"You're officially the most hated first-year in Academy history," Finn informed me cheerfully as we left the infirmary. He attempted to snap his fingers and produce his signature wind spark, a habit he'd developed to punctuate his more dramatic statements. Instead, a puff of what appeared to be pink glitter erupted from his fingertips, coating his face.
"I think you're right," I muttered, watching as the glitter refused to be brushed away, instead shifting into tiny hearts that pulsed in time with Finn's increasing irritation.
My friends were released from Lady Althea's care with strict instructions to avoid "anything that might exacerbate probability fluctuations", which apparently meant costly magic, high physical exertion, extreme emotional distress. In my case it was, "existing too intensely."
"How exactly does one exist less intensely?" Gavril asked as we navigated a corridor that was supposed to lead to the central courtyard but seemed determined to loop back on itself every third turn. He was clutching a scroll in his now-less-blue arm that continuously rewrote itself, transforming his meticulously gathered research notes on probability theory into increasingly terrible limericks about ducks.
"I've been trying to figure that out my entire life," I replied.
Following behind us with casual grace despite the storm cloud that had formed above his head and was raining exclusively on him, Elias looked remarkably unperturbed. The water slid off him as though repelled by some invisible force.
"The important thing to remember," Elias said, ignoring the miniature thunderclaps punctuating his speech, "is that we're experiencing a fascinating magical phenomenon that hasn't been documented in centuries. We should be taking notes."
"I'm trying," Gavril replied, displaying his scroll, which now read:
There once was a mage from Nantucket,Whose luck was so bad he could…
I slapped the scroll closed before it could finish the rhyme. "I think we have enough documentation of our misery."
Our emergence into the main courtyard was met with immediate silence. Tens of students, previously engaged in the standard between-class chaos of shouting, spell-casting, and the occasional explosion of a poorly executed charm, fell quiet as we appeared. Then the whispers started once more.
"That's him…"
",the one who made Valentina Morgenstern bald…"
"…and blew up half of the academy…"
"I did not make her bald," I hissed to my companions. "Her hair just turned... blue. Again."
"Actually," Gavril whispered back, "I heard it changed again this morning. It's now cycling through all the colors of the spectrum, but spending extra time on particularly unflattering shades of pink."
"Of course it is," I groaned.
The sea of students parted before us, not out of respect but from a well-founded fear of proximity. In the wake of what was now being called "The Probability Incident," my bad luck had expanded its territory. Anyone within a certain radius might find their spells backfiring, their belongings transfiguring, or in one memorable case that morning, their breakfast cereal transforming into tiny singing toads.
We made our way toward the dining hall, my stomach growling despite the knowledge that my meal would almost certainly try to escape the plate, become sentient, or recite poetry. Possibly all three.
"Ardent!"
The voice cut through the courtyard like a blade of ice. I turned, already knowing who I'd find. Soren Valdris stood at the center of a circle of freshman and senior students, his angular face set in an expression of perfect contempt.
"You," he said, pointing at me with such dramatic flair that I half-expected lightning to punctuate the gesture. "You've disrupted everything."
I sighed. "If you're here about the Rift Garden, I've already been thoroughly reprimanded…"
"I don't care about the garden," he interrupted, his voice tight with controlled anger. "I care about the fact that you've managed to take Elias out of commission."
Ah. So that was it. Soren had been trying to engage Elias in a proper duel since the beginning of term, a challenge Elias had artfully avoided through technicalities and loopholes. Now, with Elias under medical restrictions, Soren's ambitions were temporarily thwarted.
"A minor inconvenience," Elias remarked, looking utterly unconcerned. "Perhaps in a week or two…"
"Weeks!" Soren's carefully composed facade cracked slightly. "The preliminary rankings will be established by then."
Gavril leaned closer to me, whispering, "He hoped to beat Elias before the Equinox Tournament to elevate his rank."
That caught my attention. "Tournament?"
Soren's gaze snapped back to me, his expression morphing from irritation to something more calculating. "You don't even know about the Equinox Tournament, yet you've managed to sabotage the rankings."
"Not intentionally," I offered weakly.
"Intention is irrelevant. Results are what matter." Soren straightened his already impeccable uniform. "If I can't have Elias, I'll have to settle for the cause of the problem."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I challenge you to an official duel," Soren declared, loudly enough that the entire courtyard fell silent. "Today."
Finn stepped forward. "He's under medical restrictions…"
"Filed this morning," Soren interrupted, producing an official-looking scroll with the Academy seal. "Single combat, standard rules, witnessed by Professor Blackthorn. All perfectly legitimate."
"You can't be serious," Gavril protested. "He's literally leaking bad luck. Lady Althea expressly forbade…"
"Lady Althea forbade magic," Soren corrected with a cold smile. "A physical duel requires no magic. Unless he's too afraid to face me without his... special advantages."
The challenge hung in the air between us. I knew it was a trap. I knew accepting would be monumentally stupid. I knew my current condition made me about as coordinated as a newborn giraffe on ice.
I also knew that refusing would cement my reputation as the coward who hid behind excuses.
"When and where?" I heard myself asking.
Finn groaned. Gavril face-palmed. Elias's eyes gleamed with that unnerving interest he always showed when I was about to do something incredibly ill-advised.
"The Minor Arena. One hour." Soren nodded curtly and strode away, his entourage of admirers falling in behind him like a well-trained honor guard.
"Ash, you can't be serious," Finn hissed once Soren was out of earshot. "You're in no condition to duel anyone, especially not Soren."
"He's right," Gavril added. "Soren is the top-ranked duelist after Elias. He's been trained in physical combat since childhood. You... well..."
"Nearly died twice in the last week?" I supplied helpfully.
"Exactly!"
Elias, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "The Academy allows only one official duel per student per week, barring special events."
"How is that helpful information right now?" Finn demanded.
"It means," Elias continued smoothly, "that if Asher accepts this challenge, no other student can officially challenge him until after the weekend. Given the current... atmosphere, that might actually be advantageous."
I followed his gaze around the courtyard, where dozens of students were watching us with expressions ranging from curiosity to open hostility. Valentina Morgenstern was among them, her hair indeed cycling through a rainbow of colors that clashed horribly with her murderous expression. Augustin Valorian stood nearby, whispering to a group of noble-born students, both freshman and seniors, who occasionally shot venomous glances in my direction.
"So I get beaten by Soren today instead of someone else tomorrow," I summarized. "Fantastic strategy."
"Unless you win," Elias suggested, with a smile that implied he found the entire situation delightfully unpredictable.
"Against Soren? Without magic?" Gavril looked physically pained by the suggestion. "Not to be discouraging, Ash, but..."
"No, please, discourage me," I insisted. "I could use some common sense right now."
"Too late," Finn sighed, pointing to where Professor Blackthorn was already setting up the Minor Arena, a gleeful expression on her face. "The paperwork's been filed. You're officially in the system."
"Perfect," I muttered. "Absolutely perfect."