Bad Day

After meeting up at the dining hall, Eric, Welyvyne, Lyren, and Kaelen made their way to the dueling grounds. Eric paused to check his stats; he hadn’t done that in a while and wanted to see where he was before he began.

[ Status — Eric Elwyn ]

Race: Outworlder

Class: Mage (Evolving)

Profession: Artificer

MP 162 / 162

Base Stats

Strength 5

Endurance 5

Dexterity 4

Agility 8

Wisdom 6 I

ntellect 8

Outworlder Bonuses: +5 to all base stats

Strength 10

Endurance 10

Dexterity 9

Agility 13

Wisdom 11

Intellect 13

Affinities:

Lightning (Complex)

Fire (Primary)

Air (Primary)

Water (Primary)

Traits:

Omni-Lingual — You may comprehend and speak all known tongues.

Dimensional Storage (Rank 1) — Access a personal pocket-space to store carried objects. (Upgradable.)

Adaptive Cognition — Neural enhancements optimized for complex mana analysis.

Skills:

Artifice Theory (23)

Process Optimization (Passive)

Adaptive Logic (Passive)

Mana Manipulation (64)

Defense (21)

Longswords (24)

Melee Combat (31)

Healing (12)

Jeweler (31)

Spells:

Arc (4) (Lightning)

Lightning Strike (12) (Lightning)

Gust (3) (Air)

Ignite (3) (Fire)

Draw Water (2) (Water)

Earthen Dart (5) (Earth)

Minor Healing (6) (Earth, Water) — Tier 2

Steam-Jet (3) — Tier 3

He skimmed the familiar lines, half on autopilot—race, stats, skills, spells—and then his gaze snagged on a single word.

Class: Mage (Evolving)

Eric stared at the line for a second. Evolving. He tilted his head to the side.

“Evolving—what the hell does that mean?”

He waited, half expecting the system to clarify. Nothing. With a quiet huff, he dismissed the pane. Questions for later—he still had duels to get through.

Welyvyne turned and looked at Eric. "Evolving... What's evolving?"

Eric ran to catch up with them. "What kind of hearing do you guys have, seriously!"

Lyren laughed. "Why is your hearing so bad?"

They crossed onto the dueling grounds on the east side of campus—the same oval arena as before, open to the sky. The packed dirt was freshly smoothed but still carried the faint churn of past matches. The dividing line ran cleanly through the center, bleachers rising on either side, while the circle of boundary runes around the perimeter pulsed with restrained energy. A cool breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of grass and dust.

Eric stopped at the edge of the arena proper. The Professor was already there—unsurprisingly. Much of the class had gathered as well. Eric spotted Aurwin and gave him a quick wave.

Welyvyne crossed her arms. "So, are you not going to tell me what's evolving?"

Eric rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "My class—it says it's evolving, and I have no idea what that means."

Kaelen turned, brows furrowing. "Your class is evolving? I've heard that can happen, but it's exceedingly rare. It's been known to happen if someone loses something or someone important to them; it's usually something dark. But knowing you, you'll probably evolve into something more dangerous."

Lyren laughed. "Yeah, exactly—probably change into something like World Destroyer."

Kaelen snapped his attention to her. "That isn't funny, Lyren."

Eric frowned, looked up, and tapped his chin. "If it does, I should probably wait until I have a way off this one before I use it."

Kaelen sighed. "Not helping, Eric. You know why it's not funny."

Eric smiled. "I do—and that's why it's funny. Do I seem like someone who wants the world destroyed?"

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He stepped in close enough that Eric had to tilt his head back a little to keep eye contact. Kaelen jabbed a finger into his chest—not hard, but not gentle either.

"How do we know you wouldn't blow up the world?" Poke. "We don't even know what you're like when you're angry." Poke. "You stay too calm, even for my liking."

"Kaelen—" Lyren started, taking a half step toward them.

He didn’t look back at her. "No, Lyren. We don't know how he is when he’s angry. We've never actually seen it. He came close that time he snapped at Welyvyne, but then he apologized and calmed too fast and too controlled for my liking."

His hand twitched for another poke.

Eric’s hand shot up, fingers closing around Kaelen’s wrist. The grip wasn’t painful, but it was absolute. When Kaelen tried to pull back on instinct, he couldn’t.

Eric’s voice stayed level. "I only get angry when it matters, Kaelen. If someone messes with you guys, that would be grounds for me to get angry. You aren't capable of angering me. We have history and bonds."

For a moment, the breeze and the low murmur of the other students seemed to fall away, leaving the two of them locked there on the edge of the arena.

Kaelen continued to pull, but Eric wasn’t moving, his grip like a controlled vice—no pressure, just locked in place.

A slow frown creased Kaelen’s brow. He tested the arm again, this time shifting his weight with it, and still nothing. Eric might as well have been a statue.

"Right," Kaelen said quietly, eyes narrowing. "family then."

Eric held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then let go, his hand dropping back to his side as if nothing had happened.

"You’re allowed to be afraid of what I might become," Eric said calmly. "But don’t be afraid of me."

Lyren huffed out a breath she’d been holding. "Well, that’s reassuring and unsettling at the same time."

Welyvyne stepped closer to Eric’s shoulder, not quite touching him but close enough to make the choice obvious. "I’m not afraid of you," she said simply. "I’m afraid of whatever would make you angry enough to prove him right."

Eric sighed and looked at Welyvyne. "Me too, but I won't harm innocent people if it ever came to that, not if I can help it."

Kaelen’s shoulders eased, but only a fraction. "You say that like you expect it to come to that," he muttered.

Eric shook his head. "I expect the world to keep throwing problems at us. I’m just not planning on being one of them."

Lyren blew out a breath and forced a crooked smile. "Okay, great talk. Maybe we save the ‘world-destroying hypothetical’ for after class, yeah?"

"Quite," Professor Varn’s voice cut cleanly across the arena.

All four of them turned. He was standing a few paces away, hands folded behind his back, gray eyes cool and unreadable—as if he’d been there long enough to hear more than any of them wanted.

"If you are finished debating global annihilation," he said mildly, "we do, in fact, have duels to begin. Take your positions."

Eric let out a slow breath, rolled his shoulders once, and stepped into the ring, taking his position as a student on the far side settled into a confident stance, clearly ready to begin.

Once the duel began, Eric was already moving. He slid in a shallow arc and cast Earthen Dart; a small stone snapped up from the packed dirt and clipped the student’s ankle. The boy flinched, his weight shifting, and Eric followed immediately with Lightning Strike. The bolt crashed into the student’s shield, flaring bright and driving him back a step.

With his opponent’s focus broken, Eric cast Steam-Jet. He kept the power choked down to a sliver, no more than one percent of what he could push through; he had no intention of actually injuring anyone. The burst of pressurized steam caught the student square in the chest and dumped him onto his back.

Once the burst of steam cleared, the other student lay flat on his back, shield flickering once before shattering with a soft chime.

For a second, the arena went quiet.

Then the whispers started.

"Did he just cast three spells that fast?"

"Was that Steam-Jet? At the end?"

"How is he not winded?"

Eric stood there, breathing evenly. His mana had barely dipped—he’d choked every spell down to a sliver on purpose—but from the outside, that didn’t matter. All they saw was speed, control, and the fact that he looked like he could do it again.

Across the ring, his opponent groaned and sat up, rubbing at his chest. "Ow," the boy muttered. "Warn a guy next time."

Eric winced. "Sorry. I kept the power low."

"That was low?" someone near the front blurted.

A few of the students who’d watched him eat a rock last time were staring now, expressions somewhere between wary and annoyed. Welyvyne caught his eye and gave him a look that said, very clearly, you just made your life more complicated.

Kaelen exhaled slowly. "And that," he murmured under his breath, "is why people are afraid of what you might become."

Professor Varn approached, looking across the field at Eric. "Enough." His voice carried cleanly across the arena. "I'm pulling you from magical dueling, you will now strictly stick to melee in the class."

The students murmured amongst each other as Professor Varn crossed the arena, his robes barely stirring the dust.

He stopped in front of Eric and lowered his voice so only the four of them could hear. "I'm not punishing you, but you could hurt someone and it's my responsibility to keep all of you safe."

Eric nodded once. "Understood, Professor."

"I don't think you do Eric." Professor Varn's voice hardened. "many of these student have been practicing for decades, you appear to have gained a lot of skill in the shortest time I've ever seen, they will not be pleased, watch out for retaliation."

Eric’s mouth tightened, the last of his earlier humor fading. "So… don’t show off, don’t embarrass anyone, and keep an eye out," he said quietly. "I can do that."

Varn studied him for a moment, then gave the faintest nod. "Good. Learn. Improve. But do it without making enemies you don’t need."

After that, Eric didn’t do much. He stayed off to the side, shadow-fighting and running through the forms Kaelen had taught him—footwork, balance, the basic cuts—over and over until the movements felt more like habit than thought. He kept an eye on the others, but he didn’t step back into the ring again.

When class finally ended and the students began to drift away in small clusters, he met back up with the others near the edge of the grounds.

"hey," Eric said, a little dejected. "you guys want to go eat at Lyrens favorite food vendor, I think I'll teach him something new today."

Lyren’s mouth twitched. Welyvyne gave him a look that said she’d heard the tone under the joke, but she didn’t call him on it.

Kaelen studied him for a moment. "Teach him," he said, "or distract yourself?"

Eric huffed a quiet breath. "Both," he said. "I was thinking of something from my world. It’s called pizza."

Lyren perked up. "Eric cooking something new? I'm in."

Welyvyne nodded in agreement.

As everyone made their way through the market toward Kyllian’s food stall, Eric glanced up to see him handing out walking sticks to a small crowd. Eric smiled. Kyllian looked up, spotted him, and lifted a hand in a broad wave; Eric returned it without breaking stride.

Kyllian barked a few quick orders to his assistant, then turned with a wide grin. “Eric! Brought the whole crowd with you, did you? You all look hungry.”

Eric smiled wide. “Yeah—but I’d like to feed them something new. How do you feel about learning the pizza recipe today?”

Kyllian laughed. “Ha! Yes, I would. Come on back here—what do you need to get started?”

Eric stepped into the stall and looked around. Kyllian had made some upgrades—a new stove with an oven built in, a second, smaller cooktop along the side, and a wider prep counter that hadn’t been there before. Shiny new utensils hung in neat rows above it, alongside a pair of deep ladles and a long-handled pan clearly made for frying. Extra baskets of roots and lilosa fruit were stacked under the counter, and a new set of shelves along the back wall held jars of spices, oils, and neatly labeled containers. The awning overhead had been reinforced with a proper frame, and a couple of extra tables and stools had been squeezed in nearby to handle the spillover of customers. It looked like business was treating him very well.

Eric smiled. “Looks wonderful in here, Kyllian. Can you hand me some bread dough and a pan?”

Kyllian’s grin widened. He moved over to his refrigeration box as Eric stepped to the sink and washed his hands. “Yeah, business has been excellent, my boy! Here ya go.”

Kyllian handed him a lump of dough and set a pan on the counter. Eric reached into a sack of flour, dusted the counter, and began rolling the dough out.

Kyllian grabbed a square pan and set it beside him. Eric started rummaging through the jars of spices, uncorking each one in turn, smelling and even dabbing a bit on his tongue.

“Yeah, this one… and this one,” he murmured to himself, setting a few aside as he slowly improvised a spice mix for the sauce.

He dug through the crates until he found the tomato-like vegetables he’d used on the sandwiches before. Spinning around, he grabbed a sauce pan, dropped the fruits in, and began crushing them with the back of a spoon. Once they were pulped, he sprinkled in the chosen spices, added a bit of water, and set the pan on the stove to simmer.

Kyllian watched his every move, eyes fixed on Eric’s hands. “So, what is it you’re making there, my boy?”

Eric glanced down into the simmering pan and smiled. “Pizza sauce. It goes on top of the bread. You’ve got that cheese stuff and that sausage-type stuff, right? We’ll need the cheese shredded and the ‘sausage’ prepped while this simmers.”

Kyllian began preparing the ingredients, slicing the faux sausage and setting a block of cheese on the counter to shred. Eric stirred the sauce, gave it a small taste, then glanced down at his watch to check how long it had been simmering.

Kyllian’s eyes followed the motion. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at Eric’s wrist.

Eric looked at the watch and smiled. “Oh, this? It’s a watch. A kind of timekeeper I’m building. Helps me keep track of the day since I can’t hear your bells.”

Kyllian furrowed his brows. “You keep track of time with that? It isn’t doing anything strange, is it?”

Eric chuckled. “I hope not. If it is, I haven’t caught it misbehaving yet.”

Kyllian eyed it for a moment longer, then shook his head and went back to slicing, muttering, “Humans and their little machines…”

Eric spread the dough thin across the pan, then reached over to the saucepan, ladled out the simmered sauce, and smoothed it over the surface. He sprinkled cheese in an even layer, scattered the sausage pieces on top, and slid the pan into the oven.

“There,” Eric said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Give that, say, fifteen minutes and we can try it.”

Kyllian frowned. “How long is fifteen minutes?”

Eric snorted. “Yeah, right—about a quarter of a bell, your time.”

“Hey, Beast,” someone yelled from outside the vendor’s stall.

Eric recognized the voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m talking to you, beast.”

Eric turned to see who was yelling. A noble-born elf in tailored blue robes stood just beyond the awning, staring straight at him—white hair and pale complexion marking him as very much of this city.

“Excuse me, are you talking to me?” Eric asked, finally placing the voice, and waved a hand at his surroundings. “This isn’t the school, so I’d expect better manners from you.”

“You dare speak to your betters in such a tone, beast,” the noble said, sneering.

Before Eric could say another word, Kaelen rounded the corner, Lyren and Welyvyne right behind him.

“Who are you to speak to Eric in such a crude manner?” Kaelen asked, his face hard.

“I am Lord Eyerlyst,” Eyerlyst said. “And this beast needs to be put in his place.”

Kaelen laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Oh? And you mean to do that—put Eric in his place?” He took a step forward. “Before you get to that, tell me: what have you done that gives you any right?”

“I’m a lord,” Eyerlyst pronounced, standing straighter. “That is all the right I need.”

Kaelen sneered. “Well then, by all means—put a man who acts more like a noble than you ‘in his place.’ I’m sure you’re aware this man has defended this city, stepped in when weaker people needed him to, and is more of an example of what a lord is than ‘I’m a lord, that’s all the right I need.’”

A few nearby elves had started watching, the low murmur of the street dipping into a curious hush. Kyllian froze behind the counter, eyes flicking between Kaelen and Eyerlyst, clearly recognizing that this was no longer about a “beast” at a food stall.

Eyerlyst’s jaw clenched. “You would take the side of a human over your own blood?”

Kaelen didn’t flinch. “I’ll take the side of the person acting like a lord,” he said evenly, “regardless of what they are.”

Kyllian stepped up beside Eric. “This man here—Lord Eric, as far as I’m concerned—I'd trust well before I’d trust you. Pettiness doesn’t make you a lord in our eyes.”

Many of the bystanders were nodding at Kyllian as he continued. “Lord Kaelen here is right. We’re all aware of how Eric has held himself since he’s been in our city. What exactly have you done?”

Lord Eyerlyst backed up, eyes flicking over the ring of onlookers. “This isn’t over,” he snapped, then turned on his heel and stalked away.

Eric watched him stalk away, then shrugged and turned back to the oven. “Huh. Pizza’s almost ready.”

Everyone’s eyes landed on Eric, as if waiting to see how he’d react. The crowd erupted in laughter.

Lyren snickered along with the crowd while Kaelen just stared at him.

“Not even a hint of anger,” Kaelen said. “He didn’t make you even slightly angry?”

Eric turned to Kaelen, confusion written all over his face. “No. He doesn’t know me—and honestly, I couldn’t care less about his attitude.”

Kaelen stared at him for a long moment, something uneasy in his eyes. “That’s what bothers me,” he muttered. “You should be angry. Most people would be. You just… don’t.”

Eric raised an eyebrow, "Why are you so bent on me getting angry today?"

Kaelen opened his mouth, closed it, then huffed out a breath and looked away.

“Because I don’t know where the line is,” he said finally. “I don’t know what it takes to make you angry. You shrug off nobles, you shrug off insults, you shrug off almost dying. You keep… folding everything down.”

He glanced back at Eric, jaw tight.

“I don’t want the first time you really lose it to be when it actually matters—and we’re standing too close when it happens.”

“If I ever get angry, Kaelen, I’ll tell you,” Eric said quietly. “I’m not going to blow up. I worked past that a long time ago. Anger’s a tool, just like any other emotion—and I don’t swing it wildly.”

Kaelen’s shoulders loosened. “Good,” he said. “Well said. That makes me feel better.”

Welyvyne and Lyren looked at each other and dug in, clearly trusting Eric’s “creations” now. Eric smiled as he watched Kaelen inspect the food. Then Kyllian took a bite.

“This—this is amazing, so much flavor!”

Eric chuckled and took a bite of his own. The flavor wasn’t perfect, but it was close. The tomato-like vegetables weren’t exactly like tomatoes—their acidity was more muted, sweeter—but the pizza was still fantastic, and exactly what his soul needed right now.

Kaelen looked at everyone, then shrugged and took a bite. His eyes widened.

“Thif, thif is wa I been mithin’,” he managed around a mouthful of pizza.

Eric snorted. “You know you’re allowed to swallow before you review it, right?”

The crowd began eyeing the pizza, and Eric smiled. “Well, Kyllian, I’ll leave you to feed the customers. They look curious.”

Kyllian chuckled, reached under the counter, pulled out a small coin pouch, and pressed it into Eric’s hand. “Your part of the profits, I’m sure you know.”

Eric led everyone to the blacksmith. When they stepped inside, Grendar was already standing at the counter, Eric’s chestplate laid out in front of him. It was black and looked way better than Eric had expected, the metal finished in a matte sheen that seemed to drink in the light. The mana crystal was set into the center of the chest, shaped by a dwarf jeweler into a golf-ball-sized princess-cut gem, its clean white facets catching and scattering light in sharp, bright angles that stood out against the dark plates.

Eric stopped a few steps short, just staring for a moment. “Okay,” he said under his breath, “that turned out way cooler than I pictured.”

Grendar smiled. “I’ve been expecting ye. Come over here so we can get it fitted on ye.”

Eric slipped out of his longcoat and set it on the counter. Grendar picked up the chest piece and walked around, the black plate looking even more solid up close with the white mana crystal winking in the center. He set it against Eric’s chest and started fussing with the straps, tightening one, loosening another, checking the fit with the kind of focus Eric had only ever seen in good machinists back home.

“Lift yer arms,” Grendar muttered.

Eric did. The plate settled into place, weight spreading across his shoulders instead of biting into one point. It felt… right. Solid without being restrictive.

Grendar stepped back, eyeing him critically. “Aye. That’ll do. Ye can breathe and swing in it, and it’ll turn a bad hit aside. Try not to test it too often.”

Eric smiled. “I’ll do my best. No promises.”

Grendar snorted. “Adventurers,” he grumbled, but there was pride in it.

He hesitated a second, then added, almost casually, “Eh, lad… we’re headin’ to the dwarven city tamorra. Ye wouldn’t be interested in comin’ with us, would ye?”

Eric blinked. “Tomorrow?”

“Aye. Got a shipment to oversee. Proper forges, proper drink, and proper stone under yer feet.” Grendar’s beard twitched in a half-smile. “Figure a human who thinks like an artificer might enjoy seein’ how real work’s done.”

Eric rubbed the back of his neck, "I'd planned on heading to the human settlement for my personal needs, if we could stop by there and bring my friends then I'd be more than happy to go."

“Of course,” Grendar said. “We usually stop by the human settlement on the way. Sometimes ye can find the mos’ interestin’ things there.”

Lyren, Welyvyne, and Kaelen stepped up behind Eric, the three of them clearly having heard enough.

“We’d love to go,” Lyren said before Eric could even turn around. “I’ve never been there before. Hardly anyone gets invited to the dwarven city.”

Welyvyne nodded. “Same. I’ve only ever heard stories—and most of those are secondhand at best.”

Kaelen folded his arms, a faint, rare smile tugging at his mouth. “An invitation like that isn’t something you turn down lightly.”

Grendar’s eyes flicked over the three of them, weighing, measuring. Then he huffed a short laugh. “Hnh. Ye keep decent company, lad. If they’re comin’, they’re under yer word—and mine, while we travel. Dwarven roads aren’t for fools.”

Eric inclined his head. “I can live with that. Meet you at the eastern gate, then?”

Grendar smiled. “Aye, lad. We’ll be travellin’ by carriage.”

“Great,” Eric said. “I’ll wear my new armor. Still have to work on the runes, but I can start the design while we travel.”

Grendar huffed a short laugh. “If ye start carvin’ runes in my carriage, at least warn me first. I like knowin’ what might explode under me seat.”

Eric laughed. “No engraving on a bumpy road. Rule number one.”

Grendar’s beard twitched. “Good. Ye’ve got more sense than half the apprentices I’ve trained.”

Behind Eric, Lyren leaned in toward Welyvyne and whispered, “Rule number two: don’t explode the carriage.”

Welyvyne snorted. “You’d think that would be rule number one.”

Eric just shook his head, a faint smile lingering as he flexed his shoulders, feeling the new plate settle like it belonged there.