Avalon:Chapter Test

Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy

"Did you hear!? They're back! They're already back!"

Reynald could barely contain his boiling excitement as he bounced down the granite steps, ahead of his two companions. Short statured with fiery red hair, he lit up the gloomy castle corridors like a radiating torch.

"How could we not? With you reminding us every three minutes," Parzifal replied with an exasperated exhale. Despite being built with the lean musculature of a runner, his powerful legs strode into the corridor with gentle grace. Then, with a faraway gaze: "do you know how many we lost this time?"

"Just three from the entire school, and the whole campaign took but a season! The Holy Father has granted Weichsel a great victory this year! Those barbaric Vastergotlander invaders lay crushed and humiliated, while our mates return in glorious triumph!" Reynald pumped his meager fist into the air for good measure.

"Three out of four dozen." Parzifal stared at Reynald with a stiff gaze, but the younger redhead didn't even notice. "How is six percent a good number, especially given how young they... we are, to be throwing good lives away."

"There is no glory without risk, brother! Come on! I even heard that one of our class became the youngest Captain in national history, decorated by the King himself no less!"

"I heard about too," added Ariadne, but with a soft, cautious voice that still tested the waters. "The girls have been chattering about the latest news for days," she intertwined her delicate fingers with Parzifal's for a some reassurance before continuing: "Anna Marie's fiance works on the Marshal's general staff, and he says that Pascal was serving as an adjutant for his father--"

She felt her boyfriend's fingers tighten, and she squeezed back while trying to hide her painful grimace.

"--When the situation changed during the Battle of Parchim, Pascal modified the orders he was carrying to the artillery-mage units to bombard a weak spot the enemy revealed in their line. Marshal von Moltewitz gave Pascal due credit of course, but also publicly reprimanded him for overriding command orders instead of merely appending his recommendation. Yet when the King heard about it... he personally promoted and knighted Pascal."

Both of the men groaned, thereby identifying that they were still boys.

"Great, leave it to the King to undo our Field Marshal's brilliance; that princeling needs to be taken down a notch and even his father knows it..." Reynald's mood plummeted straight to grumpy, and not even a serious case of childhood hero worship for the elder von Moltewitz could rebound it. Then, as he opened the last door along the corridor and turned into the theater-like classroom: "and speak of the devil, our Runelord's celebrity status seems to have further exaggerated his supercilious aura of majesty."

It didn't take familiarity to spot Pascal. Even with eyes shut, he still sat with a regal poise that cleared all doubts. Framed by soft golden curls just long enough to cover his ears, his appearance stayed lit by a gentle, Mona Lisa smile. His broad yet lean build gave his polished military uniform the best look a propaganda poster could seek.

But that wasn't what naturally made him the center of attention. Sitting on the front row's left wing, he was surrounded by a semicircle of beautiful girls, all of whom sat at least two arms' length away yet kept him in their eyes. Meanwhile, over half the men scattered across the room, and even a few women as well, looked towards him with scowling faces.

It was an understatement to say that Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, first son of Field Marshal and Landgrave von Moltewitz of Nordkreuz, stood far above the crowd. But regardless of how assured and confident he looked, no one could doubt the ill symptoms that too often followed any childhood prodigy:

Amongst a roomful of chattering peers, he sat alone and silent.

----- * * * -----

"Captain and Knight's Cross recipient at the mere age of nineteen..."

"He took the fourth years' exams while on campaign and aced them too!"

"...I heard even common mercenaries from the Empire have heard of his name!"

"Of course! He's engaged to the Crown Princess of Rhin-Lotharingie isn't he? Didn't she teleport over to personally congratulate him..."

"...Feels like he's even further beyond our reach now."

The noble daughters that surrounded him whispered in hush voices, but all they accomplished was focus Pascal's auditory senses. He did not want to, but no properly raised nobleman, bred for political intrigues of the court, could subconsciously dismiss what others spoke of him.

...Day after day I'm surrounded by insignificant fools, with no greater role in the world than a mere name, barely altering the statistics of census records and enrollment sheets.

Pascal couldn't help but wish that one of those rumors were true, that Crown Princess Sylviane really did pay him a visit. She was one of the few girls he knew worthy of her nobility -- who not only had the beauty to match her prestige but also thought with the farsighted intellect of an aspiring ruler. Unfortunately, proper queens-in-training also lacked time, and it was all she could spare to congratulate him last night through a Farspeak conversation spell.

Of course, not everyone spoke of his accomplishments with admiration. That included a number of young lords within this very room, their voices filled with contempt, as though ridiculing others somehow recovered their masculine pride from the cowardice of doing nothing.

"...His father is just pulling another publicity stunt; von Moltewitz is already famous enough, so why not claim it was his son's doing and gift the amateur with some credit?"

"Must be nice being awarded just for having daddy as the commander..."

Pascal wasn't agitated by those who could only mock his back from afar. No, he only cared enough to track who foolishly marked themselves a foe. Their actual complaints were beneath him, unfit for extended consideration by even a single brain cell. It was the fact that he had to waste time near such lowlifes that really bothered him.

Whining cowards and pining damsels, with the sheep-like idiocy of peasantry. At least those who joined had the valor to follow our aristocratic military heritage into war.

The Kingdom of Weichsel prided itself on the competence of its military aristocracy, and the curriculum of its noble education followed that tradition. The Konigfeld Academy of Magic was among the best on the continent of Hyperion in the arts of administration, diplomacy, strategy, and of course, sorcery.

...Or so Pascal once believed.

I've already learned everything they offered in the past two years, so why must father force me to take another two with these common nobles? I'm wasting my time here!

Pascal knew perfectly well that he had a long way to climb before emerging from the shadows of his father's renown. Furthermore, for an aspiring officer who already felt the power of decisiveness on the battlefield, a return to the mere books was like being told to go back to the sandbox.

"Settle down, everyone," announced the balding professor Albert von Marienfeld, exactly one minutes late as usual to his Advanced Magical Communications and Organization class. "I realize that the return of our cadets from the front lines bring exciting news, which is why today's class will be a discussion and analysis of field experiences gathered by your peers!"

His announcement gathered most of the class' attention in an instant.

Even Pascal stared back with a hint of admiration for the adaptability shown by his muleheaded advisor, whom, a few months ago, insisted Pascal follow his father's wishes and continue his education as it was somehow 'good for him'.

"But first things first, I'd like to inform everyone that all third year classes will be canceled this Friday for your familiar summoning ceremonies."

All chatter broke loose across the classroom again.

The professor turned to prepare the classroom's illusion projectors, calmly whistling a short tune while he patiently waited for the students to empty their minds of burning curiosities so they may receive fresh wisdom.

The only other person who wasn't excited was Pascal himself.

...As if I need the presence of more dumb animals around me.

Silently, he scrolled back through his memories, thinking of every mage's familiar he came across during his years. Some of them made trusted mounts on the battlefield, some of them served as eyes and ears, a few even trained as valets of simple households, but not a single one ever showed more intelligence and creativity than one could expect from a magical beast.

But then... why must I be limited to beasts?

Pascal drew a scroll of parchment and copied down the incantations and gestures of every core Summon Familiar spell variant he knew from memory. Within a minute, he had them broken down into a tree graph of individual spellcraft components which defined every effect -- scan, calling, charm, summon, transport, compel, binding, connect, sharing...

He didn't need a servant. A traditional familiar under magical compulsion was no better than a yes-man. Loyal, but nevertheless a fool of limited use.

Paying no heed to the conversations around him, he tapped the syllables that represented the 'animal calling' aspect of the spell on his parchment.

What I need is a person near my level, a companion who will always be with me to share thoughts with...

Images came of a twin who shared his outlook, and merely the prospect of mirrored words made his mind recoil. Pascal didn't want some voice of agreement and approval. His fondest memories of intellectual exploration were filled with heated debates.

...Someone with a completely different outlook upon the world; a dissimilar foundation of knowledge and wisdom, yet diverse enough to rival my own.

Moving into the future, he thought of his impending career on the battlefields of war and diplomacy, where only a balance of words and swords guaranteed survival.

...Must be capable enough to serve as my second on the field, an advisor and analyst, but also able to fend for oneself with the powers I shall grant through our bond.

A brief flashback brought his thoughts back to his childhood, when he and Princess Sylviane could spend hours lounging on the shores of the small lake in the von Moltewitz estate. Their conversations naturally flowed from one worldly topic to another with no regard to time, when he had all day to admire the intellect that lay behind her bright lime-green gaze, or the vast understanding that hid under those chocolate black hair.

...And she needs to be cute too, he finalized with the perfect image coming to mind.

Twice the professor clapped, drawing the room's attention back to the fore where an illusory, three-dimensional overhead projection of the Parchim battlefield lay.

"Captain Sir Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz, as you are our most honored hero of the war, it is only fair that we begin today's lecture with your... unregulated contributions to the war effort."

Muffled snickering drifted forth from the back of the room, but Pascal ignored them as though he heard buzzing flies.

"Yes sir."

Rolling up his parchment as he stood, Pascal's steadfast determination revealed not the slightest sign of offense or hesitance. Albert's choice of words made it instantly obvious that the professor agreed with his father. Pascal understood the reason behind the Field Marshal's reprimand -- rules were rules after all, and no army would be able to operate if junior officers could freely change the orders they received.

He just thought it was unfair that rules of the average should apply to him.

It would be many hours of late night studies before Pascal could finish the work he began. But even at its end, even after triple-checking his modifications with satisfaction, Pascal would never notice his one critical error due to sheer inexperience:

Beasts were simple-minded. It was easy to find a physically and mentally healthy critter to call forth as a familiar.

Humans were another matter entirely, and the divination scanning component he wrote into the spell was nowhere powerful enough to search through the multiuniverse for a precise match to his exact specifications. Magical energy naturally diffused towards the nearest shortcut: to modify a subject that meets most criteria instead of aiming for an exact match. Of course, shaping minds was a difficult and dangerous business, but molding forms could easily be achieved through sorcery.

Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will

"Remarkable, Miss von Zimmer-Manteuffel, you've clearly bested all three of your older brothers in the family tradition," Professor Albert von Marienfeld's awed words of admiration mirrored his gleaming-onyx eyes as they examined the beautiful wings of Ariadne's flawless white pegasus. "Between such potential and your top-ranking grades, I'm sure the Knights Phantom eagerly await the day of your graduation!"

"Thank you, Professor Sir," Ariadne returned a courteous reply as she stood up to brushed back her waist-length golden cascade. Pleased with her own summoning, she finally let go of the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. With a step forward in the magic circle inscribed using crushed sapphire dust, her birthstone mixed with holy water and her own blood, she placed a delicate kiss on the forehead of her new pegasus familiar to seal the bond.

"Very well done, everyone..." Professor Albert -- since his cousin of the same surname also taught within the academy -- looked around to survey all the familiars. The menagerie of magical beasts ranged from the common, like Emilie von Kiessler's silvery celestial hawk, to the powerful water drake that Howard de Angelis was conversing with. Then, spotting the lone individual that stood by the windows, Albert just barely caught himself from swearing: "Sir von Moltewitz, my apologies. I almost forgot you had offered to go last."

"No problem, Sir. I'm the one who disrupted the order," Pascal remarked with nonchalance as he strode to the one remaining clearing in the center of the dance hall. "I didn't wish to cause an interruption when something unusual happened, since it's my first time accomplishing this." Somehow, his drawling, aristocratic intonation managed to make even humble words sound arrogant.

"Show-off," several people muttered from among the crowd.

"Well, let's see what your future brings."

Professor Albert took care to suppress his eager curiosity, mostly because he agreed with the other students over Pascal's motivations; part of it, at least. In the meantime, he stood over Pascal with the examining eyes of a retired general as he watched the young lord retrieve one rune-engraved stone after another from an extra-dimensional belt pouch. After carefully positioning sixteen of them, Pascal connected the rocks with series of tiny malachite gems to form a perfect circle. Three larger runic stones followed, this time linked by lapis lazuli gems to draw the smallest equilateral triangle that would contain the ring.

"Amazing..." came a feminine murmur while others nodded in consent, "trust the Runelord Pascal to always do something creative."

"I believe you and Professor von Kirchner are the only two experts of Ancient Northern Runes on campus, and I'm not a quite an expert on gem magic," commented Albert. "So would you please explain your setup to everyone?"

"Of course," Pascal relished at the opportunity. "As you know, runic magic was created by the ancient Northmen to reduce the casting time of their battle magic. The runic glyphs on these granite stones replaces the incantations of the ritual, as well as substituting for the verse of personalized words we chant during it. Each symbol is carved deep and inscribed with blood appropriate for bonding magic, and each gemstone is infused with my ether to supply additional magical power. The outer triangle, laid with the gems of truth and wisdom, will enhance the seek and search. Meanwhile the inner malachite ring, also known as 'the mirror of the soul', will serve as the primary focus of the ritual."

"As expected, you've put plenty of thought into preparing this. Very well, you may begin."

"With the runes handling everything, the ritual itself is quite simple and leaves no chance for errors," Pascal began with assured confidence as he gently cut his right index finger with a dagger. Carefully aiming, he dripped a drop of fresh blood into the top rune of the inner ring. Like water flowing across routed channels, the stones and gems lit up one after another, bathing the shadowy room with a combination of crimson, forest, and indigo light. Magic strong enough to be felt pulsed outwards as each glyph lit up, releasing a dense mist that soon enshrouded over the entire dance hall.

Minutes passed as everyone stood within the concealment, unable to see yet unwilling to disrupt a magical ceremony in fear of the often deadly consequences involved.

"The ritual is complete," Pascal announced as he quietly recited a wind spell to clear away the mist.

The focus stones and precious gems had been reduced to a ring of worthless gray dust. But what drew gasps from everyone was the small girl that now lay unconscious, dressed in baggy clothing and holding onto a thin bag taller than herself.

"Sir von Moltewitz, please explain yourself." Professor Albert kept his cool, but he was willing to bet his life that Pascal was somehow involved in this unnatural conclusion to a sacred rite of magecraft. In hindsight, he should have expected something like this, when Pascal was not only using magic beyond the supervisor's expertise but also showing off. The last time Albert saw that particular combination during a practical magic exam, the young noble not only painted the entire castle every shade of the rainbow, but also filled it with swarms of brightly glowing pink flamingos, just to prove he could.

But Pascal himself paid no heed. His eyes were transfixed upon the unconscious girl. His body barely contained his boiling excitement as one thought shouted across his mind in triumph: it worked perfectly! followed closely by oh Heavenly Father has granted me an angel.

At barely five and a quarter feet tall, the thin girl gave off a fragile, almost doll-like appearance. Her figure lay concealed beneath a short-sleeved jacket and pair of pants that looked far too big to fit, but the small hands and cute face revealed her flawless white skin. She had an adorably tiny nose and thinly curled lashes, while straight, biege-white hair ran all the way down to her thighs.

"Did he... just summon a Samaran girl for a familiar?" A student named Gerd von Straussen voiced aloud.

"With that white hair? Probably."

"But why a Samaran? Not only are they commoners... Republicans," Reynald spat out the word as though it was filthy, "but they're also nonbelieving heretics who claim to worship some kind of spiritual cycle."

Meanwhile, Pascal knelt down in a dramatic one-kneed pose before taking the unconscious girl's right hand and kissing its back, thereby completely the familiar bonding ceremony.

"Sir von Moltewitz, you have some explaining to do!" The retired general was not used to being ignored, even from this young upstart, and his rapidly rising temper had already reached a simmer.

"It is exactly what it looks like, Professor Sir," Pascal replied while picking up unconscious girl in a cradling carry, his arms supporting her back and underneath her knees. "I decided to summon an actual, intelligent person, and now the ritual has already been completed."

He left the words and there's nothing more you can do about it unsaid as he strode out the dance hall, leaving behind a roomful of bewildered eyes, gawking expressions, and one incensed advisor.

...

By the time Pascal reached his dorm room, the adrenaline from his excitement was beginning to wear off, followed closely by the feeling of exhaustion. The girl within his arms was as light as she looked, but his late working nights was finally catching up, not to mention the summoning ceremony and its preparation which sucked him dry.

With a swift gesture, his Unlock spell was recognized by the door's magical enhancement, and he carried the still-unconscious girl across the threshold into his room. It was officially a 'dorm', but in a school built for nobles, the spacious bedroom and its included bathroom was larger, and far better furnished, than entire apartments.

After gently laying her across his bed, Pascal went through his drawers to find some more appropriate clothes. He had been preparing for this all week, which included picking out apparel according to his tastes through fast mail order, sized based on the parameters he inserted into his summoning spell. The exact fit wasn't even a concern, as the garments were of the highest quality and magically self-adjusting.

He never realized how questionable the whole scene would have seemed if someone else had walked in the door.

----- * * * -----

Kaede has never felt this tired after waking up from a nap. His entire body was sore. Worse yet, it felt weak, exerting just to push against the bedcovers, with barely an ounce of his usual strength.

Wait a sec... I fell asleep on the sofa. There was only a few more hours before I needed to met up with the club and leave for the archery tournament.

Fear of oversleeping lit up his mind in a flash. His eyes sprang open, his arms reaching out by force of habit in seek of the smartphone he used as an alarm clock, only to promptly freeze as recognition came.

Where the heck am I?

He didn't recognize the old-fashioned four-poster bed he laid in, or the redwood furniture that lined the walls, and certainly not the dimly lit room itself.

He felt his pulse quickening as uncertainty washed over. Being both too young to drink and uninterested in alcohol, or any kind of drugs for that matter, it was improbable that he blacked out from some kind of wild club party.

...Especially not before the tournament.

Sitting up on the bed to get a better view, he suddenly realized that his back and shoulders were bared and chilly. By contrast, his chest was covered by a fabric smoother than anything he was used to.

Wait... something's not right...

He looked down, first noticing that his arms were one, far thinner than they should be, and two, wearing silky white gloves... long gloves reaching up to his biceps... while sleeping...

What kind of a weird prank is...

Then his downward tracing eyes saw 'his' chest, and his mind promptly blanked out as every thought came to a crashing halt. His senses and mental capacities had to be rebooted one as one as a result.

Realization #1: He, or perhaps she was a better descriptor of this body, had mounds of outward bulging flesh on the chest that could only be described as breasts.

Realization #2: She was wearing a pure white halter top of... charmeuse? some kind of glossy satin-weave, with some kind of crest laid onto her chest, bosom, in delicate white gold, and not a stitch covering her back.

Realization #3: Rubbing and shifting the thighs found nothing in between, therefore identifying, once again, and this is a she.

Realization #4: WHAT THE HELL!