Walking home after classes, one can enjoy the city. Though what kind of city is this, a small town. Scarlet roofs, yellow brick, white stone. The layout itself is circular, around the huge Central Tower of the local Magister, Gamitus Verbose. A strange name, but who am I to judge. Well, around the tower are the houses of servants, students, and so on. Mama is a confectioner, and a solid portion of her products goes specifically into that very tower.
The tower itself is quite monumental, sixty meters high and at least twenty wide. Inside are high ceilings, workshops, storerooms, living quarters. Essentially, it's a "small" magical fortress, filled with golems, traps, and various spells. Against its background, the other buildings look insignificant. The tower is quite old, older than all the other buildings. But I don't know exactly how much.
Previously, the Elves of Quel'Thalas lived on another continent, Kalimdor. And they were part of a unified elven state that dominated everyone. Magic and science, creators and geniuses, practically immortal, infinitely beautiful and powerful. And then Azshara and the others dragged demons to us, which led to a large-scale war with them, the splitting of the continent into two smaller ones, and the actual collapse of the empire. And the conflict between Night Elves and High Elves on the topic of "magic is good or not so much."
In my opinion, it's total heresy; the Night ones use magic too; it provides them with immortality. The Druids don't use Holy power for their abilities either. But, you see, this magic is okay, but this one—yuck. Tree-Hugging Pointy-Ears, they were seriously discussing the total destruction of Mages, if I remember correctly. And now they secretly watch us.
Anyway, they did find more sensible individuals among them, and we moved to our current place of residence, built a kingdom with all the amenities. But the fact that it was specifically a move, and not natural development, left its mark.
As a result, the map of the kingdom is quite unusual. The very north of the continent is occupied by the capital—Silvermoon. And the Sunwell, the Source of Magic for what is now my people. The very one that feeds all Elves with magic, protecting them from addiction. The city is huge, by local standards; I've never been there. In this, the real version.
To the south are several smaller cities, including Mages' towers. Logistic centers from which more and more settlements and those same towers fan out to the south. The further south, the less dense the development and the smaller the size of the cities. A settlement like ours in these latitudes is normal.
Well, in the forests and mountains sit the undefeated Trolls. Who, surprise surprise, neighbor primarily these relatively small settlements, a significant portion of which are located beyond the line of Protective Altars, making them vulnerable. Guess exactly where ours is located?
Why is this important? Because these towers are almost always quite autonomous. They can have different shapes and populations. For example, our town grew specifically from the servants, students, and subordinates of one such Mage. However, the Magister himself doesn't participate in the life of the settlement; he's just there in the tower. Other colleagues of his get by with golems and constructs, essentially living alone or with family, not leaving the tower for centuries. Naturally, they have magical communication with their colleagues, but elven sorcerers handle long-term solitude just fine. Hermits, basically.
Pathfinders, guards, and other units help fight off the Trolls. Actually, they are the primary involvement of the capital in the life of the south. The rest of the time we don't see them, hear them, or cross paths. Thanks to magic, we don't need them at all.
And here a problem arises: news reaches us with a delay of six months to a year. And that really is a problem.
"There you are, my little sister!"
Oh, got distracted again, yes. Besides a teacher, I also have a family. Parents and two brothers working in the city guard. A grinning Elf in plate armor looked down at me. A guard. Essentially local police, and protection in case the Trolls actually show up.
So I floated up to his height and waved:
"Hello, huge brother. How did our parents end up with such different children?"
He chuckled, smiling contentedly.
"I got the talent of a Warrior; you got the talent of a Mage. You tell me, Dalivinia, why are you running from your friends? They're worried you've abandoned them."
Well, that's actually true.
"I don't have any friends. And those ones, I don't remember."
My brother frowned, stopping and turning my levitating body toward him.
"So, does that mean you don't have a family either? You don't remember us."
Now that's a blow below the belt! However, though I gasped, the answer came.
"If they were such friends to me, they would have stopped me. You didn't abandon me, brother. But those 'friends,' I haven't seen them once. Not once!"
Another individual joined our conversation on the way home (mother insisted that my brother escort me; his superior understood and approved). Also an Elf, also a guy, but of a much more modest build. Who are you? Fortunately, the newcomer answered that question:
"Because someone locked herself in the classroom and instead of resting, buried herself in textbooks and blueprints. Hi, DaVi, hello Samayl."
The Warrior nodded.
"Hi. He's right, sis. You've just fenced yourself off from the world."
As if there were anything to fence off from. In this village, magical nothing happens, and year-old news is fresh stuff that will be discussed for another year because there's nothing else. That's a characteristic of long-lived races: such slowness, deliberation is normal. They have nowhere to hurry and no reason to rush events. And while young Elves are quite similar to Humans in this regard, the older they get, the worse it becomes.
Except right now I'm much more interested in the world around me than the Elves. It differs quite significantly from the game version. It's bigger, significantly so. The Undead supposedly marched for three weeks to the capital. Well, I believe it. A state isn't one city and four villages. It's a lot, a lot of everything. Even the little piece I can see from the city is impressive.
Maybe it's just a memory of the ancient empire of the Elves, but it's the technological part of that memory. Okay, Technomagical. And it's noticeable. Yes, part of the potential is lost, but even what's left is enough.
"Well, there she goes, not listening again."
I rolled my eyes. On one hand, I really wasn't listening; on the other, I have to absorb the information they're dumping on me. And it's not easy. Hence the bouts of thoughtfulness.
"I hear everything, you two. It's just that a close acquaintance with Troll spirits made me think about eternity not just like our Archmages do, but also about the fact that it would be nice to actually live through it. Anyway, when I remember everything I used to know, I want to go into Mechanics and Artifactоrics."
The guys winced. They measured me with bewildered looks. What's the problem?
"Mechanics? You mean, like the Gnomes or Goblins?"
Ah, right, xenophobia. Azeroth, if you think about it, can be very technological. Both Goblins and Gnomes use Mechs, Exoskeletons, robots, industrial devices. Elves use magical golems, essentially the same robots. Mages automate everything they can. Но heaven forbid you see an Elf designing an Exoskeleton... There are things that, by general opinion, are wrong to create, primitive. Yes, traditions aren't only and necessarily a plus.
And the lifespan of local Archmages and just powerful individuals contributes to this; traditions and those who remember them live for millennia. It's annoying.
Except I'll need equipment, and I see no reason to limit myself. Need an airship or a flying ship? I'll have to build it. An assembly line with tools will be needed in any case; physical strength wasn't included. Yes, Mechanics. In the end, when the Undead come, traditions won't save you. But a Mana Bomb might.
"That's why I don't want to be disturbed. I have a lot to learn and remember."
I wasn't allowed to leave. Being small is inconvenient! Especially small while levitating; I feel like a balloon. However, I didn't struggle, allowing my brother to transport me. But that doesn't stop me from protesting.
"Let go, I need to think. I feel perfectly fine on my own."
My brother shook his head. A handsome man, even by elven standards. Young and bright. And the armor... As they say: have the armor—have the success.
"Nope. You realize our parents won't approve of this? You can't just reject your friends. You've just locked yourself away as if you weren't twenty years old, but a thousand. I don't approve."
I understand. And I also understand that Arthas will kill them all. He slaughtered ninety percent of the High Elves, and I have no desire whatsoever to be among them. The very fact that a character of my potential doesn't show up anywhere suggests that the original would have died. Or she died from that tablet, as an option. That doesn't suit me at all! And for that, I need to work, learn to control magic, and create things. I have concepts, but I lack the knowledge for implementation.
To make things, I need tools and golem assistants. For the things to work as they should—knowledge of magic. And not idiot friends, because of whom the previous owner of this body died in the first place!
"That's my business. Now I have to go. Bye!"
I managed to wriggle out of their hands and soared a bit higher. Then I levitated home to think. My plans for the immediate future are being hampered by a lack of information. They're overloading me with theory. I'm mastering it, but there are so many mundane and cultural things involved. How to behave in a class-based magocratic society, and all that. We have feudalism and aristocracy here, so all these maneuvers—how to greet whom and how much respect to show—need to be memorized. On the plus side, the further I go, the more magical theory there is. And no, it's not the creation of mighty spells, but simple and everyday things, like working with magic-controlled utensils. I won't deny it's useful, as it's applied in daily life, but it's not what I really want.
I can draw blueprints all I want, but until I can say exactly how it will work, they aren't blueprints—they're just sketches. None of my concepts are even close to finished yet. So, a quick dinner at home, and then thinking and calculating. Learning and planning.
"Mom, I'm home!"
The voice of my actual mother came from the direction of the workshop. She's a good woman, though sharp-tongued and prone to entering Berserk mode at the drop of a hat. But, considering she has three children, she's understandable.
"Dinner's on the table!"
One of the important components of magic is perception. Children, through their imagination, can achieve a great deal even without knowing the necessary spells, relying on raw power and the desire for things to be "just so." What's funny is that they can almost never repeat what they've done.
In my first days here, I heard plenty of stories about the antics of one microscopic future mage—meaning the previous owner of this body. She did the deeds, but I'm the one feeling the shame. She didn't complain about her magical potential any more than I do, which led to various incidents. These couldn't always be explained or matched to an analogous spell. That's how she ended up in training, in the end.
Right, eat quickly, say "thank you," and head upstairs to the sanctuary of textbooks, diagrams, and blueprints. Of course, my predecessor was lazier, but I don't intend to leave myself so vulnerable.
So, sketches hang on the walls, and stacks of textbooks and paper sit on the desk. Writing materials, measuring instruments.
Not the cheapest things, but fortunately, as a student, I have some recorded access to the equipment kept in The Tower. It also helps that my new mother's creations are consumed and appreciated in the tower. Yes, money exists, but respect is valued and opens certain doors.
Tumbling into the room, I immediately cleared the desk, brazenly using levitation. Being small is difficult; books are heavy, everything is heavy. But the desk is large. On the other hand, I can draft by simply hovering horizontally over the sheet lying on the desk. Paper production is magical, so there are no problems there. It's cheap and not suitable for magical manipulations, but there's plenty of the stuff.
"Alright, let's begin. What do I want?"
First and foremost, a robotic assembly machine. Or a magical one, in my case. At my weight of forty kilos, I'd hold even a staff like a barbell. There's no question of creating things with my own physical strength. But what does an elf do when they can't or won't build something themselves? They enchant something to work in their stead. A golem, perhaps, or just tools.
The teacher has a magical quill, a magical washer cleans the dishes, brooms sweep the street without any involvement from the residents, and watering is done with a spell—it's magic, my children! Enchanting a couple dozen tools for the simplest actions to effectively create a magical conveyor belt shouldn't be anything complicated. And there's no need to strain oneself.
Unfortunately, I don't have that yet, but I will definitely learn. And I'll learn to build golems too; it shouldn't be hard. Those clay work golems that do the heavy lifting are assembled almost on the spot. A sculpture dried by magic, a scroll with a control spell in its mouth, a few manipulations—and it's done. I spent the first two weeks visiting all the masters, and they say it's not difficult. Master the general mechanics, and after that, you can practically stamp out standard constructs. Not from expensive materials, of course—clay, maybe stone. But it will work. Magic...
When I start thinking about the amazing possibilities magic provides, I want more! I see blueprints, diagrams, concepts. For which I have neither the money nor the knowledge. At least for now. I want to know more and more, to systematize, to create blueprints, and to realize the possibilities! It's pure childhood delight at what I can design and build! It's bloody magic! I don't know what magic *can't* do!
And against this backdrop, relatives and friends—whom I don't remember at all—seem so unimportant. Except they don't see it that way. They constantly try to screw themselves into my personal space with lectures. Even my mother.
"Of course, I appreciate your thirst for knowledge, but I've been informed of your unusual hobbies, young lady. Ultimately, if you enjoy magical manipulations, there is Artifactоrics, Jewelcrafting. But to repeat these wretched, primitive creations of Goblins? I am disappointed, daughter. Very disappointed."
And how do you argue with that? It was said in a tone as if I'd been caught in a drunken orgy with total strangers. It killed the whole mood. Apparently, there are activities worthy of an elf and a girl, and then there are the creations of all non-elves. They work, of course, but to admire them? Pff. Just wait until Arthas arrives; then you'll understand.
In short, no one understands me, I don't want to see anyone, so there. Stupidity. To get resources, I need friends and acquaintances. To build something for which I'll be valued—skills. I need to blend into society, especially since the population of our little town is small and everyone knows everyone.
So, I'll have to add some time for boring socializing to my already tight schedule. But that doesn't mean I'll stop working on the design of my future mechanisms and studying theory. I want proper Techno-Gloves that I can use to create all sorts of things. They're useless in a fight anyway—I'm light, so at most I could put up a Magic Shield. But if I manage to assemble a full-fledged Mech for myself, that would be more interesting. But that's for the future, unfortunately—plans. Without any super-brain, it's easy to see that I currently have no knowledge, no resources, and not even the ability to leave the city. Because all the guards know I've lost my memory and skills, and if anything happens, I simply won't be able to fight off those same Trolls. Well, I didn't want to anyway!
I'll push the socializing to tomorrow, or the day after. I have something far more interesting—magic! Magic is what sustains my interest and childhood wonder. Magic is simply amazing. At the first level, it's just the sensation of a warm wind that you can touch, that you can direct at something. Simple, right? At the first level, yes. But then you start to compress that light, twist it, pull it, and the real magic begins. It's breathtaking! So many things can be invented; I want to try everything!
"Right, she's buried herself in her blueprints again."
Gods, I don't know which ones you are here, but strike down the bastard who invented the levitation spell. Any student would give a finger for the chance to fly into a girls' dormitory window, but right now, they are completely unwelcome.
"You're early; I'm busy."
More precisely, I was reading into the theory of Artifactоrics, hunting for unfamiliar terms so I could look up information on them later. Three young elven mugs—the very ones with whom the previous 'me' got into that tablet incident. They flew into the room, looking pleased with themselves—you're annoying. A blonde girl, also elven in appearance, levitated across the room and peered... not at the textbook, but at the blueprint lying on it.
"I think the plate armor will be a bit big for you. And the style... You're so graceful, DaVi, why do you need things like that, as if you were a Dwarf, hmm? You need a completely different robe, a completely different style! Something to emphasize your cute daintiness, not to solder yourself into armor to hide it!"
I sighed. Very heavily. No, from her perspective, she's entirely right, given her age. But I don't need gloves for beauty; I need them to control tools through them! To perform delicate manipulations! In short, begone, Satan.
"I'm reminding you that I remember absolutely nothing. Not just the three of you, but magic as well. I had to learn even something as simple as manipulating a magical broom from scratch. I'm currently weaker than a Human child, weaker than almost anyone. I need to learn!"
Once again, the male half realized the problem faster than the female half.
"That's exactly why you need friends, DaVi! We'll teach you! We're sure your reflexes remained; a little practice, and you'll remember everything! And there's no need to hide from everyone!"
To their credit, they really did help. The theory needs catching up, but I learned to apply household magic and the simplest elemental shield quickly. When people splash icy water at you, it encourages learning. And the development of flexibility. And throwing things back with telekinesis. Fine, let's just say it—it was fun. I had fun.
And so the next week flowed by until the practical lessons. We got reacquainted with the whole village; I still can't bring myself to call this settlement a city. It's too small, everyone knows everyone, there's no fence—only magical limiters and alarms. Once we went to the main mage's tower; it was our turn to charge the brooms, lamps, and other devices. I didn't see the master; it's beneath his dignity to shepherd students. He has subordinates for that.
But generally, I liked the tower. High ceilings, about five meters, huge windows, very bright. And various decorations typical of a medieval castle. Suits of armor (actually golems), carpets and tapestries, bookshelves, plants. Quite a few amusing little details showing that people actually live here. And so much magic. I was practically bursting with the realization of how many things here I didn't understand. But it was very cool, a real Hogwarts.
The rest of the time we hung around the settlement. It turned out there are only about thirty children and teenagers of all ages (under sixty) here. A long life mandates it; children appear rarely. My brothers are already over a hundred; they are adults.
Charging all sorts of magical household items and maintaining them is a natural way for elven schoolkids to earn money. I don't know how it is in the capital, but here it's undignified for an adult to do it, whereas putting bored youngsters to work on tedious, simple, but necessary tasks is the right thing to do.
Afterward, of course, they give you Copper Coins or something tasty. Pastries, or pies, or whatever. The settlement is effectively autonomous, so the production of treats is well-established; there's a baker. Magic rules!
Overall, I like it here, if not for one "BUT." The delay in news arriving is months. I'll likely need a scout bird, or even several. Otherwise, when it all starts, we'll successfully miss it all.
And yes, I'm thinking about whether to tell them about Arthas. They won't believe me. Elves are too confident in their magic—the very thought that some weaklings will somehow, at some unknown time, pass through the wards, through the walls and the three elven gates, through all the defenders into the very heart of the kingdom? And an elven runt is telling them this. Heck, even I don't believe myself; until I gain political weight, there's no point in even trying.
But that also means that if the Undead come before I manage to prepare, I need to know about it. A mechanical scout bird, or several, would be perfect. I need to know; I need time. And escape routes. I don't think I'll have time to level up enough to stop Arthas and the Army of Undead. Funny joke—he wiped out Quel'Thalas and Dalaran, but a lone elven schoolgirl is going to stop him. It's not even funny.
And to build all these useful things, I intend to show the teacher during practice that I have a talent for Artifactоrics and Mechanics. Even if I can't get much, there will be access to the workshop as part of the training. And there I can start moving according to my plan, start preparing the tools with which I can pave the way to the future.
Now I just need one tiny thing—not to screw up the practice. I almost believe in myself.
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