A Progression Fantasy

“A bit heavy to put on you during introductions,” Syl said. “What’s your specialty?” Full combat track, he guessed. Duelist, probably. That made the boy brighten. “I’m going full combat track.” “Is that your FCD?” Syl asked, pointing at the baton. “Sure is,” Lyon confirmed. “I might not look like it, but I’ve got pretty good practicals. Just can’t do theory for shit. What about you?” “FCD engineer,” Syl said. “Among others. I’m quite bad at practicals. My casting speed is on the lower end.” Bianca had been correct when she’d said that Syl would have ranked higher if they had measured other aspects of magical power during the practical exams, but the exact factors that made him powerful were also what hampered him. Syl checked his right FCD one more time as the rest of the students filtered into the auditorium, tapping the display open. User: Syl FCD: IMMP-R Type: Preload Multipurpose FCD Attributes: [Speed - C] [Precision - S] [Capacity - NOT DISPLAYED] [Power - NOT DISPLAYED] Age: 18 Known Spells: 104 Flux Particles: [NOT DISPLAYED] Loaded Spell: [Flash Step] (C) His flux pool was certainly on the higher end, especially for his age, but magic didn’t like being penned up in a vessel with a less developed body like his. Over the years, the flux present within him had damaged his vocal cords beyond repair. A custom FCD let him speak, but it required constant flux supply and prevented him from using his voice as an active component in spells. Magic was a field of science just like any other. Humanity’s understanding of it was still incomplete, but they understood enough of it to know some best practices in the realm of casting. Spells worked much, much faster with verbal components fast-tracking certain aspects of the spell, but since Syl could no longer use his voice to carry flux properly, his casting speed for a good chunk of magic had been severely crippled. “Wow, is that a custom?” Lyon asked, eyes widening as he pointed to Syl’s FCD. “You also have a custom,” Syl pointed out. He hadn’t studied the baton very closely, but he knew the Reds. “Yeah, but yours looks like an Incarnate model,” Lyon said. “Do you know how hard those are to get?” “Good eye,” Syl said. “I’m well aware.” Before Lyon could ask more questions, a bell chimed, bringing the auditorium’s attention to the front and quieting the room. As the highest-scoring representative of this year’s class, Bianca would have some speaking part here, which was the most likely point for enemy action. Syl doubted that it would happen here, though. There were instructors and student leaders present, both of which should possess A-class or even tactical-class magic. The most elite students here would continue on to graduate years, entering a part-military, part-political outfit that both participated in actual combat situations and oversaw the school. Unlike the previous equivalents in preparatory high school, said outfit had real influence, its participants universally at or above military-grade proficiency and mostly coming from influential families. The university would have been short on experienced instructors without them, mostly because magicians who were capable of teaching were largely on military assignments or dead. One of those rare retired survivors was the first to address them. Two-star General Allison Violet was pushing fifty years old but was still the same strategic-class magician who’d constructed the bulk of Auria’s defenses and minimized casualties during World War III. “On October 3, 2019…” she started. “Hey,” Lyon said quietly. “You’ve heard this all before, right?” Syl’s attention was entirely on their surroundings. No student would have been able to sneak a weapon into the entrance ceremony, which was one of the few school events attended by active non-student members of the great prismatic families. Security had been raised to the highest point that it would be at this entire semester. Outside, magical and technological surveillance monitored the event. While the bulk of that would be from the families themselves, there was always the possibility of an outsider looking in. “Hey,” Lyon said again, a bit louder. “You there?” “I’ve heard the speech,” Syl replied at a more reasonable volume. “Not this exact variant, but I’m more than familiar with the history.” “Thought so. Knew you wouldn’t just be a normal class 3.” That set off alarm bells in Syl’s mind, but Lyon wasn’t indicating that he had any more information than a hunch, so he let it slide. “I could say that about you, too. A Red in class 3. No respect for conduct, and you look like you just got picked up off the street, but that’s all fake. What are you doing here?” “Oh you caught that?” Lyon asked, his voice dropping low. “For your information, I like it this way. Also, that’s classified.” “I’m sure it is,” Syl said drily. “What a prismatic scion’s had for lunch is probably classified, too. Let me guess. Monitoring the class 3s for potential diamonds in the rough to recruit? Undermining resistance against prismatic hegemony? Maybe you’re looking for a few specific threats?” “Not so loud,” Lyon hissed, which drew some stars from the students around them. “You’re being louder than I am,” Syl said quietly. “You’re only going to draw attention to yourself if you make a scene. Relax.” Lyon relaxed. “You know a lot about the prismatics for someone who’s not on our radar at all,” Lyon said. That wasn’t entirely true, but there was no point in letting Lyon know that. “I’m good at noticing patterns. That’s all.” Syl’s focus returned to the spell he’d been maintaining since the ceremony had started, a simple dual-process one that he’d designed for himself during… a time he preferred not to think about. Sure enough, there were dozens of different spells and drones aimed at the ceremony from the outside, but most of them were from sources that Syl recognized, with some distaste. One of them, though… “Lyon,” Syl said. “What’s up?” “Tell your family or your handler or whoever your point of contact is that there’s an outsider watching,” Syl said. Throughout the auditorium, mostly concentrated in the front, Syl noticed a few others tapping away on displays only they could see or fiddling with their FCDs. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed, then. “What are you talking about?” Lyon said after quite a large delay. “You’re not good at this whole subterfuge thing, are you? Bianca is about to speak. Just be quiet and do what you have to do.” # After the ceremony was finally over, Syl found Bianca talking with a couple of older-looking students with different uniforms that indicated they were in the second, graduate phase of schooling. Judging by the sigils on their uniforms, they were all from prismatic families. “Syl,” Bianca said. “What did you think?” “It was a good commencement,” Syl said. “Memorable enough to leave an impression on the students while staying mostly risk-free. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing here?” “Jennifer,” a tall, glasses-wearing woman said. Her sigil marked her as coming from the Viridian clan, and her FCDs were well-tuned enough that Syl could take a reasonable guess as to her class. “Eighth year, class 1. FCD engineer. Treasurer for the Graduate Reserve. Pleasure to meet you…” “Syl.” He extended a hand, which she shook. “First year, class 3. Unspecialized, but looking towards FCD engineering. If you ever happen to have a spare moment, I’d be interested in trading notes.” The other council member scoffed. “We don’t need any bottom feeders trying to latch onto us. Try staying in the school for a year, then ask again. You’re just going to go to the front line anyway. What kind of notes do you think you can offer?” “Excuse me,” Bianca said, her voice polite but her expression threatening death, “What did you just say?” “Drew,” Jennifer said. “Not the time.” “Drew,” Syl said, looking the taller man in the eye. “Violet, I assume?” “Yes, and you would do well to respect that name,” Drew Violet said. “Your kind won’t even be in the school after your fourth year. Lieutenant in the GR. Sixth year, class 1.” So he was one of these. Syl had been ready to run into someone like this, but that made it no less irritating. “Nice to meet you too,” Syl said. “The same offer stands, but I imagine you don’t have anything interesting if you’re just a soldier. Bianca. We need to go.” “Is that so?” the princess asked. “It was lovely chatting to you both. We can continue tomorrow.” “Of course,” Jennifer said. “The president will be here then.” “Hold on,” Drew interjected, staring Syl down. “You can’t tell me that you’re following this guy.” Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I can.” “Are you planning on stopping us?” Syl asked lightly. “I don’t believe you have the right to do that in your position.” “No,” Drew said, “but I would suggest that you learn your place.” Syl smiled. “I know my place just fine.” # Three and a half kilometers from the academy, a drone settled down inside an abandoned warehouse. Romeo Seven, the alias of the masked drone operator, collected it and readied it for data transference. The drone’s inbuilt FCD triggered, quickly forming a ritual circle underneath the device and the operator. It did not complete its process before it simply shattered, the magic pattern dissolving entirely. Romeo Seven had believed his operation to be uncompromised, but he prepared for emergency anyway. With his gun-mounted FCD, he activated the perception-type Transparent Scan spell, letting him see heat signatures through the walls.