Trammel''s heart, the dead center of the continent and bordering every one of its major powers, lay the greatest geopolitical marvel ever conceived: Proselyte. Proselyte was most known for its two omnipresent megastructures that dominated its skyscape. To the north were the dizzyingly towering spires of Ersatz University. To the south, was the incomprehensibly behemoth sphere of Empedocles only held aloft by its own vomitorium steps. Each megastructure was infamous in its own right, and each was home to some of the world''s most powerful and influential figures. Yet, for all their grandeur, these monolithic creations did relatively little for its massive population and bustling tourist industry. For the most part, the city-state strived on the stretch of streets that bridged the two buildings: Proselyte''s wild market district.


    The market Streets thrummed with an electric vivacity. The chattering of fervid haggling and familial blather intermixed to create that particularly unique music of a living market. Thousands of stalls displayed various foods, jewelry, and any other commodity that one could possibly fathom. Such a thriving market in such a distinctive locale also invited some more extravagant fare, from displaying opulent magical instruments to peddling exotic reconstructed artifacts. Anything and everything could be found in the trove of Proselyte''s wild market district. Everyone was searching for everything, children to toys, elders to memories, and somewhere within it all, a group of teenagers enjoying their recently purchased ice cream were bargaining at a stall.


    A young boy just reaching his late teens scowled unimpressed, his wide-brimmed conical hat dangling at his back by its strap, mauve tie loosened, and duel-wielding twin ice cream cones with queer art etched on their surfaces impossibly rebuffing the sweltering morning haze. He whipped out an outstretched arm to bar one of his female colleagues from handing off a pouch of coins. The younger fourteen-year-old looked up, unsure, at the boy. The boy kept his stern eyes on the merchant, "Nu-uh. There is no way she is buying that necklace for twenty-six platinum."


    An old lady sat crosslegged behind a carpet of intricate jewelry and simpered openly for all to see her jagged yellow teeth, tongue coloured through alchemical abuse. "Your friend should be thankful she can find such a powerful essence-phoretic rune. You kiddies are still young, so you should trust your elders when I say you can only benefit from an increased essential flux. And this artifact right here-" she emphasized with a patronizing tap of the bracelet in discourse, "-is only the best foci for such a task."


    The throng of teens erupted into laughter, a particularly boisterous boy leaning onto his friend for support, ice cream slipping off its cone to a tragic death on the dusty cobbled street amidst the hysterics. The old woman frowned, a little offended by the insulting reaction and definitely confused; she wasn''t sure what she had said that was so comedic.


    One of the boys in the group next to the main haggler spoke up. "Lady, you have no idea who you''re talking to."


    With his arm still blockading his naive companion with the coins, the lead boy picked up the rune-woven necklace in question and began inspecting it. "Lady, you shouldn''t talk to me about rune quality, I KNOW rune quality, and I could tell with my eyes closed that these runes could have been drawn by three blind mice… Now that I look more closely, it''s way worse than I imagined. Did you layer a Dīpika with a V?k?a ?" That made him choke in disbelieving humour. "This wouldn''t even be worth ten platinum. Don''t bother haggling with this swindler, Patsy. I could easily make you a better one later."


    The crowd of teenagers all released a collective gasp of astonishment. Patsy spun on her heels to face the lead boy, her eyes wide and face flush with eager anticipation. Patsy grabbed onto the boy''s hand, exclaiming hopefully. "Really Picay! But I thought you didn''t enchant for people anymore?"


    "Yeah, but I''ll make an exception just this once because this crone pissed me off. Don''t get used to it." Picay turned to face his posse, "Don''t get used to it. This is not an open invitation!" A few in the crowds mumbled their jealous displeasure.


    The old woman could hardly believe what was unfolding in front of her. "Kids these days are so arrogant. Who do you think you are that you could possibly craft a finer fetich than professional wizards?"


    The boy dismissively scoffed at the long-forgotten woman; he lazily tossed the necklace back to her before speaking. "You''re in Proselyte. Who do you think we are?"


    The group left the stall and continued to browse the market as they joked about and mocked the encounter they had partaken in. After some wandering the group spotted a friend of theirs lost in the market crowd. "Hey Belabor!" The group tried to wave her down, but it took the piercing whistle of an overexcited friend to overcome the sonic haze of the market and catch the girl''s notice. Once she noticed them, Belabor shuffled through the crowded street to get to the group.


    The group left the stall, their laughter echoing through the market as they teased and mocked the encounter they''d just had. They resumed exploring the lively market, enjoying the vibrant chaos that buzzed around them. As they passed through the crowd, they spotted a familiar face—Belabor, lost in the sea of people. "Hey, Belabor!" one of the teens called out, hands waving in the air, others joining to hail the girl down. The eventual sharp whistle of an overly enthusiastic friend finally cut through the market''s cacophony and drew the girl''s attention. When Belabor turned and saw them, she gave a half-grin before beginning her awkward shuffle through the packed street, weaving her way toward the group.


    The group parted for Belabor, allowing her pride of place next to Picay. The shorter girl rose on the balls of her feet to plant a kiss on his cheek. Belabor then pouted exaggeratedly, "Can''t believe you seriously left without me."


    Picay laughed her off and handed her the untouched ice cream cone he had saved for her. "You had class; what was I supposed to do, sit in on your lecture?"


    Belabor''s faux pout couldn''t hold against her boyfriend''s coy smirk, and her acting broke into a familiar smile and a roll of the eyes, "Yes! I sit in on your classes." She laced her arm between his, and the group continued their meandering, the bustling market swirling around them.


    Picay groaned. "But your classes are so boring."


    "And your classes make no sense!" Belabor exclaimed, earning nods of agreement from the group. Soon, smaller conversations erupted around Picay''s perplexing courses, each person adding their own thoughts.


    With a satisfied lick of her cone, Belabor glanced up only to find Patsy staring at her with a puzzled expression. "How is your cone not melting?" Patsy asked, genuinely baffled.


    Picay gave Patsy a mischievous smile. "I frosted it."


    The younger girl looked confused, "Isn''t that water magic? I didn''t know you were a water bug?"


    Picayune briefly scowled, but swiftly corrected, "First of all, you shouldn''t call them water bugs. Second of all, what I did wasn''t water magic. In fact, water manipulation isn''t magic at all. I used something called calefaction. Calefaction isn''t actually a part of the somatic elements but is an elemental field that can be manipulated, so although I can''t-"


    "PATSY NO!" Another boy took hold of Picay''s shoulders, shaking him theatrically as he lamented, "You can''t get Picayune started; he''ll never stop."


    Belabor cheerfully chimed in between indulgent licks of her deliciously preserved dessert. "I''ve just learned to accept that Picayune can do anything with magic and just not question it," Patsy responded with a dishonest laugh, casually tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Belabor, still holding her cone, paused mid-lick, her eyes narrowing as she studied Patsy more carefully. "I''m Belabor, by the way-" she said, her tone too sweetly friendly, "-Picay''s boyfriend. You can just call me Bela." Belabor placed her free hand before Patsy, inviting a handshake.


    Patsy took Belabor''s hand and shook it with a firm smile. "I''m Patsy. I''m just in my first year, so I hope you guys can help me learn the ropes around here."


    Belabor''s brow furrowed as she tried to place the name. It tugged at the edge of her memory, and after a moment of searching, it clicked. "Wait, you''re Espy''s little sister, right?"


    Patsy''s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she let out a shy chuckle, her fingers nervously rubbing at the nape of her neck. "Yeah, he''s my older brother. I have big shoes to fill I guess."


    The tension coiling in Belabor''s chest relaxed, and her smile blossomed into something genuine. Her playful tone returned as she threw an arm out toward Patsy, giving her an exaggerated thumbs up. "You show that work junkie who''s the boss, best of luck."


    The group wandered through the market, stopping at the occasional stall for some fun Knick-knacks. As they strolled, they shared tips with Patsy on the best routes and hidden shortcuts, veering away from their usual path to point out some of Proselyte''s iconic landmarks. Along the way, they filled her in on little-known bits of trivia about the city-state, their voices light with excitement as they highlighted the quirks of their new home. All the while, their journey slowly routed them back to the university entrance.


    Picayune and Belabor broke off from the group with a casual wave. "I''ve got to head to class, but you guys have fun."


    Patsy separated from the group of older teens to join Picayune and Belabor, her voice tinged with hope. "Can I come with?"


    Picayune hesitated, glancing awkwardly between Belabor and Patsy. He shifted uncomfortably, "Uh... maybe next time. Ken doesn''t like me bringing too many hangers-on." Neither girl looked pleased at that answer. Both pouted, their expressions flat with quiet dissatisfaction.


    Patsy was swift to recover. She shot Picayune a strained smile that didn''t quite reach her eyes, poorly masking her disappointment, "Okay, next time!" She slowly tried to reintegrate with the friend group, but being a few years their junior, and without anyone she personally knew, she awkwardly hovered around the edge. Picayune winced at the sight, the guilt sinking in, but he couldn''t say anything before Belabor tugged him by the arm, pulling him into the university building.


    They walked side by side in quiet contemplation, the only sounds those of hushed whispers and lingering gazes from passersby. By now, both were used to the occasional stares and muttered comments. After a stretch of silence, Belabor broke the stillness, her voice light but with a knowing edge. "So, Patsy''s pretty... forward, huh?"


    Picayune chuckled, shaking his head. "She is, isn''t she? It''s kind of weird, to be honest."


    "She seems quite fond of you."


    Picayune took a few moments to consider it. "A sister of Espy is a sister of mine. Although I feel like eventually, we''ll have to have an embarrassing talk about her crush." He turned a coy smile to his girlfriend, "but you don''t need to worry."


    Belabor crossed her arms with a playful pout, " You''re not exactly helping by promising to take her to lectures. And I wasn''t worried—she''s just a kid."


    Picayune''s grin widened, and he pulled her into a side hug as they walked. "Right, right, not jealous at all..." he teased, his voice light. "Oh, and speak of the devil." Approaching the two was a young man in his early twenties with a muscular build and heavy dark bags under his eyes. His clothes were dishevelled, his shirt was partly untucked from his pants, and his vest seemed to decide which buttons to be buttoned at random. His hair was obviously lazily drenched in water at an ill attempt to quell the beast that it had become; the attempts were a failure, though, as different clumps licked and reached out in every direction.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Picayune called out to the obviously mentally preoccupied Espy. "Hey, Esp, we were just talking about you!" Upon hearing his voice, Espy looked up from the ground and instantly lit up with a beaming smile, although the smile soon turned sour. Picayune ignored the conflicted expression, and the two swept into each other with a firm embrace.


    Espy spoke with a strained warmth. "Good to see you, Yune! What is up? How are you?" Espy was clearly relieved to see a familiar friend to just stop and chat, but there was also a clear undercurrent of concern.


    They would probably end up being late to get good seats in class, but it was a worthy sacrifice. Lately, getting a chance to hang out with Espy had been rare. "I''m doing great, Esp; we just finished giving Patsy a brief tour of Proselyte''s wild market district."


    Belabor made sure to quickly add as a half-joking quip. "And, next time you meet your sister, let her know that Picayune already has a girlfriend."


    Espy stifled a chuckle and quickly responded. "Patsy has always been fond of you, Yune, but I hope you can still help her out every now and then since she''s never been the most…"


    "She''s very awkward, yes." The three burst into a fit of silly giggles at the curt response.


    Picayune clapped his buddy on the shoulder, "But enough about us. What about you? Big Tournament employee now! I haven''t seen you for months, man. Are they running you ragged over there?"


    Belabor couldn''t help her own interest take over, "Invitations should be coming out soon, right? What''s that like?"


    The innocent intentioned questions somehow reinvited that tired weight that had plagued Espy before he encountered them. "It is such a mess, man, I can''t say much because I''m under a nondisclosure agreement, right-"


    "Sure."


    "-But there has been a lot of... there''s been a lot. And it''s… it''s just weird. I can''t really get into it."


    Picayune joked as he lightly fist-bumped Espy''s shoulder, "Sounds pretty rough, but I guess that''s what comes with the most prestigious job in the world. Just make sure to save some front-row seats for us." The joke did not have its intended effect. Espy seemed utterly stunned by the comment, lost for words, gaping like a fish.


    Recognizing his misstep, Picayune tried backtracking to comfort his panicked friend. "I was just joking, Esp. We can buy our own tickets. We wouldn''t want you to get in trouble or anything." Somehow, that comment only made things worse.


    Belabor gently rubbed Espy''s arm in reassurance as she tried to lighten the tension with her own joke. "Maybe he can''t get you a ticket Picayune since you''ll actually be invited to the Tournament. You''ll get to compare your genius with the Hero of New Heirisson conquest." Picayune and Belabor dismissively chortled at the notion, but when they looked over to Espy, he had stiffened cold, face white as a sheet. The couple''s eyes widened in flabbergasted surprise.


    Belabor shouted in complete disbelief. "NO. WAY. Picayune WAS invited to The Tournament!? That''s insane!" Belabor bounded into Picayune, arms wrapped about his neck in a crushing hug. "Congratulations Picay!" She pressed a deep kiss into his lips, but he did not return the kiss.


    Belabor pulled her head back to see her boyfriend more clearly, with a puzzled expression on her as to why he wasn''t sharing her glee. Picayune had frozen stiff, eyes unblinking as they stared at the saddened Espy.


    Picayune recollected himself and forced out some optimism. "That''s... great; maybe instead of asking Ken to get an autograph for me, I can just- ask the hero himself as he beats me blue." He followed his stammered sentence with a hollow laugh.


    Espy looked at Picayune. "Sorry…. Sorry. I have to get back to work."


    Without a reply, Espy went on his way, leaving the two alone in the hallway.


    Belabor snapped her fingers in Picayune''s face, startling him back to attention, "Hello? Picayune, want to bring your brain back to the planet?"


    Picayune shook his head as if clearing an internal fog, "What, oh yeah. Sorry, I just got totally brain-wiped by finding out I got invited to The Tournament. Feels like I secretly opened my birthday present ahead of time."


    Belabor giggled with amusement as she wrapped her arms around his and began walking him toward class. "So, what will you wish for when you win?"


    "What?"


    "The winner of the Tournament gets a wish granted, right? What will you be wishing for?"


    Picayune stopped dead in his tracks, a disbelieving cry forcing itself out of him, "Woah, woah, slow down. I don''t think I''m going to be winning the Tournament."


    "Why not? You''re the best magic user I know!"


    Picayune quirked an incredulous brow, "No offence, Bela, but I don''t think ''people you know'' is a good enough sample size. Sure, I''m honoured to be invited to The Tournament. I mean, one of the sixty-four greatest specimens of power in the world is a pretty nice ego boost. And it''ll be a great experience to meet amazing people like Human Star Scoria, the Golden King, or even see some dragons in person. But I won''t be disillusioning myself into thinking that I could really win."


    Belabor grinned while shaking her head in disapproval. "You''ve always been too humble for your own good."


    "How about this? I''ll try to beat Ken''s score. I''ll find out how many rounds he made it through in the fifth Tournament after class, and I''ll beat that."


    "You could make it all the way, but if you want to just start with that, sure."


    The two opened the doors to the classroom and were welcomed by a chaotic symphony of over a hundred voices, each person vying for space in the crowded lecture hall. Students, teachers, and hobbyists alike stumbled over one another in the frenzy, jostling for seats as if they were back in the marketplace. The air was thick with energetic anticipation.


    The two shuffled through the packed room, sidestepping elbows and avoiding stray bags, until they finally reached the very back of the class. Upon finding that there were still no available seats, Picayune approached the nearest seated people and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I''m actually enrolled in this course. Do you mind if we commandeer your seats?"


    What Picayune recognized as the faculty of wandmaking Dean and a History professor turned to face him, "Of course, certainly. Must really suck for you two always having to fight for seats against all us fans."


    Picayune and Belabor carried placating smiles as the four exchanged places. "Well, we get used to it. Plus, it''s nice to have so many people interested in higher theoretics; the learning never stops, right Professor Fancier?"


    The four exchanged a few more pleasantries before the professors went off to find a good view despite knowing that such views had been unavailable for a long time.


    Belabor craned her neck, trying to peer around the sea of bodies between her and the near indiscernible podium at the front. "You can''t even see the blackboard from here. How are you supposed to win the Tournament if you can''t even take notes?"


    As if answering her, an elderly man shuffled through the front doors, his thin glasses teetering at the edge of his nose, his thick beard nearly tracing down to his waist, and a heavy stack of parchment and materials clutched in his arms. The elderly man scanned the room and then sighed—a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo through the chaos.


    Picayune shrugged, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don''t worry about it. Ken usually clears up the room when it gets overcrowded like this. We can get better seats then."


    The elderly professor dropped his stack of materials on the podium and addressed the crowd. His voice, though soft, carried an undeniable authority. "Anyone not enrolled in this course, leave. The students who are actually taking this class get priority seating. Once class begins, you can return."


    At his command, the class erupted into a frenzy of movement. As the mass of bodies parted, Picayune and Belabor clambered over the aisles, leapfrogging from row to row to claim some better seating. Once they contentedly sat down roughly around the center, Picayune leaned in close to Belabor''s ear so she could hear him over the horde. "Besides, I never take notes anyway."


    The crowd had dissipated entirely, leaving only thirteen people, including Picayune and Belabor, in the room. The two of them were the only ones not in the front row.


    Belabor rolled her eyes at her boyfriend''s antics, "Yeah, yeah, I know Mr. Eidetic Memory. Your whole existence is a cheat."


    Picayune flashed a cheeky grin, his face practically glowing with mischief. He leaned over to peck her gently on the lips. "No need to be jealous. I''m your Mr. Eidetic Memory. Plus, who knows, maybe I should ignore what Ken says; he might try to sabotage me so I can''t beat his Tournament record."


    The two snickered like a couple of schoolchildren, their laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. But, when Belabor, mid-giggle, let out a strange snort, it sent them into a fresh wave of louder laughter that eventually caught the professor''s attention.


    "Ms. Impel," The professor''s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, "that includes you."


    Belabor''s smile faltered, a look of disappointment flickering across her face as she stood to leave. Before she could go, Picayune snatched her wrist, stopping her. Picayune then whined to the professor. "Ah, come on, Ken. The whole class is here… or almost, can''t you just let her stay? She''ll just wait for the bell then come back in." Picayune silently cursed Laggard''s ability to always be late.


    Ken replied, a note of finality in his tone, "I can''t give her any preferential treatment."


    Picayune quietly grunted in frustrated annoyance. Ken always played the role of a strict, upright professor, but Picayune knew better. "But you can give me preferential treatment?"


    Belabor stood frozen, half-upright, half-sitting, her eyes darting between Picayune and the professor, trapped in the middle of their tug-o-war. Picayune shot a pleading look at Ken, who seemed to be weighing the costs of giving him yet another break.


    Just then, one of the doors creaked open, and the short Laggard, wearing his thick glasses, hurriedly scurried in. He paused, surprised by how empty the room was, but shrugged it off and sat at the front.


    Ken let out a deep sigh and replied to Picayune in defeat. "I didn''t hear that… and I''ve told you before to call me Professor Ream. I can''t have anyone thinking that I tolerate you."


    The class laughed agreeably, and Picayune grew a cheeky grin that cradled his entire face. Ken was never particularly good at hiding his favouritism and lenience. Belabor sat back in her seat.


    "Now at the end of our last lecture one of you asked me about why mercurial essence was-"


    Picayune quickly tuned out once he confirmed that the professor was just going over questions from the last lecture and turned to Belabor. The two whispered gossip and jokes with one another while the professor rambled on. Professor Ream certainly knew that the two weren''t paying attention, but they were quiet enough not to disturb the others, and he was confident that Picayune already knew all that he was covering. Midway through his explanation of the expanded aether model, the bell rang, and all of those kicked out of the room came rushing in, scrambling for an adequate seat.


    They eventually settled, and the class continued. Picayune would intermittently tune in and out depending on whether the professor was sharing new interesting information or not. The professor often moved slower than Picayune would have liked since he had to accommodate the rest of the class.


    About two hours into the lecture, Ken was interrupted by the loud chime of a bell; he turned around to face the class so he could find the source of the sound. Right in front of Ken, separating him from the stunned audience before him, was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with two limbs. The limbs were extended out, one pointing towards the audience, the other towards Ken. Each arm held onto a glowing parchment.


    Ken approached the strange creature and took the parchment facing him; he carefully read its contents and then pocketed the parchment; he then walked over to the second parchment and took it slowly, reading its contents. He glanced at the crowd in surprise and back to the parchment. He pocketed the parchment and cleared his throat. "Picayune Distingué, come see me after class."


    When The second parchment was taken, the pink shape seemed to reverse its process, eventually turning back into a rhombus and shrinking out of existence. The audience exploded into whispers and conversations, which the professor silenced and then returned to his lesson. Belabor leaned over to Picayune and whispered into his ear. "Do you think that was it, the invitation to the Tournament?"


    Belabor could not contain her excited glee, her entire body nearly vibrating out of her seat. She seemed so full of energy. Picayune, however, couldn''t help but shed a few beads of sweat.


    The final hour of the class was unbearably grueling, time was frozen, and each minute felt like days. He felt like he was spending the rest of the lecture at the bottom of the ocean, any sound muffled and obscured into incoherent ramblings. Nothing was sticking in Picayune''s mind except the countdown to his conversation after class. Eventually, class ended, and Belabor took Picayune''s clammy hands into her own. She pulled him in and gave him a final kiss. "Good luck!" She cheered enthusiastically.


    "Yeah." Picayune made his way down the stairwell of the empty room and stood directly before the elderly professor, their eyes both solemn and anxious. Without a word, he took a parchment out of his pocket and handed it over to Picayune. Picayune took the crumpled glowing paper and unravelled it: it read.


    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 82.1181%; background-color: rgba(255, 213, 171, 1); border-color: rgba(235, 164, 57, 1); border-style: ridge" border="1">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You have been invited to</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">The Tournament</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You are The Apprentice</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>