Chương 5: 4 Graduation

Even in our torn and shredded Cousins' uniforms, the driver had grumbled and rolled his eyes when we asked him to speed up to the sanctum. After Naomi pressed a few extra treasury notes into his hand, he flicked the reins, getting the horses to charge up the switchbacks. The carriage jostled on an uneven stone, and I hissed through my teeth, gripping my shoulder tight.

"Don't be a baby," Naomi chided, her foot thumping impatiently as we thundered up Rafael's Cove.

"It hurts!" I murmured, careful not to shift even a little now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Naomi rubbed her temples.

"Get bonked with a rock?" she asked.

"Try experiencing getting stabbed in the face through a psionic link." I flinched, which hurt, of course. I undid my top button and folded my collar down, revealing the swollen, purple mass. Ingred and Naomi inhaled sharply at the sight of the bruise. Bianca barely noticed, instead clutching a massive, severed lobster claw. She experimented with it, moving the pincer like a child wiggling a loose tooth.

"I'm pretty sure the bone's shattered," I said, gingerly folding my collar back up.

"I swear if they reschedule my graduation—""A graduation which started—" Ingred checked a pocket watch.

"Ten minutes ago." I glanced out the window. White-walled, red-shingled coastal buildings rolled by. My gut twisted with uncertainty. This was not the day to be late. But my team and I had made a choice, and I would stand by it. That's what Lance would expect, and I knew he'd stand by our actions.

"What are you doing with that?" Ingred asked Bianca, who was now lightly tugging at the lobster claw's tough exterior.

"Gonna cook it and eat it," Bianca said simply. We all turned to her, our faces shifting in unease.

"I know that looks like seafood," Naomi said.

"But you realize that's from a sapient, right?" Bianca glanced up, seeming to catch on to our discomfort late. Then she laughed—a nervous but surprisingly cute chuckle. I wouldn't have guessed that less than an hour ago, she had been a twisted monstrosity of vague anatomy.

"I'm joking," she said, and Naomi relaxed.

"I'm an incorporator more than a shapeshifter," Bianca explained.

"I can't adopt a person's appearance; I can't even shift into a pure animal. Instead, I incorporate the anatomy of other organisms into my body." She shifted her bestiary, which now had a flattened corner where she had dropped it on the road.

"But it's all dependent on how well I understand their anatomy. I'll probably study this, maybe even dissect it. If I can see the inside, I might be able to create one of my own."

"Gross," I said, gripping my bicep tight, trying to stabilize the arm.

"But fascinating." The Sanctum of the Seal grounds pulled into view through the window, and we shifted to the edge of our seats. Without waiting for the coach to stop fully, Naomi was out of the coach first, holding the door open and urging us out. I rolled my eyes. Why'd she have to act like my mother? Scooting to the edge, I stumbled out.

"Thanks," I mumbled reluctantly. We rushed up the many steps to the pillars at the sanctum's entrance. A tiny figure, standing barely a quarter as tall as me, motioned frantically. I gritted my teeth in anticipation. Aunt Thea Springweather was perhaps the most powerful system expert in the entire World Archipelago. Aunt Springweather's heavy freckles softened in relief when she saw us. Her black stocking hat flopped back over her knife ears.

Like us, she wore the pinstriped black-and-white of the High Family, a smart suit tailored to her gnomish proportions.

"Where were you?" she squeaked, frowning and assessing our torn and bloody clothes.

"No, no, this won't do at all." She wrung her hands, shifting from toe to toe.

"Ripjaw raid at the docks…" I said.

"Yes, yes, we'll deal with that later. Inside with you all, they've already begun." We started forward, then I hesitated.

"Aunt Springweather." She turned back to me, tight with impatience.

"I hurt my shoulder badly," I said, my face heating.

"D'you think you could…" She sighed, exasperated, and stepped close to me.

"Well, I ain't jumping if that's what you want," she said, her head craned up to meet my eye. I muttered an apology and took a knee. The gnome moved her hands in a quick, glitchy pattern. A faint, clear ripple blurring between them, dancing with near-imperceptible characters that flickered in repeating patterns. She placed her tiny hands on my shoulder. I yelped as the bone snapped back into place. Meat and tendons mended and fused. I'd expected pain, but the relief coaxed a heavy sigh out of me.

I rolled the arm experimentally, and only a dull ache remained. No doubt she could have healed it all the way, but I knew her philosophy was that when one relied on Ourabora for complete healing, they wouldn't learn important lessons. Either way, I flexed my fist with a nod of appreciation.

"Thanks," I said.

"Now getch'er butt inside!" she waved frantically, as if Krathic-Thar were flying at Paradise Rock at the head of his Draconic army. I nodded and hurried through the double doors. The pale travertine stone walls seemed to sparkle as we strode down the long red rug. Halberdiers lined the main hall, dressed in ceremonial armor. A few Cousins conversed in low tones as they glanced our way. No doubt we stood out. The rookies, beaten and ragged. I didn't make eye contact as we made our way into the State Chamber.

A familiar booming voice echoed from within. Uncle Bruk Titangavel, the Tyrant Paladin. Granduncle's fist. We rushed through the open doors into the vast, circular chamber. The other eleven graduates stood at attention in the center of the enormous mosaic map of the World Archipelago. They held themselves tall in their cleaned and pressed clothes, the ceremonial picture of perfection. Around the exterior of the State Chamber, a score of Cousins, a few dozen instructors, and probably a hundred family members waited.

I forced myself not to search the crowd for my mother or sister. Late as we were, we fell into formation behind the others. I panted. Obnoxiously so. To make matters worse, I was the only one not wearing my suit jacket. Bianca was still damp, Naomi's neck bore dry patches of caked blood, and wrinkles and dirt soiled Ingred's suit. Whispers filtered into the air from the onlookers, no doubt prompted by our disheveled appearance.

"The world beyond these walls is not one of peace and diplomacy—" Bruk's voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"It's a battlefield, and you are its front-line soldiers…" I could tell you everything the dwarven paladin was going to say in his speech long before I even heard it, and I'll confess, I wasn't really listening. To give you the short of it, his speech probably went something along the lines of "blah, blah, blah, strength prevails, no diplomacy, only conquest." That was kind of his thing.

As far as the politics of Paradise Rock were concerned, Bruk Titangavel was the chief advocate for open war with the Bloodwake Confederacy. I glanced down at the mosaic map of the World Archipelago under my feet. The floor depicted the eleven planar islands. But their arrangement is anything but natural. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Paradise Rock lay right smack in the middle, about four feet in front of me and two to my left.

The Island of Materium. My home. Rafael's Cove and the farmland were presented clearly in tiny chips of tile. All compasses point to Paradise Rock at the center of the world. I've always loved that, even basic navigational equipment would lead me home. Ten other islands surround Paradise Rock, each placed at an intermediate point in a perfect ring, like the hours on a clock. None of the other ten islands looked anything like Paradise. Some are inhospitable or straight-up uninhabitable.

Each one was tied to a primal or elemental dimension. Take Ghost Rock, for example, on the map somewhere between three and four o'clock. The island was incorporeal. Literally, you could sail a ship right through it, assuming the poltergeists and spirits didn't eat your soul on the way through. Or Heim Rock, island of giants. The thing was up in the clouds, suspended on a gargantuan network of beanstalks that grew straight out of the ocean. There were entire university courses dedicated to each one.

Circling the World Archipelago was Jorg, the world serpent. No big deal, just a titan sea snake that swam circles around the ring of islands, reportedly biting its own tail. Could such a creature destroy the known world before breakfast? Sure. Did he? No. Best not to think of him as a monster, but as a geographic feature. No one sails beyond Jorg and returns.

"—And with that knowledge, you will usher our people into a victorious era of prosperity!" Bruk finished. Polite applause rippled through the crowd, but we graduates stayed at parade rest. Aunt Thea Springweather shuffled to the podium. Bruk set down a stool with steps so she'd be able to look at us over the top.

"Graduates," her voice squeaked over the hall.

"On this auspicious day, I'mma talk to you about dignity, and the power of diplomacy—" The edge of my lip twitched up. She wasted no time contradicting everything that Bruk had just established—a desperate attempt to de-traumatize the audience after Bruk's speech. To my side, a snicker slipped out of Naomi, and I twitched.

"What?" I murmured out of the corner of my mouth. Naomi hesitated.

"See how red Bruk's turning?"

"Shh," one of our classmates in the back hissed. I glanced at the paladin, whose face was already doing an astonishingly close impersonation of a tomato. I tensed. So much maneuvering and intrigue, even among our ranks. Our Aunts and Uncles, our mightiest heroes, were far from united in what they thought best for our people. Sure, they were all aligned in resisting the Bloodwake Confederacy, but everyone had their ideas about what that actually meant—and who should be in charge. I shifted my gaze upward.

A second mosaic mirrored the one on the floor, this one also ringed by Jorg, the world serpent. Inside the Ouroboros frozen in tiles, a man in a loincloth and a dragon grappled for dominance. The man's fingers closed around the drake's throat, choking out flames while talons raked across the man's bare shoulder—the seal, the mark of Ourabora, the system. The seal reflected the geopolitical landscape. Representing Granduncle was the man, though he was young and nearly naked, a mass of muscle and might.

The dragon—that was Krathic-Thar, the Bloodwake Tyrant, and the ruler of the Bloodwake Confederacy. Two major factions. Each dominated about a third of the planar islands. First, there was us, the Paradise Coalition—the "good guys." Paradise Rock was our capital, but we also had Floating Rock, Submerged Rock, and Fel Rock. Then there was the Bloodwake. Their capital was Drake, Isle of Dragons. Hic sunt dracones. They also had Scorched Rock and had long been courting the Giants.

They wanted dominion over the entire archipelago. That's why we were there—the Cousin Corps. We acted as a foil, using the system to maintain order.

"—Remember graduates, to always think before you act, and let wisdom guide every decision." Aunt Springweather shot Bruk a glance, with the tiniest hint of a glare, and the lines at the corners of his eyes tightened. She stepped down, and Uncle Kerelev took her spot. My spine lengthened, and I craned to get a better look. His speech, I wanted to hear; we all did. For me, it might have been that Kerelev was a martial-class human—relatable in more ways than one.

The lean man was a mystery to us all, and the rumors and urban legends that revolved around him in the schoolhouse were the frequent subject of muttered conversation. If Bruk was Granduncle's fist, Kerelev was his scalpel. Spotting Kerelev anywhere other than at Granduncle's side was a rare occurrence. He was his shadow. The man wore short swords in harnesses at his ribs, and his legendary Thunder Caller pistols strapped to his thighs. Kerelev slid the stool away from the podium with his foot.

The wooden legs ground loudly against the stone floor. He gripped the stand tight and let out a long, irritated sigh. I tried to suppress my smile. Tried and failed.

"I was volun-told to give you a speech," he said, voice deadpan.

"So here you go." Every graduate leaned forward as the moment stretched in silence.

"Don't do stupid things." He nodded once and stepped back. A snort of laughter burst from Ingred, and my cheeks ached as I forced my face neutral.

"Kerelev," Aunt Springweather cut in tersely as he turned to retake his seat.

"Perhaps some words of advice for our new adventurers." He froze, cocking a brow at Granduncle, who sat in the center of the cadre assembly, both hands clasped on his cane. Granduncle nodded once, and Kerelev's eyes rolled. He returned to his place at the podium.

"You want advice? Fine." He scanned the room. The massive seal on the ceiling drew his eyes. I glanced up at the man and the dragon, locked in their wrestling match.

"If you're going to fight a dragon, wear clothes," he said. Then he frowned.

"And stay away from the poky bits." He glanced back at Granduncle, brow rising. Granduncle motioned him on with a wave of his hand. Kerelev sighed.

"Avoid the hot stuff, too, and the weight." He snorted.

"If you were smart, you'd avoid the whole brine thing, but that's not your job anymore, is it? You're Cousins now—which means you'll probably run across a dragon eventually." He tapped the podium sharply.

"How stupid. So much for my first advice. Congratulations, you're all idiots. I mean, who voluntarily signs up for this madness?" My grin just about split my face. A few of the family members in the audience cast nervous glances. They didn't know him, not like we did. He was drier than bleached bones baking on sand. His humor was a mask that concealed his affection for his students. He stepped away from the podium, striding past the trembling Aunt Springweather and Bruk, who snickered into his fist.

At length, Granduncle rose—with difficulty. That washed away the mirth. Granduncle was the most powerful man in the World Archipelago. A mage of near fathomless power, the force that rivaled the Bloodwake Tyrant himself. And he was getting old. In fact—my head tilted, my eyes narrowing—he walked favoring his left side and trying to cover it. His cane clacked against the stone and then the tile as he crossed onto the map. He stopped in front of the graduating class, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Congratulations," he said.

"We're all counting on you." His eyes sparkled, but something deeper stirred beneath. I swallowed.

"Raise your right arms." I did, my throat suddenly going dry.

"Repeat after me. I—""I," we echoed.

"State your name."

"Antonio Marco Moretti," I said, standing straighter.

"Do swear to follow the tenets of the Cousin Corps. To protect Paradise and her people. To wield the power of Ourabora responsibly and to help those who follow the virtues of law and honor." A shiver ran down my spine as I spoke the oath, a simple promise, not magic, but the culmination of a lifetime's dedication. Granduncle's cane tapped the tile twice, and the tiles depicting Paradise Rock folded inward, crumbling away to reveal a hole.

An orb rose out of the ground, like a pearl the size of my head—Paradise's system node. Dead silence filled the chamber. This was it. Sliding shutters activated, clicking into place over the windows. The orb flashed with pearlescent light.

"Greetings, graduates," Ourabora said, her monotone and flat voice echoing through the room." Congratulations on your success. Are you ready?" No one answered out loud; the whole group struck dumb in reverent awe. Granduncle glanced past the front line at us.

"Naomi Myrkrath," he said, and my team leader stiffened at my side.

"It seems your team can't be bothered to wait to protect our people. Maybe we should start with you, lest you get bored and sneak off to hunt pirates." Instructors chuckled in the audience.

"You first, Naomi." She composed herself, then strode around the formation, coming to a stop at the orb.

"Place your hand on the node," Granduncle instructed. She did. Her eyes closed, and I held my breath. We waited less than two minutes before they flashed back open." Granduncle, I give you Naomi Myrkrath, level two User, level five Psionic. Class: Synaptic Grappler. Cousin in Paradise." Applause echoed through the State Chamber, and I nodded as I clapped. Total level seven starting? That spoke of hard work and discipline. The system used what you had to craft your initial build.

Of course, that would be easier for her. She'd had private tutors from a young age, plus her mother, who was the literal Fel Queen—I shook my head, rebuking myself for the intrusive thought. Hard work, aptitude, and focus. Nothing Naomi lacked. That was respectable.

"Bianca Romano," Granduncle said. She flinched.

"Your turn." Bianca started away, but Ingred caught her wrist, gingerly taking the lobster claw from her hand. My face heated. Had she been holding it the whole time? Perspiration beaded on her face as she extended a hand to the node. This one took about a minute longer." Granduncle, I give you Bianca Romano, level one User, level five Physic. Class: Feral Vanguard. Cousin in Paradise." Only level six? I clapped with the rest. Based on how she'd chewed through Deeplings, I expected higher.

"Antonio Moretti." I flinched. I don't know why I'd fully expected Ingred to go next, but hearing my own name shocked me. Now I scanned the audience, stopping when my gaze landed on them. My mother watched, blurry-eyed, hands clasped together. Elena, my sister, lifted herself on her toes to get a better look. Dark patches of irritation crusted on her cheeks.

"Please come forward," Granduncle said. I inhaled sharply, then fell out of formation.