SWORD ACADEMY (censored)

After an amazing rest, I’m ready and raring to wreck some walls with my horny Battle Unicorn.

Practise.

Practise.

Practise.

I fix Millie next after Dustin. She’s a sheath of air and fire who refused to choose between her sparks. While she managed to tame them, they blocked her release to a wielder in retaliation. Round one’s a bust. I try and fail to completely untangle them. Round two’s a success. I construct two narrow hallways where only one spark can squeeze through at a time, forcing them to separate at the point of release. It isn’t a perfect solution, but it’s good enough to garner her freedom.

Nathaniel’s problem is a lot trickier to solve. He refused Singularity and has three light sparks: water, earth, and fire. He polarized as a wielder, but he can’t control the release, leading to haywire spark-splosions whenever he tries to jerk those spunklets out. I try a similar approach to Millie’s except with three hallways. All that does is jam up the overeager squirts at the access point. What I end up having to do is construct a single narrow hallway with a revolving door where only one spark can shoot through at a time. He’s never going to blast a full clip like I can with my sparks, but he’s able to wield them individually with success.

Unfortunately, this complex restoration unveils a serious limitation to my new abilities. As a sheath, my sparks regenerate, but wielding them this way drains my well quicker than it can fill back up again. Not only that, it’s physically exhausting, and I often pass out on the spot. That’s not a complaint. It could be worse. Much, much worse. I could be the one begging for death by the end of it. I’m definitely getting off easy compared to that.

The rest of the patients are less complex, ranging from a similar Schism refusal like Dustin’s to one lad who just has a leaky pipe. He stopped his Polarity to a Dark Water Wielder mid-stream and ended up with a constant sheath drip as a result. I patch that fissure up and send him on his way.

Although my healing touch is a tad bojank, it’s impossible not to be smug over these achievements. I never managed to build salty balls all when working with my family. My role was always prep work, tearing stuff down so they could build it better. Yet, here I am restoring shattered spark wells like I’m the shiniest slug on the crew. Heck, I’m the foreman!

Now it’s time for Sunny. Not gunna lie, messing around with a bomb is scary stuff. Naturally, Grady’s a wreck over it, especially since I refuse to promise him a successful fix. I can’t mislead my bestie. I won’t. But I’m definitely at least fifty percent sure I won’t kill her in the attempt to fix her. Good odds for any game.

I wind up untangling Sunny’s narky sparks like I had Dustin’s light and dark. The finishing result is her fire spark is only available for wielding from her right hand, the red ring in her right eye proof of that. Her left will be for her water spark, with a corresponding blue ring in her left eye. Turns out, Sunny doesn’t want to choose between light and dark either, so for now, both stargazers hold the white and black flecks indicative of her choice. We’ll revisit if we have to later on, assuming she doesn’t blow us up in the meantime.

Of course, I pass out after it’s done. Not for long though. Not nearly long enough. See, the pain that crippled most every other shattered spark must’ve lit a different sort of fire in Sunny. What I wake to is borderline traumatizing. Could I imagine Sunny in such a compromising position? Heck freaking yes. But Grady? Big blitzing no. I’ll never unsee that, and I’ll never, never fantasize about my pleasure palace being punished again.

Never.

Freaking.

Ever.

With Grady’s attention elsewhere, I’m now alone in my cage for the first time in weeks, meaning I can fully focus on another crap shoot. A very important one. My mission? Operation fix the heck out of Luke. He might never forgive me for what I stole from him, and despite knowing he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, I need to fix what I broke in him. The only way I can do that is to POOF! directly to the little backdoor blitzer and hope like heck I don’t rip myself a new one in the process.

I think I’m ready. Though, if I’m being entirely honest, I’d be skittering off whether I was ready or not. I’ve already made up my mind, and once that happens, there isn’t a whole heck of a lot any punk can say or do to change it. Besides, I have no choice but to do this. Luke isn’t allowed in the Ward, even if I could convince him to come. No Regulars, or even Orderlies, are permitted in this hallway, and that’s what he is now. Just a Regular freaking guy. It’s what I did to him and every Dark Royal Guard. Total hibernation courtesy of my horny Battle Unicorn.

My emotions are playing a game with me, rage versus guilt, and my rage is super competitive. I’m not pissed at my sparks. How could I be? I was the trumpet blower ordering them to charge, but that scut landed himself in the crossfire. And when the same attack meant for me blitzed him instead, he ran away like a weeny little wavelet.

He should’ve trusted me to handle myself, and he most definitely shouldn’t have employed the free pass he stole. I’ll stay true to my word, and let him go like he wants, but I’m fifty-fifty on not giving him grief and a hundred percent on not abandoning him without at least trying to fix him. I always clean up my dang messes, even if I am chaos incarnate.

Right, well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve spent hours scouring every available blueprint and photo. I reckon they’re accurate. They have to be. Otherwise, I’m going to wind up a treehugger in Luke’s backyard. I’ll only get one chance at this, and while I’m a little scared, my air spark is cheering encouragement in my ear.

Peppiest.

Slug.

Ever.

I draw a balls deep breath in preparation to transport myself, gathering every last ounce of my resolve in hopes this won’t be the first and last long-distance transport I ever make, especially when the receiving party is as likely to slam the door in my face as I am to spawn in the middle of said door.

I picture myself on his front step reaching out to knock. That knocking is so realistic I half think I’ve gone ahead and shot my load prematurely, but when I open my eyes, I’m still in my cage. The knocking continues, then I see Pritchett peeking through the glass window. I wave him in excitedly. He enters with a smile that has all the teeth.

“I thought those squibs weren’t letting you see me,” I clip.

“They weren’t,” he confirms.

“Then how are you here?” I slamfire.

“Why are you still bound to the bed?” He moves to untether me. “You’re free, Ainsley. You shouldn’t be tied.”

“The guards would disagree,” I quickfire.

I start to explain our fun shield wall game, but Pritchett cuts me off. “You’re free, Ainsley,” he repeats. “The protest at S.W.O.R.D. Palace was a success. The Order is filing the formal paperwork as we speak.”

“Where is everyone then?” I shoot back.

Not that I’m not pleased as punch to see Pritchett, but this is pretty big news for him to be the one relaying it.

“Celebrating at the palace.” He grins. “They’ve sent me to fetch you.”

That makes more sense. He’s the gopher.

“Can we make a pit stop along the way?”

“Sure,” he offers. “Anywhere you want.”

“We might not be received well,” I backstop.

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Freaking never,” I report. “Best we giddy-the-heck-up then.”

“Best we do,” he agrees.