Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 8: Brother

Toren Daen

Norgan and I walked along South Orlaeth Street, each strolling with a skip in our step. A slight grin stretched across my face, and looking at my brother's own, I could see the edges of his lips curled into a more devious smirk.

It was a good day, one where the pieces we had worked for for years started finally coming into place. I had finally advanced my mark to a crest, gaining enough understanding of the spellform on my own to push forward to the next tier. Norgan had got another mark at a recent bestowment, and one that greatly complemented the spellform he already had. And after one last shift of grueling work at the East Fiachra Healer's Guild, my brother and I would have finally saved up enough money to apply for the magic schools of the Western district of the city.

As we walked in the morning light, I subtly glanced at my brother once more. His body was thin: unhealthily so. Where before the observation would cause guilt to churn in my stomach, now a surge of relief took its place.

Once we were enrolled–I knew both he and I would pass the entrance exams with flying colors, so it was only a matter of time–we wouldn't need to skip so many meals. We could both put some meat on our bones.

Norgan looked at me as we weaved through the morning pedestrians. His eyes sparkled with an intelligence that sometimes scared me. We were only a year apart in age, and yet he was already my better in so many things.

"What do you think the Striker school exams will be like?" he asked idly. "What kind of challenges do you think they'll have?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Probably sparring," I answered. "I mean, what better way to tell if you're good at Striking than fighting another opponent?"

My brother nodded. "Yeah, they probably will." He furrowed his brow. "But sparring probably won't count for much," he added. "Different strikers have different skills, after all. I think the test will have a teamwork section," he theorized.

My brows raised of their own accord, seeing my brother's thought process immediately. Mages were generally separated into several distinct types based on the runes they received: shields, casters, strikers, sentries, and instillers. The three combat-focused designations–shields, casters, and strikers–usually formed combat teams together, working together as a unit and covering each other's weaknesses.

My rune designated me as a caster. Telekinesis wasn't a common rune to acquire and was generally considered weak. After all, a spellform that shot a dozen spikes of rock at an enemy was far more effective than having to push rock around with your mind. The latter took more effort for the same effect, and you couldn't conjure your ammunition yourself.

So it made sense that the exams would likely have a section dedicated to teamwork.

"I think we can make do without a shield," I said consideringly as we crossed over one of the canals Fiachra was famous for. "I mean, our teamwork is enough to make the Scythes jealous," I said with a smile.

My brother stuck a leg out in front of me suddenly, causing me to stumble and bump into a wall. "You could've really used a shield then, Toren," he mocked primly. "Maybe you wouldn't have scraped your arm."

Scowling, I used a mild application of my telekinesis rune to pull on the drawstrings of Norgan's trousers. He stumbled too when his pants began to fall, leaving me to cackle as he hastily tied them back up. "I think you could use a sentry to watch your pants," I said with a grin. "Maybe to keep them from running away?"

"Haha," my brother said in a monotone, but from the glimmer in his eye, I could see he was amused.

Our walk continued for a bit longer: we were going to our last shift at the East Fiachra Healer's Guild, at least for a little while. The magic schools paid stipends based on performance in classes, and both Norgan and I were confident in our abilities to excel.