To your right you will find the juvenile dormitories, which are locked by sorcery to keep students safe from intruders, and to make sure students aren’t trespassing in the wrong dorm after curfew.
Just beyond that are the adult dormitories that have more relaxed regulations, and house the faculty as well as some of our graduate students who perform valuable research on behalf of the university.
Between the main lecture building and the dormitories is the Grand Enchanting Hall, where expert sorcerers attach spells to objects much larger than a normal catalyst, including furniture, vehicles, and small buildings.
If you’d like to witness a grand enchanting, please speak with a tour guide at your earliest convenience to book a time for a small fee.
Brex had to admit that Red possessed a very commanding voice.
“Spells made for you, on demand! Mystical, arcane arts at your request!”
Brex was sitting on the edge of the inner portion of Haramschall’s Merchant’s Circle, an open-air marketplace where people set displays and hawked their wares to passing travelers. It was without a doubt the most uncomfortable he’d ever been since leaving the clan, perhaps in his entire life. He was worried about rubbing elbows with the merchants next to him and behind him. Everything seemed sized for someone two thirds as big as him, and he didn’t even bring a blanket or canvas to lay out, so he felt every rock underneath his seat as he sat cross-legged.
The public library was honestly everything he ever dreamed of. More books in a single building than he could fathom. (But the wonder diminished somewhat when he found out that most books were in Harrish, with only a few shelves saved for Orcish translations.)
And of course, while Brex was fawning over each individual section, Red asked one of the librarians—who were coincidentally Brex’s new favorite type of person—how someone would earn money in the city.
The librarian gave them two options: Find a job or sell something at the Merchant’s Circle. Getting a job involved talking to people in Harrish, which Brex still didn’t feel confident about. Selling at the Merchant’s Circle meant letting Red do all the talking.
“Help a poor, young student of sorcery earn his way to a grander education!”
Between his legs was a small bag of crudely, quickly made catalysts shaped into rings by the first blacksmith they found. She was a pleasant and reasonable young human woman, though she took a good chunk of their remaining savings to forge the sorcerous metal of Wallach’s shackles into an assortment of rings.
Red insisted that they needed a sign, and so, they spent another twelve sentas on a display canvas and some paint. Brex let Red write it, but his handwriting was so sloppy, even Brex’s translation spell couldn’t get a grip on what it really said.
“Cast out from his clan, his only hope is to prove to you that he can weave spells like the best sorcerers in those hallowed halls!”
Where the other merchants hawked, Red roared.
They’d definitely gained an audience of sorts. Brex had his enchanting plate and knife at the ready for his first customer. He’d given Red permission to paint whatever picture he wanted to make Brex into a sympathetic merchant, but sitting and listening to it was unnerving.
A pair of human women lingered in front of their sign, looked over Brex, then up to Red, who was standing next to Brex. He winked at them. They giggled to each other and walked away.
“Was that good or bad? Were they giggling at us? With us?” Brex asked, nervous.
“They’ll remember us, that’s the important part.”
“Is it? What does it matter if they don’t buy something?”
“They’ll tell their friends about what happened. Those friends will tell their friends. One of them will want a spell, and come back here.”
Red barked out at the throng of people again: “Utility spells, spells to impress your friends, to make your life easier, made by request!”
Brex gulped. “I, uh, really don’t know that many.”
He tried to mentally list the spells he knew: cutting, heating, cooling, bruising, were all the first to come to mind. Really, the only effective use for those would be violence or cooking, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted his spells to be used for violence at all.
Brex blinked. Someone was standing in front of him.
She asked him a question, but he couldn’t really get past her strange physical appearance. She was tall like an orc, but had the head and body shape of around a human’s proportions. But her eyes were thin and widely spaced. Her nose was flat and wide, jutting forth, with the apex and nostrils darkened. Not unlike a lion’s.
“Excuse me,” she said, her alto voice clear and smooth.
“O-oh, yes, sorry,” Brex said. “What did you say? My Harrish is poor.”
“I said, do you have a permit for this?”
Brex paused, trying to form the words to reply.
Permit? We need a permit? Doesn’t permit mean to allow something? Why would you need it like it were an object?
“Of course we do,” Red said, then winked.
“All right,” the woman said. “You just winked after saying yes. Does that mean you don’t, but you want me to think you do? Or is this some kind of on-the-sly thing?”
“It’s whatever you need it to be,” Red said and winked again.
She groaned. “For Jell’s sake, I don’t have time for this. I’ll just go to the University.” She stormed off, and Red’s calls after her failed to convince her to come back.
“No more winking,” Brex said.
“But I read it in the book. Winking makes you connect more with your customer,” Red said.
“Really, though. No more winking.”
“Excuse me.” Another woman, definitely human, and of average size with an apron, looked at the two of them. “I heard you’re selling, uh, basic spells?”
“Yes, hello miss!” Red said. “What are you looking for?
She pulled out her hand from her pocket, which shook with the tremors of an earthquake. “It’s…very hard for me to hold a knife. I have trouble cooking these days.” Her voice was ragged and mournful.
“Why, I believe we have just the thing for you, miss.” Red said, but Brex was already hard at work.
He knew that glyph by heart, carving it around the edge of his enchanting plate with one of the many rings from his pouch in the middle. In moments, the glyphs began to glow, and the familiar crack told him that the sorcery had been bound to the catalyst. He put a small chain through the ring and handed it to the woman.
“If you stand in front of your target, you can just bow or nod to simulate the direction you want to cut. It might take longer than most people, but you should be able to chop up meat and vegetables easier than before with this.”
The woman gasped and looked as though she was holding buried treasure. “I…How can I repay you for this? How much?”
Brex and Red exchanged looks.
“Fif-“ Red began.
“Ten-“ Brex started.
“Fifteen sentas,” they said in unison.
“It’s a bit of a stretch for my budget,” the woman said, “But well worth it. Thank you for the help.” She dug out the coins from her purse and dropped them into Brex’s open hands. He quickly added them to his own coin purse and gave her a fond farewell.
“A-ha! What’s this?” A proud, projected baritone voice came from the other side of the Merchant’s Circle throughway. “It’s so very rare to see one of my kind out here in the Circle. Hail and well met!”
The voice belonged to an orc. Taller than Brex and Red both, but stockier than them too. He was dressed like a warrior, though Brex couldn’t recognize which clan he came from based on the decorations. And this particular outfit seemed to show off his bare midriff and the top of his chest. Not particularly effective armor, in Brex’s opinion. “Comrade! My name is Relgor.” He stepped forward, gesturing with one hand and a large axe strapped to his back. Brex noticed that he was missing a portion of his right arm, though he couldn’t say for sure where it ended. “What might I call you by?”
Relieved, Brex slid off his translation ring and put it one of his many pockets. Finally, another orc. It felt so long since he saw one. He slipped into a place of ease and comfort at an instant.
“My full name is Brexothuruk,” he said in Orcish. “But you can call me Brex if you like.”
Relgor paused for a beat too long and then gave a chuckle that grew into a single bark of laughter, then began speaking in Harrish again. Brex caught the tail end of his statement as his ring slipped back on with a sigh.
“—eak to each other in Harrish. We don’t want our fair citizens to believe that you’re hiding anything from them.”
Even after all this time, for all his pride on the spell, it wasn’t a perfect fit like speaking natively. He was never confident that what he said was coming across to the listener.
“My name is Brexothuruk,” he said, somewhat resigned. “But you can call me Brex if you like.”
“Brexothuruk, a fine name for a fine orc like yourself. What clan do you hail from? Are you here representing them, or perhaps on a pilgrimage to see the world before you return home?” Relgor’s voice was so heroic it almost grated on Brex’s skin.
“I…don’t have a clan anymore,” Brex said.
“My apologies,” Relgor said, then bowed before Brex. “I too am clanless. I was once a great warrior for my clan, which shall remain unnamed for they do not deserve a slight against them for making a difficult decision. But I was exiled from the clan as I could not offer both my arms in service to them.” He used his hand to pull the cloth off his right side, exposing his right arm, which ended in stump just below where the elbow would have been, drawing gasps from a few people who were watching. “I had lost my axe arm in a fierce battle with roaming bandits. I am so grateful for their assistance in my recovery, but I understand their need for self-preservation, and so I set out to visit the great city-states of Andragora, Persellio, and Haramschall.”
Brex furrowed his brow. That didn’t make sense. All the orc clans he’d ever met would never exile someone just for losing an arm. Any one-armed warrior could still rear children, or train younger warriors, or just help organize the clan’s belongings.
“What clan was it, again?” Brex asked.
“Brex, my dear friend,” Relgor said. “I do not wish you to think ill of them, so I will not give you their name.”
Brex frowned. “Well it’s too late for that. I already think ill of them, exiling you for such a stupid reason. Just tell me their name so I can avoid dealing with them in the future.”
Red nudged Brex in the thigh, but Brex wasn’t interested in whatever he had to say.
“Please, dear friend,” Relgor said.
“Stop that,” Brex said, raising his voice. “Stop calling me your friend, you don’t even know me. I don’t know what clan you came from and I hope I never meet them. And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to know you if you agree with them!”
Red nudged again.
“Brexothuruk, please–“ Relgor started, his hands held up, clearly trying to placate Brex.
“Oh now you use my full name? Do you know where it comes from? Do you realize how strange it is that I’m sitting here, selling spells with a name like that–“
A shadow appeared over Brex.
“Sir, do you have a permit from the University of Sorcery to sell enchanted wares in the Merchant’s Circle?”
The voice came from a human man and woman, both of whom were wearing burgundy tunics with gold-colored trim draped over their broad shoulders and thin, flexible pants that tucked into sturdy boots. These people, whoever they might have been, were ready for a fight.
Sorcerers?
Brex swallowed as he shielded his eyes from the sun and looked back at them. “I, uh, sorry, I don’t think I understand.”
“Sir,” the man said. “Do you have a permit from the University of Sorcery to sell enchanted wares in the Merchant’s Circle?”
That woman must have told them, he thought.
Brex slowly began putting his things away, back into his bag. “I think there was a misunderstanding.”
Red leaned down and whispered in his ear. “We should run.” But Brex ignored it and gently pressed back against Red with a hand.
“I wasn’t aware that a permit was necessary. S-sorry, I’m not from around here, I didn’t know. I’m from…” His mind searched for somewhere other than the mesa, other than Clan Ironheart. “…Andragora.” He said, repeating one of the cities that Relgor listed.
“If you can produce a permit from Andragora’s University, that would be acceptable,” the woman said.
Brex picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Oh, no, I just mean–“
He glanced over the woman’s shoulder and saw the one person in the entire world that he absolutely, positively could not allow to know that he was in Haramschall.
Captain Karna.
The dwarf woman was framed by two burly officers, and the three of them were speaking to the woman in the apron that Brex had sold the cutting spell to. She was still in the middle of her explanation, but it wouldn’t take long.
Brex calmly turned to Red, then said, “You were right.”
And he broke out into a sprint, heading toward a city block and away from Karna’s group huddle. He hoped, prayed that Red would give chase before the sorcerers did, but didn’t dare look back. He sprinted down the street, yelling “Out of the way! Emergency!” Though he could have said just about anything, given how quickly people were darting away from an orc in a hurry.
“Sir! Stand still or we will be required to use debilitating sorcery on you!” The male sorcerer yelled from behind him, much too close for Brex’s comfort by the sound of it.
He kept running, half-tempted to keep it up just so he could see what they’d do. A sort of morbid curiosity that he couldn’t contain in himself.
“Final warning, sir!”
Just as he was weighing the decision, he felt a small vibration in the air around him for a fraction of a moment, and then everything just felt wrong.
He tumbled to the ground, nauseated, but where he expected to roll forward, he could swear he was rolling backward. When saw his right arm hit the pavement of the street, he felt his left arm stinging with pain. He tried to move his left leg to get back to his feet and his right leg slipped out from under him. Even blinking felt mismatched.
It’s all…backwards…
His stomach rolled over on itself and he was sure he’d be sick. He did, however, consider it an impressive use of sorcery.
The two sorcerers caught up with him and knelt next to him as he rolled over onto his back, albeit in a different direction he intended. The male sorcerer held a metal trinket in his hand, shaped like an octahedron.
“Sir, for failing to present paperwork and fleeing from questioning we are bound by city laws to hand you over to the Guard for trespassing–“
Oh no. Just as he heard it, Brex looked past the sorcerers and saw Karna jogging up toward them, just a few dozen strides away. Red was closing in, too, but trying to keep civil, and it seemed like Karna hadn’t noticed him.
“–Unless,” the male sorcerer continued, “You consent to resolving this dispute with the University itself.”
Brex nodded. “I consent, I consent! Do whatever you need, but make it fast, please!”
The sorcerers exchanged looks of unease and a shrug. The female sorcerer grabbed Brex’s arm, pulled another metal trinket from her belt, and closed her hand around it.
The world became a stretch of light and color as Brex felt like he was being pulled through a drinking straw—backwards.
The next thing he knew, Brex was throwing up what little he’d eaten in the morning into a pail, feeling cold air pressing against his skin. Graciously, everything was at least oriented the correct way this time, and all of his arms and legs worked properly.
After his stomach recovered, Brex wiped his mouth and turned to sit on the ground. He was in a windowless room, sitting across from the two sorcerers who’d somehow brought him here. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all thick slabs of light gray stone, except one side opened out into a hallway with another identical room. Laid into the stone was a silver rectangle the size of the opening itself. A series of concentric metal circlets were laid into the wall opposite Brex. The only furniture was a single bench bolted to the wall, just wide and long enough to lay on.
“Is this…a prison?” Brex asked.
“A detention center,” the woman said. She pulled one of the circlets from the wall and knelt next to Brex. “Your arm, please.”
Brex really didn’t want to get discombobulated again, and held out his left arm. The woman slipped the circlet around his hand and watched as it shrank around his wrist just tight enough to be slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s normally for students,” the man said. “Somewhere to put them when breaking up fights or keeping them separated. It’s not permanent.”
“Most people don’t consent to letting the University settle disputes like these,” the woman said. “We don’t have anywhere else to put you until someone can speak with you about the problem.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Brex said. “It’s…cozy. But does that mean I’m inside the University right now?”
Neither of them answered, and the man looked at Brex before slipping on a ring that was affixed to his belt. “May we ask your name, for the sake of keeping a record?”
Shit, a record. Brex thought. How deep in this am I?
“Brexothuruk,” he said.
The man reached up and covered his mouth, speaking perhaps into the ring. “Incident report. Respondent’s first name Brex. Last name O’Thuruk. Please send first available rectifier to the detention block.” He slipped off the ring and it snapped back to his belt like a magnet.
Brex leaned in. “I, uh, don’t think it’s like that. I don’t really have a ‘last name?’”
They looked at each other and walked out of the opening together. The man lifted the pail of sick from the ground while the woman turned back and said, “Someone will be with you shortly to discuss how to resolve the incident.”
Brex got to his feet, trying to follow them. “You never answered my ques–oof!” He stumbled, finding that his new bracelet refused to go beyond the silver rectangle laid into the edge of the room. By the time he recovered, they were already out of his vision.
“Stupid barriers…” Brex grumbled, and then sat down on the bench in the room. He was fairly certain he had to be in the University based on what the other sorcerers he met said. And, he had to admit, it was nice to know that all the sorcerers he’d met since leaving Ziqondi were reasonable, peaceful people. Albeit a tad forceful or rude. His stomach dropped when he wondered about the impact this would have on his chances of enrolling at the school. Even if he was pardoned for whatever grievances he’d made by selling spells, how was he going to make enough money to pay for tuition there?
He’d spent so much of his spare time at the clan studying and reading about sorcery that he didn’t have any useful skills outside of basic things like cooking and cleaning. And with everything in the city costing money, even just sleeping somewhere, how was he supposed to earn enough sentas to keep a stream of income and still save money for his tuition?
Why didn’t anybody tell me about this before I sank years of my life into sorcery?
Because nobody in the clan expected him to keep studying, he realized. Everyone thought it was a phase, and he’d learn to do something useful eventually. And there were plenty of people who said he was wasting his time. He just didn’t want to listen to them.
“You know,” a female voice came from further down the hallway, pulling Brex from his own thoughts. “When most people sell spells without a permit, they usually just pay the fine or go home instead of running like they just robbed a bank.”
Brex leaned his head out as far as he could from his detention cell. A woman in more formal clothes than the other sorcerers who captured him was walking in his direction. The same color scheme of burgundy and gold, but she looked far less combat-ready, and wore fabrics that were much more flattering for her figure than the other uniform.
Brex wasn’t sure how carefully he should watch his words in front of her, but it was hard not to jump onto her comment. “In the past few days, I’ve learned I’m not really like most people.”
She grew closer, until she was just outside his cell. “So I have deduced, Mr. O’Thuruk.”
Brex groaned. “Please, it’s just one name. I’m Brexothuruk, all together, but you can call me Brex for short.”
“As you like. My name is Anara. I will be your rectifier for this incidental record, which is an overwrought way of saying I’m here to make sure everybody comes out of this pleased with the result.” She gestured to the cell’s bench. “May I come in?”
Brex glanced at the bench and furrowed his brow. “I don’t really see why you can’t. This isn’t my home.”
“It is your space, for a time. And I would like to respect your wishes.”
Brex was taken aback for a moment, then shrugged and sat down on the bench again. “Sure.”
She stepped inside and sat next to him, still a forearm’s length away from him, and angled herself to cross her leg and address him directly while leaning against the wall. “I also noticed that you’re using a translation spell. Would you prefer if I spoke in Orcish?”
Brex rubbed the back of his neck. “It doesn’t really make a difference to me. But I don’t understand why you’re being so accommodating.”
“I may be your rectifier, but I also work in admissions, Brexothuruk. When I heard that the person selling spells in the Merchant’s Circle was not a registered student at any of the Universities of Sorcery, I thought I would come to see if there was perhaps a misunderstanding.”
Brex let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s, uh, one way of putting it.”
“So you weren’t aware that you needed a permit from the Universiy to sell sorcerous catalysts in the Merchant’s Circle?” Anara asked.
Brex shook his head. “No, the thought didn’t even occur to me.”
“Because you’ve been practicing sorcery for a while on your own, correct?”
Brex blinked. “Yeah, how did you know?”
Anara smiled. “You’re not the first student to make this mistake. You may not even be the first orc, but I’d have to look through a lot of paperwork to say for sure. I believe we can consider this incident resolved if you affirm a commitment not to sell sorcerous catalysts in the Circle without a University permit.”
“I, uh, sure.”
Anara pulled a small necklace from under her shirt, held the small bronze-colored rod between two fingers, and spoke into it. “Rectifier speaking. Respondent has affirmed conciliatory remarks. Incident resolved.” The rod rang with a soft tone as though it was a brass instrument struck for a single note, then fell quiet.
“Then, perhaps, as an academic advisor to a prospective student, would you like a short tour of the University?”
Brex’s eyes lit up, and he pinched his thigh to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
Anara laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She reached out and touched the bracelet around Brex’s wrist, which grew large enough for her to remove and place back in its recess in the wall.
“This way, please.”
She bowed her head and gestured out to the hallway.
Out of all the things Brex had been introduced to that day—The Merchant’s Circle, busking, the Haramschall City Library—the University of Sorcery at Haramschall was without a doubt the greatest of them. Better than all the others put together.
From the outside, it was a monolith with a physical barrier, hiding its secrets from the city that surrounded it. Inspiring and foreboding, but ultimately a place of knowledge, perhaps forbidden.
From the inside, it was a paradise.
Whether by design, by accident, or by sheer necessity, the University’s campus grounds were like an oasis within a desert of crowded city buildings. Tiny, rolling hills of grass where students were sitting and studying or relaxing. Dormitories and academic buildings littered about, with no particular organization other than a need for decent space between buildings. Each of them were made of marble or stone, but different colors and patterns indicated whether that structure was meant for learning, housing, or something else. The main building stood above them all, like a castle from a fairy tale, towers shooting into the sky and looking out over the city beyond the wall.
At once, Brex understood why the wall surrounding the campus was so tall. It kept the students focused on their studies as much as the rest of the city unaware of what the University was doing at a given moment.
“As you might have noticed, we struggle with a lack of…transparency,” Anara said as they passed a small, round building with smoke billowing from a chimney. Some students, humans and dwarves, were eating lunch at tables outside the building.
A restaurant…on the campus.
“Transparency, yes, yeah,” Brex said.
“I’ll be honest with you, our relationship with the Haramschall City leadership is a little strained. They want us to open our student body up to more than just citizens of the city itself, and accept admissions from the surrounding area as well.”
Brex watched as they passed by a dormitory, where a teenage human was flirting with another student, trying to be smooth and lean on the building, but slipping her hand and falling over. It was hard not to chuckle.
“Ah, sure. But what does that mean for me?”
“You enrolling, as an orc, from outside of the city, would check a lot of boxes on a list that the city is presenting to us.”
“Wh-Really? You want me to enroll here?”
“Yes, Brexothuruk. We can figure out the details later, like your starting class level, your room and board, scholarships, and so on. But it’s fortunate that you happened to drop in our lap like this. I wanted to tell this to you now, so you understood what I’m selling, in a sense. Why we—why I’m interested in enrolling you.”
A thought popped into his mind. “Me being an orc…wouldn’t be a problem?”
“You say that like you’d be the first orcish sorcerer ever to study here. We have a small group of orcs here at the University, tragically underrepresented, it’s true. But we’re looking to expand that minority. And that’s how you can help.”
He wanted to accept immediately. He wanted to shake her hand and set himself up in one of the dormitories they walked past. He wanted to attend his first Grand Enchanting as soon as possible.
But Red.
But money.
But his promise to the Guardian.
“I’d really like to. I would. I want nothing more than to sign up right now, I promise. But I have to take care of some things first. I need to make more money for tuition.”
Anara smiled. “Hopefully not too much. We do have scholarships, like I said. Since we’re looking specifically for students outside of the city and of non-human descent, your tuition would be considerably lower than most other students.”
Brex perked up. “Really? How much lower?”
“As much as seventy percent.”
Brex pursed his lips. “I…still don’t have that much, I think.”
“There will be options. We can find you a small job somewhere on the campus that can cover the rest, or some of that.” Anara was confident. But Brex wasn’t convinced.
He realized she was leading him over to one of the entrance gates and he remembered all too well that he didn’t belong there. Not yet. He had to pay up for that. “How far will a hundred sentas get me?”
Anara’s eyes widened, she pursed her lips, and then nodded. “Well, not very far. You could lobby for a scholarship with it, but it’s not a sure thing.”
“Lobby for a scholarship? I thought you just gave those out.”
“No, I’m afraid that you must apply to enroll, and then a council of sorcerers will decide how much to award you for your scholarship, should they find you worthy of enrollment.”
“Oh,” Brex said. “I see.”
A brisk chill swept through his body as the wind blew over the campus. Clouds grew darker in the sky.
Anara pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Brex. It had a name, address, and a series of numbers. Brex made a note to ask Red what the numbers meant, suspecting he would know. (There was a new rule lingering in his mind: Red knows everything about everything except everything about himself.)
“Please,” Anara said. “I know that things will be a stretch, but we’re eager to have you. If you can find a way to scrounge up some more sentas, please visit this address before the end of the year.”
“I…I will,” Brex said.
They stepped up to the gate, and Anara signaled to a student at the door to open it for them. The gap in the gate grew until he saw the all-too-familiar streets of Haramschall behind them.
Upon seeing them, he remembered the whole stupid reason he came to this city in the first place.
“Anara. I…I have a friend who has a problem.”
Anara stifled a snort. “A friend who has a problem,” she said, knowingly.
“A sorcery problem,” Brex said.
“Is this something that might be qualified as a mishap?” she asked.
“I…don’t really know. It could be. But I doubt it. But, if I brought him here, is there anyone who could help us find out what to do?”
Anara paused, considering her next words carefully. “The University is an academic institution. We teach, and foster a culture of learning. We enable graduates to solve the problems of the world through sorcery.”
“You sound like the pamphlet.”
She nodded. “While I cannot recommend seeking assistance from anyone in particular, any graduate of the university should be able to point you in the right direction.”
“Oh,” Brex said. “I see.” He didn’t, not really, but he was too embarrassed to speak up about that. “I have one last question, if you don’t mind,” Brex said.
“What’s that?” Anara said.
“So many of the students here, they seem…bigger than average, compared to people in the city. Doesn’t matter the race, dwarf, human, whatever. Are sorcerers just naturally larger than most?”
Anara gave him a knowing smile. “I suspect you’ll figure it out after a while. But you’re looking at it from the wrong angle.”
Brex scratched as his ear. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“Consider it a test. You’ll have a lot of those here.”
He sighed. “Thank you for the tour. Hopefully I’ll be able to come back soon.”
“Hopefully, indeed,” Anara said, then signaled for the student at the gate to close the doors with Brex on the city side.
His fingers still clutching the paper Anara gave him, he told himself that he’d enroll at the university if it was the last thing he ever did. Then, he set out to find Red, wherever he’d gone.
Orcanist 