M.S. Davidson
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19. Terran
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 01:44:59 +0000 UTCThe instant I stepped into the common room, the noise hit me like a physical wall. Everyone was pounding tables, walls, chairs—whatever surface they could find—in a thunderous rhythm that seemed to shake the entire building down to its foundations. The air itself vibrated with the percussive celebration, a chaotic symphony of fists on wood that I could feel in my chest.
I froze in the doorway, stunned by the sheer volume and intensity. Every face in the room had turned toward me, beaming with something that looked suspiciously like hero worship. Cassie stood at the center of it all, her massive hands slamming down on a wooden table with enough force to make the mugs jump, her grin so wide it looked like it might split her face in half. Felix had somehow commandeered a chair and was drumming enthusiastically on what appeared to be a set of timpani hanging from the ceiling—definitely not there last night.
"Breaker! Breaker! Breaker!" The chant started with a few voices but quickly swelled until the entire room was shouting in unison, the word bouncing off the walls and multiplying until it felt like the building might actually come apart at the seams.
A mix of embarrassment and pride swirled in my chest—equal parts mortifying and intoxicating. I caught Diana's eye across the room. She stood off to the side wearing a smirk that clearly said, I told you so.
I raised both hands, trying to signal for quiet. It took several attempts, the pounding and chanting gradually fading as people settled back into their seats or found spots along the walls, all of them still watching me with expectant grins.
"Alright, alright!" I said, fighting to keep my grin under control. "I didn't do it alone. Erik helped."
"Erik got his ass kicked!" Cassie's voice boomed over the residual chatter, and the room exploded into fresh laughter. "But our fearless Breaker decided to blow the damn thing up! They're going to be scraping goo off the harbor stones for weeks—I'd have paid good money to see that explosion."
Fearless felt like a stretch, but then again... I had Bravery magic now, didn't I? Maybe there was something to that.
Diana clapped her hands once—a sharp crack that cut through the noise like a gunshot and brought instant silence.
"Enough hero worship." Her voice carried the authority that made grown hunters straighten unconsciously. "Even though he killed a Class-D monster, it's his second day in our world. Ben has a lot to learn, and he's going to be relying on all of you to show him the ropes." Her gaze swept the room with calculated precision. "If you want to fight next to a Breaker—and a Terran—help him pass my Exams. You all have things to be doing, so get back to it."
The energy in the room shifted like someone had flipped a switch. Hunters exchanged meaningful glances before focusing on me with something I could only describe as reverent determination. Then, as they began filing out, a new tradition revealed itself.
The arm-punching.
Every single hunter who passed delivered what was apparently a congratulatory thump to my upper arm—the exact same spot each time, with enough enthusiasm to make my eyes water. By the fifth punch, I was already dreading the bruise that was forming. By the tenth, I was wondering if this was some kind of hazing ritual designed to test my pain tolerance.
A sharp whistle cut through the parade of friendly assault. Doreen, still perched in her chair by the fireplace, was grinning like a woman who'd just discovered buried treasure.
"A Terran? No shit." She pushed herself up with surprising agility and approached with a swagger that made the remaining hunters fall silent. "You know how to make ice cream?"
Diana's wicked smile told me she'd been waiting for this exact moment. I shot her a flat look that promised future retaliation.
Once most of the hunters had filed out—each leaving their mark on my increasingly tender arm—Cassie delivered one final punch that made stars dance behind my eyelids.
"Not bad, Breaker." Her grin held genuine approval. "Who'd have thought the weird curtain-guy would actually make a damn good Striker?"
"Oh please, he used repurposed lantern orbs as bombs!" Felix's protest carried the tone of someone defending academic accuracy. "That's got Arcanist written all over it."
"Only a Guardian would be stupid enough to run back into a fight." The voice drifted down from the staircase, accompanied by the careful sound of someone favoring an injury.
Erik descended the last few steps with the deliberate movement of someone working around serious pain. A massive bandage wrapped his chest and left shoulder, and the slightly hollow look of someone who’d recently had their ass handed to them by a giant crab had replaced his usual composed demeanor.
"Erik—holy shit! Are you okay?" I rushed over, genuine concern cutting through my post-celebration buzz.
He waved me off with the kind of stubborn pride that probably got him hurt in the first place, straightening to his full height despite the obvious discomfort.
"I'll be fine. Nana healed the worst of it." His fingers traced the edge of the massive bandage. "The damn thing pierced my armor clean through." A glint of something that might have been respect flickered in his eyes. "You got away with minor wounds and killed the bastard. You did a damn good job, Breaker. Come see me in a few days—I'll teach you a few things."
Cassie snickered from across the room. "Erik's allergic to healing pills. Has to do everything the hard way."
"My sister never misses an opportunity to make sure everyone in the damn city knows that," he muttered, shooting her a look that held decades of sibling exasperation.
Felix appeared at my elbow with a massive wooden bowl and a chunk of bread that looked suspiciously dense. "Have some breakfast, Ben. Then we'll get to work—no better way to train than on a full stomach."
I nodded and sat down, suddenly aware of how ravenous I was. The first bite of porridge hit my tongue like a punishment. It had the consistency of wet cement and about as much flavor, while the bread could have doubled as a weapon—stale enough to knock someone unconscious. But hunger made everything palatable, and I wolfed it down while Felix kept my plate supplied from a serving tray that seemed to have an endless supply of equally terrible food.
The water, though—the water was a revelation. Cool and sweet, it tasted like it had been pulled straight from a mountain spring, clean enough to make me forget about the culinary disaster I was consuming.
Doreen's had mostly emptied by now, leaving just the core group. Diana lingered near Erik, their quiet conversation punctuated by her occasional prodding at his bandages and what I was beginning to recognize as her standard blend of medical advice and barely disguised insults.
"So, Ben." Doreen hopped up onto the table with surprising agility, strutting toward me while pointedly stepping over the charred hole I'd burned through the wood last night. "I hear you may have come into a bit of money, and I need a new table."
"Spoken for," Diana announced from across the room without looking up from Erik's shoulder. "Part of his training."
Doreen made a disgusted sound. "Well, shit. I think I can find a use for a fuckin' Breaker, though."
As I finished the last stubborn bite of breakfast, a golden streak shot through the open doorway. Stanley landed on the table beside me with theatrical precision, his tiny canary form looking almost absurdly out of place. He cocked his head, showing off that ridiculous wide-brimmed hat with its jaunty yellow ribbon, and fixed me with a look of unmistakable smugness.
I caught Diana's eye across the room. She was watching with the expression of someone who sensed incoming disaster but couldn't quite pinpoint the source.
I held out my hand, and Stanley hopped onto my palm with the delicate grace of someone accustomed to being the center of attention. His weight was surprisingly negligible—like holding a handful of warm feathers. When I lifted him to eye level, though, I could see past the canary facade. Those weren't a bird's eyes looking back at me. They held intelligence, dignity, and an ego the size of a small continent.
"Stanley," I said, keeping my voice perfectly deadpan, "that hat is absolutely magnificent. You're a true style icon, you know that? Hats everywhere are simply better for your having worn one."
Stanley puffed up visibly, his tiny chest swelling with pride. From across the room, Diana let out a quiet groan as she realized what I was doing.
"And you," I continued, raising him higher like I was presenting him to an invisible crowd, "are absolutely majestic. A damn fine hat for a damn fine bird."
Stanley's delighted chirp was the only warning I got.
His feathers started to shimmer, then glow, then burn with the intensity of molten gold. The air around him heated rapidly, like standing too close to a forge, and warmth radiated from his tiny body in waves that made my skin tingle.
"Ben, don't—" Diana started, already moving, but it was far too late.
The transformation hit like a small sun going nova in my hands. Light and heat exploded outward, knocking me clean off my feet and sending me sprawling across the floor. Through the spots dancing in my vision, I watched Stanley's tiny canary form expand into something magnificent and impossible.
Golden feathers blazed like captured sunlight as his wingspan spread wide enough to block the light across half the room. His neck stretched into an elegant curve, every line radiating dignity and grace. The ridiculous hat, of course, remained perfectly positioned atop his now-majestic head as he struck what could only be described as a pose worthy of a royal portrait.
Doreen's chair scraped violently against the floor as she shot to her feet, her expression caught somewhere between awe and murderous rage. "Get your fuckin' bird out of my house, Diana! This time, before he burns it down!"
Stanley, completely oblivious to the chaos he was causing, threw back his head and released a song that filled the room like liquid gold. The melody seemed to resonate in my bones, warm and endless, while waves of heat made the air thick and my head swim.
Diana stormed across the room and hooked her arm around Stanley's elegant neck in what could generously be called a headlock. The majestic phoenix let out a startled squawk that somehow sounded indignant even in his transformed state.
"Enough with the theatrics, you narcissistic turkey," she muttered, wrestling him toward the door while he flapped and protested, still glowing like a miniature sun.
Stanley's feathers ruffled with wounded pride as his head poked out from under Diana's arm. He managed one last mournful look in my direction—a clear plea for rescue that I was definitely not going to answer.
Diana paused at the threshold long enough to shoot me a look that promised creative retaliation. "I'll get you back for this, Ben."
Then she swept out, leaving the rest of us blinking in the aftermath of Stanley's performance. The residual heat slowly faded, but the scorch marks on the ceiling suggested this wasn't the first time he'd made such an impression.
As normalcy grudgingly returned to the common room, hunters were still chuckling and shaking their heads, exchanging the kind of looks reserved for witnessing something simultaneously impressive and ridiculous. Doreen stood amid the chaos, visibly ruffled and muttering creative profanity about "damned arsonist birds" and "fuckin' initiates with no sense."
"Well," Felix said, his smirk barely contained, "you certainly know how to make an impression."
I shrugged, still feeling the lingering warmth on my face. "Just trying to fit in."
Doreen shoved a finger in my face. “Now you owe me two tables.”
