The sound of a long, drawn-out fart woke him up.


    Jonas frowned, closed his eyes, and tried to get back to sleep.


    But now the smell of a long, drawn-out fart made it impossible for him to return to his cozy dreamland.


    “What the-?” he said, as the foul odor got worse all of a sudden, and he straightened out his slumped body with a jolt.


    A group of boys were laughing their heads off at Jonas, who had the most pitiable look of confusion on his face.


    I didn’t eat any beans, did I?


    His stomach growled in hunger.


    No, I did not.


    “Fancy seeing you here, Jonas Palit,” said the boy with the sly smile on his face. He said Jonas’s name like it was a dirty word, and was constantly fiddling with a skull ring on his middle finger.


    “Isn’t his dad the engineer who can’t find a job anymore?” said one of the other boys at the back.


    “Oh yea, I heard they been at the dole for three whole damn years. What losers!”


    “I heard they were gonna be kicked out of their house!” another one guffawed.


    “So,” said the boy with the skull ring, his face so intimidatingly close that Jonas could smell his cigarette breath over the odor of the flatulence. “What brings you on this train - you heading to Jian Sha in the east? Trying to run away from your troubles like the coward that you are?”


    “As-astriva, the Capital Country,” choked Jonas, who was fanning away the bad air from his vicinity. He could barely place names to most of those faces – to him, bullies were mostly non-descript in that manner. But he could recognize the skull ring boy as one of the neighborhood bullies from his hometown in Western Caschian. It was quite the coincidence that they were also on this train, let alone this carriage. “I’m heading to the School of Heartspell.”


    “The School of Heartspell?” The boy with the skull ring looked at the others with a face of mock confusion. “You gotta be joshing me. Hey, get this – a boy with no magic genes in his entire damn family tree is going to the School of Heartspell!” They hooted in laughter, slapping their knees.


    Jonas’s throat went dry, and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe.


    They’re right. It is the biggest joke of the century.


    What was he, of all people, doing at the best magic school in Nostriva? He, who had not cast a single spell his entire life? The mocking was bad, but it hurt more that he actually agreed with them.


    “Hey!” shouted a man’s voice from the back of the carriage. ‘Stop bullying him!” The man strode over firmly. “Were you hooligans responsible for the smell?”


    The boy with the skull ring motioned for the group to leave. One of the boys was sprawled on the ground and looked exhausted.


    “You idiot!” He twisted the ring around his middle finger anxiously, and continued to hiss at the exhausted boy. “Did you really use up all your mana on that fart spell? Frigging useless you are!” He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him up.


    And then he turned to Jonas. “We’re heading to an actual magic school now, Palit trash. Have fun being homeless!” leered the bully one last time before flipping his skull-adorned finger at the boy.


    Jonas watched as the lot of them moved over to the next carriage. Indeed, the train was much emptier now; he must have slept for quite a few hours earlier.


    “Hi,” said the man who stood up for him. “I apologize on behalf of all D Tier mages. I happen to have a spell that’ll help freshen up the air, give me a moment as I get it ready.”


    The man took out a scroll and began drawing a magic circle on it with an inked paintbrush. It took a while.


    “Good heavens. Useless D Tier mages,” muttered a lady nearby, who whipped a perfume bottle out of her purse and sprayed a few shots into the air. “There. Fixed.”


    Jonas caught sight of a number of passengers who were sneering at the man, as if that D Tier mage was at fault for them being on the train in the first place, as if it was his fault for them needing to have longer commutes because they lost their job in their hometown to a mage. And this fellow was just a two-bit hack of a mage at that, outplayed by a perfume bottle.


    The man looked around sheepishly, and folded up his scroll, nodding at Jonas with an ashamed face, before returning to his seat.


    That’s the thing about D Tier mages. They’re neither here nor there.


    As far as Jonas could remember, mages had been graded based on their magic potential, that is, their ability to generate and use mana. The grading was done in Tiers, and most mages sat comfortably between D to A. On occasion, there would be really good ones who were given the coveted S Tier.


    After the Technomagic Revolution, mages were needed in industries everywhere, and became the backbone of the economy. Their mage Tier was no longer just a letter that they could flaunt within their inner circles, it was now a signal of social value and a predictor of economic contribution. One could get an interview in some of the most prestigious companies just by getting graded as an A tier mage by a reputable magic institution.


    Mages who were C Tier and above tended to be paid well enough to have their own private transport, like ManaCars, ManaScooters, and the like. Reaching the A Tier really changed things – these mages had enough mana to power their own private aerial transport. The really old-fashioned ones still rode on brooms, although, with a license, they could be riding on literally anything else.


    And then there were the D Tier mages. They are more efficient than most who were not magically gifted, but still not talented enough to justify a higher wage. Most of them would have to save for years just to afford private transportation of the cheapest class.


    So, if there were mages on the ManaRail, they would most likely be D Tier mages. Even those bullies back there.


    And I’m supposedly S Tier.


    ~-------*-------~


    There was no one in the Palit family who was born with magical affinity, and it had been this way for every newborn Palit for as far as any living descendent could remember. Despite that, or maybe because of that, they had always been excellent engineers.


    Jenson Palit, Jonas’s dad, was someone who worked best behind the scenes, and was known as a master of designing complex circuit boards for high tech manufacturing equipment. It was difficult for most people to appreciate his expertise unless one was in the industry – there were too many contributions that he had made to the craft that only skilled technicians could understand and appreciate.


    On the other hand, his older brother, dedicated himself to splendorous works that his country men could easily behold – sprawling suspension bridges that connected the outer islands of Western Caschian to the mainland, large statues dedicated to the popular gods from Rivosh, and on occasion, even aerial platforms on which mages would perform large-scale testing of their more destructive spells. One worked on the interiors, and the other, the exterior. But both were highly skilled.


    It was three years ago, at the elder Palit’s large country house, and the adults were having a hearty chat over a sumptuous dessert of bread pudding and alcohol, their boisterous conversation plastering over the fact that this was the last day of the winter holidays, meaning that for the lot of them, it was back to the drudgery of work tomorrow.


    Jonas’s dad was talking shop with his older brother, comparing their latest engineering exploits with each other while downing pints of aged malt beer. They were perhaps the only two who couldn’t wait to get back to work the next day, and they proudly explained their grandest projects to anyone who cared to ask.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    As such, the dining table was no longer a place that interested anyone under the age of twenty; Jonas and his sister, Janelle, joined the stream of younger Palits who discretely excused themselves from the ‘boring grown-up table’ and found themselves wandering into his cousin’s study room.


    Rowan, their cousin, was ten years older than Jonas, and he was a history researcher at Western Caschian’s only university. His study room was furnished with oak, and it smelled like books.


    For every family gathering, it had almost become a tradition for Jonas and his sister to poke their heads into this particular hideout. There, Rowan would tell them long and elaborate stories – only that they weren’t stories. They were actual history.


    In time, he learned that the Nostriva Federation was not the only political bloc in this world. There were three others, and the strongest one among them all was the Pendulus Alliance. There was also Rivosh, where most of the world’s religions come from. And Vxtraei, whose people were obsessed with new discoveries and technomagic experiments. These four ‘Blocs’ pretty much encompassed most of the world.


    Jonas did not really care so much about history, geography or politics, but he enjoyed seeing his cousin so animatedly talk about the subject that seemed to transform that otherwise studious-looking man into an unparalleled orator.


    A fire in his eyes would light up behind those thick-rimmed glasses, and his hands – which to Jonas, always looked a tad bit larger than it should, especially when attached to those long, thin arms – began to take on a life of its own, splaying out here, pinching and pointing there. Rowan was a tall man, and Jonas would often recline on the conveniently-placed beanbag in the room as he listened to his cousin’s lectures.


    Janelle, who was five years younger than her older brother, would often wander off midway to play with some of the curious magical artifacts that Rowan had collected from his journeys around Nostriva. As a history researcher from Western Caschian’s only university, he travelled a lot and had accumulated a number of curiosities.


    For the past few family gatherings or so, Janelle’s favourite one seemed to be the Sentient Dumpling, a rare, mana-filled creature that resembled a local delicacy enjoyed by the peoples of Jian Sha, one of the eastern countries in the Nostriva Federation.


    “You’re a good boy aren’t you!” she would coo at it, pinching its mana-filled cheeks. The creature had no face, but it would levitate in mid-air and rub its soft, dough-like underbelly against her knees. She would then laugh and stroke the sensitive frills along the entire top of its body. In response, it would quiver and make a warbling sound. “That’s right, you cute lil’ dumpling!”


    At the present moment, Rowan was working on a report right before his two younger cousins came ambling in. His long fingers flew quickly across the laptop’s keyboards with a clickity-clackity cadence that would normally turn any unsuspecting visitor away. But on seeing his favourite cousin’s face at the door, the young man paused in his work, stood up and greeted Jonas with a tight hug.


    “It’s been a whole year, hasn’t it!” he said to Jonas. Then, like a towering giant, bent down to lift the nine-year-old Janelle up, eliciting delightful squeals, before setting her down again. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she made a beeline to her favourite magical dumpling, reiterating yet another version of their greeting ritual. The Sentient Dumpling warbled in delight, shedding a few specks of flour on the carpet.


    “Yes, it’s been a while now! Did you pick up any cool technomagical inventions from Eastern Caschian?” asked Jonas. “I heard it was all the rage in our neighboring country! Especially the latest FloatingScreens - you can watch movies on it while riding the ManaRail and its mana batteries will last for the whole ride. I can’t wait to see it!”


    There was a bit of silence.


    “Hey. You know my stance on technomagicry, Jonas. I think if I can, I’d rather hold off on being a technomagic adopter until I really have to,” he sighed and strode slowly back to the desk, his long legs making it quick work, despite his unhurried motions.


    “Eh, you’re still not into it? I mean, I’ve heard the rumors. Seems like Western Caschian’s finally moving on with the times and letting in the latest technomagicry…”


    “Yes, I’ve read the news Jonas.” Rowan looked at Jonas in the eye, his face looking more serious by the second, “But do you know what they call Nostriva?”


    “The ‘Novice Bloc’. But isn’t that what everyone calls us by now? Even my teacher called Nostriva the ‘Novice Bloc’ just the other day, ha!”


    “The ‘Novice Bloc’!” The words rolled off Rowan’s tongue like a curse. “Doesn’t that infuriate you at all?” His face began to turn red, and Jonas tried to stifle a chuckle. Rowan was about to go into one of his humorously rage-fueled rants again.


    “The Pendulus Alliance – the glorious Power Bloc,” he said with his large fingers supplying the air quotes and his voice dripping with sarcasm, “so graciously extending their hand to us, the ‘Novice Bloc’ and infusing technomagicry into our economy… if you knew what I knew, you wouldn’t be celebrating! If you knew how they used the sorry excuse of technomagicry to control us, to exert their political influence!”


    He paused a bit before continuing with the same fervor, wagging a finger in the air. “Oh, they know how easy it is for entire populations to get addicted to what they offer; they know how easy it is to corrupt those in power, to make them say yes to personal gains in exchange for an entire country’s freedom. They know it and they abuse it! If only we had a way to fight back, to make our voices heard!”


    Rowan suddenly stopped short mid-rant, and his eyes lost its characteristic fire, leaving a defeated look on his face. “But we don’t. But we can’t do anything about it.”


    He reached for a glass of water, taking a sip before finally saying, “From what I’ve learned on my trip to Eastern Caschian’s university last month, I think it’s going to be inevitable here soon.”


    His cousin’s prediction came to pass in the next few months.


    With no concern for what hopes and dreams its people had originally embraced, the Pendulus Alliance opened the floodgates of technomagical modernization in Western Caschian, and just like the six other countries of the Nostriva Federation that came before them, Jonas’s country was irreversibly changed.


    Talented and skillful immigrant mages flooded in from the deregulated borders that no longer held them at bay. Having seen the early movers to the other Nostrivan countries find success, many wanted to try their luck in the last of the seven countries to open up. They began to take advantage of the developmental lag in Western Caschian, setting up shop wherever they could, converting traditional industries into technomagical ones.


    Pendulus, being in control of the entire modernizing operation, had the most influence over the country''s cultural transformation, and it was not long before ‘Technomagic’ became the next buzzword. Conventional technicians and craftsmen waved goodbye to their jobs, and high-minded, finger-splaying wizards took their place.


    Jonas’s dad was one of the casualties, and his family inevitably fell among the throngs of displaced households, thrown into disarray by the Technomagic Revolution. And so, the dark days began.


    When Jenson Palit got sick of being seen at the dole day after day, Jonas and his sister took turns at the queue, picking up government spare change that was parceled out to the households of displaced workers as part of the political arrangement between the Power Bloc and the Novice Bloc. The Pendulus Alliance, being the political powerhouse for the past century, knew how to pacify an economically displaced population; it was a skill they had refined and honed through decades of subtle manipulation and control. As such, despite their circumstances, the Palit family never had to starve a single day.


    But Jenson Palit was a traditional, bring-home-the-bacon man, and could not stand the grind of job rejection after job rejection. So, his family had to bear the brunt of his bad moods.


    There were days when metal lids and pans flew straight out of the kitchen during parental feuds. On other days, Jonas and his sister Janelle would come home from school only to find their stock of rationed food completely consumed - an irritable Mr. Palit would be at the table, complaining about how a grown man needs to be paid more for "runnin'' around all day and gettin'' no potatoes for it".


    For almost three years, Jonas felt as if the joyful times from his childhood had been completely eclipsed by all the upsets in his family. He stepped into his teenage years with a bleak, grim fog that clouded his mind and darkened his expectations of the future.


    Then, out of the blue, the Palit household received a letter from one of the top magic schools in all of Nostriva. “Mr. Palit,” it began, “your son, Jonas, has been scried for having exceptional magical capabilities. We invite him to take up a scholarship at the School of HeartSpell – “and it was here where Jenson Palit stopped reading, fell on his knees, and gave a cry of thanks to one of the imported gods from Rivosh.


    “I knew my son had a special sumthin’! I knew I didn’t work hard for n’thin!” He thumped his son’s back, to the tsking disapproval of Mrs. Palit, who, with a face full of doubt, looked quite sure that her son’s magical talent and her husband''s allegedly impeccable work ethic had nothing to do with each other.


    In fact, there was no known explanation as to how Jonas qualified for the School of Heartspell, a school renown for only accepting S Tier mages. For as far as the Palits could remember, there had been no mages in the family tree.


    ~-------*-------~


    “Mana mana mana, putting mana in your rails!” sang the Service Faery.


    It was a ManaRail advertisement in a ManaRail, and it interrupted Jonas’s thoughts.


    That’s right, I was napping before I was disturbed by those bullies. Gotta check where I’m at now.


    He stabbed the button that called for the Service Faery, but the tiny flying creature was busy serving another ‘esteemed passenger’. With a grunt, he strained his neck to search for a clock. There it was, hanging right at the back of the carriage.


    What? It’s already been fifteen hours?


    The stress of moving to Astriva had been gnawing on him over the past week, and he could not get any sleep. That, coupled with the six hours of standing earlier, was enough to send him into the deepest slumber when he had the chance to finally rest.


    Another strange smell distracted him from his concerns - overwhelmingly pungent, but sweet, like rotting fruit. At least it wasn’t flatulence this time.


    "Oh, the mango pie smells bad! That incompetent mage. I told him to make the preservation last more than ten hours. Now we''ve got to go hungry for the rest of the ride,” said the elderly woman who was seating just across the aisle.


    "Well, you did ask for a discounted spell,” replied her husband. “Can''t expect too much from it! But it''s okay sweetie - I brought some extra munchies that we can share."


    His belly rumbled at the thought of food, but he had more urgent matters on his mind. Rubbing his clammy hands against his shirt, he gathered the courage to ask the elderly couple about the train''s current location.


    "Heartspell? Honey, this young boy is on his way to HeartSpell!" said the wrinkled woman.


    "A talented one, huh! An anxious young lad too, by the looks of it,” the old man chuckled. “You don''t have to be worrying now, the school''s just up ahead, you didn’t miss your stop. Oh, you’re such a blessed young one to be studying magic. Back in my day…"


    Jonas thanked them and sunk back down into his seat to avoid getting assailed by stories from the ‘good ol’ days’. An itchy discomfort bubbled up in his chest. He could not tell if it was a mild anxiety, or excitement. He was about to step foot into the top magic school in all of Nostriva, after all.


    “The School of Heartspell…” he muttered the words softly and slowly, letting them roll off his tongue. “I wonder what awaits me there?”