CHAPTER 91: 91: THE ACADEMY TEST I

(Chapter Seven: The Academy Test)

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Morning sunlight warmed the stones of the capital. The streets were busy and bright. Carts rattled by with stacked crates and tied tarps. Shop signs hung like little flags. Strings of colorful cloth crossed one lane like a party that never ended. John and Fizz walked with the flow.

John kept one hand on the cart handle. He pushed easily and steadily. He looked around as he walked. He had seen towns. He had seen markets. This was bigger. It felt like ten towns stacked together. The air smelled of bread, spice, leather, smoke, and sweet fruit. A bell rang somewhere. Another answered it. A hawker shouted about peaches. A child laughed and ran past with a ribbon on a stick like a small banner.

Fizz drifted at shoulder height. He turned slowly in the air, taking it all in. He looked left. He looked right. He looked down the long street and let out a soft "wow."

"So many shops," he said. "So many snacks. So many people with faces that say, ’I would love to be roasted politely and then forgiven.’"

John smiled a little. "Do not roast anyone. Save your sparks. We are new in the town."

Fizz put on wounded pride. "I am a gentleman."

They passed a glass seller. Bottles shone blue and green. They passed a book stall. The merchant had written prices in neat chalk on little slate tiles. They passed a tailor’s window with three cloaks on wooden shoulders. One was scarlet. One was smoke gray. One was black with a thin silver edge that caught the eye like a quiet trick.

Fizz pressed his paws to his cheeks. "We need uniforms."

"We need money," John said.

"We have some," Fizz said, hopeful.

"We need it for rent, tools, and food," John said.

Fizz groaned. "Responsible life. Boring life."

"Alive life," John said.

Fizz accepted this. "Fine. We will be alive and boring today and fabulous tomorrow."

They reached a wide corner where three streets met and made a small market of their own. Skewers hissed on a grill. Steam rose from a pot of dumplings. A tray of flat breads shone with oil and herbs. The smell hit them hard and kindly. Fizz bumped John’s shoulder with his head.

"Food," he whispered. "My heart is weak."

John turned the cart toward a stall with a neat awning and clean boards. A woman stood behind it with sleeves rolled and hair tied back. Her hands moved fast. Skewer. Flip. Brush. Serve.

"Two skewers," John said. "And a cup of tea if you have it."

Fizz leaned forward over the counter like a child at a sweet shop. "Also one of those flat breads. The round sugary one. And two dumplings. And a... what is that golden twist."

The woman laughed. "A honey twist."

"Yes," Fizz said. "Urgent."

John reached for his purse. Fizz looked at him, eyes wide with fake innocence. "I left my money in my other fur."

John paid. Fizz held the cup of tea as if it were a rare gem and then offered it to John with dignity. "For the payer of bills. May your pockets never be empty and your patience never run out."

John took the tea. "Thank you, Lord Generosity."

Fizz snapped up a dumpling. He wiggled with joy. "Hot," he said around it. "Worth the pain."

While they ate, John asked the food seller, "Where is the Goddess temple?"

She nodded down the side street. "Three blocks on your right. You will see the towers. Hard to miss. They are taller than sense."

Fizz licked honey from his paw. "We like tall and silly things. Thank you."

"You are welcome," she said, eyes on Fizz now with open curiosity. "Is that a spirit?"

Fizz posed in the air. "Yes. The great and humble Lord Fizz. At your service. Today I am only doing light miracles and strong opinions."

She laughed again. "Good luck, Lord Fizz. And you too, boy."

"John," he said.

"Good luck, John," she said.

They moved on. Three blocks down, the street opened and the temple showed itself. Tall towers rose above a wide wall. The stone was pale and clean. Carved vines wound up the corners. Bells hung high and still. The gate stood between two pillars that had words cut into them. Even from the street, the place felt cool and full of rules.

Fizz squinted at the towers. "Do they grow those or build them?"

"Build," John said. "It’s not a tree."

"Shame," Fizz said. "I wanted to plant a tower seed at home."

They rolled the cart up to the gate. Two temple guards stood there with long spears and polished chest plates. Their cloaks were white. Their boots were clean. They looked bored until they were not.

"Stop," the nearest guard said, holding up a hand. His eyes ran over John’s coat, his worn boots, the old push-cart. He saw cheap clothes. He saw work. He did not see the coin. His mouth curled a hair. "What do you want, village boy."

John kept his voice even. "We are here to see Priestess Sera."

The guard blinked once. Then he barked a dry laugh. "Priestess Sera does not meet village people."

Fizz floated forward with his aggressive face. "We are here on her invite," he said. "Inform her that Lord Fizz has come to see her."

The guard’s eyes snapped to Fizz. The first guard’s jaw changed shape. His partner’s brows went up. People saw spirit beasts all the time in the capital. But a little orange orb that talked plain words like a person, and with this much attitude, made them wake up.

"You— you speak," the guard said.

"I also sing," Fizz said. "But only for John."

The guard looked John over again, now less sure of the joke. "A talking spirit. Contracted."

"Yes," John said.

"With him," Fizz said, thumbing at John.

The guard licked his lips and adjusted his grip on the spear. "I cannot take you to her," he said quickly. "Priests have rules. But I can tell someone that you are here and asking. Wait inside the first court. Do not touch anything."