Less than an hour later, Shaya’s entire cohort stood upon the Academy’s waypoint. While the average waypoint was designed for limited civilian traffic, the Academy’s was much larger: a circular slate of mythrite at least one-hundred yards in diameter, its entire surface etched with runes and its perimeter marked by crushed Sapphire aethercyte.

No wonder we can’t afford to set one of these up back home, Shaya thought, her time at the Forge giving her a better sense of just how expensive mythrite could be and just why the Kingdom of Veyeira was the richest in the Empire by virtue having some access to it.

“Hey Oraeus,” Shaya said, looking to her lancemate, “is it possible to set up a waypoint without using mythrite?”

The noble blinked at her, surprised at the question. He composed himself, perhaps biting back a sarcastic comment, then answered: “Yes. The thaumaturgy and aethercyte investment is not small, however, and routine travel can wear down runes etched into a softer substance, such as mere stone.

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it, “my...father cannot afford one in our duchy and is even too cheap to use teleportation when mundane travel is available. I haven’t teleported since,” old memories of her mothers rushed into her mind, indistinct because of how long ago it was, “well, for a very long time.”

Why is it so hard for me to call Lumir father?

He’s always been good to me and Rel, it’s the least he deserves. I really need to write to him, and everyone, again.

Oraeus nodded to her. As usual, he was generally happy to answer questions about civil engineering or thaumaturgy, which Shaya kept focusing on in their interactions.

Another thought occurred to her.

“If the Empire has these set up across the six kingdoms, at least in major regions, why can’t the Imperial City just teleport in additional food to help with the shortages?”

“The major issue is that Zothiri – the Empire’s bread basket – is the one that has heavy duty waypoints set up to transport food,” Oraeus answered, adjusting one of his bandoleers full of potions, “and it is currently experiencing a drought. The average kingdom does not rely on teleportation to move its food around, because its duchies, counties, and baronies are generally self-sufficient. Only Imperial City is large enough that it is incapable of producing enough food to feed its population.”

“But you can teleport to beacons, right?” Shaya continued, “Why not send a skilled Sapphire mage out to a rural area, get crates of grain together, then have them teleport to a waypoint they are familiar with?”

“I’m sure the Empire is doing so,” he replied, “but the strain on even an experienced mage would be enormous. The aether cost of a teleportation spell is based on two things: distance, and weight. Sufficient food to feed Imperial City is an order of magnitude beyond what the average teleportation spell is intended for, that is why the Empire relies on its waypoints.”

“Brace for teleportation!” Basillo bellowed.

Shaya’s height let her see over the crowd, where Zaal stood with a look of great concentration on his face. She watched his eyes fill with Sapphire light and glared at him as he connected his energy to the waypoint, expanding his spell.

Of course you’re a hyprocite that pushes monochromaticism on us while being at least a bichromatic caster.

“Any tips?” Shaya asked, not remembering the experience from over a decade ago.

“Yes,” he said after a second of pondering his response, “Don’t-”

The world lurched as Zaal’s magic consumed them, hurtling them across space in an instant. In less than a second, Shaya processed more sensory input than she thought possible: she felt like she travelled through the warm, loving light of Astoria, but also felt like she was watched by thousands of eyes that made her skin crawl. She smelled sweet, burning incense, tasted sweat and blood, heard the jangling of chains over a choir of angels, and felt wind rush over her as if a Titan hurled her through the sky.

She snapped back to reality.

Gravity ceased to exist.

Then it all came crashing back into her body and mind, trying to reconcile the distance traveled without movement, the senses she experienced in too little time.

“-think about what you will experience.” Oraeus finished, cocking his head as they appeared in a completely different location, standing upon a stone circle with similar runes carved into it. “Oh, I guess I was too late.”

Thanks! Shaya screamed in her mind as her innards roiled and her brain spun. Damn ponderous Sapphire mages!

Her lancemates looked at her expectantly.

“What..?” She managed.

Someone from a different lance started heaving their guts out. Others joined in, followed by ribbing or disgusted expressions from their friends.

“That’s not...” she began, moving her hand to cover her mouth as her stomach tried to betray her, “...not gonna be me.”

Their expressions suggested none of them believed her.

Traitors.

Her stomach roared, as if taken by her blood rage.

Don’t you dare!

Long seconds passed as she exerted her will on her body, taking in deep, slow breaths to help, and managed to avoid puking like a number of others were still doing around her.

Eyes widened as her lancemates looked at her, surprised. Oraeus even looked impressed.

“I spent... years living with the smell of... rotting fish,” she explained, combatting the nausea, “and moving at break neck speeds... in alleyways and on rooftops... for a living. This...this is nothing.”

Cyren’s nose wrinkled at the thought, able to sympathize with her that much more because of the improved senses they shared.

“What...” she said, gulping down another breath, “what did I just experience?”

“When bending space to allow for teleportation,” Oraeus lectured, “you experience the esper’s plane in the aetherium. As you can tell, time does not function the same way there as it does here, so the mind and body do not know how to cope with it.”

“You get used to it,” Samorn assured her.

“Lances!” Basillo shouted over the din of the students, “Form up! We will begin calling names, join the professor who calls on your lance!”

“Azreon Solarix!” Zaal called out, his rasping voice carrying across the open space.

Azreon, Galo and the rest of their lance puffed up at being called first, walking over to Zaal. The entire group appeared to be potent nephilim descended from Astoria and royalty as well, judging by their equipment. Azreon wore full-plate forged from mythrite, a gem-encrusted longsword at one hip and a kite shield slung over his back. Galo and the others showed no signs of mythrite, but still wore engraved bronze plate.

Idiots, Shaya thought, looking at how heavy their equipment was. You were told we were going into a swamp and you brought enough armour to sink in?

Galo even has a maul! There won’t be room to swing that thing and we could be fighting fast moving, evasive targets.

“Oraeus Vehl!” Zaal shouted next. Azreon and his lance glared at them as they approached, assuming that the first people called must have been the vanguard. Azreon’s glare passed over Shaya and past her, however, and Shaya was sure his eyes roved up and down Samorn.

Not even in your wildest dreams, buddy, Shaya smirked, but then caught a hint of...recognition on his face. Did they know each other from before?

As Shaya neared Zaal, her stomach settled enough to take in the sights. They weren’t in the Imperial City anymore, the Academy grounds replaced with a barren, rocky field outside of a different city with towering walls of dark stone. Two new mages stood next to Zaal patiently, obsidian skin and sulphureous eyes marking them as descendants of Vynderwynd much like Oraeus.

Bri looked uneasy as she looked around, her frown deepening when she took in the two Ionian mages flanking Zaal.

Stay cool, Shaya willed her friend, the chances that your parents’ murderers are here is slim to none.

Shaya and her team were a stark contrast to Azreon’s. Shaya had donned her new enchanted cloak, but otherwise favoured lighter armour than usual. She, Bri and Ralus wore only their gambesons, reinforced with bracers, greaves and gorgets of bronze to help protect against snakes. Shaya brought along her new heavy shield and paired it with a bronze axe for greater striking power. Bri agreed to down-size her preferred greatsword to a bastard sword instead and the rest of the team agreed to swap from long robes to pants tucked into boots and long jackets that would avoid dragging through the swamp muck.

“Una Irvyn!” Zaal called next.

Shaya was surprised to see the short, bronze-haired scrapper from her confrontation with Galo walk forward with her lance. Una’s lance was composed of more people Shaya recognized as Azreon’s pawns, though their bloodlines weren’t as potent as his – nor were their purses. They favoured gambesons that saw about as much wear and tear as Shaya’s own, reinforced with hardened leather and only small bits of bronze.

Being sandwiched between Azreon and Una’s lances was an uncomfortable experience, given their constant glares.

“Apricot Telemnar!” Zaal called out again.

The three lances blinked, hoping they were the vanguard.

Apricot led her lance towards them, but there was only five of them in total.

Lan was still missing.

The five of them looked well-adapted to the mission, favouring light, mobile armour like Shaya’s group and close-ranged, versatile weapons that could adapt to the environment. Unlike Azreon and Una’s groups, their bloodlines were also more diverse: Apricot herself didn’t seem to possess much nephilim blood, and the others were a mix of Astorian and Cirithillian.

“What’s fourth best doing up here?” Una asked, crossing her arms and smirking at Apricot.

“Actually,” Zaal replied calmly, “you’re fourth best. However, since they are down a member, they’ve been selected as our reserve unit and you get to join the vanguard.”

Una blanched at the rebuke, glaring at Zaal once she recovered.

Shaya and Azreon glanced at one another, her smile daring him to ask which of them was the top team. To her surprise, he seemed to weigh the risks and decided to stay silent.

First time for everything, I guess.

"I will be commanding the vanguard and the reserve,” Zaal said, nodding to them, “now elect a team leader for each lance and we can begin.”