6. Loop 0, Part 6

Oh, hello, Lazlo, I’m Flag. I was having such a nice nap. Thane hadn’t stepped on me in an hour. But yes, oh, yes, I would like very much if the people stopped stepping on my back. There are other tiles. Why is it always me? Nobody steps on the girl stones.

Girl stones? What? But I didn’t send that thought. That’s wonderful. I’m sending you mana. Just accept it into yourself and the spell will do the rest.

The flagstone accepted the enchantment with an enthusiasm I hadn’t asked for. It pulled the full 33 mana into its elemental core like a silo collecting grain. Instead of the shimmer that accompanied Layla’s enchantment, a thin, see-through layer of rock clicked into place above the stone. But it must have been visible only to me, because nobody reacted to my spell. In fact, Professor Thane reacted as if I hadn’t done anything at all.

“Mr. Yarrow. Being the nephew of my boss does not afford you the privilege to ignore the requests of a professor. If you insist on ignoring one, there will be consequences.”

After addressing me, Thane turned to continue his trot across the classroom, except he walked straight into the path of my new ward. His boot stopped dead. There was no telltale sign or give that most wards had. Instead it was as if the professor were approaching a solid wall. And when people walk into walls, they fall on their ass.

The professor clattered to the floor with an indignant shriek. The whole classroom devolved into laughter. Even the grey man reacted, but not out of humor. He flicked his eyes between the professor and then back to me, something I only caught because of [Wideview].

I almost felt a little bad, as I had not intended to embarrass him. I really only trolled Finn, the occasional bully, and people who inconvenienced me more than was necessary. Thane was none of those things. Maybe a little too exuberant, but everyone has character flaws.

“I’m sorry, professor, I didn’t expect Flag to do that. I only asked him to accept the mana, but he must have an elemental core or something.”

The laughter died unevenly around the room, and a few of my classmates exchanged looks. Flag?

“You cast this ward?” The professor sounded dumbfounded as he picked himself up off the floor. He poked and prodded the invisible (to him) pillar. He took out his own wand and muttered a spell. Blue tendrils of alteration magic fluttered around the pillar. The mana pulsed three times, and then the pillar collapsed.

He put a palm flat against Flag, and then stood up and faced me.

“Can you come here and demonstrate the spell for me again?”

Ughhh, I was not in the mood for this.

“I cast the spell from my seat. I really don’t see why I need to get up to do it again.”

“Humor me.” It hurt to look at the man’s pleading eyes. Man, did I really have to cast the spell again?

I got up and, as slowly as possible, walked to the front of the classroom as if I were part of a funeral procession. And in a sense, I was. The funeral of any hope I had of being lazy in this class again.

When I approached Flag the Flagstone, I repeated my spell.

Hey, Flag. Sorry to wake you from your nap. Thane is begging for us to knock him on his ass again.

Oh, that was funny. I don’t mind, but I really do want a good nap.

You and me both, buddy.

I felt the spell connect, and an identical, translucent but stony pillar snapped into place. Thane tested it with the same boot, but didn’t fall over this time. Damn.

He pressed his full weight against the pillar, wrapped his knuckles against it, even gave a roundhouse kick, but the ward didn’t budge. He examined the base and ran another diagnostic spell, a green one, which spiraled around the ward multiple times. Unlike the last one, this didn’t collapse the ward.

“You skipped the anchor points,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation. His voice was full of curiosity. “Did you use the flow paths from the diagram?”

“No.”

“Did you follow the suggested negotiations?”

“No.”

“The gestures?”

“Do I look like I used gestures?”

“No.” He cackled madly. “No, you do not. You absolutely do not.” He was hopping from side to side in absolute giddiness. “So you just… asked the stone?”

“You said enchantment was persuasion, and then I stopped bothering to listen.”

His face went blank for a second, but when he spoke, the enthusiasm was still evident. “I did say that. I absolutely did.” He paced three quick steps to where Layla’s ward was still active. He cast the same green diagnostic spell, then paced back to Flag.

“And the stone just agreed? On the first try? With no resistance?”

“He seemed happy about it, honestly.”

“He.” Thane stopped pacing as he realized what I said. “You gendered the flagstone.”

“He gendered himself.”

Thane’s eyes went wide. He crouched back down, disabled the ward, and pressed his palm flat to Flag again. He stood up. Looked at me. Looked at the floor. Looked at me again.

“That stone has a personality resonance,” he said, and his voice had gone up half an octave. “It has a soul. This just doesn’t happen. The likelihood of a random stone in my classroom having an elemental core, let alone a soul. That’s just unheard of. However did you find it? A family trait, perhaps?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I paused, stunned.

“A family trait? What’s that?” I repeated. The question felt a little invasive, too invasive, and for good reason. Family traits were long-guarded secrets that often held the key to an entire family’s success. And here my professor was, trying to air a secret that wasn’t mine to share for an entire classroom to hear.

“I just cast the spell, professor, and the stone reacted. I don’t know what else to tell you.” It was a lie, I knew why, and probably now everyone else did, too. Explaining [Soul Sense] to an entire room of classmates and one grey stranger felt about as appealing as volunteering for extra homework. Some things were private, some things were nobody’s business, and others… well, if the wrong person found them out, they became problems.

Thane studied me for a long moment. For a man known for his loud, boisterous voice, and his wild, erratic movements, he could be terrifyingly still when he wanted to be. But he didn’t push; I liked him a lot more for that.

“Well,” he said, “Mr. Yarrow. You are the most infuriating student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.” He leaned in, and the giddiness crept back in. “What a fortuitous moment! This creates so many opportunities for future exploration, and for so, so many new and wonderful enchantments.”

He paused, looked at the greyman, and then back at me. “You know, with your raw talent and luck, you could be extraordinary, if you ever decided to try. I hope you do know that.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I did nothing. Flag, however, interjected.

You know, despite all the times he’s stepped on me, he seems nice. A bit loud. But nice.