It was Shaya’s turn to cook the Lance’s communal dinner, which meant the cheapest, leanest cuts of meat she could find at the market thrown into a pot alongside the cheapest, heartiest vegetables and beans. To enhance her simple stew, she chose not to cut corners on the spices. With impressive knife work, she chopped fresh herbs with a flourish and sprinkled a portion into the stew – saving the rest to be dried for later use. Following this, she added the most important ingredients to her people – a variety of diced hot peppers, seeds and all.

With dinner served, she and her Lancemates sat around their large dining room table. Cyren sniffed at the fiery concoction, his nose wrinkling at its potency. Bri poked at it hesitantly, but Oraeus and Ralus seemed excited to try a more proper northern dish. If Samorn was frightened by the spice, she gave no sign of it – her face set in its usual polite, friendly smile.

“Are you trying to kill us?” Cyren asked, hand shaking as he tried to bring the spoon towards his lips. He warred against his senses.

“Yeah,” Bri agreed, fanning her face after a mouthful, “as the team’s Ruby mage, I thought I was the only one allowed to set things on fire.”

“Oh come now,” Shaya snorted, “This is considered mild where I come from.”

Oraeus and Ralus nodded. The former spoke up, “Indeed, the spices barely cover up the gaminess of the meat and slightly undercooked vegetables.”

Shaya frowned across the table at him, “If you want overcooked vegetables, you should probably re-arrange the schedule you made for us so I cook on a day where I end classes earlier.”

His eyes narrowed at her, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“I think it’s very tasty,” Samorn said, smiling, “Thank you for introducing me to these spices. I look forward to incorporating them into my own meals.”

“Please no,” Cyren huffed, then drained another cup of water.

“Actually,” Bri said, watching Cyren’s discomfort, “I think enduring this is totally worth it.”

“Agreed,” Ralus nodded, also watching Cyren struggle through the meal. Their thin smile once again looked more sadistic than intended, probably.

“Onto more important matters,” Shaya said, enjoying her own meal. She wasn’t exactly a cook, but living on the streets meant she knew how to throw things into boiling water and she had spent enough time in Lumir’s kitchens to pick up a few things too. Moving beyond whatever dead animals she could scavenge and other ingredients she could steal was also a large improvement.

Shaya realized she had paused awkwardly as her memories washed over her, and cleared her throat. “Sorry. I think we need to start practicing our spells and formations together. Maybe see if we can find a safe space to do so.”

“I’m already on it,” Ralus replied, “There are training yards Lances can book, which come with Wardens of Heiwa that can cast protective spells on us to let us go all out during training.”

“Excellent!” Shaya grinned, “The sooner we start drilling together, the better we’ll be able to coordinate in the field.”

“Indeed,” Oraeus said, pushing his empty bowl away. For a small man, he certainly put away food like no one’s business. “In one month’s time, our Lance will be assigned its commanding officer, and our monthly field deployments will begin. We need to be ready, and address any...weaknesses... we have before then.”

Shaya narrowed her eyes at him as he looked at her during the end of his statement.

“To that end,” she said, also pushing her empty bowl away and feeling sated for the moment, “I think it would be helpful to go over our skills and abilities.”

“Yeah,” Cyren rasped, sweat streaming down his forehead, “I admit that I was a little surprised to see you in a Jade magic class this morning.”

"Oh?” Oraeus quirked an eyebrow at her, “I know you mentioned healing your gryphlet during your monster hunting stories to us, but I did not think you would...spread yourself thin, given your inherent disadvantages.”

“You know you sound like a jack ass every time you pause before insulting me, right?” Shaya retorted, with Bri nodding in support. “If you’re going to pause to consider your words, maybe use that second to phrase it more diplomatically.”

“That was diplomatic.”

Shaya rolled her eyes. “I’ll start then. We might as well cut to the important part – Phaedra Amon, Guardian of Light!”

With a burst of light, her Esper appeared behind her. All eyes at the table widened, except for Cyren’s which were still locked on his bowl of stew.

“You...” Bri murmured, looking up at the Esper in awe, “You’re bonded with THE Phaedra Amon? Sainted by Astoria?”

Cyren looked up, cocking his head at everyone’s expressions.

“Yep,” Shaya said, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible.

“With Phaedra, I’m trichromatic – Amber, Jade, and Ruby, though I don’t actually utilize the latter,” she was satisfied with how Oraeus clearly recalculated his opinion of her, “For those not familiar with the stories of Phaedra, my mo-uh, Esper, allows me to use a wide variety of martial weapons as sympathetic implements for my casting, including chains and shields in particular.”

“I’m sorry,” Oraeus said, “You seemed to stutter there for a moment. What were you about to call your Esper?”

All eyes turned from her Esper to Shaya, and nervous energy coursed through her.

They’re my Lance, she thought, I have to trust them with some things...right?

After a moment of hesitation, she continued with a sigh, “Yes. Phaedra Amon is...was... my mother.”

“Forgive me,” Oraeus said, cocking his head, “But that’s impossible. Phaedra Amon may not have been a high born, but she possessed significantly more nephilim blood than you carry. Even mating with a complete mortal would have produced off-spring with more potency than you.”

Shaya bit the inside of her mouth to stop the first few retorts and clamped down on her emotions as she felt something rage within her. But, a part of her was impressed at Oraeus’ knowledge and how quickly he connected those dots. “You’re...correct, in part. Phaedra Amon married another woman, who was the one who carried me. The donor was not as... ‘potent’, as you say, as my mother. Which, given the lines of divinity in Kelahk, I’m thankful for.”

“Ah, yes,” Oraeus continued, “All of Tarrak’s descendants inherited some aspect of His rage. This is also why you avoid Ruby magic?”

Shaya blinked. Bastard got it in one, I guess I can’t deny he’s an intelligent prick.

No secrets from the Lance, right?

“...yes,” she sighed again, “the few times I have tried to utilize Ruby aether, its influence almost immediately drove me into a rage. That’s not who I am, though, I fight smart, not hard, and any reckless decisions I make are calculated.”

“Of course,” Oraeus said, not believing her.

“I’ll go next,” Bri said, then invoked, “Sorathis, Herald of Justice!”

Sorathis appeared in a blast of fire, an angelic figure not unlike Phaedra. Bri’s Esper also appeared feminine, but where Phaedra’s appearance was that of a commander and leader, Sorathis was clad more like a battlefield executioner – dark plate armour; a visorless, faceless helmet; and a hooded, black robe. An executioner’s sword was strapped to her back, with a scourge and war horn at the ready on her hips.

“It feels a little weak as a follow up to Phaedra Amon,” Bri wrinkled her nose at Shaya in annoyance, “but the Canoness at my monastery bequeathed her Esper to me, saying that I had more than earned the right to bond with her. I’m told that Sorathis is...not a subtle esper, which you can probably tell by her armament. Her sympathy with great weapons means my spells can pack a punch, and I’m hoping to explore using the scourge and war horn. I don’t bring much to the table aside from explosive force right now though.”

“Well, if you need any tips on how to use a whip,” Cyren said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bri groaned.

“I guess I’ll go next,” Cyren chuckled, and his invocation seemed almost casual compared to the others, “Rika the Gentle!”

Shaya was pleased to see others at the table groan when the sensual woman with bunny ears appeared. She groaned anew when she noticed the little puff of a bunny tail sticking out the back of the esper’s dress.

“What?” Cyren said, looking around, aghast, “I’ll have you know that underestimating Rika is a fatal error! While she appears unarmed, you’d be surprised by the sympathetic implements she possesses.”

“Daggers for sharp bunny teeth and blunt weapons for strong rabbit kicks?” Shaya guessed.

“...or you wouldn’t be surprised.” He huffed, crossing his arms. “Rika specializes in shapeshifting and healing, and I’ve learned a few powerful forms in advance of my years. But, aside from Rika, I also have a Sapphire spirit thrice-bound to me, which helps keeps me rational.”

“What were you like before the binding ritual?” Bri asked, incredulous. “No, never mind, don’t answer that.”

“You,” Oraeus interjected, shocked, “Can wield the power of space and time?”

“Well, not yet.”

“I can’t believe we’ll be in the same classes together.” The high born replied, massaging his temples.

“I can go next,” Samorn said, smiling. Then, she whistled a short, morose tune. “Allow me to introduce...’Melody'. Her abilities focus primarily within the realm of enchantment – both beneficial and manipulative – but I am learning to shape illusions with her as well.”

Azure mist formed behind her, resolving into her Esper. Melody had the upper body of a woman with a fae face, feathered wings and long, full hair. She wore a long, white dress that split down the sides, covering only part of her serpentine lower body which coiled about her form. Her wings, hair and scales all shimmered the colours of the rainbow as she moved, floating as if submerged in ethereal water. In her delicate, graceful hands she held a golden harp.

“Are your invocations also musical?” Shaya asked, amazed.

“They can be,” Samorn smiled.

“Not announcing your next action is very powerful,” Shaya smiled, “I wish mine could do something like that.”

“Does Phaedra not understand Kelahkese?”

“Umm,” Shaya thought about it, “I guess it’s more that I don’t understand Kelahkese...or any other languages. She spoke Imperial common to me growing up, and both of my mothers grew up in the Imperial orphanage...so I guess they weren’t that connected to their homelands.”

“Perhaps it is something you can learn,” Samorn shrugged her slender shoulders, “But that does explain why I didn’t detect any accent to your speech.”

“Anyway,” Oraeus cut in, gesturing to Ralus.

“Teiash, Shepherd of Souls,” they invoked.

Their Esper emerged from one of the room’s corners. Black, hooded robes floated in the air as if worn, but no face or even eyes could be seen in the empty hood as it scanned its surroundings. The ragged edges of its clothes seemed to erode and reknit eternally as they hung limp. Unseen hands gripped a shepherd’s crook of pale wood, gnarled but otherwise in perfect, unused shape.

“While Teiash primarily allows me to detect spirits through psychometry and guide the fallen to their eternal slumber,” Ralus said, gesturing behind them with a multi-jointed, thin hand, “they are more than capable of laying unwilling souls to rest, when required.”

“Voson, Architect of Fate,” Oraeus invoked last.

His Esper popped into existence without flourish, a bald man with obsidian skin and brimstone eyes. He wore robes that appeared as an ever-shifting night sky that seemed to flow down the garments and pool about him as if he had no feet. Voson had a longsword sheathed at one hip, preferring to steeple his long fingers before him in contemplation.

“As you can guess by his title, Voson specializes more in time magic than space magic – which I’m looking to rectify with time,” Oraeus reported, his tone flat and disinterested, “additionally, like most Ionians, I am a capable thaumaturge and alchemist. Now then, is there anything else we needed to discuss – or can I return to my studies?”

“Actually, we need to talk about how Shaya made an enemy of Azreon Solarix.” Bri said.

Samorn closed her eyes and bowed her head, like a great weight settled onto her shoulders.

Oraeus took in a deep breath before he replied, “You what?”

“Enemy might be a strong word,” Shaya said, rubbing the back of her head in embarrassment, “I just bested him in a simple sparring match. It only lasted a few seconds.”

“Azreon is the thirteenth son of the reigning Archon’s brother, only thrice removed from Astoria by heritage,” Oraeus sighed, “he and his family will not take any loss of face lightly.”

“Oh, come on,” Shaya complained, “We’re all adults here – how bad could he be?”