M.S. Davidson
patreon
60. The Godsdammed Problem
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 15:00:12 +0000 UTCHenrik woke up not long after Cass had scooped him off the floor, blinking like he'd been hit by a truck. All of us loomed over him—a wall of concerned faces that probably looked terrifying from his angle.
"Ow," he said simply, pushing himself upright.
"The fuck are you doing here, Henrik?" Cass didn't waste a second. Her tone could have cut glass.
He winced. "I'm allowed to watch the Tournament too, you know!"
"There's no way Mom gave you the coins." Cass's eyes narrowed. "Did you sneak on a boat?"
Henrik's face crumpled like a guilty confession written in invisible ink.
Cass sighed, the sound carrying years of big-sister exasperation. "You're lucky they didn't find you and throw you into the ocean."
"I... wanted to see you fight." His voice went small. "Everyone at registration was saying you bound your Seal, so..." He shrugged, suddenly looking every bit the kid he was. "I snuck onto a boat."
Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. Were you on my boat? I didn't see you, and I promise—I wandered everywhere trying to avoid Dorian."
"I kept my spell going the whole trip." Henrik's chest puffed out slightly. "Pretty impressive, right?"
Cass arched an eyebrow. "You maintained your invisibility thing all afternoon?" Her voice shifted, genuine surprise bleeding through the irritation. "That's... well... shit—yeah, it is."
Henrik looked ready to fire back a smart-ass comment, but her unexpected praise knocked the wind out of his sails.
"I picked up on something a couple times," I admitted. "But it was so minor even Valor shrugged it off. Wasn't until Malcolm did his thing that I figured it out."
"The faster I move, the more mana it takes." Henrik rubbed his neck. "And he nearly cut me in half along with that doorframe."
That explained the weird sensation I'd been getting.
"If you're not moving, it doesn't take much mana, does it?"
He shook his head. It reminded me of Valor—I only burned mana when I actively needed something beyond simple existence. The kid had a natural talent. It clearly ran in the family.
An idea sparked. Thea was still bouncing around like a caffeinated squirrel, hammering out adjustments to whatever experiment was about to either revolutionize magic or level the building.
"Hey Darla," I called out. "Safe to assume that if he wasn't on the manifest, no one knows he's here?"
She snorted—actually snorted since she was a pig. "Oh no, the administration staff would have known the moment he stepped off the boat. But..." She paused, and I got the distinct feeling she knew exactly where my brain was going. "Only they would know. The Instructors, Adjudicators, and the Grand Mistress—assuming they checked the updated manifests."
My grin probably looked predatory. "But not the competitors?"
Darla shook her head. Malcolm's eyes lit up as he saw where my mind was going.
"I think you can help us, Henrik." My smile turned conspiratorial.
"I'm not here to help—I want to watch the tournament!" He crossed his arms in full defensive mode.
"And you will," Malcolm said smoothly, stepping in like the smooth operator he apparently was. "But imagine how amazing it would be to go behind the scenes. You'd know what the events are ahead of time, and..." He reached into his vest and produced a handful of red coins that caught the light. "Maybe sell us what you find out?"
Henrik's eyes flicked between all of us, then landed on Cass. She'd finally connected the dots.
"Only if Cass does my chores for all of next month."
Cass groaned like she'd been physically stabbed. Before she could start the inevitable sibling argument, I jumped in.
"Henrik, if you get us solid intel on the events, I'll fucking do them myself—assuming we don't lose."
"We all will," Malcolm added without hesitation.
Cass shot us a look that could have melted steel. "You don't know what you just—"
"Deal!" Henrik grinned and vanished.
Not metaphorically. He actually disappeared, and I lost sight of him halfway to the door as his invisibility kicked back in.
"Fuck!" Cass threw her hands up. "Next month is harvest—twelve-hour days in the fields. You have no idea what you just signed up for."
I clapped her on the shoulder. "Cass, if that's my biggest concern next month, I'll consider myself the luckiest guy on Ark."
Her irritation deflated slightly. I was feeling pretty damn good about getting Henrik on our side.
"BEHOLD THE BOOMSTICK!"
Thea's voice exploded from behind us like a battle cry. Before I could even process what was happening, Valor screamed to life in my mind—pure, primal alarm.
"Oh, shit-baskets!"
I grabbed Malcolm and yanked him sideways as a bolt of flame ripped through the air where we'd been standing. The projectile slammed into a shelf, instantly igniting bottles and boxes in a cascade of multicolored fire.
"Uh oh—everyone out!"
Cass and Red vanished so fast they left afterimages. I still had Malcolm's arm in a death grip as we bolted for the hallway, Darla squealing like a banshee while a thunderous crash shook the entire building. Dust rained from the ceiling like snow, and flames roared out from the lab doorway we'd just escaped.
Thea stood in the hallway, completely unfazed, twirling what looked like a magical rocket launcher in her hands. She kept pointing it in random directions—including at me.
"Put it away, Theadora!" Darla snapped, still shaking dust from her fur. "Before you kill someone!"
"Did you see that?!" Thea practically vibrated with manic excitement. "Fuckin’ thing didn't explode! It worked! It fuckin’ worked!" She spun toward Malcolm, eyes gleaming with dangerous enthusiasm. "You're a lot smarter than you look. Which is saying something. Come work for me."
"Hey!" Malcolm protested.
"It's the haircut," I said casually. "Pageboys went out of style a thousand years ago no matter where you’re from."
Cass roared with laughter as we stepped back onto the Academy streets.
The transformation was jarring. What had been relatively quiet when we arrived was now packed with humanity. A massive crowd filled every available space—the Academy's students now a minority, drowning in seas of spectators. People wore everything from simple traveling clothes to elaborate robes that screamed money and status. The crowd stretched all the way to the central tower, a river of bodies flowing toward the heart of Sylvarus.
"All these people can't be here to compete," I said, sudden worry creeping into my voice.
"Nah, that'd be a fucking nightmare," Thea replied, still cradling her weapon like a beloved pet. "Most of these folks are just here to watch, or they're apprentices tagging along with stronger Runebinders."
As we approached the tower, we hit a wall of officials holding back the crowd. One of those bizarre hovercraft vehicles had docked as close to the tower as possible, its sleek form looking like something from a sci-fi movie. Ramps extended with mechanical precision, and six fully armored figures emerged in perfect formation.
Their armor was unlike anything I'd seen on Ark—bulky, tactical, more like modern body armor than medieval plate. Each piece looked functional, designed for war rather than ceremony.
"Are those the Oathbound?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
The crowd fell dead silent as another figure stepped onto the ramp.
Everything about them screamed wrong. White robes stitched with golden runes obscured their tall frame. A hood concealed their head, and instead of a face, they wore a smooth, featureless white mask—mannequin-like and eerily inhuman. Only their hands were visible, wrapped completely in pristine white bandages like some kind of mummified monk.
The Oathbound moved with casual grace, an impossibly thin wisp of cloth trailing behind them like smoke. As they reached one of their guards, they placed a bandaged hand on an armored shoulder. The guard nodded, muttered something inaudible, then immediately retreated into the hovercraft.
As the Oathbound continued forward, Valor trembled in my mind—like a flame struggling against hurricane winds. My aura recoiled instinctively, my soul-space vibrating with ominous warning bells.
"Kid, I don't know who that is, but you need to—"
Ted's voice cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
The world bled away.
A crushing weight slammed down on me like standing beneath a waterfall made of lead. Pressure forced me to my knees, grinding my bones against the stone. I fought against it, lifting my gaze with every scrap of defiance I had—only to find the Oathbound staring directly at me.
Their white mask remained expressionless, but there was no doubt. They were focused on me with laser intensity.
The weight shifted, and suddenly the air around me ignited. A deep, rumbling voice echoed not through my ears but directly into my skull, carrying concepts that bypassed language entirely.
Ghostly white runes flared into existence, screaming their meanings into my mind with brutal clarity.
• A razor's microscopic edge, honed beyond comprehension.
• A river carries leaves downstream; an impossibly sharp sword lies in its path, silently cutting them.
• Everything roars with pure, absolute sharpness.
It was like an aura, but ten times more tangible. Like she was actively controlling reality itself, reshaping it with nothing but will.
My skin burned as thin lines of pain bloomed across my body. Blood trickled down my face, warm and metallic, and then it all snapped away.
The roar of the crowd crashed back into place, and I realized the silence I'd experienced had been mine alone. The world had kept moving while I'd been pinned in that nightmare moment.
Red pressed against me, tail tucked, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His fur stood on end like he'd been electrocuted. I felt oddly centered with his solid warmth against my leg. Without him, I probably would have sprinted in the opposite direction.
This was like the golden energy that had saved me from the Caretakers, but much weaker. These runes were menacing, jagged where those had been elegant and complex. This felt like violence wearing the mask of justice.
Cass's eyes flicked toward me, widening when she noticed I was on my knees. Blood seeped through thin cuts on my face and arms, already soaking into my linen shirt.
My refined mana worked overtime, trying to knit the wounds shut, but they were too numerous. It would take at least an hour to heal completely. And it hurt like hell.
"Gaia's tits—Ben!" Cass was hauling me upright before I even registered she'd moved.
I met her gaze, trying to steady my voice. "What... what the fuck are those things?" The words came out edged with something close to panic. "It just looked at me—and I'm bleeding out."
"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked, his attention still fixed on the Oathbound figure ascending the tower stairs. "It didn't look at you. I've been watching it this whole time. If an Oathbound was looking at you, you'd know it."
I gestured to myself, blood-streaked and still stinging. "I fucking know it, Malcolm."
His eyes snapped to me, finally taking in my condition. "Oh... Oh wow. What—how did—?"
The crowd surged forward, barely sparing us a glance as they filtered toward the tower like water through a broken dam.
I reached down and placed a hand on Red's back. His posture shifted, ears flattening as he finally looked up at me. The cuts weren't deep, but there were too many to count. My skin itched as they slowly healed, the ghost of those runes still burning in my mind like afterimages.
If I thought Cass and Malcolm's reactions were bad, Thea's was something else entirely.
Her usual chaotic energy melted into something tense and dangerous. She stared at me for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line, before finally groaning.
"Ah, fuck-sticks." She rubbed her forehead. "Those bastards barely show up to anything, let alone allow themselves to be seen by anyone. That was a statement." Her gaze flicked toward the tower, calculating. "This isn't just political anymore. It's a gods-damned war."
I exhaled slowly, still trying to shake off the sensation of invisible blades pressed against my throat.
"What exactly are the Oathbound?" I asked as we started up the stairs toward the tower.
I pulled my wash-kit from my soul-space, running the cleaning energy across my skin before the drying blood could stain worse. It helped, but some marks had already set into the linen.
Thea snorted. "What aren't they is the better question." She cracked her neck, eyes sharp with something unreadable. "They enforce the rules. Not the laws made by Archons or nobility—the will of the Runelords themselves. They make sure that even in open war, everyone plays by the same basic rules." She scoffed, shaking her head. "Their oath isn't to any ruling faction. It's to the people of Ark. And they're so far beyond what any Runebinder I know is capable of that it's not even funny. Hell, they're the reason we have most of our techno-magic—they live in a fucking ancient Arcadian palace."
That explained why Chas had bolted to find Diana when he spotted their boat. But it didn't explain why that Oathbound had targeted me specifically. I filed the question away—if I got the chance, I was definitely asking Diana about this.
As we climbed the wide white stone stairs, I finally got a proper look at the Academy. It sprawled across the entire island and even onto several smaller ones nearby, each marked by towering domes and impossible bridges connecting structures like something from a fever dream.
The sheer absurdity of it all made my head spin. Ark's architecture constantly left me speechless—which unfortunately reminded me of the burning itch of healing cuts.
We pressed on, crossing into the tower through a massive archway that could have housed a passenger jet.
Nothing could have prepared me for the inside of Sylvarus.
The entry hall soared at least a hundred meters high, maybe more. Shining orbs hung at staggered intervals from above, floating in perfect stillness beneath what looked like a skylight—despite there being hundreds of floors overhead. The white stone walls curved upward into tiered oval balconies that wrapped around the interior like an elegant amphitheater, all packed with people.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
Thea led us toward the center of the atrium, where a massive circular desk sat like a command center. Dozens of officials were stationed around it, stamping Manascripts and handing out small wooden boxes to what I assumed were other competitors.
While Thea dealt with registration, Cass and I stood there gawking like tourists. Even Malcolm was staring at the floating orbs when he thought we weren't looking.
Valor picked up a familiar presence approaching, and I turned to see Katie pushing through the crowd. She smiled when she spotted me—only for it to vanish the moment she saw the cuts still healing across my face and arms.
"Graceful Gods, Ben—what happened?" She hurried to my side, Red immediately leaning into her leg with his tail wagging like everything was fine.
"Oh, you know. An Oathbound apparently looked at me," I said with forced casualness.
Katie blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"No, really—one of the Oathbound came into the tower, and we turned around to find Ben like this," Malcolm added, his voice still carrying traces of disbelief.
Katie's eyes widened as she processed that. "Malcolm? What are you doing here? Where are Dorian and Darryl?"
"I'm on Ben and Cass's team for the tournament." He smiled.
"I'm fine," I cut in with a laugh. "They're basically paper cuts now. Diana taught me how to heal myself—it just takes time."
Thea returned with a wooden box in her hands. "Okay, you're all registered for the Arenas tomorrow morning. This is your room key—sixteenth floor. I'll take you up there after you finish gawking at the pretty architecture."
"I think we need to tell them about—" Darla started, but a commotion at the far end of the chamber cut her off.
Diana was power-walking down a staircase, her long white dress flaring dramatically as she moved with purpose across the floor toward us.
"Ben!" she called, her voice somehow carrying perfectly through the vast space.
My stomach dropped as Maris stepped onto the stairs behind her, flanked by the same Oathbound from before. The white-masked figure moved with the same unsettling grace, trailing ethereal cloth.
Diana reached me first, gripping my shoulders like she was trying not to look as concerned as she clearly was. "Ben, did you mana burn during the registration tests?"
Each word was deliberate, loaded with meaning I couldn't quite grasp.
Maris and the Oathbound arrived faster than I expected, their presence making the air feel heavier.
"Uh, yeah. Was I not supposed to?" I answered without thinking.
Diana exhaled hard—somewhere between a laugh and a relieved sigh. Maris swore under her breath in what sounded like three different languages.
"Gaia's ample ass, Ben. You had me scared for a minute," Diana said, turning to the Oathbound. "An undeclared mana burn at registration by a Seeker."
The Oathbound nodded once. When she spoke, her voice was calm, feminine, and far less alien than I'd expected. "A penalty of twenty points to the team's registration total."
Maris cursed again, her gaze flicking to Malcolm like he was personally responsible for it. Her look was pure venom, but he met it without flinching—completely unbothered, like he'd been dealing with that particular brand of hatred his entire life.
"What just happened?" I asked, still trying to catch up with the rapid-fire politics happening around me.
Diana's smile returned, her earlier tension evaporating. "Teams are grouped into brackets based on their total points at registration. Once your team registered, your combined point totals were enough to push you into the lower tiers of the Adept brackets."
She grinned at Maris with obvious satisfaction. "And our dear friend Maris here brought dozens of late-stage Adepts just to make sure you wouldn't last the day, let alone be confirmed. But since you mana burned—"
"I got bumped back down to Seeker?" I connected the dots.
"Exactly. Into the upper Seeker bracket, where you actually belong. Now the Adept bracket is just exhibition matches for people who want to show off."
She glanced around, then locked onto Katie. "Oh! Ms. Summers, I'm terribly sorry to hear about your bakery. Please write to me if you need help rebuilding it."
There was definitely a stall tactic happening here. Diana turned back to us and held out what looked like a tablet made of white stone. Less like a Manascript and more like a slab of marble.
"Place your hand on this," she instructed.
I did as she asked, and she began speaking in an official tone. "Let it be known that a twenty-point penalty will apply to the team of..."
Her voice trailed off as she read the glowing characters appearing on the device. She gave Thea a look that could have wilted flowers.
"You can't be serious."
"What!" Thea threw her hands up defensively. "They asked me what their team name was and I fucking panicked. The guy wrote it down before I could change it."
Diana dragged a hand down her face, then gave a tired laugh. "A twenty-point penalty will apply to the team... 'The Godsdamned Problem.'"
I sighed. Of course.
Cass burst into full-bellied laughter. "Oh, that fits perfectly."
Malcolm nodded sagely. "Technically accurate."
Thea gestured wildly. "I said it once! One time! Not my fault he wrote it down!"
Comments
Nim
TBF that name is perfect.
