Adrenaline spikes, stays high and roiling as Thio grins deliciously. “Good?” he asks.
Need ribbons through me. “Oh,fuckyeah.”
Chapter Twelve
CAMPUS-WIDE SECURITY ALERT: All students, faculty, staff, and visitors attending the Founder’s Day activities are being directed to avoid the southwest corner of the Quad where the Nomadic Order of the Enchanted Beast Pet Adoption Event is being held. An adventure party is on site following the reported escape of an infant basilisk.
As of this alert, three Nomadic Order staff and four hopeful adopters have been petrified, and the basilisk remains at large. Authorities recommend all Founder’s Day guests have anti-petrification spells on hand. More updates as they become available.
“Aw, there he is!” I walk backward with the group, snapping about a dozen pictures on my phone. “My boy’s all grown up.”
Orok shifts his rawball helmet under his other arm and rolls his eyes. The Manticore logo is emblazoned across his purple jersey with a smaller patch stitched on his shoulder, the symbol of Urzoth Shieldsworn. Not every player has a patron god, but there are more than a few patches scattered throughout the forty-person rawball team as they make their way in full uniform out of the stadium. Their designated Founder’s Day charity game against a local kids’ group doesn’t start for several hours, but the players are scheduled for photo ops in a massive booth across the Quad.
Founder’s Day goers stop to ooh and ahh at their procession. Someone shouts, “Feel the sting!” and a number of players chant it back.
Players and fans alike do not appreciate it when “Feel the sting” is followed up with “of going raw.” Ask me how I know.
The whole of Founder’s Day is in full swing all across campus, with gold-and-purple bunting covering every surface imaginable. Boothsline most walkways, selling food, drinks—including the aforementioned Founder’s Day punch, which I give a longing glance at—and university paraphernalia. Guests are out in droves, mostly students and faculty, but also people from the surrounding city who take advantage of the festival-like atmosphere. There aren’t carnival rides or stuff like that, and most of the events are Lesiara U–themed—does any young family care about professors competing against students?—but the overall energy is bubbly, carefree fun.
I scroll through photos. “Look at you in your fancy costume. Such a handsome—ow!”
Orok hauls me into a headlock without slowing his pace.
“Wait!” I wave my phone helplessly back toward the stadium. “I need to go that way—my event starts in, like, ten minutes.”
“No,” Orok says simply. “You called our uniform a costume. If I don’t give you some kind of punishment, the whole team will.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot how delicate you rawball players can be.”
Orok squeezes me tighter. I smack his arm, but he doesn’t let up.
“Okay—” I wheeze. “Uncle, unc—”
My phone buzzes in my hand. I look at it absently.
And see my mom’s name over a text notification. In the preview window, the words “…Camp Merethyl director.”
I go limp.
Orok glances down at my change and lets me go. “Seb?”
His teammates continue around us when we become inadvertent obstacles in the sidewalk.
I swipe open the text.
MOM
Your father has officially been named the next Camp Merethyl director.
It would mean the world if you could call to congratulate him.
Emotionless, I hold my phone out so Orok can see.
“Shit,” he mutters, and if he says more, I don’t hear it.
My dad’s going to be the director of Camp Merethyl.
My fatheris going to be the one running that place.Thatplace.
