Crunch. Someone stepped on her tail. Again.

  Sahvra hissed in both annoyance and pain. She threw her elbow back reflexively and was rewarded with a satisfying oomph. She curled her tail around and hugged it to her chest as she turned to glare at the offender - some oaf of a human. At least he had the decency to look apologetic.

  “It is attached to me, you know.”

  The male clutched at his side and gave her a thumbs up as he sucked in a breath. “Good to know.”

  He also had the decency to be funny about it. Sahvra’s ears wilted back against her hair as she mumbled an apology of her own, quickly lost in the crowd. She didn’t even understand how it kept happening - the line was barely moving. She was fairly certain the guard to her left was the same one she’d been standing beside for the past hour. She’d put this off for a week, and now she was liable to spend another one standing here.

  “... Your identification card is magically imbued for your convenience, allowing faster processing at governmental…”

  At least she was close enough to the front to hear one of the officials repeating the same droning message. Convenience this, safety that - the whole thing stunk. Including the people. Her poor ears and nose were overwhelmed. The buzz of magic in the air didn’t help. It wasn’t a sound so much as a sensation, somehow slipping past her ears and humming straight in her skull.

  How no one else seemed to be driven mad by it was beyond her.

  The line shuffled forward another five steps, and she could see people ahead of her fanning out as they approached a series of long tables. She watched a pair of humans peel off to the leftmost table as two registrars freed up. An elf was next, waved toward the rightmost table instead. Thank the Flame we’re finally moving.

  “... Through a clever blend of spellcasting, the portrait on your identification card will never need manually updating, as it will…”

  The leftmost table had another three spots open up. Sahvra leaned around the Mountainfolk woman ahead of her to try to get a view of the front of the line, silently cursing her own height. She couldn’t see who was up next, but she could definitely see that the guard at the front was holding her hand up.

  She pointed a few times - and three more humans were waved toward the leftmost table. Sahvra frowned. “What the fu –”

  “You look like you want to murder someone.” It was Taevar. Directly beside her.

  Sahvra’s angry curse turned into a surprised shriek midway as she was thoroughly startled. The fur on her tail didn’t just bristle - it looked capable of serving as a chimney brush. Her cheeks felt hotter than the summer sun.

  “How did you..?!” She couldn’t even properly finish the question, just vaguely and exaggeratedly motioned her hands at him.

  “Lines are more a suggestion than a rule.” He kept a perfectly straight face. Bless him. If he’d laughed, she would’ve had to hit him.

  “Maybe for you. Some of us are watched like hawks.”

  They shuffled forward another ten steps. Two guards stood near each registration table, watching the line with the bored patience of men who expected trouble eventually. Several robed mages patrolled behind the tables and seated registrars.

  Sahvra curled her tail back in front of her again to smooth the fur down, raking her fingers through it for any knots. Humans were waved forward out of order and finished their forms in half the time.

  “You noticing it yet?” She glanced up at Taevar.

  He didn’t get the chance to answer.

  “I’ve been here for hours,” one of the Mountainfolk at registration said, her voice rising. “I’ve watched. They have nearly no forms at all. We owe you a full packet.” She pointed to her left at the humans, then jammed her thumb against her own chest. “Now you have the gall to ask me for my ‘strength classification’? Unless you got a heavy chest of drawers to move and you’re about to ask kindly, I don’t see the godsdamned point of the question.”

  Sahvra’s ears pivoted forward to listen. She leaned around the Mountainfolk woman still ahead of her. She watched as a pair of guards already flanking the table took a few lazy steps closer.

  Subtle. But ready.

  The registrar closed his eyes for a few seconds. He didn’t bother to look up when he opened them again. “I mean no offense. Strength classification is a standard question on the Mountainfolk supplemental form.”

  “I’m a tailor. What possible purpose does that question -”

  “Strength classification is a. Standard. Question. On the Mountainfolk supplemental form,” the registrar repeated, slowing the words down.

  Sahvra winced.

  “Then jot down that it’s a high enough classification to kick your scrawny ass -”

  The guards were on her in a flash. One hooked his arm around the woman’s chest, planted their leg behind them and yanked. She was swept off her feet and landed hard on her back.

  Her head cracked off the cobblestone.

  Sahvra looked away, jaw clenched, and crossed her arms tightly over her belly. The line remained silent. Taevar rested his hand at the small of her back in quiet reassurance.

  The scene was soon cleared. The guards escorted the woman off, reassuring her they would take her to the medical tent first since she hit her head. Another pair of guards rotated to fill in their spots.

  The line shuffled forward again, and Sahvra was at the front.

  “Mountainfolk are still humans, last I checked,” she caught the registrar mumbling as he pulled out a fresh packet of paperwork, “Though I can see why the Council debates it.”

  That caused a few heads to turn, but nothing else.

  “Oi, you - you’re up.”

  The guard waved her forward and pointed lazily to the table farthest to the right. Sahvra approached, with Taevar still close to her side. She was thankful for his presence.

  The registrar glanced up only as a courtesy. A packet already sat in front of her, and Sahvra could read ‘Wildkin Applicant’ stamped in faded red ink along the top. In fact, every packet she saw on this table bore the same stamp. She glanced left toward the next table. Those packets were stamped ‘Elven Applicant’ in green.

  “Is this a joint application - one that requires assistance?”

  Sahvra’s head whipped back around. “What?”

  The registrar pointed her pen at Taevar, “Is he here because you are unable to complete registration on your own?”

  “What - no! I’m perfectly capable -”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “I’m a friend,” Taevar interjected. This caught the woman’s attention. She glanced at him first, then at one of the mages who was patrolling behind the tables. The mage nodded subtly at her. She took up a second pen next to a bottle of red ink.

  “Your name?”

  “Taevar Blackcrest.”

  Sahvra shot him a look. He didn’t see it.

  His name was recorded. The pen was returned to its place beside the red ink, and the registrar checked that it was straight, before she grabbed her original pen and dipped it into a bottle of blue ink.

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  She looked at Sahvra expectantly.

  “Sahvra.”

  “Surname or clan name?” The next question was asked before she’d finished writing.

  “I don’t have one.”

  The registrar paused, then added No-Clan as the Wildkin’s surname. The next handful of questions passed without incident - age, height, approximate weight, residence, and occupation. The registrar flipped to page two.

  “Animal classification subtype?”

  “Excuse me?” She felt heat rise in her cheeks and her tail lashed once to each side.

  “Ear type. Tail type. Fangs. Slit pupils. Claws. Et cetera.”

  She stammered for a few seconds. The question felt too personal to sound so mundane when clarified. The registrar looked up, impatience etched on her face.

  “I - Panther? Ears and tail. I think that’s what I’ve heard before. Nothing beyond that.” She hated how hesitant she sounded. How ill-prepared. How dumb.

  The woman kept writing, pausing only to refresh the ink. A few categories were not discussed, but Sahvra could read even upside down - education level and language fluency among them. The registrar just wrote down some arbitrary number and moved along. Another page was flipped.

  “Criminal history?”

  “None.”

  Another pause. A skeptical look up.

  “Your Path?” The question felt heavier than the others.

  “Also none,” the words came slow and quiet, and her ears wilted in embarrassment. The registrar dropped her pen down and focused on her fully. The mage from earlier took a few steps closer.

  “How is it that you have no Path? I have processed dozens of applicants today, and they each had a Path - from mundane to fantastical. Do you need to be reminded that lying on your identification is a criminal offense?”

  The mage slowed as he passed behind the registrar, eyes lingering on Sahvra for a few beats longer than they had any other applicant.

  “I have never had a Path,” she responded calmly, though her voice quivered. “It is rare, but some of us never have one to walk.”

  The registrar studied her for a long moment before reaching for the pen again.

  “That is… unusual.”

  She dipped her pen into the ink and made a small notation in the margin - a symbol rather than a word. Sahvra pressed her lips into a thin line. That couldn’t be good.

  The registrar reviewed the packet from front to back a final time. She spun it around on the table and pushed it toward Sahvra, pen held out in her other hand.

  “Signature. The ink is binding. Under penalty of -”

  Sahvra ignored whatever was said. The buzzing in her head was debilitating now, and she wanted it to be over. She scrawled her name where indicated, and watched the ink shimmer before sinking into the parchment.

  “Portrait.”

  The registrar gestured toward a tall mirror mounted beside the table, something Sahvra hadn’t noticed before. The surface was dull, and the frame was carved from some dark stone that looked far older than anything she’d seen in the city. It didn’t reflect anything at all as Sahvra settled before it.

  “Stay. Still.”

  The words were firm - less warning and more repeated reminder. At first, there was nothing. Then the surface rippled, like disturbed water, and her reflection emerged. Her own face was uncanny - too still and too sharp. The fur along her tail rose slowly as something in the mirror seemed to study her in turn. Runes along the frame flared brightly, then died.

  “Done.”

  A small metal card slid across the table toward her. Sahvra picked it up without looking.

  “Next,” the word came before Sahvra had made a move. Another red-stamped packet was placed down on the table.

  Taevar tapped her on the back, then pressed his hand gently there once more. He steered her toward the street beyond the registration tents. When they were several paces away, she half-laughed, half-sobbed.

  “I will rot in a dungeon before I ever do that again.”

  ***

  “Here.” Sahvra tossed the identification card onto Vazash’s desk, where it landed with a dull thud atop his paperwork. He stared at it with mild indignation as it smudged the ink. Sahvra collapsed onto the chair in front of his desk, and it was the most comfortable thing she’d felt all day. She swung her legs over one arm, rested her shoulders against the other. Her tail lay limp against the cushion, trailing to the floor.

  Taevar settled in behind her chair, leaning with his arms atop its back. Vazash picked up the card and read the front, turned it over, then flipped it back again.

  “It’s certainly an identification card.”

  “Yep,” she rubbed at her temples and closed her eyes.

  “You were gone for quite a while.”

  “Oh, was I? I hadn’t noticed. Did we miss lunch, then?”

  Vazash snorted in amusement, and Taevar was suddenly seized by a suspiciously amused coughing fit. Silence followed, and she understood it for what it was - Vazash giving her time.

  “At least adjust the curtains a bit, would you? Light’s hurting my eyes. Yes - even while they’re closed.” One of her ears twitched when she heard Vazash stand, and again as he drew them shut. She winced as the curtain rings scraped across the rod. The elder sat again. Blessed silence followed. She took in a slow, deep breath.

  She launched into her explanation of the day, monotone and rushed - she tried to hit the important bits, but somehow everything and nothing felt important. Taevar corrected gently when she was incorrect and clarified when she was correct but incomplete. Between the two of them, Vazash got the full picture. When they finished talking, she cracked her eyes open and smiled up at the mage.

  “You’ve been a lifesaver today. It makes me almost forgive you for being late last week.”

  “How generous of you,” he quipped back with a roll of his eyes.

  “So,” Vazash said, slow and thoughtful, “I always suspected spells would be at play, but I am not what one would call magically inclined. Is there anything you can tell us about it?”

  He held the card out to Taevar as he spoke. The mage hesitated. He straightened from his comfortable leaning spot, circled around and accepted the offered card.

  He held his free hand over it, murmured incantations softly. A gentle blue stream of light emanated from his fingertips, slithering over the thin metal. Sahvra winced as the buzzing from earlier returned. She placed her hands over her ears, pinned them to her head. It did nothing to help.

  Whatever spell he cast lasted only a minute. When it ended, so did her discomfort, and she let out a shaky breath. Even with her eyes closed, she felt the elder studying her.

  “Well?” she prompted. She’d prefer not to be interrogated herself.

  Taevar launched into an animated and technical breakdown of what he’d done, and what he’d found. She opened one eye - not to look at her friend, but at the elder. He listened dutifully, with brow furrowed. He was too polite to interrupt him. He nodded along like he understood. She smiled and went back to resting.

  The explanation ended. She could nearly feel his excitement vibrating the air around them. Silence fell once more as Vazash processed, considered, and finally spoke.

  “Once more. This time, treat me like I am a particularly dense child.”

  There was nothing she could do to stop the peal of laughter that left her. She covered her mouth with one hand, but it did little to stop it. “Damnit, laughing is making my headache worse..! I hate you both.”

  “Ah - of course,” Taevar said, and Sahvra heard the embarrassment. “There are three things happening at once. The inks were aetherically charged so they could hold spells. Sahvra’s signature binds the card to her specifically. The registrar’s signature marks it as official. The card itself, the portrait, and the extra mark they added all work together as a kind of beacon.”

  He paused to allow time for questions. Neither Wildkin spoke.

  “I assume the beacon will communicate with a central web of spells somehow, but it’s well above my expertise.”

  “... What’s the extra mark?” Sahvra looked at him now with a small frown.

  “I don’t know. Not specifically. I assume it means you’re special.”

  “It’s probably not good for the government to think I’m special, is it?”

  “No,” Vazash said. He drummed his fingers against his desk as he studied Taevar. “Is there anything you can do with it? Modify it, copy it...?”

  He shook his head as he tossed the card back to Sahvra. She made no effort to catch it, and it plopped on her stomach.

  “It’s too many spells woven together, like a knot. On top of doing something slightly different, each one leaves behind its own magical ‘signature.’ No two mages leave behind the same imprint, even when casting the same spell.”

  The silence that followed was heavier this time. The room grew darker as the sun began to set.

  “The ‘knot’ may be able to be untied by a master mage,” Taevar continued, “But - maybe we explore something that could simply overload the communication ability of the spells? If this is citywide, there will be a lot of aetherical ‘noise’...”

  He trailed off and rested his hands on his hips, eyes unfocused as he pondered.

  “Both are better places to start than I would’ve come up with,” Vazash chuckled as he spoke, “I have some contacts, but likely none as experienced as your own. I won’t ask you to endanger yourself on anyone’s behalf -”

  “This affects us all,” Taevar cut in, with a shrug. “Eventually. I’ll ask around.”

  Vazash stared him down in that measuring way he often did before he nodded slowly. “Fine. You can both go. Get some rest.”

  Sahvra made no effort to move. I am comfortable right here, thank you.

  Taevar nodded and offered a quiet thank you and goodbye, pivoted and made his way to the door.

  “And Taevar?” Vazash spoke, and the mage paused at the door. “I know it’s not really your thing, but be careful, would you?”