You haven't truly lived until you've seen your life flash before your eyes in midair while an arcane elevator made of glowing rocks and fragile hope violently shudders mid-ascent.
We were halfway up a sky-spire, a thousand meters above solid ground, when the enchanted platform decided to lurch sideways like a drunk hummingbird. Iria held her balance like a trained knight of grace and dignity. I screamed like a child on their first rollercoaster—only louder and with more profanity.
"I believe this is a divine test of trust," Iria said, calm as a summer breeze.
I clung to the side of the lift, white-knuckled and seconds from creating a divine test of bladder control. "Yeah? Well, tell the gods their elevator sucks!"
This was our welcome to Velvenhold, the floating jewel of arcane academia. A city held aloft by centuries of magical theory, leyline manipulation, and collective arrogance. Officially, we were here on guild business: investigate the "mana fluctuations" plaguing the city. Unofficially, I suspected they just needed someone expendable who wouldn't ask too many questions.
Guess who fit the bill?
When we finally rose above the clouds, the full glory of Velvenhold unfolded before us.
It was all whites and blues—gleaming marble spires inlaid with silver runes, arched walkways suspended by floating glyphs, and glassy streets that sparkled like crystallized smugness. Above the central tower, a permanent magical sigil rotated slowly in the sky like an arcane halo.
Even the air smelled clean. Suspiciously clean. Like someone enchanted the pollution out of it. Probably taxed the citizens for it, too.
We disembarked at a floating dock manned by robed officials with clipboards made of hard light. One of them—pointy beard, condescending smile—gave me a once-over and said, "Ah. The Subject has arrived."
I opened my mouth to argue.
He slapped a glowing bracelet onto my wrist. "Containment measures. Standard protocol. Please refrain from casting spontaneous divine miracles while within city limits."
"I'm not a god!"
"Of course not," he said flatly. "That would require paperwork."
We took our first steps into the city proper, and I was immediately assaulted by the raw, unchecked magical excess of it all.
A laundry vendor down the street was drying clothes with gust spells and folding them midair into neat cubes. A street performer floated three feet off the ground, juggling fireballs and singing in three-part harmony with himself—literally, using clones. A fruit stall enchanted apples to peel themselves before they reached your hand. I saw a woman summon a raincloud over her head just to cool down her coffee.
It was a paradise of practical magic—and a purgatory of magical showboating.
Even the stray cats had little floating runes on their collars. One of them hovered past me like a fluffy drone.
"You'd think a city this advanced could solve its own problems," I muttered.
"They did," Iria said. "They called you."
I groaned.
A few streets in, the ground trembled.
Not much. Just a little shiver, like the city hiccupped. A stall nearby flickered out of sync, and for one glorious second, a roast chicken hovered in place, then exploded into confetti. The vendor didn't flinch.
"Mana turbulence," said a calm voice nearby. "Third one this week."
I turned. That's when I saw her.
Long, wine-red hair—messy, wild, like it had been brushed with lightning. She wore layered robes in dark indigo and silver, arcane symbols stitched into the hem like whispered equations. Her violet eyes glittered with golden flecks, like stars caught in stormwater. She looked exactly like someone who hadn't slept in three days and was used to being the smartest person in every room.
She held a staff that hummed faintly with unstable magic.
"You might want to avoid that corner," she said, gesturing with her head. "The air over there's trying to turn people inside out."
"I... what?"
"Leyline backlash. Probably nothing."
She walked off like that was a normal thing to say.
I turned to Iria.
She was writing it down.
We arrived at the Academy Council Hall shortly after. You'd expect something grand, intimidating, perhaps even soul-crushing. And you'd be correct.
Towering columns. Floating lanterns. Enchanted chandeliers that projected rotating maps of magical history. The walls were too white. The air was too clean. I felt like I was about to be dissected by someone with a PhD and no moral compass.
A group of mages awaited us—older men and women in ceremonial robes, each wearing a different flavor of disapproval.
One stepped forward. "Kaname Hitoshi. The Subject. I am Professor Lorrain, head of External Reality Studies."
"That's a real department?"
He ignored me. "The Director regrets he cannot greet you personally. In the meantime, we've arranged accommodations. Please wear this at all times."
He handed me another bracelet.
"I already have one."
"This one regulates the first one."
I looked at Iria. She shrugged like this made sense.
Then she returned.
The mage girl. Now officially part of the welcoming party, complete with slightly less frazzled robes and a clipboard floating beside her, scribbling notes by itself.
"I'll be your researcher," she said simply. "Studying the anomaly. You."
"Lucky me," I muttered.
She didn't smile. "You're exhibiting low-frequency interference pulses. Fascinating."
"Thank you?"
"Not a compliment."
She turned to the council. "I request access to secondary conduit archives. I believe the Subject's aura may be interacting with unstable leyline junctions at the subcity level."
The mages exchanged glances.
Lorrain sighed. "Fine. But if the containment field fails again, it's your tuition refund."
"She doesn't go here anymore," one of the other mages whispered.
She definitely heard him. She didn't care.
They escorted us to our "containment lodging," which turned out to be a lavish guest suite filled with floating candles, self-making beds, and a talking mirror that insulted my hair.
I dropped onto the sofa. It turned into a massage chair and started whispering affirmations in Elvish.
"This place is insane."
"I find it elegant," Iria said, removing her armor piece by piece, carefully polishing Edelbrecht like it was holy scripture.
The mage girl stood by the window, scribbling more notes.
I finally asked, "Do you have a name? Or do I just keep calling you 'the researcher'?"
She paused.
Then, with a smirk so faint it could've been a trick of the light, she said:
"You can call me Velis. For now."
"Great. Velis. Wonderful. Welcome to the party."
She turned away, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
That night, I sat in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about reactors, malfunctioning magic, or whether my status bracelet would strangle me in my sleep.
The artifact beside me hummed once. Glowed faintly. Then dimmed.
A system notification pinged in the back of my mind.
[
> Magical Saturation Detected. > Suggestion: Stop touching things.
]
I sighed.
Outside, high above the floating city, a magical sigil twisted slightly out of sync.
And somewhere, buried deep in the reactor beneath it all...
Something pulsed back.