“Well, dearest, Auntie Liane says you’ve caught a new sweetums while off at Mage’s College,” said a withered, kindly-looking old lady, gazing upon the family reunion through glacier glasses.

  Razan, a first-year initiate of Shiverfast Mage’s College, nodded. “I wouldn’t say caught. People don’t really ‘catch’ their partners these days. We… met in the library.”

  “Oh, putting all that book learnin’ to good use,” said a barren-headed old man sitting opposite Grandma.

  “Yeah. We just started talking about, y’know, fiction. She writes some herself, y’know.” Razan smiled softly. “There’s a fascinating new genre that’s all the rage in the cities: Alternate Systems. It's about worlds that operate without magic, or at least different types of magic. Long story, but together we’ve been collaborating on a short series about a world where vehicles are powered by a sort of internal combustion contraption rather than by enthralling a flame djinn to the driver's will.”

  The kindly old grandparents pretended to understand any of this, as was typical of grandparents doting upon their eldest grandchild.

  “Well, we can’t wait to meet her,” said Lady Lise, of Rivergale. “I’m sure she’s a charming young lass. And very smart, to be at Mage’s College. I’d love to read these stories of yours.”

  “I’ll see if I can at least get you a draft,” Razan said.

  “Wha-?” Grandma Lise asked.

  “I said I’ll get you a draft.”

  “Eh, there’s a draft in here?” Lise cupped a hand to her ear, straining to hear.

  The family ate a grand feast befitting an extended clan of landed gentry: Turkeypheasant, a local staple food; colossal catfish skewers from a far-off isle; and even potatoes, an expensive delicacy from a barely charted land beyond the sea.

  Aunties and uncles were gossiping about their tannery or canneries further along the table. Grandma Lise and Sir Nasir of Rivergale, the family’s aged matriarch and patriarch, sat in the place of honor. Razan’s parents hosted the feast in their keep, Razan’s childhood home. And of course, the young aspiring mage sat at the very end of the table in his SMC-branded robe, in the white and blue colors of the college.

  It was his first feast not at the kid’s table. The little vandals could be heard flinging potatoes around the foyer, requiring near-constant supervision from one aunt or another.

  “Well, ever thought of bringing her home for the next Wintersgrip feast?” Grandpa Nasir asked, mouth full of potatoes.

  “We were thinking I’d head to her place for the upcoming Summer dance.” Razan twiddled his thumbs, a slight blush on his cheeks.

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  This elicited cocky jeers from the cousins. Razan waited for them to finish. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

  “… and then we’ll both come here for Wintersgrip.”

  The grandparents smiled. The parents meanwhile were looking for a place on the table to park dessert. Razan’s mother always made a mean pudding.

  “So, headed elsewhere for the summer?” Grandpa asked. “I’ll miss fishin’ with you, pardner. Where’s she from? Around Shiverfast?”

  “Well…”

  “Oh?” Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. “Is she from overseas?”

  “What does she oversee?” asked gram-gram.

  “Her family does have holdings in the city,” Razan began, swallowed, then: “But they’re from Fellmire.”

  All at once, Grandma’s neck shot up straight. Her head swiveled over to look at Razan. Her hearing was fixed – miraculous!

  “What color are people in Fellmire?” Grandma Lise asked pointedly.

  Ooh, boy, Razan thought. Guess this would become a topic of conversation eventually.

  “You’ve, ah, been there, grandma,” Razan said. “We passed through there on pilgrimage five years back.”

  In truth, she’d barely left the wagon after she’d insulted a kindly emerald-complected merchant by saying some word I didn’t even understand the definition of, Razan recalled.

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Grandma Lise buried herself in a bowl of porridge.

  Father made a point of clearing his throat with a grumble, a saving throw on his firstborn’s behalf.

  “So. One of them Goblins,” Grandpa said with a mouth full of pudding.

  He always had a habit of panic-eating.

  “She…” Razan’s cheeks flushed. “I believe she has an elfish grandfather somewhere in the family tree. But yes, she’s a chlorophyllated individual.”

  “Goblin.” Grandpa Nasir grumbled.

  “Alright, drama!” one of the cousins said.

  “Is she nice for a goblin?” Grandma Lise managed, reaching for the eggnog.

  Razan took a bite out of a loaf of bread. “Yes, grandma. But, well, we don’t really use that word anymore.”

  “She’s a Green-skin?” Grandpa asked.

  “We definitely don’t use that one.”

  Mother clasped her hands. “Well, if everything goes well at the Fellmire summer dance, I cannot wait to meet Miss…”

  “Domitia.” Razan smiled warmly at the very thought. “And she’s quite excited to meet you, mom, and dad as well.”

  Grandmother Lise’s head drooped. She could read the room; knew her vocabulary was antiquated but had no other framework by which to describe these revelations. Old habits, as they say, died hard.

  “Is she nice, though? Miss Domitia?”

  Grandpa Nasir ate his pudding ever faster, face unreadable.

  “Is she?” Razan beamed. “Oh, she’s amazing. She got a straight ‘S’ in every class, is president of the Women’s Jousting Club, and has tutored me in Practical Potions 202—my worst class.”

  Mother and Father smiled warmly at the news. Even Grandpa seemed to grin slightly.

  “-and she has a custom-made illumination spell that she uses to walk through the night market. It’s a positively beautiful shade of yellow that hovers about two feet above eye level. And she made a miniature version she can summon in mass. Used it to decorate the ceiling in our apartm—”

  Razan bit his tongue in a desperate attempt to derail himself. But it was too late! Color drained from his face.

  “You live together?” Lise asked, her wrinkled jowls angled down in a frown.

  “I… er, well,” Razan stammered.

  Father let out a sigh. He’d been obfuscating the obvious, hoping to ease the aged old lord and lady into modern Mage College dating dynamics. Mother gave Razan an encouraging smile – The Forge Lord only knows that she and Razan’s father cohabitated through college, not that grandma and Grandpa needed to know that.

  Awkward silence reigned. Still Razan stammered.

  “Well, y’see. Rent is expensive in the city. It’s… a pure matter of practicality,” he said, puffing himself up.