As soon as Master Warric was out of the room Mar ran towards the administration building. Damn it to the seven hells! He’d forgotten entirely about the stupid mage games with all the excitement of that morning. He should have remembered, after all, Verona had just mentioned it earlier after all.

He came to a dead stop when he found the huge ironwood doors of the administration building wide open. That was strange. The faculty who worked in the administration building tended to keep the doors closed at all hours, relying on the notion that the massive weight of the doors would keep them closed enough to dissuade anybody who didn’t have serious business from coming inside.

But not today, lined outside of the doors were hundreds of young students, and not just students from Orlem’s school. There were plenty of representatives from Brigs, and Volfdown’s schools. They all wore the tell-tale robes and insignia of mage students.

Mar spotted a fellow student of Orlem who wasn’t enrolled in the magic program. It was a boy his own age, wearing over-sized spectacles. Unlike the mage students he wasn’t in uniform. His silk shirt was dyed a gaudy shade of purple and had gold thread woven through it. He must be new money, like most of the students. In any other city it would be an ostentatious display of wealth, but here in Orlem it was just considered tacky. Despite being from a wealthy family, he might as well have been wearing a plain cotton shirt. He’d been pushed to the back of the crowd and couldn’t wriggle his way forward through the group.

Mar tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s going on here? Why are there so many people?”

The other student glanced at Mar. “You haven’t heard? Old Morvus kicked the bucket last week!”

Mar gasped. “Morvus Malacius? But he’s been the Keeper for six hundred years!”

The other student nodded. “Goes to show, even sixth order mages are mortal.”

“So that means… the Realmstone is without a keeper? That would explain why there are so many people here.” Mar said.

“It’s not just that.” The other student replied. “This is the first time a Keeper tournament has been held since Orlem expanded the league charter to officially grant residence of our vassal cities citizenship.”

So that was why there were so many mages from outside of Orlem. The Keeper of the Realmstone was a major political figure, and if one of the lesser cities got one of their mages the position they would have a lot more pull in politics throughout the League of the Enlightened Nations, which had essentially served as Orlem’s unofficial domain ever since the fall of the Remian Empire.

Normally the yearly tournament was just to determine who among the mages would be First Sorcerer, and thus the voice of their generation. But this year the prize was so much bigger. The Realmstone was responsible for building and holding together all of the infrastructure in Orlem and the surrounding countryside. Over the past thousand years, its influence had expanded to hold many of the other nearby cities as well.

The Realmstone itself was essentially as massive millennia old dungeon core that had been placed in the heart of the city and had been growing steadily that entire time. The Keeper’s job was to harness the massive power of that dungeon core to build and maintain infrastructure, defenses, water, and food. It also concentrated mana, making mages in Orlem more powerful and making it easier to cast spells for anyone who ventured there. It would be no great exaggeration to say that Orlem owed its great success to the Realmstone. Several other nations had since captured dungeon cores of their own and tamed them, but none could compare to the Realmstone of Orlem.

The keeper’s would have all that power at his or her fingertips. While their primary job would be to keep the dungeon core from creating an endless horde of monsters and instead bend it’s power to making dams and bridges, designing large scale enchantments like the flying castles that protect the border with the empire and the flying rivers that turn desert into arable land. The massive trees that grow chicken like fruit and any other project that the Keeper cares to think of.

Of course, you had to be a mage to become a Keeper, so it was out of the question for Mar. But maybe not for Verona. Maybe staying in town wouldn’t be so bad. He had promised to cheer Verona on during the mage games. There was just a little more at stake now. Hells, if anyone could win it would be Verona. The Pyrasterns wouldn’t be working so hard to back an orphan girl with elvish blood if she wasn’t extraordinarily talented.

Mar was shaken from his thoughts when all the chattering from so many people in so tight a space went suddenly and eerily quiet. Someone had stepped up onto a platform. An air mage, Mar figured. Assuming the sound dampening spell came from her. Mar couldn’t see her weaving the spell but its effects were obvious, even to mundanes. Everyone quieted as they realized their voices were coming out no louder than a whisper. One of the air mages dispelled it around him and tried keep talking but was quickly shushed by his neighbors.

“As you no doubt know, the tournament to select the best among you for the title of First Mage shall begin tomorrow. The winner shall be representative of your generation in the senate, and now Keeper of the Realm as well.” People tried to cheer but the sound dampening spell didn’t allow it.

“But also as many of you have heard, the position of Keeper for the city of Orlem will be available!” She held out the drama for several long moments. Eventually one of the air mages grew restless enough to shout over her spell.

“What’s the test going to be!? That’s what we want to know!”

The teacher waved the student down. “We have communed with the Realmstone, and the competition that will determine who will be its Keeper will be a Battle Royal!”

There was around of cheering from all the combat oriented mages, followed by groans and shouts of despair from the building, crafting, and enchantment mages.

“Warg shit!” Shouted a particularly vocal macro-enchanter earth mage. “The only ones who have a chance of winning a battle royal are the battle mages! What would one of them know about building and maintaining aqueducts? Creating roads that don’t fill with mud and horse dung? What would they know about growing crops or making water clean enough to drink?”

“As if you know anything about aquamancy, builder!” sneered a water mage. Mages were exclusive even amongst themselves, and the rivalry between disciplines was fierce.

The earth mage ignored the insult. “We should have a competition of skill, like the tournament. Maybe have everyone build something for the good of Orlem. We’ll vote on the best improvement and that mage will be the next Keeper. That’s how Morvus Malacius became the last Keeper. He designed the floating paths.” Some voiced their accession, mostly the other builder mages. Many others booed loudly.

A pyromancer in ritualist garb stood up. “Let’s not forget that the Realmstone’s original purpose was for the defense of the city itself, before it’s immense power was tapped for all these silly luxury projects. Now that tensions are rising with the Empire, we need to return to those ideals. We should see who among the mages can best channel the power of the Realmstone to power spells and large-scale ritual magic, that way—” The sound dampening magic which had been stretched paper thin by all the mages poking holes in it to be heard shattered completely at this point, and the boos drowned out the pyromancer.

A girl in blue stood up. Mar guessed she studied aquamancy, but the uniform was from outside of Orlem so he couldn’t place the exact discipline. “There are thousands of sick and dying. Not everyone has the easy access to healing magic available in Orlem. With the dungeon core’s power we could heal the sick and elevate the struggling cities on the outskirts of the league.”

“Take the Realmstone out of Orlem! Are you daft?” The boos and shouts were by far the loudest this time. “Half the city would collapse without its active input of power, and without the concentrated mana it provides casting spells would be twice as hard!”

“The lesser cities would turn against us and challenge us for control of the League if they saw such weakness!” Another voice shouted.

“The Empire would exhaust every resource to steal it while it was vulnerable! Within a year our most powerful weapon would be serving our enemies!”

More voices clamored for attention. Finally the staff member had enough.

“QUIET!” She demanded, and a supernaturally loud boom echoed through the chamber, carried by air magic throughout the halls.

“The Keeper will be, as always, determined by the Realmstone itself. According to Morvus, this is how it wanted to determine the next Keeper, so a Battle Royal it is. Everyone who’s still signed up for the tournament, you’re already marked, and you will be yanked into the spirit realm where ever you are when the time comes."

"The competition itself will take place on the spirit plane of course, to prevent injuries and death. The wards city-wide have been modified and everyone should be able to sustain the spell continuously with the Realmstone's help. The city will become the labyrinth that you will all have to navigate. Remember, the layout of our world and the spirit realm aren't exactly the same. I can tell you from experience the spirit realm version of our city is much more maze-like. And you won't have the floating paths to navigate the city for you."

"There will be three guardians, each protecting one key. You'll need all three of them to open the doors the inner sanctum of the Realmstone in the palace. You'll either have to beat all three guardians or take down the people who beat the guardians and take their keys. Alliances are allowed, but so is betrayal."

"Everyone who is turning down the opportunity to participate should have already done so, but you’ll have today and tomorrow morning to have your spell marker removed by speaking to me or one of the other administrators. Also, I see a lot of uniforms from outside of Orlem. You’ll also have to talk to me or one of the other administrators if you want to have the mark placed on you so you can participate. That’s it. Any changes or further details will be explained tomorrow right before we begin via city-wide announcement.”

The mages from Orlem made to clear out. Mar spotted the other mundane student with the glasses that he had been talking with earlier rubbing the back of his hand as he walked away from an administrator. He’d just gotten his mark removed no doubt.

Mar tried to squeeze between the shoulders of the many mages making their way outside of the building. Several air mages who knew flight spells zipped overhead and a foot smacked into the side of Mar’s head. Mar was sent tumbling sideways until his head collided with a stomach.

“Oof!” said the person attached to the stomach. “Watch where you’re going, peasant.” The voice snarled. “If this were my city I’d have you whipped for touching me.”

Mar looked up and gulped. He’d plowed headfirst into a battle mage. Brigs by the look of his robes. “Sorry… sir.” Mar hated to play into the mages superiority complex, but he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of a second battle mage. Darrik was more than enough on that front.

“That’s Lord Chetz Illarious, of Brigs. No doubt you’ve heard of my family.”

Mar nodded affirmative, despite the fact that he’d never heard of the Illarious family before.

Chetz looked at Mar like he was debating between making Mar humiliate himself in apology and trying to maintain his public image.

Mar meanwhile was thinking that this Chetz Illarious was so similar in mannerism to Darrik they might as well be twins.

Finally social etiquette won out, and Chetz turned away, glaring at Mar one last time. Instead of meekly averting his eyes, Mar met the gaze evenly.

Finally after bobbing and weaving his way forward out of the groups of mages leaving, he made it to the administration desk. Just as he was about to speak with the clerk a hand tapped his shoulder.

“Back of the line is over there, mundane.” A mage from outside of Orlem sneered. Mar was really starting to get tired of the condescending attitude. Not all mages were like that, but it seemed as though competitive spirit brought out the worst of the lot today.

Mar found his way to the back of the line, which was even further back then the mage had indicated. He wondered why it was so long, but then realized that the majority of the people in line where mages from cities outside of Orlem. Usually the only sent their best, as very few mages trained outside of Orlem had a chance competing with the locals, but this time it looked like every city that was big enough for a magic school had sent half their students there. Most were around Mar’s age. A few were older, but none past their mid-twenties. They wouldn’t be considered part of the current generation of mages and an extra decade of studies would be an unfair advantage.

All these out of town mages would be signing up for the tournament. Casting the spell on individuals took quite a few minutes, which is why in Orlem it was simply cast on the entire student body at once. Anybody who didn’t want to participate had to opt out like Mar was doing now. Mar kicked himself for not opting out two weeks ago, when the reminder went out. He’d just been too busy to make it to the administration building.

When he finally made it to the front of the line, the clerk informed him that he was out of mana, and that he’d have to ask one of the others. When he’d made it through that line, that clerk ran out of mana as well.

“Don’t you have enough for just one more? You don’t even need to make the mark, just remove it.”

“Sorry kid.” The clerk replied. “Policy states that I’m not supposed to go below ten percent mana, and I’m just a hair's breadth above that now. If we had any crystals left I could recharge a little but we’re fresh out. It’ll take a week to replenish my mana normally, even here in Orlem.”

Mar made a face in displeasure.

“Alright, I’d hate to see you become cannon fodder for the mages. Honestly, I don’t get why they still enroll everyone into these school-wide events by default. It’s not like the old days, when Orlem was constantly under threat and every mage needed to pull their weight. You mundanes are just free points.”

“Do you need a mana crystal? I think I could find one somewhere…” Mar said. He was certain there was one on the shelf of that old alchemy lab. And Grob had stolen more than one of the things before Mar taught him that such activities could get him killed.

“No, we’ll restock tomorrow. Tell you what, me and all the other administrators will be at the central plaza tomorrow morning before things get started. Get to me there and you can skip to the front of whatever line there is. Or you could just have one of the mage students remove it. Maybe another faculty member. It’s not that hard to take off, magic-wise. Normally we frown on that but since I’ve already taken you off the lists in the paperwork department, things should be all clear.”

Mar thought about it. That’s right, Master Warric was always working late. And it would just be a tiny favor. Or Verona. Yes, this would be the perfect excuse to talk to her again. He could tell her about how he planned to leave Orlem. To start a life for himself somewhere out on the frontier. He could say goodbye.

Verona was exactly where she had been this morning. Still practicing out on the fields, though with an entirely different set of partners. The mages she had been fighting against before had all been older than her. Too old to be in the upcoming competitions, and too bad to be anyone of importance. Probably mages who never made it out of the second order doing a little work for the Pyrastern family. Either that or the Pyrastern’s drafted some less important branch family members to the cause.

The mages she was with this time however were different. Though younger, they all had an air of competence about them. Though he spotted the signature fire-red hair of the Pyrastern family --a trait which Darrik, much to his chagrin, didn't share-- heavily represented amongst its members. They were huddled in a circle with Verona in the center, a total of seven of them including Verona.

And that was the real reason Verona signed on with the Pyrastern family. Their connections made alliances, both political and magical, much easier to make. This was a team of mages from Orlem who had been handpicked to support Verona during whatever trials were thrown at them by the upcoming tournament. With the Realmstone up for grabs, the stakes were just that much higher. They appeared to be in furious discussion of strategy.

Mar watched for a while, listening. One of the mages glanced in his direction. Mar could almost see him scanning Mar's aura, checking to see if he was an air mage. They were notorious eavesdroppers. Satisfied that Mar wasn't a mage, he turned away.

Mages were surprisingly easy to fool that way. They depended on magic for everything. Some water mages were even known to use spells that stripped water from the air to fuel their bodies, never bothering to actually take a drink. He was too far away to make out more the snippets of conversation, but Mar had taught himself enough of reading lips that he could fill in the gaps.

"No, that would be a stupid idea Roy. As if they would let us peacefully walk straight towards the center of the city. You heard how these things work. Three keys, you need all three of them to open the door to the Realmstone."

Another mage nodded in agreement. "So if we grab one of them, then we can be certain nobody will be getting into the chamber before us."

"And that means we can rack up the points dispatching some of the weaker mages ast they make their way through the maze."

Verona frowned. "We shouldn't jeopardize the main objective. There's no need to waste mana on participants we could otherwise avoid."

The mage who had last spoken sneered. "Easy for you to say. None of the other major families have somebody our age to compete against. You've practically already won the grand prize. And now that the grand prize means becoming Keeper, rather than just another First Mage, that's a big deal. Us on the other hand? We're doomed to become the Pyrastern’s dogs. Paid well, and more skilled than the average mage, but we'll always be pawns on the board. Never players."

Someone else elbowed him. "Don't badmouth the Pyrasterns. If Darrik were here--"

"Give me a break, Darrik's not here."

"Yeah but his fiancée is."

The sneering mage snorted. "As if that's going to last. I bet you were planning on ditching Darrik once you had the First Mage title under your belt. And now that you’ll be Keeper as well, you could start your own little dynasty." He scoffed. "It'll be the first tree fucker dynasty, in Orlem." He spat out a derogatory term for wood elves.

Verona's eyes snapped on him, and he gulped. He looked around to find his fellow mages backing away from him. After a long second, he lowered his gaze. He knew when he was outmatched.

"I-I'm sorry. I take that back. I don't know why I said that. I wasn't thinking." he stammered.

Verona huffed. "Well next time make sure you do think before you speak. But it's time we got back to the topic at hand. How are we going to win this thing?"

"But Darrik isn't here yet." Roy said anxiously.

"Bigger problems than that." The group's other earth mage said. "Looks like we got somebody listening on our conversation." He glanced backward surreptitiously at Mar. "Probably our competition. From Orlem, we're the biggest players in the game, but I've heard Brigs and Volfsdown are sending their best. We shouldn't underestimate them."

The mage who had first looked Mar over spoke up. "No, I checked him out before. He's not a airmage. Look at his aura yourselves, if your mage sight can see that far." The air mage spoke slightly contemptuously here, because air mages could see the best with their mage sight. Earth mages could see slightly further if they had spells to read tremors in the ground, but that didn't give any details. "You'll find he's not even a mage. Probably just some curious mundane."

Finally Verona herself looked up. Mar had started waving to make himself look less suspicious. He cupped his hands and called out to her.

"Verona!"

The other mages glanced at Verona. "Do you know him?" The air mage asked in surprise.

"Y-yes. I do. We're... old friends." She replied hesitantly.

"Why bother being friends with a mundane? It's not like they can do anything for you." Replied the mage who had called Verona a tree-fucker.

"Because I am." Verona snapped in reply. "Now excuse me a moment, I'll go see what he wants."

Mar met Verona halfway across the field.

"Verona!" Mar said cheerily. "No doubt you've heard the news by now. Just imagining you as Keeper..."

"Yes Mar, I know all about that. Now what was it you needed?" She asked sharply.

Mar was slightly taken aback by her tone. "Well... it's just that I need this ma--"

"Mar can we deal with this tomorrow? Whatever you need I'll get it for you tomorrow. Or at least I'll give you enough coin so you can buy it. I've just really got a lot on my plate right now. There's a lot of pressure on me. Years of work comes to fruition tomorrow, and the Pyrastern’s are depending on me to perform well. Mana crystals don't sell like they used to now that so many adventurer guilds can harvest them from magical beasts out on the frontiers. They need me to do well."

"I understand that, Verona. I'm sorry to take you away from your strategy session. But I--" Although Mar's words were calm, for some reason he was furious inside. He tried to crush the feeling. Was it envy for Verona's success? Each time Mar tried to quell his emotions they came back in full force. The mark on his hand was forgotten.

"But what?" Verona asked, eyebrow raised.

"It's just... I'm leaving."

"Okay?" Verona asked in confusion. She began turning around.

"I'm leaving Orlem." Mar clarified. "There's no opportunity here. If I stay where I am I'll be lucky to find steady work copying old manuscripts for the Masters. Everyone who's anyone in Orlem is a mage... and I'm not. It's time I accepted that."

"Where will you go?"

Mar shrugged. "The frontier. The cities in old Remia are starting to finally get re-established. They've finally started beating the monsters back enough that trade can take hold. Perhaps I'll become a merchant. Or maybe I'll sign on with some adventurers and go dungeon diving."

Mar carefully studied Verona's face. He expected concern. a sense of abandonment. Sadness. Anything really. Instead he saw a slight tinge of relief. As if a burden that had been weighing on her for a long time had lifted itself off her shoulders through no effort of her own.

She placed a hand on Mar's shoulder. "You've clearly thought about this for a while, and I support your decision. I wish you the best of luck, my old friend." Verona looked like she was about to enfold Mar in an embrace, but then remembered her teammates were watching her. She settled for a handshake instead. "Best of luck Mar. I hope you'll stay for the games though. I'd feel better if you were in the stands, cheering for me. Once this thing is over, win or lose, I'll see you off myself."

Mar nodded slightly. "Will do Verona. Best of luck to you too." It was all he could say over the emotional turmoil that was simmering inside of him.