Honesty, TM*

It had been nearly two hundred years since anyone had declared Article Two at Al’Magi, thanks to some ridiculous politicking and red tape that I added to the story on a whim. This had led to it being nearly impossible to find the original articles of establishment for the academy, which were all but lost to time—except for one copy of the original Magicis Carta. A copy that even I struggled to find with my knowledge of roughly where to look.

As a result of its obscurity, the teachers had no idea how to proceed or whether it was still acceptable under the current curriculum. This led to a prolonged debate with the Deans of each of the five Schools at Al’Magi, who then took that information to the Magicis Praefectus, who, after nearly a day of deliberating, returned with a resolution.

In simple terms, it came down to this. Article One stated that all students must regularly pass magical aptitude tests before progressing to the next level of learning. Article Two, on the other hand, clarified that a group of three or more students could choose to opt for trial by combat to achieve the same outcome.

These exceptionally difficult mock battles were based on the assumed ranking of the average student at their current level of education. They did not, however, account for three months of grinding down vermin and ‘monsters’ into a delicious real-world combat experience, which was a relatively new addition to the curriculum.

And, thanks to all the training we had been doing in preparation for solstice, while the triop was technically at the end of the first semester of their second year, their adventuring rank was at or beyond second-semester goals.

This meant that when the teachers closed off the Rag-Tag field and summoned monsters meant to challenge students of rank 3E, the triop not only destroyed everything thrown at them, but did so without breaking a sweat.

In the days following the magical finals, rumours had begun to spread about how the misfits had gone rogue. It seemed that the stunt I pulled caused them to become even more notorious among the Second Years, though whether that was good or bad was still to be seen.

Yet, even with everything that had happened, my thought process was singular. Between them passing their tests and the student body now casting a spotlight on their power, the only thing I cared about was that they would forgive me.

I hoped for that every minute I waited behind the cash wrap of Phyllis’ store, watching people come and go. With every swing of the door, I hoped that they would walk through. And I would continue to feel that way up to the day that we had been set to leave for Ter’aquit on our Solstice Dungeon Dive.

“Oh, sad little baby,” Phyllis mumbled as she floated beside me.

I was again leaning on the cash wrap, waiting for the three of them to show up. A real déjà vu moment.

Ugh, my story is turning out to be so cliché. I thought to myself as I ignored Phyllis.

Boy meets girl. The boy waits for the girl. Boy blows it. The boy tries to make it up. The boy waits for the girl just like at the beginning of the story.

“But will she show up?” I mumbled to myself like some fantastical protagonist trying to be profound.

“Which she? You’ve got three shes. In fact, why don’t you grab a few more? Say two more, make them powerful, but then make them weak around you, fuggin’ chauvinist.”

“W-what?” I turned to Phyllis, genuinely confused. “What are you even talking about?”

“Ooh, make me one of your harem, Izzy baby.”

Phyllis approached with her bony, pinchy fingers that had gotten me too many times to count in recent weeks.

“No, Phyllis! Personal bubble. My bubble!”

“Get over here, bubble boy. I’mma pop’yuh!”

I swatted at Phyllis as she floated ever closer, the ancient pinchers looking for their pound of flesh on my body. That was when the chime at the front of the store sounded.

Looking up, three familiar women stood on the threshold, watching the spectacle before them. They wore travel clothes, thick leather boots, and their own unique brand of confused expressions.

“Is this a bad time?” Rionriv asked from the front of the group. She crossed her arms and smirked at me. “I thought we were supposed to be going on an adventure?”

“Ri, Aes, Zin—” I rushed out from behind the counter, palming Phyllis’ face and pushing her away like a deflating balloon.

Approaching them, my chest began to swell as a wave of emotions overtook my psyche. In an instant, I felt a new life fill me. Even though it had been no more than a month, I had missed having the three of them in my life.

No. It was more than that. Every moment that we had been apart, there had been a deep void within me. A void that I had known before in another life.

It was in that moment, as I looked between the three of them, that I realized something. I yearned for their companionship. Their friendship.

Wait, am I crying? I thought, wiping at my face as tears rolled down my cheek.

Aesandoral broke past Rionriv and rushed up to me. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and another around my head, pulling me into a tight hug.

“It’s okay, don’t cry.” She spoke, her voice sweet and wavering with her own emotions, which only brought more tears forth.

“I’m so sorry,” I whimpered softly, “Will you forgive me?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?” Rionriv huffed as she came up to Aesandoral’s side.

With a thud, I felt her gently knock her fist to the top of my head before continuing. “But no more lies, ‘kay?”

I peeled away from Aesandoral, rubbing my hands over my face before looking at Rionriv, agreeing with ease.

Someone had once taught me that honesty was the best policy. The old me had forgotten it, but it was true, and I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. There was one catch, though—

—How will I explain the whole ‘I wrote the world’ thing? That’s not a bomb you drop in the middle of a convenience store at nine in the morning.

“So, is there anything else we should know?” Sharzin asked as she emerged from a nearby coatrack holding a bucket of Tennessee Fried Chicken.

Eeep—Et tu, Sharzin? Wait, when did she get the chicken?

“I’m,” I started talking before I could even think about what I was going to say. The words flowed from my lips as though fate had predestined this moment. “Not a real oracle.”

I waited for the blowback, instinctively wincing in preparation for a slap from Rionriv. A slap that never came.

“Yeah, obviously.” She instead spoke matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Aesandoral joined in. “We all knew that.”

“Yeah, y-you’re a really b-bad liar.” Sharzin added as she munched on a drumstick.

“You all knew? And still agreed to work with me?”

“I mean, you did know a lot of really random crap,” Rionriv spoke up once more, inspecting my face closely before poking my forehead. “Which begs the question. How do you know so much, oracle?”

I panicked for a moment, unsure what to say. Then it dawned on me—a revolutionary idea in this moment of vulnerability.

I’ll continue to be honest, T-M.

“I’m a Kalish-nik. My soul was reborn into the body of Ishara. I have a strong understanding of this world and its functionality.”

Rionriv withdrew slightly, looking to the others and then back to me.

“That makes sense,” She nodded before training one eye on me. “Though, I feel like there is still more you’re not telling us.”

Good, gods! Rionriv, you’re so persistent. Crap, I really don’t want to say anymore. But I don’t want to lie, either.

“Hey, I just awoke three months ago in a body that I technically stole from this boy. I’m still working through some trauma, ‘kay?”

“Now that’s honesty.” She looked away from me with a smirk. “So, I guess that’s good enough for now. But I expect answers someday, mister.”

“And you’ll get them. You’ll all get them. I promise.”

And like that, the tension was released. It was as though everything, all the hurt and betrayal, simply disappeared, and we were able to be ourselves again. With the weight lifted, we began catching up on each other’s lives while picking up the various necessities for our adventure and adding them to our bags.

Over this time, Sharzin spent a portion of it trying to find ways to bring the fried chicken with her. Unfortunately for her, though, Phyllis’ mall food couldn’t leave the confines of her shop. She explained the food as a proprietary trade secret before pushing her purchasable do-it-yourself alternative.

Eventually, the rogue resorted to buying a Phyllis Brand Spice Pouch with twelve different herbs and spices that could be used to season any food they cooked on the road. After gathering that, a few magical items that we had been saving our money to purchase, and spare bottomless bags for everyone, we were ready to leave.