The two girls waved at Filcarel. Had they enjoyed his spellcasting? He was standing mid stream, his silk trousers and rich blue jacket were soaking wet, so he hoped that he had made a good impression, magically speaking. Certainly he looked a little foolish now.

  He wasn’t good at estimating ages, but they were probably ten or twelve years old. The pink haired girl had nice clothes, she was probably a rich merchant’s daughter or even part of a noble family. She looked a little familiar, he thought he had seen her somewhere else before.

  “Hi!” She yelled at him as the mage adept waded his way out of the stream.

  Filcarel approached, giving a polite bow as he reached shore.

  “Can you show me your dragon?!”

  Filcarel was confused for a moment. His spell was kind of impressive but it had been a whirlwind, not a dragon. Then he remembered why she looked familiar, she had been at the parlor. She wasn’t interested in his spellcasting at all. It would have been polite to at least mention it. But no. She only cared about his super rare figurine.

  “Ahh… No. The dragon is resting.” Filcarel decided he didn’t need to humor the girl.

  “Come on! I can make a table!”

  The pretty young girl kneeled down in the sandy dirt and drew a rectangle with her finger. Her pink silk dress was getting dirty, although the soil wasn’t exactly muddy. The girl activated her skill, and inside the rectangle an illusory battleground appeared, containing miniature terrain and trees with a capture point in the center. Out of place, Filcarel thought. Who would summon something like that here?

  “You’re really into the Game, huh?” Filcarel was a little bit stunned by the single mindedness, but also the high level of skill she displayed in making the ‘table’. He himself had never learned how to make such an elaborate game board like that, even though he had spent many hours with his figures as a child.

  “Yeah I’m the best in the whole town, and I’ve never seen a dragon unit before! How’d you get it? Show me!”

  “What’s your name? I, am Filcarel.”

  “Hildagret Arschebow.” The girl stood up and curtsied in a stiff, practiced way. “What’s your house name?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Arschebow. My house has been, unfortunately, dissolved. My friends call me the Moonlight Scholar, so in a formal situation you might call me that.”

  “They call you a Scholar? What if, if you show me the dragon, I’ll call you Filcarel the Moonlight Dragon, which is better.”

  “Ah, no, Scholar would be preferred. I’m sure that I’ll see you again at the Game parlor. Next Demonsday? We can talk then.”

  The girl reluctantly agreed and scurried off. It still irritated him that she hadn’t mentioned his magic at all, and wasn’t it weird that she didn’t comment on the fact that he’d fallen into the stream and gotten wet? Well, Filcarel maybe understood, since he was also often very focused on his passion, magic. He thought it would be good to spend some time every week at the parlor though. It was good to have a hobby, and he’d forgotten how much he liked watching his little figurines.

  The other girl was still there. She hadn’t said anything when Hildagret had left, which seemed strange to Filcarel. Were they friends or not? Perhaps they had only met by chance by the stream today which would explain the obvious difference in social status between the two.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The second girl was sitting next to the hole left behind by the recently departed sapling, pawing through the dirt, not with a purpose, just lost in thought. Her dress was made from a poor, rough, brown cloth. Her hair was messy and she had a thick, flat nose. She didn’t look in Filcarel’s direction, but she hadn’t left either.

  “Are you and her friends? If you hadn’t noticed, she’s gone without you.”

  The girl just shrugged. “Are you going do do more magic?”

  “I’ve spent most of my viz, so no. I’ll be switching to mana shaping exercises.” He was a little annoyed that the girl was just sitting there moping. It would be hard to concentrate with her around. “I like the secluded peace and tranquility of this spot.”

  “Can I watch?”

  Filcarel sighed. “I suppose you can. What is that, there?”

  The girl had unearthed something shiny while they talked, and when Filcarel pointed it out she handed it to him, shrugging again. It was a seed stone, and it sparkled with white glimmer in his palm. It was a lucky find, a pebble that pulsed weakly with spiritual power. Filcarel had never found one before, but he’d never really looked either.

  “You want to watch me do exercises? Does that mean you can sense mana?”

  This was a detail that Filcarel was just now realizing was odd. The brown haired girl did not look rich enough to afford the steep cost of magical awakening. Elixirs for physical enhancement were more or less accessible to common people, but even though the magical version was sort of the same thing they were only attainable by the social elite.

  The girl shrugged. “I was born with it, being able to see.”

  “That’s a rare gift. I don’t suppose your parents can afford to send you to the mage’s guild?”

  She shrugged again. It was her favorite form of communication.

  Naturally, he was immediately envious. Filcarel had had to endure many painful administrations of extremely expensive potions just to attain his status as an adept. Yes, he had grown up like a prince, and money was not a consideration, but a body’s ability to digest elixirs was limited. Over consumption could even cause death. A head start along the path would have been incredibly helpful for him.

  “What’s your name? You can speak to me freely you know. I only dress like a noble, I’m not one any more.”

  “I’ve seen you before. Aren’t you, like, the Fungus Rex?”

  Filcarel glared. “My ancestors a very long time ago, had the title of Fidus Rex. Fungus, that’s a perjorative, an insult. Surely you know the story. What’s your name, though.”

  “It’s Brosh.” She blushed. “My dad named me after the Adventurer.”

  Her father had wanted a warrior for a son, and instead had gotten a magically blessed daughter. Filcarel did not particularly respect martial prowess, but he understood the misfortune of the situation. A physically gifted person (like Brox) could rise from the lowest class of society to become relatively rich or famous. The same was not true of someone magically gifted.

  Being able to sense mana was useful, it was. The girl might be able to profit from her natural talent in some way. But she wouldn’t be a mage, or even an adept. In some other time, thousands of years ago during the First Empire perhaps, her natural talent would have been treasured. This, however, was not an age of meritocracy. Oddly enough, Filcarel was actually suffering in a similar position with lots of talent but not enough money to finish the transformation.

  But at least he could cast spells. He was very fortunate to own the fulgar stone that hung around his neck. It supplemented his magical prowess to the point that he was almost functionally the same as a mage. So Filcarel really had no right to complain.

  Brosh on the other hand had it even worse than it seemed. She could see mana but not touch it. Filcarel imagined it would be like being able to smell the most delicious food, but never taste it. Maybe there was a small bit of hope for her, that she could strengthen her Fulmanos gradually with training, but that was being a little optimistic.

  It was reasonable to think that she would develop the ability to shape mana, eventually, even if it took decades before she had some feeble amount of control. But she would still be stuck in a hopeless kind of situation if she had her heart set on becoming a spell caster. Performing magic was difficult even for powerful mages. You needed an education in magical theory, lessons from a qualified tutor, and the time an energy to dedicate yourself to the art.

  It didn’t seem like Brosh’s life was set up for it. She hadn’t said it, but their very short interaction had given Filcarel the idea that she was dreaming of becoming a mage. And it seemed she knew it was a foolish dream, it already had her depressed. He was reluctant to encourage her.

  “Maybe I’ll just find a spot in the sun and try to dry off for a while, actually. I won’t be able to concentrate on doing magic, dripping wet like I am.”

  Brosh just shrugged and walked away quietly, head bowed down watching her feet. This of course made Filcarel feel even worse, but he rationalized that there wasn’t anything he could do to really help. Then he felt bad for rationalizing his cowardly refusal to do what he could. Extending a little bit of advice or friendliness wouldn’t have hurt him.