warm, fuzzy thought I had about camaraderie and belonging. From now on, I'm Basher."
"Basher?" Finn raised an eyebrow.
"My infamous alias," I explained. "I tried to use it to escape my admission here. As expected it didn't work since everyone in the village knows me, but maybe it'll work here."
"So your brilliant plan is to... change your name?" Gavril asked skeptically.
"And possibly my appearance," I added. "I'm thinking a mustache."
Finn snorted. "Because nothing says 'don't notice me' like a seventeen-year-old with a fake mustache."
"You have a better idea?"
"Several," he replied. "Starting with 'embrace the fame' and ending with 'profit from merchandise royalties.'"
I pushed away from the wall. "Let's just get to class before someone asks me to autograph their familiar or something equally disturbing."
As we hurried down the corridor, I caught a glimpse of something small and fabric-like darting behind a pillar. I paused, narrowing my eyes.
"Did you see that?"
"See what?" Gavril asked.
From behind the pillar, a tiny plushie head peeked out. It's oversized eyes were fixed directly on me.
"Takashi-kun," it whispered in that unnervingly high-pitched version of my voice. "Don't you dare try and steal my Takashi-kun!"
I turned to my friends, my expression deadly serious. "We need to run. Now."
As we sprinted down the hallway, pursued by what I was horrifyingly certain was the beginning of a plushie army, I made a mental note: When this was all over, if I survived both the tournament and the merchandise, I really need to invest in a magical disguise kit, one with a very convincing mustache.