The Vault was unusually noisy.
Which, considering it usually echoed with ancient whispers and the sound of memory spiders knitting socks, was saying something.
Eloryn stood at one end of a glowing circle. At the other: Fenn, grinning like a trouble-mage with absolutely nothing to lose.
"This," Fenn announced dramatically, "is the First Annual Memory Weaving Duel."
Maren sat off to the side with a bowl of toasted seed-nuts. "You say 'annual' as if this wasn't your idea ten minutes ago."
Pennrick leaned in, whispering, "She once challenged me to a duel using only embarrassing childhood dreams. I'm still haunted by the flying potato incident."
"Rules are simple," Fenn declared. "We each summon a thread—no weapons, no trauma, no existential dread. Just dumb, ridiculous memories. Loser is the one who laughs first."
Eloryn blinked. "That's not magic training."
"It's the best kind of training," Fenn grinned. "You said you wanted better emotional control, right? Well, try keeping a straight face while a memory of you mistaking a mime for your mother materializes."
Eloryn sighed. "Fine. But if you summon the flying badger incident again, I'm retaliating with the chicken court."
Maren perked up. "Wait. Chicken court?"
"Long story," Eloryn said, face already pinking.
The duel began.
Fenn raised her hands. A shimmering thread spun upward—revealing a memory of herself, age twelve, trying to ride a broomstick and crashing into a fruit cart while screaming "FOR THE ARCHIVES!"
Eloryn stifled a laugh. Barely.
She countered by weaving a moment from her third life: tripping over a royal train mid-coronation and taking down five diplomats like a collapsing tent.
Maren actually choked on a nut.
Fenn wasn't done. She summoned a memory of Eloryn from this very week, sleepwalking into the pantry and giving a two-minute speech to a sack of onions.
"Who told you that!?" Eloryn shrieked.
"The onions," Fenn replied gravely.
By round four, Eloryn was weaving instinctively, effortlessly calling on small, silly memories without the usual emotional weight. Her control was improving. She felt the magic stretch and bend with ease—even when it conjured a moment where she'd confidently declared "I am the moon" while covered in glowing ink.
She lost it first.
One full-body laugh that left her doubled over.
Fenn dropped her thread like a victorious general. "HAH! I am the Queen of Idiocy!"
Pennrick clapped. "Congratulations. That's… technically a title now."
Even Maren smiled. "So, how do you feel?"
Eloryn wiped her eyes, still chuckling. "Light. Free. Like I don't have to carry all the heavy stuff alone."
Fenn threw an arm around her shoulder. "Lesson one of being a Dreamwright: sometimes, the dumbest memories are the ones that keep you sane."
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