Intelligence gathering plan for Oorian infiltration agent, codename R.

• Scout out the local schools.
• Investigate Oorian food.
• Find at least five magical things and study how they work.
• Figure out how to resonate and become a wizard.
• Inquire about magic cows and cheese potential.
• Draw some bird?
• Have fun I love you sis! You’re the best.

–A paper note from Faham. On it is an earnest doodle of a black-haired girl in big t-shirt, a tall girl with red leaves and sharp teeth, and a smiling bumblebee.

 

Muffled rumble of train wheels began accelerating. The departure pier and the people on it were replaced by metallic shutters. Sniffling, Raz detached her face from the window of the underail and slumped into the seat next to Joram. Her eyes were so swollen that the cart around her was a blur of dark brown and purple with vaguely people-shaped outlines.

Joram kindly offered her his sleeve, and Raz wiped her face on it.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice still wobbly.

Joram stared at the snot on his sleeve. Raz noticed he had been offering her a handkerchief. 

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” Raz accepted it, then continued cleaning her face. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Joram said sleepily, trying to keep his arm from touching the rest of his coat. The round-faced man’s hair and outfit were a little scuffed from sleeping on the floor and his eyes sleepy.

Raz looked at the handkerchief again, then offered it back. “Here, this side is clean.”

“Much appreciated.” Joram drew a deep breath. His pupils began to melt into the yellow irises.

Raz blinked. “You’re a wizard too?”

Joram gave the handkerchief a flourishing swipe over his sleeve, leaving it spotless. “Wizard?” A moment’s confusion turned to realization. “No, nothing so grand. A simple resonance cantrip.”

“So cool!” She leaned in for a closer look. Allie had supposedly seen a law wizard make some troublemakers kneel with words alone, but Raz hadn’t seen anyone but Maroque do magic. “How does it work?”

Joram’s eyes returned to normal and he folded the fabric away. “Why, magically of course.”

Raz shot him an unimpressed glare.

Joram made a dignified chuckle. Raz got the feeling he was one of those people who enjoyed teasing others if it was marginally punny. She would try to forgive him this.

“So you don’t know, or what?”

“Hmm. I will say that I do know how my magic works, but it would be presumptuous of me to lecture others on the nature of magic. Doubly so before master Maroque.”

Raz glanced at the opposite seats, where Maroque lay sideways. He was still Maroque-red and kinda transparent and both his pointy hat and finger had become a bit hazardous due to his petrification. 

She gave Joram a politely miffed look. “He’s not protesting.”

“Master Maroque possesses a uniquely kind heart. One I would never take advantage of. But, curiosity towards resonance is natural for a thirteen year old. A very timely curiosity to have.” He smiled. “In fact, I would suggest we schedule a visit to the communal wonderchamber for tomorrow. Who knows, perhaps you will discover resonance and awaken magic of your own?”

Her jaw dropped. She whispered, “For real?”

“I don’t see why not. We have business in Castleyard town center either way, and the first two annual visits are free of charge for everyone under the age of twenty three. Considering your…” His lips pursed in sympathy. “...harrowing life experiences, you may have a decent chance of resonating early.”

FGHJKDGSHD! That’s what went inside Raz’s head. “Wizardwizarwizardwizard?! I’m gonnabeawizard? Aaahahaha!”

“An awakened individual would be the–”

Raz shook Joram. “Wizard!”

“Yes, yes, compose your–”

“Wizard!” Raz shook statue-Maroque’s hand, grinning at him.

“Razandra, leave master Maroque’s dignity alone!” He rushed to his master-friend like he was a priceless urn Raz had almost dropped off the shelf.

Raz let go. “Sorry, Maroque, but I’m gonna be a wizard. Can you believe it?”

“Temper your excitement, it is embarrassing us.” Joram gave apologies to the nearby passengers, who seemed indifferent or amused. “Not every awakened is a wizard.”

“I’m gonna be a wizard,” said Raz to one of the smiling ones, an older lady in a checkered skirt and a pink coat.

She replied something in the thickest, most unintelligible Nounsica Raz had ever heard.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Joram, still wearing that sorry smile. “Adopted today by my master, master Maroque.”

She made foreign old lady bemoaning noises.

Joram’s smile turned awkward. “Thank you kindly, but I have full faith in master Maroque’s recovery. Have a good journey ma’am.”

Raz’s initial shock was only just wearing off enough for her brain to function again, and questions now rocketed through it. “What do you mean not a wizard? If you do magic you’re a wizard.”

“Now where did you conjure such a ridiculous notion?”

“Magic plus Raz equals wizard.”

Joram blinked rapidly in bafflement, his brows raised high. “No.”

“But I’m gonna be doing magic, I mean, I know it’s forty-sixty chance, but that’s really good odds. What kinda magic do you do? What’s the wonderchamber like? It sounds so wizardy!”

Joram had tried and failed to open his mouth multiple times before Raz paused.

“What kind of magic do you think I’ll be able to do? Can I become a healing mage? Someone who can fix everything?”

Joram’s speech attempts had been replaced by a very polite pout. 

Raz gave him with her most expectant stare and urging hand motions. 

“Firstly…” he drawled off as if to check if Raz would interrupt again.

“Hnggg!” Her urging gestured intensified.

He continued agonizingly slowly, “...you should be aware that directly inquiring about another person’s resonant aspects is considered faux pas, but.” He held up a finger and paused for way too long. “Not because it is offensive, but because a proper wizard can recognize foci with a glance, even without the eyes. We will expand on other expectations, should master Maroque deem Magogram etiquette necessary for you.” He stressed it like it was a punishment, but joke’s on him. Wizard etiquette sounded kinda awesome to Raz. 

“However, to answer your question, I am a servsman. My cantrips are those of a servsman.”

Raz shook her head. “So… butler magic?”

“‘Butler’... Mm.” He paused, frowned, winced, and frowned in a different way. “Not quite. Servsman’s duties go beyond the domestic and extend to all aspects of life. To put it simply, my magic revolves around the needs of master Maroque.”

“Sounds really neat.” Though Raz did notice he wasn’t able to heal Maroque, so there seemed to be some limits. 

Joram nodded with a smile. “Why thank you. I do find it very neat myself. Now, as to what manner of mage you will become…”

Rails and wheels rattle-clanked hard for one bump. Then, the metal blinds outside the single-cart train began rotating open.

Brightness flooded the cabin. A cheery morning sun made the sea gleam with thousands of blinding reflections. Swarms of birds took off of quarry-straight cliffs, cawing with strangely familiar cries. Half-sunken castles, ruined and overgrown, leaned against the little green islands below. Waves caressed a narrow beach littered here and there with kelp, branches, and other debris of nature.

Joram opened a small hatch in the window. Sounds of the train intensified and the crisp breath of a cool ocean and life made Raz stagger.

She started breathing deeper, slower. Each exhale took away anxieties she hadn’t known she’d carried, replacing it with a belonging calmness. This place, this world, it felt right. Not because she suddenly mistook it for Earth, oh no, there was something strangely off about the flowers, the movements of the distant bird-shaped clouds, and the wrinkly long-nosed old-man face one of the islands had. This was something else.

Raz patted herself, a little weirded out by the sensation despite how good it was, but couldn’t pry her eyes away from the view.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it? Castleyard, for all its issues, does boast some of the most splendid views in all of Magogram.”

“It’s beaut– is that island swimming? It’s swimming!”

“If this delights you so, you will be positively awed by our destination.”

Raz didn’t really hear him, her attention was on the lazily swimming island. It looked huge, with cartoonish-trolly proportions and thick walrus whiskers. But it didn’t seem scary. Some birds sat on top of it and the island-creature didn’t mind at all.

A bell jingled in the front of the cart. The driver hollered something in Nounsica. At first, Raz only caught the word ‘Castleyard’, then she realized he’d announced their arrival.

“We’re already there?” 

She turned to see a cozy workshop under a thick slab-like stone roof blitz spy. Other buildings suddenly replaced the coastal scenery, and they were rolling on a street of patterned gray stone, past adorably squat buildings hiding under stone roofs. Ornate carriages chugged past them, some on wheels, others on beautifully sculpted legs. Small kids ran around, while shouting and waving trinkets at each other. A roofed beer garden was full with workers dressed in overalls and collared shirts, drinking, laughing. A cute elderly couple played a board game under another awning.

Sure, it all looked a bit different. The signs were foreign, everything had carvings or decorations, the outfits were old timeyer, everyone accessorized a lot, the voices were all in that extra-thick wizard accent, and the folks seemed to treat magic as a casual afterthought rather than mind-bogglingly awesome. But still, Raz found the jovial babble, the carefree smiles, and lovingly decorated homes and storefronts nostalgic. Relieving even.

The underail slowed, turned towards an alley far too narrow for it, and somehow fit without so much a scrape. It emerged into a roofed station just big enough for that one cart to stop.

“Castleyard stop,” called the driver. The doors hissed open into a small indoor platform.

Joram stood, slipping a blocky wooden cellphone into his pocket. “Could you assist me with master Maroque?”

“Oh, yup!” Raz slipped on her trusty old backpack. 

After a few moments of waffling, they found good grips on Maroque’s frozen coat and hat. It took a minute to haul him out of the train and onto the platform. He wasn’t heavy, exactly, but moving him around felt like running underwater.

“This way.” Joram tugged Maroque towards an exit beside the timetable on a big split-flap display.

Huffing, Raz obliged and leaned her weight against Maroque to push him. “Did you call a taxi?” 

“Taxi?” Joram chuckled. “And deprive you of a chance to fully appreciate the sights? Perish the thought.”

Raz let out a small groan. “So thoughtful.”

“I do my best.”

Really? Because Raz could’ve sworn she was doing two-thirds of the Maroque pushing. She didn’t mention it though. Exercise was something she’d sorta neglected a little bit. Besides, if the sights out in Castleyard really were awenumbing, being able to stop and gawk anytime would be nice.

They inched out of the local underail station and into the street. A sturdy lip of stone-roof covered a good two meters on either side. Only a sliver of sky was left in between, and even that was covered by thick rope-webbing. The street had that roomy mall-like feel to it, except instead of shops there were small yards with various potted plants, decorations, and sometimes totally random stuff laying around. 

Raz did keep on the lookout for the promised sights as they carried Maroque, but every corner they turned away from the station grew more ordinary if anything. Heck, if not for the weird roofs, and the occasional wizards, and the small magics, and a few other details, the place could’ve pretended to be any old European old-town.

“It’s pretty,” Raz admitted as they clung on to Maroque and dragged him down a steep street with a trickle running parallel to the long staircase. “I like this spot, but it’s tough to outdo seeing nature for the first time in over a year.”

Joram gave her a conspiring smile. “Oh, I believe you will be quite delighted when you notice it.”

“Notice what?”

“I would not dare to spoil it.”

Raz sighed, but was too full of gleeful energy to stay frustrated. Also, even without any hat-explodingly insane sights, she was starting to like Castleyard. Homes, even the ‘poorer’ ones like these, all had effort put into them to make the streets feel cozy. People spoke Nounsica with a thick as molasses accent, but they did so with a slow-deliberate drawl, like they weren’t in a hurry or danger. Oh, and every other crossroads seemed to lead into mysterious little alleys, bridges, and spots to explore. 

Faham and Allie will love it here, Raz thought. And she hoped she would too.

A few corners and one almost sob-inducingly steep uphill later, Raz was on her hands and knees, panting from exhaustion.

Joram dabbed a handkerchief to his sweaty forehead. “Welcome to the Joneel estate of Spellright Street. I warn you in advance, I have not yet had time for a thorough cleaning of all rooms, nevermind to carry out any necessary repairs. Some belongings are also still waiting to be unpacked.”

“Water…”

Vision swimming, Raz crawled up the porch steps and into her new home. The floor was polished pale gray stone, with more colorful nuggets embedded to form wavy sea-like patterns. More colors formed mosaic stories of people. 

Steps from the door led down into a two round storey living room that managed to feel cramped despite its size. Most of the open space was currently occupied by wooden crates, travel cases, and chests in various stages of unpacking.

Raz pulled herself up despite her legs being jelly. An intense scent of raw wood and hay started tickling her nose, but the sneeze wouldn’t come.

Joram dragged Maroque inside and set him upright. “And welcome to your temporary abode, Master Maroque. Apologies for not being able to rescue more of your possessions, but I had to make a tactical retreat from your sister’s golems.”

“Water?” Raz hacked, eyes watering. She pressed on and found herself in a maze of unnaturally clean floors and infinite boxes. What she thought was a door turned out to be the lid of a crate. What she thought was a hallway was an alley between a ridiculously posh bookshelf and a crate pile. “Kitchen?”

“Of course, would you prefer crystal water, spiced water, spiced crystal water, mountain spring, primordial forest trickle, glacial melt, mirage oasis, true nectar, or meadow dew? I did manage to save master’s Quenching Ewer, a wonderment gifted to him by the Saloa Lao of Lalala, a thoughtful if intrusively flirty woman. If you would wait a moment, I believe it should be in the kitchen.”

Raz made a desperate sound. She followed the sound of ruckus to find a kitchen stuffed with boxes, with old simple furniture pushed to the side. A tall panoramic sea-view greeted her, but she ignored it, beelining for what looked like a tap.

And thank gods it was a tap!

Sweet sweet cold relief met her tongue. She filled her stomach, then splashed her face and hair, before collapsing on top of a crate.

“Ahhh… best water ever!”

Joram placed a three legged clay pitcher on the sinktable beside Raz and fixed her with a look of polite disappointment. “Poor, poor child. You cannot fathom the depths of refreshment you just missed. If only you had waited a second.”

“I think I might’ve died by then. I’ll taste it later, promise.”

“Later…” Joram shook his head, poured himself a ceramic cup, which he had found somewhere, and breathed in a supremely satisfied breath. 

Raz started poking around the boxes and exploring a bit. “You have other magic things than the pitcher? What kinds?”

“Mainly the basic necessities, utility appliances, small luxuries, a few true wonderments I managed to save from master Maroque’s vault, before M. Magogram seized it.”

“Uh-uh.” Raz popped open a lid on a small box. Packed within crispy brown ruffles was a set of expensive looking tubes of gold-red metal mix blended into gorgeous images of dancers. They seemed to move as she rotated the tube, playing out a dance of red veils. 

“What’s this do?”

“Ah yes, what you hold is an unusual multicultural piece inspired by the veils of M. Magogram and Lysian highlands. A creation of the artsmith Dandarrovan. I do believe he called it a dancer amongst the breezes. An entirely mundane item, but it does produce very pleasant jingles when dangled outside.” 

“A windchime. Ooh.”

Joram clicked his fingers. “Yes! Excellent. This is why we need Earthlings. Windchime. Windchime… how quaint. Would you like to go set it up on the balcony?”

Raz shrugged. “Sure.”

The view was as breathtaking as before and the birds, waves, and wind joined the chime’s jingling song. A nice breeze tousled Raz’s hair. The sun warmed her skin. Raz leaned on the railing beside Joram, her thoughts blank.

She noticed some kinda bird’s nest on the cliff straight below them. Then, laughter pulled her attention to a balcony some distance from theirs.

Five teens about her age were hanging out. Two siblings with dark hair, boy and girl, were wrestling next to a board game. Their friends ignored them while moving pieces on the board. They wore spiffy old-timey wizardy clothes like most Castleyarders and had yellow-orange-purple eyes and gray-pale to gray-brown skin tones. They would’ve probably felt exotic if Raz hadn’t spent so much time around fully altered people. 

A girl with hay-gold hair noticed her watching.

Raz smiled and waved.

The girl said something and the others looked now, pausing their fight. The dark haired boy cupped his hands and shouted something, but the wind ate his words.

Raz took a deep breath and replied in the one sentence she knew for sure, “Hello I’m Raz! Nice to meet you!”

More waves were exchanged, but no words could defeat the sea breeze on a cliffside.

“Don’t kids here go to school?” Raz asked Joram, while trying to figure out how to spell her name in hand-signals.

“Today is Freeday. We will meet your rector first thing Firstday morning and see about your enrollment. Even i– when master Maroque returns to us, it will take some time to recover his residence in Magogram proper.”

“Magic school?” A giddy chill bubbled through Raz, but she held in the initial squee.

“A foundation school. Castleyard isn’t exactly known for its diverse education programs. But, they do have a decent wonderchamber. And, from what I hear, general resonance curricula for the awakened, though I would not put much stock in them.”

So, it was basically a magic school.

“Magic school,” she said, shivering.

Raz didn’t know what to do so she chewed on her first. Then noticed the other kids still looking at her and waved with twice the vigor while jumping and shouting, “Magic school friends! Ohooy!”

One of the boys started mimicking her crazy jubilation.

Joram shook his head, smiling. “Why, if you’re this excited over a foundation school, you may fly off into the skies if you awaken. A ward of Master Maroque will attend nothing less than the most prestigious academies of Magogram proper.”

Raz didn’t really care. “As long as Faram and Allie get to come to the same school.”

“Mm.” Joram nodded, smiling thoughtfully.

She started switching into a wiggly dance to see if the boy still mimicked her. He did.

Joram spoke after a pause, “Perhaps we should go over and make some new friends of the neighbors, while I prepare the rooms for the night and arrange the lunch and dinner?”

Raz stopped wiggling to think. It was tempting. The kids looked like a fun bunch, and probably wouldn’t mind if she was from Earth or couldn’t speak Nounsica that well yet. But she looked back into the box-choked house and thought of Joram spending hours alone at work, while she had fun.

“Nah. I can help out with the furniture and cleaning.”

“It is no trouble. I handle matters such as this for master Maroque all the time.”

“You’re gonna do magical cleaning, right? Like with magic roombas or with your resonance thing?”

“Oh, nothing quite so exciting. But we do have a hootphant statue, a few mischief inclined dust pixies, and some other basic tools.”

“Then it’s settled.” Raz pulled his sleeve. “Let’s go. Show me this hootphant.”

“All in due time. First, we have some boxes to move. Are you certain you won’t regret this? I will not listen to protests while working.”

Raz snorted, taking off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. “Please. In the Un I rolled friend burritos twice my weight, while starved, uphill both ways. A few boxes is nothing.”

“In that case, please pick a room. The top floor’s side balcony is for master Maroque, while I will claim the one beside his, but you may settle in any other. We will begin the cleaning with yours.”

After much excitement, a lot of wading through crate-jungle, and a little bit of waffling, Raz settled on a large one downstairs right beneath the balcony. It had a huge window and three neat alcoves, of which one was deeper in. She figured Faham might eventually want a bit of extra privacy since he was a boy.

The hardest part of clearing the crates Joram had stored there turned out to be figuring out how to smuggle them through the absolutely clogged main room. A person could sorta squirm past most stuff there, but square crates not so much. Some huffing and sweat was spent in reorganizing things, but Raz didn’t mind.

She liked being able to do something, especially if it was to help prep the place for sibs. Plus, they had a can that turned tap water into stuff downright illegally refreshing stuff. And, she got to play around with magic cleaning tools!

Hootphant did not disappoint. Four wheeled, dog sized, and armed with a multi-nozzled cute frowny face, it looked innocuous enough. But when unleashed into the now cleared room, it transformed into an avatar of dirt genocide.

Nozzles tooted sounds of pure wrath and dispensed high-pressure jets of water, bubble stuff, and steam. Wheels squealed as it raced around the room. Puddles splashed. No stain was left alive.

That included Raz and Joram.

After becoming hootphant’s number one targets, they had to wrestle it into submission and put on a wooden blindfold. Joram apologized profusely for getting them soapy, but Raz couldn’t stop cackling.

Still dripping, she helped mop up the place. By lunchtime, the colorful rocks embedded in the walls and floor gleamed like gemstones.

A greasily delicious basket of door-delivered fried wizard junk food later, the work continued. Crates were hunted for furniture and sheets, which then embarked on the shoulder-bruising journey across the central maze. 

Joram tried to demonstrate the dust pixies for cleaning fabrics, but the trio of winged terracotta menaces buzzed off into the main room the moment they were released. No amount of politely worded threats made them budge, so dusting had to be done by hand. However, Joram set a trap with an empty box, stick, and a decorative pillow gray with dust. This was allegedly another ‘basic servsman skill’.

And that was just Raz’s room.

After the most gorgeous ocean sunset Raz could ever remember, she was both totally kaput and perfectly content. She took a hootphant shower in the light of a single pale arclamp (because they had accidentally barricaded the bathing room) and snuck out of the room they had locked it in wearing a towel.

Joram had left a big embroidered wizard all-purpose-robe-dress thing, neatly folded. Raz slipped into the silky cloth and knocked on his door while passing.

“Hoothphant’s free!”

“Thank you! My phone is on the table.”

“Thanks!” Raz picked up the bulky wooden phone and headed into her new room, where she crashed into the bed. It was so big she could stretch all her limbs and still not touch the edges, and the sheets were soft and freshly spanked. It was heaven.

She just stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the distant sea and Joram’s muffled screams at the hootphant.

It was all so bewilderingly weird and new, but oddly normal. Raz looked around the shadowy room lit only by the stars. For the first time in a long, long while she’d felt like she had actually worked towards her and sibs’ future. Like she was finally out of the limbo. Maybe this was what Allie had meant, or at least a part of it? 

Either way, Raz decided that she liked cleaning, especially with magic tools. Mopping the floor had been supremely satisfying, with years of gunk peeling off and leaving behind shiny stone.

She yawned. Tiring too. Raz started fiddling with Joram’s phone before sleep could snipe her.

The thing was the size of a brick, made of wood, and sported an antennae you had to pull out to connect to the arcnet. Raz fumbled with the Nounsican keyboard for a bit before getting the password right, then spent a few misadventures in the Nounsican apps, before finding HBW site. 

She logged on. No messages, but that’s to be expected. She had promised to send an intelligence report in the evening. Allie and Faham would save their computer time for the morning to reply to her.

Raz started typing.

She started answering Faham’s intelligence gathering plan questions, but after describing the spirally fried plant-noodle thing and seafood they’d eaten, it kinda spiraled out of control. You could not write about hoothphant without going off topic.

It ended up becoming a five page ramble before she had squeezed in everything she wanted to tell them. What she hesitated with was the finish.

“Love you two…” Raz deleted it. “Too simple?”

“Wish you were here…”

She stared at the screen, then whispered, “Yeah.”

“Wish you were here. Kinda miss you already :) Love you both forever to bits, your medium-sis Raz.”

She sent it, then typed up a message to Allie. Even if they would both read Faham’s, she didn’t want Allie to feel left out or jealous. Hers was a good bit shorter though, and even less on topic.

Next day, while approaching the much anticipated wonderchamber near Castleyard town center, Raz finally spotted what Joram had refused to ‘spoil’ her and tripped onto her knees.

She pointed up, lips moving, but no words came out.

Joram beamed with reserved servsman smugness.

“Fa-fa-fla-fuuh…!”

Massive rope and tackle elevators shot straight up into the clouds, carrying house-sized chunks of raw stone, building materials, and people. Hundreds of meters above Castleyard, construction yards hung suspended in mid-air by nothing at all. Scaffolds, loose architecture, and chunks of unfinished buildings drifted about to build multiple sky-scraper sized behemoths. The angle made it hard to see anything but their underbelly of any but the furthest off structure and that was half-covered by clouds.

“Flying castle. Flying castleyard!”

Raz had forgotten she was on her ass until Joram helped her up. “A proud Castleyard tradition. No place in Oor with as many gravity or construction associated awakened.”

“Ahhh, I didn’t tell them there were flying castles here! They need to see this.”

“Consider keeping this as a surprise?”

“Maybe.” 

Raz kept craning her neck as they walked, watching a trio of workers stand sideways on a wall. They were trying to slot a statue ten times their size into the wall. On the underside, a pair of workers was eating lunch while sitting upside down on the bottom of the unfinished castle. She tried to imagine what the world looked like to them and almost tripped again. Thankfully, Joram offered an arm, so Raz was able to spy on the castles all the way till the wonderchamber.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much, but then again most buildings in Castleyard looked very similar. The inside was a different matter.

First they entered into a long foyer of soothing colors and neutral shapes. It had racks for shoes, hangers for overcoats and cloaks, and a fuzzy carpet for brushing your feet. A single step up led into a reception area with waiting chairs, a small shoppe stacked with various baubles and trinkets, and a bored young man doing something on a blocky wooden wizard computer. 

He groaned a single word question.

“For my young friend here,” replied Joram. “Razandra, your identification please.”

She handed it over and he passed it to the receptionist. While he punched in the keys, Raz inspected the bizarre gift shop. No two items were alike and everything was not only scuffed up but hideously expensive. Hundred-thirty val for a copper monkey key-chain? Hundred-eighty for a half burnt scarf? Five hundred ninety for–

Raz did a double take. “Five hundred ninety for a rusty frigging wrench?” she whispered, leaning closer. It was made in China. 

“What the hell?”

“All ready,” said Joram, handing Raz her ID back. “You may enter through the door. There is a room where you can leave your possessions behind and perform your preparations.”

Raz tucked the ID away and looked at the door. The anticipation that flying castles had distracted her from started tickling back into her spine. This was it. She was going to become a wizard, or at least an awakened, which sounded super cool too. Okay, it wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but the chances were high in her mind.

“Preparations? Are there tricks to making it work better? Some way I can pick what kind of wizard I become?” 

Even now, those old hazy daydreams she’d dreamt a hundred times over on that lonely isola were fresh in her mind. She’d wanted to become a healer. Someone who could fix the world. If wizards like Maroque existed, who could fly around huge chunks of Earth, then surely someone could be a wizard to knit them all together. Although, if she did become a gravity mage, she wouldn’t be terribly upset. Building flying castles seemed like a cool profession.

“Never did I imagine I would one day give the resonance talk to a child.” Joram chuckled. He pressed a hand to her back to slowly guide her towards the door. His voice took on a mysterious cadence. “Oh yes. There are a thousand-thousands tricks, and more rituals than stars on the firmament. But you should not fret over those today. No, young dreamer, I wish you to take this first test with an empty heart and head. Step in, do what feels right, observe your surroundings, feel your surroundings, let it sink in, and then reach for what feels most important to you.”

“Look around, feel feelings, grab important stuff. Okay.” Raz let out a tense breath and tried to wiggle her hands. Why were they sweating now that they stood at the door? “How do I know I got it?”

“You will know.”

“And if I don’t get it?” She had to. If almost half found magic, then for sure she would be one of those, right?

“Don’t be discouraged if you do not find it today. Everyone has something they resonate with, it merely takes a little longer for some to find theirs. So long as you do not give up, you will awaken. So long as you do not give up, you can become a wizard.”

Raz thought she might’ve imagined it, but his smile looked a bit bitter there. She had too much going on to address it though.

“Okay.” She gave herself a shake and summoned some determination. “Okay, I’m going in.”

“Luck and wisdom.”

The door opened and she was in a dim dressing room of restrained elegance and calming, dark hues. A very important looking old wooden door stood at the end. On it was carved a large round circle filled with hundreds of beautiful little carvings and symbols. Faint sounds emanated from the other side.

Raz wondered if she was supposed to undress for a moment, but decided against it. The place had that ancient church-like vibe, like it had existed for hundreds of years and meant a lot to generations. She didn’t want to desecrate a sacred place like that.

So she stepped in.

And, for the second time that day, paused in awe.

A thick scent of ancient wood, perfume drenched fabrics, and age permeated the space. Shafts of sunlight trickled in from hidden openings, glittering off of countless small treasures that covered the entirety of the chamber’s ceiling, circular walls, and much of the floor. Small step clearings in the mounds of figurines, statuettes, odd stones, and old curios led to the center, where a line in the stone marked an empty circle large enough to sit on. Gently, here and there, ornament jingles tinkled, clocks ticked, ancient gadgets clicked, blanketing Razandra in a song of small mysteries.

She wasn’t sure if she could sense magic, or if you could sense it, but something about the room felt heavy. Meaningful.

Gingerly, she tip-toed her way to the center, where she spun slowly, lost in the glimmer around her.

The amount of stuff was overwhelming. 

“Do what feels right,” Raz murmured.

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths of the ancient woody scents.

“Feel.”

The musical jingling calmed her. 

She opened her eyes and let them glaze over, skipping past the shiniest treasures. She pondered, what would a wizard who could make everything right wear?

She thought of the secret daydreams of a lonely girl stuck on a rock, waiting to die of starvation. Of the wizard she had imagined would come to save them, wave her hand, and put Earth back together.

Her eyes fell on a small glass casket containing bone needles and a spool of metallic red thread. Raz reached out to retrieve it.