Chapter Text
Caleb was, if nothing else, highly experienced at continuing to function when it felt like his insides were trying to crawl out of his body through his mouth.
He should have resigned the day Margolin pitched this plan. Failing that, he especially should have resigned when the headmaster denied his request to have a staff cleric in the room with them. They wouldn’t be handling a quantity of residuum large enough to be truly life threatening, the argument went, and the classroom was stocked with both healer’s kits and potions, and there was a fully kitted out infirmary just a three minute walk or short-range teleport away. Everything would be fine, he said.
But Caleb didn’t resign. Maybe because Benjamin and Oliver had supported his concerns about the healer, but felt they could still run a safe exercise without one. Maybe because even Beauregard thought the lesson plan looked pretty tame, but for the material they were using. Maybe because he couldn’t bear the thought of letting the class go forward without him there to do everything in his power to avoid an accident (or something much worse, but he couldn’t think about that for too long before he started dry heaving). Maybe because it seemed like Margolin really wanted him to resign, and he was just too gods-damned stubborn to blink first.
It was a very simple pair of tasks. Use the residuum to replace a material spell component. Simple enough, about as low risk as it gets. Then, use a small amount of refined residuum glass to amplify a spell. That was the tricky one. The glass, of course, could shatter, while the raw powder tended to be more stable. Using it as a component was pretty much the same as any type of casting with materials, though it might feel different to manipulate the energy. But spell heightening was more volatile, not just with the material itself but with the effect of the spell produced.
They’d reserved a training room for the purpose, slightly more spacious than a regular classroom, and outfitted with targets instead of desks and chairs. The targets were placed far enough apart that even a larger than anticipated spell would be unlikely to interfere with nearby student’s casting. They’d need to take turns, but that allowed the three professors to keep a closer eye on them anyway.
Oliver perfunctorily asked if Caleb needed anything one time at the start of the hour, and otherwise mostly ignored his transparent worry in favor of watching the class. Benjamin hovered, checking in with him perhaps just a little too often, always there when Caleb grew a little too close to hyperventilating with a quiet word, a hand on his arm, his shoulder. He wasn’t sure which of their approaches he preferred.
The refined residuum they’d been given wasn’t intentionally sharpened, but it did have to be cut into crystalline shapes, and the edges were plenty keen even without being specifically designed to break skin. The mere sight of them made Caleb nauseous, and keeping watch over the students using them made his forearms prickle with phantom pain. He found himself checking his skin, of course finding it intact, but it didn’t help him shake the memories.
“How are you holding up?” Schafer pulled Caleb aside.
“Ah, not so good,” Caleb murmured. “I can smell the blood. It is… it is rather bad right now.”
Schafer squeezed his shoulder. “You’re doing great,” he said. “Only a bit longer. And now that you mention it, I might smell something too—”
But behind Schafer was the telltale whine of a residuum crystal overchanneling arcane energy. But where—there, in the hands of a teenaged bronze dragonborn, a shard of green glass vibrated with raw arcana and flashed white—
“Alondra—” In two paces he was halfway across the room—
Alondra Lewis. Tough kid from Yrrosa. Focused, strong, but the chip on her shoulder would hold her back if she wasn’t careful. She has residuum exploding in her hands—
Caleb didn’t make it to Alondra before the crystal ruptured. There was the sound of a crack, then a shatter, and a burst of green-white light that threatened to blind him. Alondra shrieked in pain and surprise, and Caleb almost didn’t hear several other cries of alarm.
“Alondra,” he arrived breathlessly at her side, blinking away the latent negative of the residuum starburst. “Alondra, are you all right?” But he already had his answer. Wedged in Alondra’s scaly upturned palm, still glowing a dangerous green with arcane power, wine-dark blood oozing from their edges, were four jagged shards of residuum glass. Caleb could see the moment the initial shock faded, and her eyes watered as the pain of the wounds set in.
“Professor—” she held out her hand helplessly.
“It’s going to be okay. I know it hurts. I know. Try not to move.” Caleb took a breath to ground himself. Pain has no effect on the disciplined mind, said a treacherously relevant memory. Pain does not disable your body. Pain induces fear of more pain. You must have enough self-control to never be cut by the weapon you wield. Pain does not dictate your behavior. Your actions are not determined by fear. Your pain is inconsequential. Make your body inconsequential. Make the part of your brain that recoils inconsequential.
Caleb forcibly pushed Trent Ikithon out of his thoughts. “There are two things we can do right now. One: I cast Dimension Door and take you straight to the infirmary. The shards will probably react to the spell and shatter again, but there will be healers right there. Two: I can remove the shards by hand, which is a little safer in the short term, but it will continue to hurt until we can get you to a cleric.” The green glass sat in the wounds, a glowing accusation.
“Take them out,” Alondra whispered. “Please take them out now.”
“All right,” Caleb said. He took Alondra’s hand as gently as he could, grabbed a pair of tweezers from the nearest workstation, and pinched the first shard as close to the base as he could manage. “It will hurt when I move it. It may feel like it’s shocking you.”
She nodded for him to go ahead, so he plucked the shard from her skin. Schafer was behind him with a little cup for him to drop the shard into. Alondra gritted her teeth, and even though her draconic features contorted in agony, she didn’t let any sound escape her. Caleb glanced up at her.
“I know it burns,” he said. “I’m so sorry. You’re doing great.”
“Keep going,” Alondra pleaded.
Caleb removed another shard, and then a third. Tears welled in Alondra’s eyes, but she managed not to cry out. It was all too familiar. A part of Caleb’s brain tried to wonder if she’d picked up the habit of hiding her discomfort from her upbringing in Yrrosa, or an Academy instructor, or perhaps even from something he’d done himself, despite his best efforts. But he couldn’t quite think about that right now, not when his own arms were aching with sympathetic pain.
You’re doing very well, Bren, said Trent Ikithon’s voice. Pain does not mean you are in danger. Silence the cowardly parts of your mind that tell you so. Your endurance will make you stronger. The body is inconsequential.
“You’re all right, you’re okay,” Caleb said softly.
The fourth and final shard was lodged at the heel of Alondra’s hand, right where the larger scales at the end of her wrist overlapped with the smaller, pebbly scales on her hand. Probing with the tweezer told him that this particular shard had broken in an odd shape, and was tightly wedged under a wrist scale. Caleb tried to gently tilt the scale back, but not only did it refuse to move more than a degree or so, Alondra winced and sucked in her breath.
“Sorry,” Caleb said again. The shard was embedded in the flesh underneath the scale. If he had to guess, he’d say it probably had a splintered edge that was biting into skin or scale or both, and the swelling of the tissue underneath only compounded the problem, pressing the shard into the underside of the scale harder. He could try to force the shard out, but if it broke it would leave a smaller piece in an even more difficult position and cause even more damage as he tried to fish out the remnants.
Alondra’s whole body was trembling. There was also that problem. The arcane energy transferred by refined residuum was enormous, and Alondra hadn’t been prepared to take it into her system.
“I think I can only get this one…” Caleb had to steady himself against a wave of nausea. You must have a stronger stomach if you are to do what must be done, Bren— “I can only get this one if I remove the entire scale. If it breaks off, the smaller piece will be stuck underneath and your skin might swell over it.”
Dragonborn scales were more like fingernails than most mammalian people realized, growing directly out of the skin. They didn’t routinely shed, at least not by falling out from the root. It was possible for them to come off, sure, but it didn’t usually happen outside of serious accidents.
Caleb knew exactly how much force it took to pull out a dragonborn scale.
It was all too familiar, watching Alondra’s face as the words sank in. Pain, fear, dread as she realized what was coming.
“It is not too late to go back to Plan A,” Caleb said. “It will be very bad when it shatters, but you could be healed right away.”
The gaze Alondra fixed him with was unbearably vulnerable. Trent tightened the final strap over his wrist. This will be very challenging, Bren. But I know you are strong enough to bear it.
“I trust you,” Alondra said. “Get it out.”
Caleb laid the tips of the tweezers on the scale. “Okay… eins, zwei, drei—”
Caleb pulled. The scale’s root gave way with a sickening tear. Alondra screamed. The scale clinked into Schafer’s cup, followed a moment later by the residuum. Neumann handed Caleb a bandage, which he pressed to Alondra’s palm. Her hand reflexively closed, oozing blood as she squeezed his fingers. He could feel the arcana throbbing in her grip. Only one hurdle done.
“It’s out,” he said. “All the glass is out. But the energy it was carrying transferred to you when it burst. It will damage your body if you hold onto it for too long. You need to get rid of it, quickly.”
He wrapped his free hand over Alondra’s. “Pick a cantrip, any cantrip, and cast on me. I will be fine. You will not risk harming yourself or anyone else, and you will not endanger my life.”
Alondra’s hand tightened further as the arcane overload racked her body, all pain and fear and horror, but she still didn’t cast. Your level of control is admirable. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so terrible for her. But all Caleb could think of was watching a horse bolt out from under one of the other boys from Blumenthal when he was younger. Even after he slipped off, the boy had clung tightly to the reins, and the panicked animal dragged him across the ground until his grip failed. Later, the adults all went out of their way to explain to the children that if you ever felt yourself falling, it was much safer to let go than try to hold on any longer.
“Look at me,” he said, holding until her panic-wide eyes met his. “Alondra, look at me. The magic is hurting you. Let go of it. I will be okay. I promise.”
Caleb felt a twitch in Alondra’s muscles, and steeled himself for the oncoming torrent of energy. The body is inconsequential the body is inconsequential the body is incons—
The charge came out as lightning, the skin of his palms burning where he was touching her, every hair on his arms standing on end, his vision whiting out, vertebrae grinding as his back arched. It was over as quickly as it came, searing agony quickly bleeding to a dull throb. It was hard to say he’d kept a straight face when his whole body had seized and spasmed, but as it passed he was still on his feet and it didn’t feel like he’d screamed.
They both panted for breath, and Caleb carefully released Alondra’s hand. Hers was still bleeding beneath the bandage, and his own palms stung as the burns were exposed to air. Alondra wobbled, knees giving out, but before Caleb could move to catch her, Oliver slid his shoulders under her arm and carefully helped her to the floor. Caleb felt Benjamin’s hand on his wrist, turning his hand over to inspect the damage, and he let it happen.
“How do you feel now?” His voice felt heavy in his throat.
“Shaky,” Alondra said.
“That’s normal,” said Caleb, wincing as Schafer prodded at his hands. “It will pass. Well done.”
“These look superficial, I think,” Benjamin said. “Thank the gods. Let’s get you both a healing potion and maybe go see a cleric, just to be sure.”
Schafer had to unstopper the potion for him, but Caleb had enough feeling in his fingers to hold the bottle himself. It smelled vile. Caleb gagged as he drank it, and almost immediately it came up again. Schafer had to scramble for a waste bin for him to spit into. Meanwhile, Alondra managed to get hers down, just barely.
“Is… is it possible for healing potions to go bad?” She grimaced. “That doesn’t taste or feel right. And… my hand…”
The wounds on her hand were unchanged.
The three professors exchanged concerned looks. That… shouldn’t happen. Caleb had never heard of a healing potion expiring, and sometimes he and the Nein had carried them around for quite a while. If they did spoil, it took way longer than the food they might have secreted in their pockets and packs. The rest of the students, now that the initial shock of the incident was over, began to murmur amongst themselves—something was off, and they knew it too.
“ATTENTION. ATTENTION. HAZARDS DETECTED. NATURE: COMMUNICABLE DISEASE. POISON. UNCONTROLLED ARCANA. SEVERITY: EXTREME. ACTION: QUARANTINE LEVEL SIX. DO NOT LEAVE THIS CHAMBER. DO NOT ALLOW ANY PERSON ENTRY TO THIS CHAMBER. SECURE ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS. DISCONTINUE ALL USE OF MAGIC AND ALCHEMY. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.”
Caleb startled at the disembodied voice, so loud he could feel pressure on his eardrums, issuing from a Magic Mouth that suddenly materialized on the ceiling. Wards, he realized, just a little too slowly. He’d known the Academy buildings and classrooms were extensively warded, but he’d thought they mostly had to do with unwanted intrusion and scrying. But this?
Disease. Poison. Arcana.
…Shit.