Chapter Two
Well Received
By luminousnoble
Well Received
By luminousnoble
"Where's the tome?! Someone get the tome!"
"I have the tome, Roslyn, don't worry."
"HAS ANYONE SEEN CORREY???"
"I'm right here."
"The falling stars shape our favour..."
"Kasey, I love you, but you're NOT helping!"
In this state of chaos, the planning committee threw the last scraps of their presentation together for the exalts, throwing buckets of glitter and triple-checking contraptions as they shouldered past and hissed at one another. At a glance, the scene would speak of immense dysfunctionality, but this is the Arcane flight. No one jostled the tundra tuning each gear, recognizing them by the scented powder she'd applied. The same mirror that skree'd at a glitter dumper passed him a bucket of an excellently contrasting purple half a second later. No one said thank you, and no one said please, but they didn't need to. It would have just slowed them down.
Until, finally, a strange vschworp echoed from beyond the curtain. The committee's members went still.
And Roslyn climbed up to the top of their construct, rubbing his hands together. "Okay. All right. Showtime."
With that, Alcyone stepped out, giving a sheepish smile to the gathered exalts and a reverent bow to the Arcanist. The immense, eight-limbed serpent smiled a soft, patient smile down at her, nodding his approval. "I have eagerly awaited your presentation. Go ahead. Enchant me."
Alcyone swallowed, antennae twitching with the intensity of his magical essence in such close proximity. She nodded, and cleared her throat.
"Over the many centuries, the Arcane flight has become renowned for its chaos. We are infamous in Sornieth for our annual apocalypse, so much so that it has become almost trite... and taxing on our clans. After an outcry against such a Starfall from our diligent flight members, who battled with such integrity when the constellations fell to earth, we believe very deeply that Starfall ought to return to its roots. That we ought to hold not an apocalypse... but a star celebration."
Her timid but eager voice echoed through the hall, as a gentle, starry light shone through the stained glass high above. This was the Magician's Hall, the only lecture hall in the Observatory big enough to accommodate the Arcanist. Traditionally, the flight's most esteemed scholars (The Arcanist himself among them) would hold lectures or presentations here meant for only the most advanced students of magic. Today, though - as in every Starfall past - it was given a black box on the speaker's stage, where the Festival Preparation Committee built their only annual shot at earning Spacedad's pride.
They had yet to fail, but something about the deed alone was enough to make every single one of them nervous, even Plush. And especially Roslyn.
But with her speech completed, Alcyone grinned, and she stamped her foot on the edge of the stage. And the curtained sides of the box fell down.
Like some kind of Earth clown car, the entire committee emerged, taking positions across the stage with elegantly crafted props. The tundra cogsmith cranked her machination into gear, and a pole shot high above the rectangular core, even as it unfolded, revealing two Arcane scenes - the Starwood Strand and the Focal Point - with a real bookshelf at its center, bearing Plush's ancient tome. Even as it did, a fireborn pearlcatcher breathed spark into kindling set at the center of the stage, then started dancing and singing, a song recounting the story of a constellation - The Sorcerer's Eye.
As she sang, another group of dragons gathered around a golden telescope, one opening a book and reading a story, the others laughing and miming searching for its constellation. Meanwhile, still another popped up a tent in record time, one settling behind the booth and jingling a starry wind chime, jars of stars hanging all around the booth in clusters. And while all this went on, Plush wandered to that old tome, pulling it from its place and going to the empty front of the stage.
She made a nervous huff, then read carefully - not from the book itself, but from an incantation written by the committee members themselves. As she read, glowing sparks began to hover around her, idling up and down, and then swirl and spin, leaving thin trails of brightly colored smoke behind them.
When her incantation is complete and she closes the book, the stars disperse, positioning themsleves irregularly but evenly around the scene. Their glow is gentle but vibrant, and their downwards-trailing tails shimmer and flutter gently. The light they shed is just bright enough to illuminate the banner, depicting the Arcane Constellation: a series of stars connected to form the symbol of the Arcane Flight.
Roslyn is atop that banner now, and he speaks in the bravest, clearest voice he can muster to the Arcanist. "We decided that what makes us truly arcane is our love of the cosmos. It's our reverence for the skies above. and all that shines brighter in the dark... from weird potions to magic flowers. But most of all, the stars. And... we decided to tell our stories. The great and grand and the quiet and homely, too. To take real pride in the best of us.
"We, um... we hope you like it, dad."
The Arcanist didn't reply. Not right away. But his smile, impossibly broad and impossibly proud, spoke for him, and his gently quavering voice told more than words alone ever could.
"I love it, Roslyn. I do."
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