(Design Credit: Yume)
“…so, as I was saying, we have this giant festival that takes place at one of our lakes, and if you go there you’ll see motorbikes for miles, everyone lined up in the mud and strolling between the rows talking. It’s awesome.”
“Damn. You’re speaking my language.”
“And if you buy the weekend ticket, you get free entry into the music festival they host alongside it. Mostly rock but with some punk and metal.”
“And you go every summer?”
“Yeah. Missed it in 2022 because I was doing M1, though.”
“Nice. Y’know, I’m overdue for visiting Helarve anyway…”
“You should go! It’d be fun.”
Just as they were on the cusp of making a potentially unkeepable promise to Wuspy, the ringtone of Stinger’s phone interrupted them. They glanced down at the screen. Their anxiety rose when they realized it was Queen calling, and they quickly picked up.
“Hey, coach-”
“Where on Marblearth are you!?” So loud was their voice through the speaker that it was almost as if they were yelling at them in person. “Half an hour since the podium and you’ve completely vanished!”
Stinger glanced back at Wuspy, who’d taken on a sheepish expression. Had they really been continuing their post-heats conversation for that long?
“Uh, I got caught up in… Something. I’ll be down soon, alright?”
“Make it quick,” Queen grunted, impatient. Stinger hung up, in no mood to attract more of their coaches’ ire.
“I gotta make a break for it. But tell me more later, yeah?” Stinger asked.
Wuspy laughed. “No problem. And congrats again on the silver.”
The triathlon required mastery of three elements; circuit track, sand track, and water track.
Snowstorm was most confident on the circuit track. They’d never been the M1 partner they knew Snowy deserved, but they remembered the fundamentals. And though their history on the sand was storied, Snowy had taught them the strategies they’d employed in the 2022 Sand Rally—taking risky lines and using confrontation to their advantage—and their confidence had improved significantly.
Thus the only unknown was the underwater portion. But they weren’t going to let it stand in their way. They’d spent as much time as possible practicing in the submerged tank, which had resulted in a few lectures from Snowblast about tracking water inside the athletes’ village. But their effort had paid off in the form of a shiny gold medal—their first-ever individual Marble League medal.
The line through to their parents’ home in Snoronto was unstable, but Snowstorm could just about make everything out. It would have helped if their four younger siblings weren’t all speaking at once.
“Alright, alright, everyone calm down. And take turns with your questions!”
“Me first, me first!” Snowbank cried out, waving eagerly through the webcam’s eye. “Is it real gold?”
Snowstorm shrugged. “It’s as good as real gold to me.”
“What does it taste like?” asked Snowcap, their youngest sibling.
“I’m not going to taste it,” Snowstorm replied, sticking their tongue out in disgust. “Probably bad.”
Snowcap stuck their tongue out too, just before Snowdrop waved shyly out from behind them.
“Are you going to get another one?” they asked.
Snowstorm couldn’t say anything for sure. “I’ll work hard, I promise.”
Snowmelt, still the smallest, peeped out. “Can I touch it? Please?”
A knock on their door from behind interrupted the sound of chatter through the speakers. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta hang up.”
“Awwwwww,” their siblings sighed.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? And I’ll mail you some sweets from Buzznya.”
In the midst of the ensuing sweets-induced excitement, Snowstorm hung up. They took another second to breathe before opening the door.
As with Snowy’s medal, both the Snowballs and the Gliding Glaciers were waiting to congratulate them. Amidst the cheers, Snowy leaned in and whispered to them. “Little sibs still as loud as ever?”
“Yep. Snowscape’s still in their goth phase, supporting the Blackjacks instead of us.”
“You’ll change their mind eventually. Anyway, are you hungry? Because dinner’s on the Glaciers.”
“You don’t even know,” Snowstorm said, surveying the crowd assembled. “Hey, where’s Frost?”
“Oh, Frost? Glide said that something came up, but they’d be back later…”
“So, you want to go to the same donut place as last time?”
“Actually, Clem… this time, I think I just want to call it a night. I’m sorry.”
“Oh?” Clementin said, surprised by the proposed break in tradition. “Well… I guess that’s fine.”
The sound of a dejected Clementin always tugged on Orangin’s heartstrings, but they had already made their mind up. “I promise we’ll do something together tomorrow, alright?”
Their promise seemed to cheer them somewhat. “Sounds good. Take it easy, yeah?” Clementin said. Orangin nodded silently as they left.
It was terribly guilt-inducing, to keep secrets from Clementin. Usually they could tell each other anything. But now, Clementin might not understand what they needed to do. As silent as possible, they snuck off to where they had last seen Frost; near the Snowballs’ spectator stand.
They were still there, thankfully, but they didn’t look happy to see Orangin. Orangin couldn’t blame them.
“Hi,” they mumbled. They weren’t sure exactly what they wanted to say. There was nothing to apologize for—the refs had made their decision—but they still felt guilty.
“…I feel really bad about the photo finish. Do you want to get donuts together?”
“I…” Frost replied hesitantly. “I don’t know. Donuts are more Polar’s thing. And I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, either.”
They didn’t seem particularly enthused. Orangin winced, beginning to regret their plan. “I just want to make things up to you. We don’t have to get donuts if you don’t want.”
Frost paused for a second, clearly considering their options. For Orangin, it felt like an eternity was passing.
Finally, they spoke. “If you really want to, I guess it’s fine. I hear Buzznya has really good baklava.”
It wasn’t Orangin’s original plan, but it still felt like a win.
Across from the place where they’d gotten donuts after Clementin’s Sprint medal was a cute old traditional sweet shop that served baklava. Orangin was thankful they’d made a mental note of its shimmering gold-plated window display.
Seemingly slightly more at ease, Frost took the seat across from them on a small, shaky table. A smartly dressed waiter laid a slice of fresh, warm baklava laden with glistening honey and crushed pistachios in front of them both.
“Wow,” Frost exclaimed. “It’s actually… kind of beautiful.”
The tension of earlier had melted away. For that, Orangin was thankful. Silently, they speared their own piece of pastry with a fork.
“Oh, and no hard feelings, right?” Frost added.
“Yeah. No hard feelings,” Orangin replied, smiling.
Demure was on everyone’s face in the locker room, especially Lightning’s.
“It happens to all of us,” said Bolt, trying to lighten the mood.
Lightning’s expression did not change. To them, it felt like there was a storm cloud over them, raining nonstop.
A long sigh left Lightning as they stood next to their locker. “This was my one shot,” Lightning commented, “All my hard work, just to run into a wall.”
“You’ll get them next time,” added Thunder. “Don’t beat yourself up, at least you didn’t get punted off the track.”
“He, yeah. But, I wanted to be in this event so badly, I wanted to show off my skills, I begged Thunderstorm to put me in… All just to get distracted by Rizzy- I mean, run into a wall,” Lightning responded.
Bolt pulled out a box of cookies from their locker. They opened the box, which had 6 cookies. Lightning peered in, and saw that the cookies had depictions of 😃👍 on them.
Thunderstorm then rolled into the room, holding a box. They laid it on the table and stopped in front of the whiteboard.
“Alright team, I know this event was… not the result we were expecting, but I found something that should cheer everyone up,” said Thunderstorm. They reached into the box and pulled out a videotape. “I dug around our facility, and I found some long-lost Efmo footage!”
The team perked up hearing that name. Thunderstorm grabbed a marker and started drawing on the board.
“Our next event is the Relay, and I have the perfect strategy.” They wrote a word in big blue letters. “Goedspeed!”
The team went nuts like they had just won the Marble League.
Em bursts out their front door, a compass in one hand, and a letter in a bright blue envelope in the other. “DON’T OPEN UNTIL TRIATHLON” is scrawled across the front of it.
Dear Em,
Thanks for your letter. It’s always a joy to hear from such enthusiastic fans! We usually don’t have time to respond to every piece of fan mail, but your story was particularly inspiring.
I’ve signed a Zuro postcard. After asking around, Snowstorm, Rojo Tres, and Tumult all agreed to sign it as well.
You said you were a fan of puzzles, and as luck would have it, I am too. So, I’ve hidden the postcard somewhere, and I’ve set up a series of puzzles to help you find it. (If you’ve opened this before the triathlon, the last few steps won’t be ready. I warned you!)
If you ever need help, I gave Vespa some extra hints, since you’re a regular at the diner. I’m sure you won’t need them, though!
Good luck,
Sapphire
Here’s your first puzzle:
Hidden behind a frame of sorts,
On the street closest to this ML’s sports.
To find the number of address,
What is our league event count with one less?
Append a digit sounds like where we’re from,
Then write our best final place in M1.
Each of the teams with a member that signed;
Recall the last digit of year we despise.
Em knows exactly where to go.
Credits
- Writers: Millim, Pesky, Yume
- Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Stynth
- Graphic Designer: Yume
- Reference: Marble League 2023 Event 9: Triathlon | Jelle’s Marble Runs
- Release: 14/11/2024
Project Marblearth 