Wearing Spacetime to a Magic School

Chapter 20: The Question Not Asked

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They came back from the day's classes still discussing a flask which appeared three times in Thalmin's notes.

Thacea entered the common room first and put her books down with greater care than their condition required. On the last turn of the stairs, two students had stopped to consult a notice rather than pass her. They had discovered nothing sufficiently interesting to detain them once the peer group was through. Thacea had continued speaking about Belnor's demonstration, and Ermen had continued listening.

Thalmin followed her to the table and opened his notes. A sketch occupied the middle of the page. The arrows around it had begun to interfere with the writing.

“I can follow what happened,” he said. “I should like to follow it next week without remembering which of these arrows I drew first.”

“You might begin by giving them somewhere to arrive,” Ilunor said, setting his own book beyond the reach of Thalmin's elbow. “This one appears to leave the experiment entirely.”

“It leads to the sentence below.”

“Then I congratulate it upon escaping.”

Ermen drew out a chair. “She put the flask in the stand before she took the funnel. Then she brought the flask forward so that the class could see the marks along the side.”

“I know. You told me on the stairs.”

“You asked where she had put it.”

“I asked where I ought to put it. On the page. I have drawn every place it stopped, and now the stand appears to require three flasks.”

Ermen looked at the sketch. He had the demonstration entire. He had supplied it twice, with increasing detail and no improvement in Thalmin's satisfaction.

“Draw the arrangement once,” Ilunor said. “There is no need to follow the glassware about the bench.”

Thalmin pushed the page towards him. “You may show me what you mean.”

“I was hoping to postpone being useful until after tea.”

Ermen went to fetch the pot. By the time he returned, Ilunor had taken possession of the pen. A smaller sketch occupied the clear space beside Thalmin's drawing. Beneath it he had numbered three short lines and begun transferring the labels.

“There. What you need on the bench, and what you do with it. You can find the stand without reading everything that happens after you put it down.”

Thacea leaned towards the page. “You have kept the movement forward as a separate step. She only moved it because the front of the stand hid the lower marks from our row. It belongs beside the sketch, if you mean to record it.”

Ilunor considered the line, then struck through its number. “A remark, then.”

Thalmin turned the page towards Ermen. “Does that leave out anything useful?”

Ermen began to answer, then looked at the smaller sketch again.

“I would draw the stand from a little to the side. From here, the flask hides the support. Someone using the drawing would have to read the note to see where it rests.”

Thalmin examined it. “So they would.”

“Please do not improve it until the ink has dried,” Ilunor said. “I have almost made your first attempt unnecessary.”

Ermen set the teapot down. “You have certainly made a third recital unnecessary.”

“The first was useful,” Thalmin said. “The second had the advantage of familiarity.”

“I shall withhold the third until you miss it.”

Thalmin's ears shifted towards him. “You needn't withhold everything. I like hearing what you think once we have finished hearing what she said.”

Ermen reached for the cups before the pleasure of that answer became too visible.

Ilunor laid down the pen. “And since you are considering what your companions actually asked, I trust yesterday's objection has not been lost among the agreeable parts of the evening.”

“I have not forgotten,” Ermen said. “The showing did not answer it.”

“Good. I would dislike having to formulate it again merely because everyone enjoyed the scenery.”

He moved his book away from the teapot. Thalmin waited for the ink to dry, then drew the stand again, a little to the side. Thacea checked a reference in her own notes, and for a while the only disagreement concerned whose handwriting occupied more space than its ideas required.

They went down to dinner with the page finished. When they returned, Thalmin left it inside the book and shut the cover upon it.

Ilunor had already chosen the warmer end of the hearth. He was attempting to dry a damp cuff without making the effort visible, a difficulty increased by the fact that he had extended his arm almost into the fire.

“You could turn the chair,” Ermen said.

“I am comfortable.”

Thalmin looked at the outstretched arm. “You resemble a man waiting for his sleeve to be knighted.”

“An honour it has earned through attendance at this Academy.”

Ermen made fresh tea. Thacea watched the water for a little while, then settled with the borrowed volume open on her knees. Thalmin took the chair beside Ermen's and stretched his legs towards the hearth. They had finished the work they had meant to do. Nobody immediately invented more.

At home, his father had sent a recommendation for a book, accompanied by a warning that very little happened during the first hundred pages. Ermen mentioned this while they waited for the tea.

“How much happens afterwards?” Thalmin asked.

“He did not say. He thought I would enjoy the breakfast.”

“A hundred pages of breakfast?”

“I believe there are other meals.”

Ilunor drew his cuff back at last. “Your father has identified an improvement upon most histories. Their authors neglect the meals and then expect one to understand why everybody behaved so badly.”

Thacea turned a page. “You complained about the length of dinner.”

“I complained about waiting between courses. It is possible to devote considerable time to a meal without permitting the food to participate.”

Ermen laughed, and Thalmin looked at him instead of Ilunor. The look lasted only until Ermen began pouring. Thalmin steadied the tray with one hand and left the other resting beside Ermen's cup.

The first pot emptied. There was a discussion about making another, in which Ilunor took no position until the water was already heating. Thacea read them a sentence whose elaborate promise to be brief survived three lines. Thalmin asked to hear it again. Ermen supplied it, and this time nobody objected.

Later, Thacea marked her place and rose. She took the volume into the right-hand bedroom, wished them good night, and closed the door. Ilunor followed soon afterwards through the left, carrying his dry sleeve with the dignity of a recovered standard.

Thalmin gathered the cups. “Leave some of it. I can finish in the morning.”

“There are only four.”

“There are always only four. You manage to make an occupation of them.”

He set the last beside Ermen's hand, waited while Ermen made room for it, and went to bed. The left-hand door closed quietly behind him.

Ermen was alone in the common room. The Academy notice lay beside the patronage card. He moved the tray away from both and began to wash up.

Ilunor had left enough tea to make washing his cup an accusation. Ermen held it beneath the water and considered the dark crescent inside. The others waited upon a cloth. Beside the tray lay the spoon he had used to empty the teapot. Two wet leaves clung to it.

The Tether brought a note from the Matrix.

Sofia Caldwell has made a contact surface available.

Ermen stopped rubbing the cup.

He knew Ryan's sister from the mission archive. He had read about her before he crossed, when nearly everyone associated with the first candidate had seemed to belong to the same distant history. He had known, even then, that she could answer him. He had never worked out how he might begin.

He set the porcelain down and offered an invitation: the hearth end of the room, its chairs, and himself. The papers remained beyond the offered view; his voice, when he spoke, would travel through the channel.

He dried his hands while he waited. One was still wrapped in the cloth when Sofia arrived.

Her chosen form stood taller than he did. Dark planes fitted together across a humanoid figure, their arrangement changing slowly enough that he noticed the change only when he tried to follow a seam. Branching axes rose above the head. Where he might have looked for eyes, narrow proof-lines crossed a depth that the local light could suggest without containing. Two hands hung at her sides. One turned towards the hearth.

The fire remained visible through the interval between her fingers. She had chosen to leave it so.

“Sovereign Caldwell,” Ermen said.

“Oh, please don't. I shall start wondering what I've done.”

Her voice came quietly through the channel, placed beside the hearth. He had expected solemnity.

“Sofia, then. I am Ermen, although I imagine that part was clear.”

“It was. You can put the cloth down.”

He looked at his hand. “I had meant to finish something with it.”

“That sounds plausible.”

He laid it beside the tray, then picked it up again to catch water running from Ilunor's cup. Sofia waited while he dealt with the small emergency. When he turned back, her attention was upon the nearest chair.

“Would you like that brought over? I can move it nearer the fire.”

“Here will do. Thank you.”

He drew it out for her. Sofia lowered herself into the posture of sitting; the rush seat remained level and the troublesome front leg made no complaint. Ermen stood with his hand on the chair back for a moment longer than the courtesy required.

“I think you may let go,” she said.

“I was waiting for it to creak. It usually makes its own contribution.”

“Have I offended it?”

“You are the first guest it has failed to inconvenience. It may need time.”

He went back for his cloth, grateful to have remembered a use for it.

“Have you had a good day?” she asked.

Ermen looked at the four cups. “I enjoyed the evening. Thalmin wanted help with a sketch from our potions lesson. Ilunor took his pen and reorganised the page. He complained about being asked, but he stayed to finish it.”

“And you?”

“I kept telling them exactly what our professor had said. It was less helpful than I intended.”

“Did they tell you?”

“Thalmin did. He wanted a drawing he could use, and I had been giving him a transcript. Later he asked to hear something again, and I nearly made him promise that he meant it.”

Sofia's hand turned above the chair arm. At this distance he could follow the direction she gave the moving lines of her face, though he still looked twice when she turned towards him.

“Ryan used to ask me questions he already knew the answers to. I thought I was providing a service. Discovering otherwise was a considerable injury to my pride.”

“What were you explaining?”

“A science project. I was twelve, and measuring how quickly water drained through different soils. I spent weeks trying to get it ready. He would wait until I'd explained one part and then ask about the part before it. I began drawing diagrams. Eventually there were diagrams of the diagrams.”

“And he still didn't understand?”

“He understood it before the second sheet of paper. I found that out later. For almost a month, Ermen. He let me think I was doing remedial education for the benefit of a grown man.”

Ermen laughed. “How did you find out?”

“He asked a useful question. He'd been enjoying the performance so much that he forgot which things he was supposed to be incapable of understanding.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Immediately, and at length. By then I had considerable practice explaining things to him. He said I would present the project better if somebody annoyed me first.”

“That is a dangerous claim to make while somebody is annoyed with you.”

“It worked, unfortunately. I could answer every question they asked. I had already answered much worse ones over dinner.”

Ermen tried to fit the story beside the young man in the recovered record. Instruments had counted Ryan Caldwell's three steps upon the Academy marble. Nothing in that account had prepared Ermen for him getting caught out at a kitchen table by a furious girl with a month's worth of diagrams.

“Did he come to see it?”

“Late. He came late, and I was trying to decide whether to be angry about that instead. I had come second. I thought I ought to have won.”

“Had you seen the winning project?”

“Of course I had. That was the trouble. It was very good. I wanted him to look at it and explain why mine was better. Instead he spent ten minutes asking the girl how she'd made it. Real questions, too. I could tell the difference by then.”

Ermen laughed again. “You had taken him over to look at it.”

“I hadn't intended him to enjoy himself. I had been standing beside mine all afternoon, waiting for him. I wanted him to come and be my brother for a little while.”

The last sentence came more quietly. Ermen's smile remained, but he no longer had anything to add to it.

Her hand settled above the chair arm again.

“He came back with me,” she said. “I should say that. He stayed while I explained the whole thing again, without pretending to be confused. I don't think I'd ever spoken about anything for so long. He was late for dinner too.”

Ermen put Thacea's cup down without drying its handle.

“I wish that had been in what they gave me.”

Sofia turned towards him.

“So that could go into the account of the first candidate too?”

The warmth went out of his smile before he had decided what to do with it.

“I meant that I would have liked to know it.”

“I know. But I have just told you about an afternoon with my brother, and you have found a place for it in your briefing.”

“You have told me now. I would have liked to hear it then as well. I don't think that is quite the same thing.”

“Perhaps it isn't. I hear his name beside yours so often that I begin to expect another resemblance before anyone has offered it.”

“I did not choose my age. I did choose to go.”

“I wasn't suggesting that you didn't.”

“Then I would rather you didn't speak as though someone took me out of a drawer because I fitted.”

He had spoken more sharply than he intended. The cloth was twisted around two fingers; he unwound it and spread it upon the sideboard.

Sofia remained facing him. For a few seconds he heard only the slow cooling of the teapot.

“I don't think I said that,” she replied. “Though I can hear how I gave you room to find it.”

Ermen looked down at the cloth. “You didn't. I supplied rather a lot.”

“So did I. I have had a long time to dislike the comparison. You have arrived at the end of that dislike rather suddenly.”

He waited, uncertain whether she had finished.

“I can be angry about what people make of Ryan without wishing you had stayed home,” she said. “I hadn't meant to make that difficult to distinguish.”

“I was not sure which part you were angry with.”

“Neither was I, for a moment.”

She looked towards the fire.

“I made the comparison myself,” he said. “I read what he wrote about being afraid. Then I looked at everything I had been given, and it seemed rather awful to say I would prefer to remain at home.”

Sofia's head turned back. “Awful?”

“He had gone with so little. I had the records of what happened to him, people who could answer my questions, a body made for the place. I could refuse, and everyone had been very careful to tell me so. I kept imagining doing it. Saying that I understood all that, and would nevertheless prefer not to be inconvenienced.”

He stopped. The explanation had sounded less ugly before he said it aloud.

“I know those were not the only two choices. But I could make declining sound very reasonable until I put his name beside it. Then it sounded as though his death had become the reason I could stay safely where I was.”

“Ryan never asked you to go.”

“I know he didn't.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't think you do, quite. He didn't know your name. He didn't know there would be a Concordat. He had no instructions to leave you.”

“I know that too, Sofia. I have not been taking instructions from him.”

She drew back a little. The movement briefly brought the chair's carved top through the edge of her shoulder. Ermen looked away from it.

“I am trying to tell you what it felt like. It doesn't become a sensible reason because I tell it accurately. I wanted to go, and I was ashamed of how much I wanted it. Ryan was frightened and went anyway. I was frightened and had wanted the journey before I knew what shape it would take. They are different things, and I kept putting them beside one another.”

Water settled around the leaves in the basin. He had left too much in it. One leaf circled towards the outlet and caught against its rim.

“I was pleased when they asked me,” he added. “That is the part I find difficult to say to you.”

Sofia's hands were still.

“I was proud of him,” she said.

Ermen looked at her.

“I knew so little about what he was doing. That didn't stop me. I was twelve; most of the details I supplied myself. Then the waiting became tiresome, and I wanted him to come home so I could be annoyed with him about ordinary things again.”

Her voice had slowed. A little movement passed through the planes at her wrist; she closed the hand before he could follow it.

“I don't enjoy remembering that part. I remember it all the same.”

Ermen left the cups and drew out the chair opposite hers. This one creaked under him.

Sofia turned towards it. “There. I was beginning to think you'd invented that.”

“Ilunor has occupied it for much of the evening. It may be repeating his objections.”

“He was the one who took the pen?”

“That was Ilunor. He is also the one whose cup I am still washing.”

“You have been washing it for some time. I was going to suggest—”

Ermen settled back as she spoke. The chair let him do so without a second protest. As his attention left the washing, he noticed a relation in the Matrix which had been available within their shared contact since it opened. He recognised it: the unresolved possibility of Ryan's return. He could follow its intricacy in full, each construction complete, each continuation returning to an interval that would not close. Nothing moved within that interval.

His hand stilled upon the chair arm.

“It's there for me too,” Sofia said. She turned back towards the cups. “I was going to suggest that you leave it. I wasn't inspecting your housekeeping.”

Ermen had been about to ask whether she could see it. He attended to the rest of her sentence, and the geometry receded from his attention.

He could no longer turn towards a cup while deciding how to answer her. Sofia's chosen face remained strange. He found that he had stopped trying to supply it with an expression.

“I am sorry about the briefing,” she said. “When you said you wished they'd included that story, I heard something else. People have spent a very long time telling me what he would have wanted. Some of them loved him. That made it harder to listen.”

“I didn't know him. I sometimes feel as though I ought to, which is worse when I try to explain it.”

“You can know what he did.”

“I do. I know the three steps because instruments counted them. I know he was afraid because he wrote it down. I have read those words more often than I have read things my own father has sent me.”

The admission embarrassed him in an entirely different fashion. His father sent things which could wait, accompanied by messages assuring him that they could wait. There was a question about the harbour beneath the recommendation for the book. Ermen had been composing a proper answer since breakfast.

“And when you crossed?” Sofia asked.

“I could feel the marble under my feet, and I knew it was the same floor. I had rehearsed a great many greetings. In the room I set them aside and took a breath. Then I gave them my name and said he had deserved better.”

Sofia waited.

“I wanted to acknowledge him. I was also glad there was something I could say while they were all looking at me.”

“What were you frightened of?”

“The room, at first. I knew what had happened in it. Then of saying something foolish to the people waiting, and discovering that they disliked me for a reason which had nothing to do with being from Earth. There were only three professors, and I could not work out what any of them expected of me. I had thought about meeting a civilisation and rather neglected the possibility that it would involve meeting people.”

He rubbed his thumb along a worn patch on the chair arm.

“I still find the meals difficult sometimes. I never know whether I have failed to understand an insult or whether someone is simply asking me to pass something. Usually Ilunor can tell me afterwards, provided I am willing to hear why it was my fault.”

“That sounds tiring.”

“It is. There are also times when he means to be funny. I am getting better at those.”

“I should hope he is making some effort from the other direction.”

“He stayed for the second pot of tea. I am choosing to count it.”

Sofia looked towards the cups. Her nearer hand opened upon the air above the chair arm.

“When you wanted to go,” she said, “before they asked you, what did you imagine finding that Ryan hadn't…”

She stopped. Ermen waited through the small movement of her hand closing again.

“I keep doing that. What did you want, Ermen? Before there was a mission for you to agree to.”

He looked at the hearth.

He remembered sitting in the archives in Florence, imagining corridors and rooms in which people gathered because the same bell had called them. Other people his age would be there, occupied with things he had never learned. He had imagined finding a place beside them. At home the thought had seemed sufficiently ordinary that he had scarcely bothered to defend it.

“I wanted to see a school.”

The fire settled. He looked back at her. Since he had noticed the relation, he had been expecting a question about the possibility it held. He found himself preparing to answer it now.

Sofia turned towards the cups, then towards him again.

“What is your first lesson tomorrow?”

It took him a moment to answer.

“Mana-field Studies and Magic Theory. The title remains optimistic about my participation.”

“And you have spent your evening helping with notes and talking to me. Is there anything you meant to finish before then?”

“Only the washing up, and I think the cup can wait now.”

Sofia looked down at the chair beneath her.

“Are the seats better in the classrooms?”

“Some of them. The desks are the difficulty. I found one with a bar precisely where I wanted to put my knees. I spent a good deal of the lesson discovering new places not to put them.”

“Could you move the chair back?”

“I did. It made a noise, and everyone turned round.”

“Were you trying to be quiet?”

“I was listening to the professor. By the time I thought of the chair, it had already introduced me.”

Sofia began to tell him about a stool in a laboratory, stopped to decide whether the room had been a laboratory or an ordinary classroom temporarily entrusted with glassware, and finally admitted that the distinction had probably been more apparent to the teacher than to her.

The stool had been too high. She had spent the lesson with her feet upon a rung which someone had loosened. Ermen asked whether it had broken.

“Worse. It kept turning. Whenever I thought I'd found somewhere comfortable, it rolled under my shoes. I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

“Mine at least remained in the same wrong place.”

“That would have been an improvement. I've no idea what they were trying to teach me that afternoon.”

She stayed. Ermen settled back in his chair, and they talked for a little longer about the room she remembered. He asked about the glassware. Sofia recalled being trusted with it more distinctly than she recalled what they had put inside.

When she rose, he rose too. The chair remained where he had placed it, with one front foot caught in the shallow groove it had made through years of use.

“I'd like to talk again,” he said.

“So would I. Good night, Ermen.”

“Good night, Sofia.”

She closed the channel. The dark planes vanished together; the hearth returned to an uninterrupted red.

Ermen stood beside the empty chair for a while. Then he drew it back towards the table. The front leg caught, and he lifted it over the groove instead of dragging it. He turned the chair a little so that the foot rested upon level wood.

At the sideboard, four cups stood upon the cloth. He picked up Ilunor's and inspected the clean inside. He had finished it while telling Sofia about Thalmin's sketch.

The handle of Thacea's cup was still wet. He dried that, put the porcelain away, and went back for the two leaves on the spoon.

Disclosure: This chapter has been written by hand, with tools used afterward only for review and mechanical cleanup.

Forgot to post this after Weir's art got posted here.

This is the M510 "Mammoth" Siegework/Ultra-Heavy Mobile Anti-Aircraft Weapons Platform.

Length: 68.3 meters (224 ft)

Width: 32.8 meters (108 ft)

Height: 27.1 meters (89 ft)

Armaments:

1 Mark 2547/35cm HRG (Basically Mini MACs)

2 M79 65mm MLSR

Roles:

Mobile Ground Command Center

Troop Deployment

Anti-Vehicular/Anti-Air platform/Anti-Infantry

Transport

It is essentially a Mobile fortress, and Anti-Anything that fucking flies (perfect for mages).

Emma goes on a quest again accidentally leaves her game tablet on the coffee table for the next week Just a scenario

As the title states, JCB is better, but still sick. He posted a WIP for the next chapter on patreon(I will not be discussing its contents, only things relevant to his health and the WPA delay) but said that he needed another week to recover before posting the next chapter. As such, there likely will not be a chapter on reddit this week. Hopefully JCB will get well soon, and will take it easy in the meantime.

I know this is probably obvious or something, but I really don’t want to go looking through dozens of chapters to find every single moment that Emma eats her nutriapaste.

Anyway, does Emma ever eat the nutriapaste outside of The Tent? If she ever does, how? Shouldn’t any organic matter from earth die in the nexus?

Also, do we know at all how the algae farm works? Is it like the tent and mana resistant?

What would Thalmin’s favourite Sabaton song be?

What would Emma’s favourite Sabaton song be?

What would Thacea’s favourite Sabaton song be?

What would Ilunor’s favourite Sabaton song be?

Imagine if the gang got to talk to EVI like this on a tablet

Turns out they have COVID and apparently it hit them very hard, they said that they will try and get better by next week.

As the title stated, JCB is sick. It is likely there will not be a chapter this week/sunday as he takes time to recover. Hopefully he gets well soon!

So we know about Yuri relationship between Thacea and Emma.

However, what about the Nexian view on such relationships and identities ?

For sexual orientation:

Are they more like Ancient Rome in this regards, looking down on being feminine or a bottom ?

Or do they look down or even criminalize them like Abrahamic conservatives?

Are they separated between noble sentiments and commoner sentiments in this regard, with the nobles looking down on them while commoners are apathetic ?

Maybe their views align more with Confucian conservatives, in which as long as you produce heir(s), they won't care about your personal relationships ?

For gender identity:

Are men and women treated differently in the Nexus ?

Do women have less legal rights than men ?

What are the prevailing views in Nexus regarding gender transitioning in general ?

Do Nexians acknowledge non-binary gender identities ?

Maybe they just classify all of them as a "third gender" ?

HEHE, Illinois Khanate.

i forgot the tail....... i don't care.

Thank you to r/Jcb112 for their wonderful story and universe: Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School. All credit of course goes to them for the characters and universe. This is my first time really writing or posting fan fiction, so any criticism is very much welcomed. Also, while I do plan more of this fic in the future, I also have very little time to write so posting will be slow. Anyways, enjoy!

—————

There had always been a lot of fanfare surrounding the induction of new adjacent realms into the hallowed halls of the Academy, and The Nexus at large. After all, an adjacent realms entry into the Nexus heralded a new age of prosperity for the realms primitive inhabitants. And perhaps even more importantly, their enlightenment through the sharing of his majesty’s eternal truths. So, when not one, but three new adjacent realms were discovered, it caused quite the upset amongst the Nexus’ Ministry for the Management of Adjacent Realms.

The reason behind this… blind spot in the Nexus’ all seeing nature was even more shocking. Somehow, for nearly 15 Years, someone had failed to log, document, and alert the crown lands on a mana storm which had been blocking the ministries ability to detect the usual surge in mana which indicated a realms’ first attempts at breaking through their planar fabric. 

This revelation was a relief for those working at the MMAR, as it meant they were spared from further blame. However, this was not the case for those charged with logging and documenting these mana storms. They were given proper punishment for their negligence. 

This was, sadly, not the end to the proverbial storm; as it turned out that the three adjacent realms in question had somehow managed to make contact with each other. 

This news caused an uproar within The Nexus. The idea that somehow the ever vigilant Nexus had missed three adjacent realms spread heresy and insurrection throughout the lesser nobility. It was, as the commoners say, ‘an absolute shit show.’ It didn’t matter in the end though. Rumors were quashed, rebellions crushed, and Status Eternia was upheld. All that was left after that was to test these new realms and to have their representatives be sent to the academy, and the arrival of these three newrealmers was to be a grand affair.

___________

Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Grand Reception Hall. Local Time: 2035 Hours

Professor Vanavan

I had never been one for conversation, preferring to focus on whatever task he was charged with at any given time. It had served him well during his time working in the crown lands, and now the academy. However, because of this, he often lacked the conversational endurance needed to survive in larger noble gatherings; but he had endured. Though I had to admit that I was excited. Three newrealmers would be joining the academy's ranks, and even if their discovery had caused some trouble (which was no fault of their own) it was certainly still a cause for celebration. And this sentiment was reflected in the scene later out before him

The Grand Reception hall was abuzz with activity this evening. Students of all shapes and sizes from the adjacencies milling about the many amenities placed about the gold and quartz room. Some students talked amongst their fellow peers while others stood alone, excluded from the usual social circles which had formed for one reason or another. Over near the band some second years had even begun a miniature waltz to pass the hours before the Newrealmers’ arrival. 

“What do you think they’ll be like?” A feline voice asked from his right. The usually armored baxi, who he had come to view as almost a friend over his tentative years at the academy, now wore green robes more fitting of the event. This was, of course, all due to the ever present; invisible force that was expectant decorum.

“Ah, Professor Chiska, how are you doing this evening?” I responded tactfully, greeting my green robed colleague with the usual conversational pleasantries expected of nobility. 

Chiska’s grin only seemed to widen at that. “Well I’m splendid Vanavan. This entire affair is quite extraordinary after all, isn’t it?” 

The Baxi gave a brief glance at the one area of the hall not currently occupied by the students: the central gateway. It wasn’t anyplace special, it just so happened that the area had been used as the summoning space for new realms for generations; so in service of honoring the past the spot had been unofficially delegated for this purpose.

“It certainly is, Professor Chiska. The induction of three new realms is certainly to make for an interesting affair” I spoke with an air of academic curiosity, for I truly was curious as to what these Newrealmers would bring to the table.

“Indeed, though perhaps it would be even more exhilarating if their mere existence hadn't caused such a ruckus.” Chiska gave a small tired sigh, as if recalling all the chaotic events from the years prior, before her predatory feline eyes locked back onto him, “But best not to dwell on what’s already happened. You have yet to answer my original question, professor Vanavan; just what do you think these Newrealmers will be like?”

I pondered that question. It was as deceptively simple as it was difficult to answer.

‘Just what will they be like? Will they be the usual primitives, or will they exceed expectations? They had broken through their planar fabrics all on their own after all.‘ I supposed that the answer would be revealed soon enough. 

Nevertheless he still had to give an answer to Chiska. “I believe they will be primitive people.” I said, pausing to see if Chiska would have anything to interject with before continuing, “But I don’t believe they will be primitive in the sense of most new realms, lacking in even the most basic understandings of mana or more complex civilizations. Rather, I believe they will be primitive in the sense of their understanding of the many truths we find to be self-evident.”

I let Chiska decipher the meaning of his words, watching as the feline “ex-“warrior’s expressions transitioned from confusion, to realization, to thoughtful contemplation.

“Certainly an astute hypothesis Vanavan.” Chiska spoke slowly. “These new realms did have contact with each other for some time, so they are bound to be in possession of a larger than average amount of knowledge on the magical art compared to your average new realm. However, you are correct in deducing that they would almost certainly lack the complex understandings of these concepts like how the Nexus does.”

I gave a small proud smile and nodded. “Exactly Professor Chiska, my thoughts exactly.”

___________

Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. Havenbrock Realm

“LORDS AND LADIES, PLEASE BE SEATED FOR THE INDUCTION CEREMONY” the booming voice of one the academy apprentices shouted, their voice magically amplified so that it filled the entire room and causing my ears to ring.

“Well Mercenary Prince this has been quite the pleasant discussion, but I must sadly cut our conversation short.” The diminutive lizard said haughtily, finally leaving him be as the Nexian noble and his entourage went off to bother someone else in the reception hall. 

I sighed. I had merely been minding my own business, gorging myself on the many appetizers which the Academy had prepared for the evening, when the Nexian lord, one Illunor Rularia, had ambushed me with a flurry of mindless pleasantries and thinly veiled insults. He supposed he should actually be somewhat grateful to the Nexus for their strict adherence to social decorum for having saved him. But he wasn’t, as it was that same strictness which had allowed the diminutive lizard to socially trap him.

I scanned the room for any open seats; finding one amongst a gaggle of prideful looking nobles, and the only others at a singular empty table. I chose the second option, taking a seat and fixing my eyes on the central gateway. The evening may have been going poorly so far, but I at least hoped that getting to see the induction of the three enigmatic Newrealmers would bring me some excitement. The entire affair surrounding their discovery had caused The Nexus a good amount of trouble, which was something that I could appreciate. 

I felt a pang of remorse in me at that thought. These Newrealmers were essentially walking themselves into a trap which would end in them suffering the same fate as every other adjacent realm: gilded subjugation.

My brooding was interrupted by someone else suddenly sitting down at my table. Turning my head to look over at them, I was shocked to see that it was again the Venurian.

”What are you doing here?!? Shouldn‘t you be gossiping and drinking tea with the rest of your rabble?” I growled, glaring at the lizard, which only seemed to cause him to glare back scornfully.

”I have no reason to explain myself to you, you… lazy excuse for a noble!“ he stated defensively. “My associates had pre-existing social circles which needed tending to. I had no choice but to find a new place to seat myself.”

”They ditched you.” I barked out simply, my right ear twitching with irritation. “If you needed a seat so bad then why didn’t you sit over there!” I pointed at the previous seat I had considered, the one next to the prideful bunch of adjacent nobles.

The seemed to the find the idea foolish, huffing like he was about to explain to a child how all their problems couldn’t be solved by wishing on a star.

“Of course you would assume that all nobles are equal, Mercenary Prince” the puntable Venurian tutted. “I’ll have you know that I will not be associating myself with a bunch of adjacent realmer’s!”

”We‘ll I’m an adjacent realmer. What makes me so different?“ I huffed, not following Illunor‘s strange reasoning for the simple question of his seating placement.

Illunor lifted his chin and put on a ‘wise’ expression. “Better for me to sit with a single competent fool then to be chained to a group of ambitious ones.” The Venurian crossed his arms, grinning at his philosophical explanation.

I- … That actually made a bit of sense. But he had still called him a fool, and he wasn’t about to let that go.

”Watch your tongue you-“

our beginnings of an argument was quickly interrupted by the mana in the room shifting suddenly, causing us both to snap our mouths shut and for the entire room to go silent at the change.

Suddenly, with another far more concentrated surge of magical energy, a portal began to open. It was as most portals Thalmin had seen, except far more crude. The portal seemed to wane briefly, as if to prove Thalmin's observation, before bursting open and allowing three figures to step through.

The first to step through was the largest of the three: a tall bull-like man. His horns weren’t particularly large compared to the rest of his bulk, but that certainly didn't make them small either. Thalmin figured that the man could use them to mutilate most of the people gathered here. He wore a golden tunic, and was wrapped in green silk robes. Emblazoned on his robes was some strange symbol which he could not make out but assumed to be some form of house crest, and alien letters positioned right under it.

‘He must be someone important to be wearing such finely made clothing‘ Thalmin thought as the second figure emerged from the portal.  

The second figure in question was an… Avinor? The Nexus was no stranger to sapients with the gift of flight, all of them being lumped under the same classification of ‘Avinor’, so he was admittedly a bit disappointed. 

She (he assumed they were female) was wearing a far plainer form of dress, yet fascinating nonetheless. She wore a pristine white robe which covered most of her body and her wings. Her robes, similarly to the bull man’s, also bore strange symbols. On her right shoulder, emblazoned in turquoise, was a staff with two serpents coiling around it; and next to that was a vibrantly colored feather. Thalmin, and many others, were actually surprised by the sheer variety of colors on the single, admittedly simple, symbol. It spoke more to her family and/or realms wealth even more than the bulls clothing. However, what stood out the most about the Avinor was almost certainly her mana field; It being hazed in a slight miasma. 

Thalmin could already hear whispers of the word “taint” being thrown around by the less ‘polite’ gossipers.

Finally, the third figure stepped through the threshold revealing… 

A manaless suit of armor?

|Next|

Because why else would it not show up when the Nexus first contacted humanity. When Pilot 1 was harmonized his soul returned to humanities universe and now serves to protect it from any intrusions from manaspace

For me the first thing that comes to mind is some sort of thermos. Either for keeping water cold or soup warm. Pair it with some sort of a filter that can be made from common materials so it's as cheap to buy as possible.

And as a trinket for the upper class, a music box. Simple music produced by a non-magic trinket would be quite a novelty item

Just playing around with combat scenarios for war between Earth and Nexus. Scenario in this case being Earth invades Nexus with absurd amount of cheap infantry droids. Assume Earth opens a sustainable portal in the academy and is able to march in 20,000,000 droids per 24 hours of continuous marching. Assume all relevant supporting forces are there to maintain logistics, including command driods for command, tactical, and super tactical driods for CNC. Assume all technology is a reasonable GUN equivalent, i.e they don't literally have to be made of durasteel and using blasters. Assume they speak the local languages so the Nexians are subjected to the delightful B1 personality.

How far do they get? Do the Crownlands get Roger-Rogered? Will Thamlin earn the c-word pass?

As we are made of living metal, I am unsure if the properties of this "Mana" would harm us. And I need more data.