Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Lancet walked past a group of merchants arguing over shipping fees, past a pair of Kingdom Rangers checking the seals on a supply crate, past a weather-beaten sign that read LEAVING BASTION TERRITORY in three languages.

The air changed as he went. Less filtered. Less controlled. The wind carried scents of dry earth and distant smoke, and the road began to show its age in cracks and patches.

Lancet knew the math. Whatever mountain Kestrel had in mind, it was not close. If he tried to walk, he would burn through his three days just getting there, and the tournament deadline would pass him by while he was still sweating on some nameless trail with nothing to show for it but blisters.

He needed transport.

Fortunately, the people of this world were not stupid. The ”taxi” drivers of the borderlands had learned generations ago that the best place to park was exactly where the roads ran out of bastion jurisdiction and people started looking desperately for a ride.

Lancet spotted them as he crested a low rise in the road.

Aerocyclers.

A line of them sat at the end of bastion border territory in a long, weathered stretch of metal platforms and suspended loading docks. Each vehicle was locked into place like a waiting insect with broad fan blades tucked beneath its frame.

The machines were built for speed and rough terrain, their bodies painted in practical colors meant to disappear into dust, storm, and distance.

A handful of riders stood about the depot in work coats and travel gear, shouting over one another, helping passengers load bags, and haggling with the sort of easy familiarity that came from doing the same thing all day, every day.

Lancet joined the queue and let his gaze drift over the line of departing riders. The morning had turned brighter since he left the academy, but the open air still carried that edge of distance, the sense that once a person moved beyond the bastion walls they were no longer inside a controlled world. He adjusted the bag of money on his shoulder and waited his turn.

The man who called him forward looked like he had been built out of weather and road dust. Broad-shouldered, cheerful, middle-aged, and already talking before Lancet had even fully climbed into the seat.

”You’re a handsome lad, eh!” he said, smiling with all of his brown thirty-two. ”Well of you blondies are always good looking. Could have had a blondie myself, you know. If only I married my high school sweetheart. But she and Jomol ended up together.” He grimaced. ”Fucking Jomol.”

Lancet stared at him, uncertain if he wanted no part of this strange story or if he had somehow gotten interested.

The aerocycler, who had the name Jet on his sleeve, gave him a friendly once-over and grinned. ”I can’t take you without a passport.”

Lancet showed him his Academy card.

Jet’s eyes lit up and he grinned wider as though seeing a student in academy colors automatically made the day better.

”Awakener Supreme, huh?” the driver said as he checked the seat clamps. ”That’s a fancy life for a kid. I’ve got a niece about your age who keeps talking about going there.”

Lancet settled into the aerocycler’s padded seat and glanced at him. ”Yeah?” He finally decided to entertain the amicable man.

”Oh, yes,” the man said, clearly pleased to have found a willing ear. ”She thinks she’s already too good for the rest of us. Says she’s going to make the academy regret every bad grade she ever got. She’s in the Enchanter Class, if that’s what they call it.”

He looked at Lancet. ”That’s what they call it, right?”

Lancet nodded. ”Yup.”

Jet chuckled and shook his head as he tightened the harness. ”You students are all the same. Too much ambition, not enough sleep. But I guess that’s important when it’s on you to save the world. I mean magic is pretty cool, controlling fire and making things blow up. But most of us forget about the ’putting your life in danger’ part.”

Lancet leaned back a little, letting the straps settle over his chest. ”You seem like a smart man, Jet. This kind of work doesn’t suit you.”

Jet laughed boisterously. ”Ain’t that the truth, kid.” He reached up and patted the side of the aerocycler. ”So, where are we going? You look like a student with purpose. Those are the most dangerous kind.”

Lancet smiled faintly. ”I need the closest mountain land. Somewhere with really tall mountains.”

The driver turned to him with immediate interest. ”That’s a strange place to start. Planning a hike?”

”Something like that.”

The man snorted. ”That means no.”

Lancet only gave him a look.

”Alright, alright,” the driver said, laughing. ”No prying. Still, if you’re looking for mountains, the Green Cap range is the closest. Plenty of cliffs, plenty of old roads, a decent climb if you want to punish yourself for a weekend. It’s not too far from here.”

Lancet listened, then shook his head. ”I know the Green Caps. That’s where the Amazons fell, yeah?”

”Fuck do I know about the Amazons. I just like to see pictures of them. Between them and the Valkyries... woohh... a man can dream.”

Lancet didn’t know what to say to that. He was being outphrased. ”If it’s the same Green Caps I remember then they’re not tall enough.”

The man blinked. ”Not tall enough?”

Lancet folded one arm over the bag at his side. ”I need something bigger.”

That got him a long, curious stare. The driver’s brows climbed higher as he searched Lancet’s face, probably trying to decide whether he was joking or insane.

”Well,” he said slowly, ”if you want really tall ones, there’s Stone Castles just outside Deathrock.”

Lancet looked up at once. ’Deathrock. That name sounds familiar.’

The driver saw the reaction and continued, now sounding more serious. ”They’re called Stone Castles because the peaks look like towers stacked by giants. Tallest mountains in the region, easy. Maybe farther than easy if you ask me. The place is nasty, though. Stormy all the time. The wind is so bad it feels like the sky is trying to tear the rocks apart. Honestly, it’s like the mountains are daring lightning to strike them just so they can prove they’re still standing afterward.”

Lancet’s eyes lifted slightly.

That one.

That was the one Kestrel would want.

He could almost hear her voice already, sharp and impatient and completely unimpressed by anything less than a worthy climb. A mountain that dared lightning to hit it. Of course that would be the answer. Of course she would want the meanest, tallest, most ridiculous place on the map.

”I’ll go with that one,” Lancet repeated. ”Stone Castles.”

The driver gave him a slow, incredulous look. ”Kid, didn’t you hear what I just said?”

”I did.”

”The place’s a fucking nightmare,” Jet said. ”I’m not a hiking guy but I know the mountains there are not hiking mountains. They’re more like murder mountains.”

Lancet shrugged. ”Then the murder mountains it is.”

The man stared another second, then let out a breath through his nose and shook his head with the resigned expression of someone who had seen too many young Awakeners mistake danger for destiny.

”Alright then,” he muttered. ”Your funeral.”