Lanen paid little attention to the cryptic letter.
As his pen scratched through problem sets, the envelope slipped entirely from his mind—until near the end of his library shift. By then, his thoughts had already raced ahead. He wolfed down the cafeteria's chestnut chicken stew and whole wheat bread without tasting a bite.
"I've got plans tonight. See you tomorrow."
He vanished into the twilight, the spring chill nipping at his coat as he hurried to the Elven Bank just before closing. Withdrawing two gold coins left his account at a precarious balance, but the weight in his pocket was worth it.
The Acquisition
At Abel's shop, Lanen handed over the remaining 1 gold coin for his Bowmont Bicycle. Abel even threw in a sturdy lock.
"Tea later," Lanen said, already mounting his new ride. The inflatable rubber tires glided over cobblestones, the Featherlight enchantment making each pedal stroke effortless. Passersby gawked—in a town where carriages ruled, his two-wheeled novelty turned heads.
Next stop: Carter's Magic Equipment.
"Your order's ready, Mr. Banneray." Carter presented a crate. "The Hermes 3000 typewriter. Forty-five silver, as agreed."
Lanen's total assets now stood at a meager 3 gold coins, but the trade was fair.
Unboxing
Back home, he tore open the packaging with the glee of a child on Solstice morning.
The ivory-colored machine gleamed under lamplight. Its round keycaps—each stamped with Common Tongue characters in a pleasingly chaotic arrangement—beckoned like a puzzle.
Following the manual, Lanen threaded the tricolor ink ribbon, loaded paper, and with a deep breath, typed:
"Hello, World."
The keys offered satisfying resistance. The imprint on paper was uneven but legible—a flawless start.
Tonight, no meditation, he decided. Just sleep.
Exam Week Terror
Sixteen subjects. Four days.
The school became a pressure cooker.
Second- and third-years cracked first—sobbing in study halls, fainting mid-lecture. Beta was once seen hauling two girls to the infirmary. Even Lanen, usually unflappable, pared back his experiments to cram.
Hal and Sophia grew jittery.
"Relax," Elina said. "First-years almost never pass. If you score over 80 in three subjects, you're a prodigy."
"What were your scores?" Hal asked.
"Failed two. Aced two. Top of my class."
Sophia paled. "They mail the results home..."
A beat of silence.
"But we've got the Ocean Method," Lanen rallied. "We're prepared."
Elina smirked. "After a year of Lanen's drills? Passing's inevitable."